Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

He arched a puzzled brow. “Is there a reason you are plying me with vodka?”

“I hoped it might sweeten your foul mood.”

Dimitri scowled. “Of course my mood is foul. I do not appreciate being outwitted by a collection of aging reprobates.”

“Those aging reprobates possess enough power to alter the course of history as they have too often proven,” Josef said, his voice harsh with disgust. Many of the noblemen were personally responsible for squashing Alexander Pavlovich’s attempts at reform in the early days of his reign. “Keeping a handful of peasant girls hidden would be a simple matter with a dozen estates and serfs who are too terrified to reveal the truth.” Josef leaned back in his seat, his gaze watchful. “And your mood has been foul since you last met with Emma Linley-Kirov.”

Dimitri grimaced, swallowing his instinctive denial. Why bother? Anyone unfortunate enough to cross his path since Emma had abandoned him in Vanya’s grotto was painfully aware of his vile temper.

“She holds me responsible for her sister’s abduction.”

Josef sucked in a sharp breath. “Is she daft?”

Dimitri polished off the last of the vodka. He had spent the night trying to comfort himself with the notion that Emma Linley-Kirov was a provincial spinster who was too naive and too stupid to comprehend the complexities of his revenge. A wasted effort. Nothing managed to ease the nagging sense of guilt.

“She is annoyingly stubborn, headstrong and beautiful beyond reason, but I would never consider her to be daft.”

“She must be if she would accuse you of harming children.”

“She did not suggest that I personally forced a child into my bed, but rather that I stood aside and allowed others to continue with their loathsome deeds.”

“What would she have you do?”

“Kill them.”

Josef blinked, staggered by the thought of a sweet, innocent maiden harboring such bloodthirsty desires. Then he lifted the flask to take a large swig of the vodka.

“If she is so anxious to be rid of the bastards, then why does she not tend to the duty herself?” he muttered.

Dimitri’s brows snapped together, a chill shivering down h

is spine. “Good God, do not say such a thing in her presence. She is quite capable of attempting murder if she thought it would save her precious sister.”

“Perhaps she would discover it’s not a simple matter to rid society of its vermin.”

Dimitri tossed aside his empty glass, casting a jaundiced glance out the window of the carriage.

“Not simple, but not impossible, either.”

“You have allowed the female to rattle your wits.”

A humorless smile twisted his lips. Emma had rattled more than his wits. His long night of pacing the floor had not been solely due to her accusations. He had been hard and aching to bed the wench since she stormed into his office.

“Rattled wits or not, she was not mistaken. My desire for revenge has allowed my father to continue his debauchery.”

Josef muttered his opinion of overbearing spinsters and the stupidity of men who allowed them to interfere in his business.

“The count is the villain, not you,” he at last snapped. “How many women have you taken under your protection over the years? Only an arrogant ass would believe he could rescue them all.”

Dimitri turned back to meet his loyal servant’s scowl. “I can always depend upon you to keep me humble, Josef.”

“I assume that is why you have kept me in your service for so many years.”

“Well, it most certainly is not for your charm.” Dimitri reached for the door of the carriage. It was obvious his hopes of discovering how his father and his associates kept the women they abducted hidden was doomed to failure. At least for today. “Return to your home, old friend.”

Josef frowned as Dimitri stepped out of the carriage. “What of you?”

“Alexander Pavlovich is unveiling his latest portrait at the Hermitage this afternoon.”