Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

Emma frowned in puzzlement. Tender? Hunting? Were they transporting live game? And if so, why would they go to such an effort to discuss their business so far from the other guests?

Dimitri’s father shrugged. “They were not of the finest quality, but they brought a tidy profit.”

“For you, perhaps,” Tarvek growled. “My allotment was not nearly so generous.”

“It is my ship that hauls the cargo and my crew who protects our investments. It was agreed I should have the larger profit.” The older count slashed his hand through the air in a gesture of disdain. “Besides, you contributed only two of the females for our last shipment.”

Tarvek shifted uneasily. “I cannot always control Sergei.”

“It is unfortunate, but not my concern,” Nevskaya said, his cold voice sending a chill of horror down Emma’s spine.

With a gasp, she grabbed at the bush, feeling her knees threaten to buckle.

God almighty. The cargo was not wild game.

They were speaking of girls. Sweet, helpless children they considered of no more worth than animals.

And what did Tarvek mean that Sergei could not be controlled? Her stomach rolled at the mere thought.

“You should at least be pleased with my latest offerings,” the villain said, a nasty smile of anticipation curving his lips. “Those were three of the most succulent females I have ever captured. It’s a pity that they will be wasted on a boorish Englishman. Any man who would willingly live on that soggy island is barely more than a savage.”

Emma’s disgust was overwhelmed by a tidal wave of fury. Was Anya one of the three women? Was she even now being hauled far away from Russia? Her hands clenched. If she had a gun she would have shot both the monsters in the back.

Nevskaya laughed, unaware of the woman behind him plotting his imminent murder.

“So long as they fulfill their part of the bargain then I do not care if they mold in their dreary homes.”

Lost in her violent imaginings, Emma was unaware of the shadow looming behind her, or the faint crunch of gravel beneath an approaching boot. It was not until a hand clapped over her mouth and a masculine arm wrapped around her waist that she realized the dangers of her distraction.

CHAPTER SEVEN

IGNORING THE FRANTIC struggles of the woman held tightly in his arms, Dimitri hauled her away from his father and Tarvek. In truth, she was fortunate that the need to avoid attention kept him from tossing her in the nearby river.

He ground his teeth, his temper still smoldering at the sight of her crouched behind the bush, mere steps away from two of the most savage creatures to roam St. Petersburg’s streets.

The aggravating wench was clearly determined to put him in an early grave.

“You will not be satisfied until you have managed to get that lovely throat slit, will you, moya dusha,” he rasped close to her ear, rounding the corner of the palace where his horse and carriage waited.

With a jerk of her head, she managed to dislodge the hand he had clamped across her mouth.

“How dare you follow me?”

Dimitri conveniently ignored the fact he had not only followed her to the palace, but that he had scoured the damned place from the attics to the cellars before he had at last caught sight of her behind the bush.

He was not prepared to admit how desperate he had been to find her, not even to himself.

“Such vanity,” he mocked. “Do you believe I am so taken with you I must trail behind you like a hungry stray?”

“I think you are the most irritating, arrogant, utterly vexing man I have ever had the misfortune to meet,” she hissed.

He tightened his arms around her slender body, taking grim pleasure in the feel of her squirming form pressed against him. He was angry, not in his grave. Just having this woman near was enough to stir his desire.

“Careful, Emma, you will quite turn my head with such flattery.”

“How did you find me?”

“I was searching for my father when I recognized a luscious backside where it did not belong,” he glibly dissembled. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you were discovered.”