Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

Without warning the golden eyes darkened and he prowled forward to wrap her in his arms.

“I would hope you have learned far more of me than my penchant for making plans,” he growled softly.

She shivered in ready awareness. But with surprising resolution she pressed her hands against his chest in unmistakable denial.

“I know you detest losing, Dimitri, but I am not a challenge to be conquered.”

His eyes smoldered at her direct challenge. “No, you are a treasure. One that I have claimed as my own.” His gaze skimmed down to her slender body. “And I guard my treasure with great care.”

Wiggling from his arms, she returned to her packing, pretending she did not notice his searing gaze.

“What do you intend to do once we are in Lon don?”

There was a tense silence before Dimitri heaved a sigh of pure irritation.

“I will request that Huntley introduce me to society.”

She dropped the stockings she was folding into a neat square. “I beg your pardon?”

He reached to pluck the silk stocking from the bed, absently sliding it through his slender fingers.

“It would be impossible to search all of London for your sister. I must attempt to bring her to us.”

“And you intend to do that by prancing through society?” she accused. “What I intend is to make it known that I am a gentleman of wealth who is in England for a short visit and willing to pay an extravagant sum to sate my particular lust for young females.”

She paused to consider his words. “You think the men who are holding Anya captive will approach you?”

“If I offer the proper temptation.”

“But it could be days before they approach you.”

He nodded, his rigid expression easing with regret. “I am sorry, Emma, we must be patient.”

Her jaw clenched. How could he say such a thing? She had been patient for weeks.

She wanted to rant and rage and curse in frustration at her inability to rescue her sister.

“And what of me?” she asked instead.

“You will be my wife.”

“Wife?” Her heart came to a sharp, painful halt. “Have you taken leave of your senses?”

He shrugged. “I assumed you would wish to be included in the search.”

“I do, but…” She stopped, licking her suddenly dry lips.

“Yes?”

“I could be a maid,” she desperately offered. “In fact, it would be far easier if I could travel about unnoticed.”

An unexpected anger flared over his bronzed features, and, tossing aside her stocking, he reached to frame her face in his hands.

“You could never be unnoticed,” he rasped. “And listen well, Emma, you will not be traveling anywhere without me.”

“It is not your decision to make.”

“Do not be a fool, there will be far more doors opened to the wife of a wealthy Russian aristocrat than a foreign maid.”