Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

“Emma, please take care.”

Emma hid her smile, having heard the story of Leonida’s frantic flight from England to St. Petersburg that had included a kidnapping and near-death experience. The woman was hardly in the position to lecture Emma on being careful.

“I intend to do nothing more than question the staff. I swear I will be discreet.”

“And quick.” Leonida glanced toward the imposing duke, who stood near a marble column, his remote expression keeping away all but the boldest encroacher. “If Stefan discovers you are missing, then he will most certainly come in search of you. And I know from painful experience he is a difficult man to avoid. And as for Dimitri…” She grimaced. “I shudder to think of what he would say should I allow you out of my sight.”

Emma did a good deal more than merely shudder.

She was well aware that if Dimitri discovered she was executing her own search for Anya he would have her hauled back to his ship and sent to Russia.

“I shall return before anyone suspects I am gone,” she swore.

Weaving her way toward the entrance at the far side of the gallery, Emma ignored the attempts to capture her attention. Then, moving down the corridor away from the near-deafening chatter of the guests, she slowed her pace as she peered into the various rooms. They were all opulently decorated with rosewood furnishings and richly painted ceilings. Her stomach clenched. Did Sir Jergens afford his lavish home by selling Russian children?

She had nearly reached the back of the house when she spied the maid who was stirring the fire in what appeared to be a small parlor. Pausing in the doorway she bent down to rip the hem of her gown before she entered the room and headed directly toward the servant.

“You there.”

The maid, with a round face and fuzzy brown hair that escaped her white cap, hurriedly rose to her feet, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Aye, my lady?” she breathed, bobbing a hasty curtsey.

Emma summoned a kind smile, hoping to put the maid at ease. “I fear a clumsy oaf has trod upon my gown and torn my hem. Would you be kind enough to assist me?”

“Of course. If you will follow me?”

The maid led her toward a window seat where a basket of darning had been tucked out of sight.

“Is it very bad?” Emma demanded.

The maid knelt on the carpet, reaching to pull out a needle and thread from the sewing basket.

“Not at all,” she assured Emma, “I shall be done in a trice.”

“I know it is not your duty…”

“Maggie,” the girl shyly offered at Emma’s prompting.

“Maggie, but my maid was forced to return to her mother in St. Petersburg and I have yet to replace her.”

“I am happy to oblige, my lady.”

Emma allowed the maid to concentrate on threading the needle and begin stitching the hem before she pretended to be struck by a sudden thought.

“Do you know, it has just occurred to me that you might be just who I need to speak with.”

The maid glanced up in puzzlement. “Me?”

“Yes, I shall have need of a servant during the remainder of my visit and while I am certain an English maid would be perfectly qualified for the position, I must admit that I would prefer a Russian girl. Do you know where I might hire such a maid?”

The color visibly drained from the plump face. “Russian?”

The woman was obviously alarmed, but it was impossible to know if it was a mere reaction to being questioned by a supposed noblewoman. Emma considered her words.

“Well, most London domestic services only offer English or French servants. I had hoped you might be acquainted with a suitable girl.”

“I…”