Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

“So it would seem.” She clutched her shaking hands together, glancing about the marble grotto with its pastoral scenes painted on the walls and benches set beneath the slotted windows. It was surprisingly spacious, but to Emma’s mind the stranger’s presence seemed to overwhelm the circular space. “Who are you?”

He offered a half bow. “Just as you, I am a visitor to this country.”

Which told her precisely nothing.

“And you believe that gives you leave to have me hauled about as if I am a bit of rubbish?”

A small smile curved his lips, emphasizing his dark beauty. “I have apologized.”

Emma remained wary, but her panic eased. Surely if the man intended harm he would not be chatting with her in a grotto near enough for someone to hear her scream?

“But you have not yet introduced yourself, or told me why you have brought me to this excessively cold garden,” she pointed out.

The dark gaze swept over her upturned face. “For now I believe it is best that we both guard our true identities…” He deliberately paused. “Emma.”

“How did you know—”

“There are more dangers in London than you suspect,” he overrode her startled question.

She shivered at his odd words. Did he know why she was in London? Was he somehow involved with those who had taken her sister?

“Is that a threat?” she breathed.

“A warning for you to take care,” he corrected, his hand lifting to cup her chin in a gentle grip. “It would be tragic if you were to be harmed.”

Acutely aware of the warmth of his touch and the tantalizing brush of his breath on her cheek, Emma resisted the urge to struggle against him. Dimitri Tipova had taught her to recognize a predator when one had her cornered.

“What do you want of me?”

“I have told myself that we could be of assistance to one another, but now that you are so near I wonder if I was not deceiving myself.” His voice roughened as his gaze deliberately rested on her lips. “You are quite beautiful.”

“Please…do not.”

He ignored her unsteady plea, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of her face.

“Such exquisite skin. And soft, silken hair. And eyes that are the precise shade of my beloved cat.” His head slowly lowered. “Fascinating.”

“No.” Emma pressed her hands against his chest, her cheeks flushed. “I will scream.”

With a rueful grimace, the man pulled back, the dark eyes glittering with a wicked promise that their kiss had merely been delayed.

“You have no need to fear me,” he promised. “I only wish to let you know that you are not alone in your search.”

Her heart skipped a beat. “My search?”

He frowned as he abruptly glanced toward the door. “Someone approaches.” He grasped her shoulders, his expression somber. “If you wish my help you will tell no one of this encounter.”

“Why not?”

“Because, like the scorpion, I prefer to remain in the shadows until the moment is ripe to strike at my enemies.”

Emma studied the proud golden features. This was a man accustomed to giving commands and having them obeyed. Not that a position of power made him trustworthy, of course. The men who had kidnapped her sister were supposed noblemen.

But she could not deny there was a part of her that was certain he was someone she could rely upon.

“And what if I have need of you?” she husked. “How can I contact you?”

The dark eyes flared with satisfaction and before she could stop him, he had leaned down to steal a brief, possessive kiss.