Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

“Do not worry, I shall always be near,” he whispered.

Not entirely reassured, Emma shivered as he silently slipped from the grotto and disappeared into the shadows of the garden.

She was not at all convinced he was a gentleman she wished to have keeping watch on her, she acknowledged as she followed him out of the grotto and headed back toward the town house. Then again, if he could provide assistance in rescuing her sister, then he could lurk in the shadows all he desired.

Avoiding the servant’s door where she had been forced into the garden, Emma instead hurried toward the terrace at the far edge of the house. She climbed the steps and was headed for the French doors when a familiar form stepped into her path.

“Emma.” Dimitri glared down at her with obvious annoyance. “What are you doing out here?”

Emma jerked in surprise, her raw nerves not at all prepared to deal with yet another overbearing male. What had she done to be plagued with such creatures?

“I…I needed a breath of fresh air.”

“Fresh air?”

“Yes.”

The golden eyes narrowed with suspicion. “And you had no intention of attempting to overhear my conversation with Lord Sanderson?”

She breathed a soft sigh of relief at the realization he had presumed she had followed him onto the terrace. She might be a fool, but for now she had no intention of telling Dimitri of her encounter with the strange foreigner.

Not when he was certain to use the knowledge as an excuse to keep her locked in the Huntley town house, or worse, returned to his ship.

Besides, who knew whether the stranger might eventually be of service?

“There is nothing nefarious in my presence on the terrace, Dimitri. I took a brief stroll through the garden and now I am returning to the ballroom.”

“Alone?” he drawled in disbelief. “Where is Leonida?”

“No doubt in the company of her charming husband.”

“Ah.” His expression softened as he stepped close enough to wrap his arms around her waist. “And were you jealous, milaya? Did you perhaps wish to be in the company of a charming, clever, excessively handsome gentleman?”

She trembled at his familiar touch, her body tightening with a sharp-edged hunger. In the flickering torchlight, with his hair ruffled in the breeze and his eyes dark with desire, he appeared enticingly uncivilized.

The desire to have him sweep her off her feet and carry her into the shadows of the garden was terrifyingly potent. Instead, she forced herself to step back, meeting his smoldering gaze with a tilt of her chin.

She would not be manipulated. Not by Dimitri Tipova nor by the stranger in the grotto.

&nb

sp; “Yes,” she admitted with a taunting smile. “Unfortunately, I have yet to discover such a man.”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

DESPITE HIS BEST INTENTIONS, Dimitri found his thoughts drifting as Huntley discussed the various political implications from the recent Congress of Verona. It was not that he did not comprehend the dangers inherent in Spain’s current instability, or France’s proposed intervention. The mere fact that Alexander Pavlovich was offering to send one hundred and fifty thousand troops to Piedmont to dampen the uprising of Jacobins meant that there was a very real potential for war.

But on this winter afternoon, the squabbling between Metternich and Wellington and Chateaubriand seemed thankfully distant.

Instead, he gazed down at the terraced garden shown to full advantage by the row of floor-to-ceiling windows, his mood as dark as the threatening clouds.

At last sensing Dimitri’s tension, Huntley rose from the heavy walnut desk and crossed the white marble floor of the library.

“How does your hunt go?”

“Slowly.” Dimitri grimaced, reluctantly recalling the paltry entertainments he’d been forced to endure over the past days. Drunken boxing matches, seedy gambling halls, a dog fight and brothels that catered to any number of perversions. None, however, had offered the sort of young females he had demanded of Lord Sanderson. “I have hopes this evening I can convince my prey I am to be trusted with his secrets.”

“It has only been a fortnight.” The duke shrugged. “You cannot expect a miracle.”