Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

Dimitri ignored the implication that it was his lack of talent that had driven Emma from his bed. He had no need to boast of his skill. Instead, he concentrated on making certain Huntley realized just how fragile Emma was beneath her facade of unshakable fortitude.

“Emma has been forced to take on responsibilities that would have crushed most women.”

Huntley nodded. “I suspected as much.”

“Then you must also have suspected that her unconventional choices have made her vulnerable to nasty gossip that has plagued her since her father’s death. She would be deeply hurt if Leonida were to consider her less than a proper lady.”

Huntley stiffened, obviously outraged by the suggestion they would deliberately harm their guest.

“Leonida is already extremely fond of Emma, as am I. We would never think less of her.”

Dimitri shrugged. “Perhaps you could convince her. I have been unable to do so.”

Huntley paused, studying Dimitri’s guarded expression. “Why do I sense you have not made the attempt?”

Dimitri swallowed a sigh. The duke was annoyingly perceptive.

“Emma was a virgin before becoming my lover,” he grudgingly confessed.

“You did not—”

“Force her? No,” he snapped. “But in her mind I did seduce her. It appeased her conscience to tell herself that I took advantage of her innocence.”

“And now?”

Dimitri shifted uneasily. What did the man want from him? A confession that his relationship with Emma had gone beyond a short tumble to ease his lust? That he needed her to be more than merely a reluctant lover?

“Now I wish her to accept her place in my bed because that is where she desires to be and not because I have lured her there,” he muttered.

Huntley reached to clap him on the back. “Take the word of a man who has made his fair share of mistakes, Tipova, pride is a cold companion.”

Dimitri headed toward the door, unwilling to discuss Emma and the baffling emotions that refused to leave him in peace.

“Sanderson will be waiting for me.”

UPSTAIRS IN THE DUCHESS of Huntley’s private parlor, the two women might have been poised for a painting.

Leonida was prettily settled on a brocade settee, her lilac gown a perfect complement to her golden beauty. Across the room decorated with painted mural scenes and boasting a coved ceiling, stood Emma attired in a blue-and-silver-striped walking gown with a blue velvet pelisse fastened with large silver buttons as she glanced out the bow window.

Neither woman, however, was remotely aware of the charming vision they created.

In truth, Emma was aware of nothing beyond the sight of Dimitri striding through the back garden to the mews. Even at a distance he appeared absurdly handsome with his caped greatcoat emphasizing the width of his shoulders and the pale light slanting over the savage beauty of his bronzed face.

Her teeth clenched with a combination of unwelcome appreciation and sheer annoyance that he was once again spending the day hunting for her sister, while she was expected to remain quietly at home, awaiting his return like a well-trained dog.

“If the tea is not to your taste I could order you whatever you desire,” Leonida murmured from behind.

Turning, Emma set aside her Wedgwood cup with a grimace. “Arsenic?”

“No man is worth dying for.”

“Oh, I did not intend the poison for me.”

Leonida tilted back her head to laugh with rich appreciation. “Oh, I do like you, Emma Linley-Kirov.”

“Why did he bother to bring me to London if he meant to forget my very existence?” she growled, pacing across the Persian carpet to absently toy with the jade figurines that lined the mantel.

“If the burning glances he has been sending in your direction is any indication, he has not been capable of forgetting your existence for even a moment.”