Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

Dimitri hid a grimace, wondering how much of the business his father kept hidden from Sanderson. Count Nevskaya could no

t be so stupid as to offer more than the barest information to the babbling buffoon.

He could only hope it would be enough to convince Alexander Pavlovich to prosecute the nobleman.

“Very clever,” he murmured. “I presume you have a colleague in Russia, so you need not make such a journey yourself?”

“We do, but of course, we are sworn to keep our identities in the deepest confidence.”

“Granted a certain measure of caution is required, but surely there is no need for secrets among friends?” he urged with a chuckle.

“I doubt Count Nevskaya would agree,” Sanderson grumbled, drunkenly unaware he had just revealed what Dimitri desired to hear. “He is obsessed with disguising his participation in our little scheme. There is a rumor he possesses an enemy that has pledged to destroy him. It has no doubt made him a tad skittish.”

Dimitri smiled with cold satisfaction. “No doubt.”

They had nearly reached the end of the tunnel where a heavy wooden door blocked their path when Sanderson abruptly turned to face Dimitri.

“A moment, sir.”

Dimitri scowled with impatience. “Why are we stopping?”

Sanderson awkwardly cleared his throat. “Forgive me, but I wish to be assured you have recalled to bring along your purse. We are forced to hire rather dangerous ruffians to ensure the women maintain their innocence during the long voyage and they would not take kindly to a gentleman seeking to despoil a maid unless he had paid for the pleasure.”

“I have come prepared.” Dimitri reached beneath his coat to pull out the folded bills from his pocket, then he pulled his other hand out of his pocket just far enough to reveal the ivory handle of his pistol. “Fully prepared.”

“So I see.” Sanderson blanched, his hands unsteady as he turned to pound on the wooden door. “Valik, it is Sanderson. Open the door.”

The door cracked open a sliver. “First I will see the money,” a male voice thick with a Russian accent demanded.

A flush stained Sanderson’s fat cheeks. He might be slow-witted, but he knew when he was being humiliated.

“Do not seek to rise above yourself, Valik,” he growled. “The women are my property to dispose of as I wish.”

“It is my duty to protect my employer’s investment.”

“Stand aside or I will have you hauled to Newgate prison and left to rot.”

There was the sound of foul Russian curses, then with obvious reluctance the man pulled open the door and stepped back.

“Bring the females,” Sanderson commanded as he swept regally into the cramped cellar.

Dimitri made use of the man’s generous girth to covertly slide into the shadowed chamber unnoticed. A swift glance assured him that the room was empty beyond the hovering servant, but his tension did not lessen.

There was something oddly familiar about the Russian’s bluntly carved features and small, deep-set eyes that glittered with cold intelligence. Dimitri’s gaze lowered to take in the man’s rough clothing that did nothing to hide the thick muscles and the pistol he held with ease.

He silently slid his own pistol out of his pocket, his body coiled and prepared to attack as the man approached Sanderson with a fierce scowl.

“First I will have payment…” He began, only to cease in shock as he caught sight of Dimitri over the nobleman’s shoulder. Using his sharp instincts, he had his gun lifted and pointed at Dimitri’s heart. “You.”

Sanderson squeaked in terror as Dimitri roughly shoved him out of his way, his gun aimed at the Russian’s head. He had discovered when he was a youth trying to survive on the streets that a shot to the heart was not always a killing blow. A hole in the head, however, was deadly.

“Bloody hell, have you taken leave of your senses?” Sanderson shouted.

“Stupid bastard,” the servant growled, his gaze never wavering from Dimitri’s grim expression.

“What are you doing?”

“Attempting to keep us from the gallows,” Valik hissed. “Unless it was your intention to betray the count?”