Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

EMMA WAS FULLY AWARE of the foolishness of sneaking from the Huntley town house dressed in the rough clothing of a stable hand that she had stolen from the laundry room. And for taking a hack to the nasty warren of streets where the Sanderson warehouses were located. And for hiding in a narrow alley as the elegant carriage came to a halt in the dark street and two gentlemen stepped onto the damp cobblestones.

It would no doubt serve her right if she were to have her throat cut and her body tossed into the gutter, she had ruefully admitted. But she had made the decision that she would do whatever necessary to rescue Anya when she had left Yabinsk. Even if that meant putting her life at risk.

Remaining in the shadows, her heart gave a sharp lurch as she easily recognized Dimitri standing in front of the warehouse. Despite the darkness she would know the broad set of his shoulders and the proud, perfect lines of his profile anywhere. There was no other gentleman in England who could match his dark, ruthless beauty.

And, of course, there was that disturbing awareness that swept through her body like a tidal wave. She would know Dimitri was near even if she were blindfolded.

So did his presence mean that her desperate hope that Anya and the other girls might be hidden in the warehouse was not utter insanity?

Gathering her ebbing courage, Emma silently crept forward as the men entered, waiting until she heard them crossing the wooden planks of the floor before slipping through the door. Her heart thundered in her chest, her mouth dry with fear. Whether it was the terror of being murdered by a ruffian, or of being caught by Dimitri was impossible to say.

Either posed a fate she intended to avoid.

She stepped into the large storage room, her nose wrinkling at the overwhelming scent of dried tobacco and spices. In the darkness she could make out the silhouettes of wooden crates stacked in neat rows, and in the distance the unmistakable glow of a gas light that was rapidly disappearing down a flight of stairs.

Not giving herself time to consider the countless reasons she should be fleeing the warehouse with all possible speed, Emma cautiously crept past the crates, lingering at the opening to the stairs. She paused, ensuring that the men were not about to make a sudden reappearance. Then praying the wooden steps did not squeak and reveal her presence, she forced herself into the narrow stairwell.

She stumbled as she reached the bottom, startled by the black shroud of darkness that surrounded her. Not that she should have been surprised. Underground tunnels were as a rule dark and damp.

Reaching out her hand, she hesitantly made her way over the uneven ground, her rasping breath the only sound to break the thick silence.

Then, just as she began to fear that she was hopelessly lost in the dark, she heard distant voices. She shuffled forward, relieved by the dim glow of light that spilled from an open door into the tunnel.

Reaching the edge of the pool of light, she paused and pressed herself against the wall of the tunnel, clearly able to hear the raised voices of the men. For a moment she struggled to understand the argument, then her heart gave a violent leap.

Dear God, Lord Sanderson was holding Dimitri at gunpoint. And just as alarming, Anya was hidden somewhere nearby and that horrid Valik was rushing off to take her away.

Emma knew she had to do something. She had to…

Her shocked mind was still struggling to decide on a course of action when the air was shattered by the sound of a gunshot.

“Dimitri,” she whispered, sheer terror holding her prisoner as Lord Sanderson suddenly stumbled past her and disappeared down the tunnel. But as Dimitri’s low moan reached her, she thrust aside her fear and rushed into the room, discovering Dimitri lying on the floor, his beautiful face twisted in pain. With a small cry she sank onto her knees, her hand reaching to cup his cheek. “Dimitri, can you hear me?”

“Emma?” The thick curtain of his lashes lifted, revealing golden eyes that were shockingly lucid considering he had just been shot. And smoldering with fury. “What are you doing here?”

“It does not matter.” She ran a frantic gaze over his body, spotting the torn coat sleeve and the blood already staining the fabric. “You have been hurt, we must get you to a surgeon.”

Muttering under his breath, Dimitri sat upright, studying the wound beneath the heavy layers of clothing.

“It is no more than a scratch,” he concluded, forcing himself to his feet.

Emma straightened, reaching to grasp his arm as he swayed. “Must you be so stubborn?”

He cast a smoldering glance over her wool coat and male breeches.

“Be assured we will have a thorough discussion regarding who is the more stubborn later, milaya, but for now I have to capture Sanderson before he can escape.”

Emma frowned in puzzlement. For a moment the thought that Dimitri had been seriously wounded had driven everything from her mind. Now, the memory of the argument she had overheard seared through her mind.

“Sanderson?”

“He cannot have gone far.”

“What does it matter where he has gone?”

“With his confession to Alexander Pavlovich, my father will at last be exposed to society as a monster.”

“But we must go after that horrible Valik. He said he was taking the girls out of England,” she argued.