Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

Dimitri wasn’t privy to Alexander Pavlovich’s reason for offering Baron Koman the position of Ambassador to Egypt, but he suspected the czar had been anxious to rid himself of the vile man’s presence. Why else would he send him to the most distant post possible, regardless of the fact he was utterly incompetent?

Dressed in loose robes and puffing on a water pipe, the rotund Russian lounged on his cushions, waiting for the pretty maid to refill his plate. His blond hair was thinning and his heavy features already red and swollen from his years of dissipation.

He reminded Dimitri of the decaying ruins outside of Cairo that were being swept away by the desert sands. He could only wish the same fate for Baron Koman.

Oblivious to Dimitri’s seething dislike, Koman waved his full plate in Dimitri’s direction.

“Oxtail?”

“Thank you, no.” Dimitri hid a shudder as he rose from the divan and paced toward the fountain in the center of the floor. The heat and smoke from Koman’s pipe were making his stomach churn. “I prefer to avoid a heavy meal so early in the day.”

“Which accounts for your fine figure while mine…” The Baron laughed. “Well, it sadly reveals my love for my fine chef and my distinct distaste for bestirring myself. I blame the damnable heat. Only a savage would be foolish enough to dash about when a sensible man would seek the shade.”

“The natives would probably be equally shocked to witness us tunneling a path through the snow.”

“True enough, my boy.” The baron licked his fingers, eyeing Dimitri with a curious gaze. So far as he knew, Dimitri was a favored friend of Alexander Pavlovich, as well as of the Duke of Huntley, who had come in search of Russian girls being sold in the slave

trade. There was no need to explain that he was also a hardened criminal who was under threat of death in a number of countries…although not Egypt. At least not yet. “And there are benefits to living in a place that is not entirely civilized,” Koman continued, a lecherous gleam in his eyes. “When you have finished your meal, we will travel to the bath where a man may find whatever pleasure he might desire.”

Having visited a number of baths in Cairo, Dimitri was unfortunately aware of what pleasures were offered.

“An enticing invitation, but I am anxious to speak with the caliph.”

“My dear Tipova, as I warned you last eve, a man cannot simply demand an audience with the caliph,” the baron protested. “There is very rigid protocol that must be followed.”

Not for the first time, Dimitri regretted his decision to call upon the ambassador. On the journey to Egypt it had seemed a reasonable decision to seek out the baron and request his hospitality for the duration of his stay. Huntley had warned Dimitri that rampaging like a madman through Cairo in search of Emma would not only make enemies of the locals, but would embarrass the woman he had come to claim.

Now he accepted that he had sadly miscalculated. The fat buffoon was never going to stir himself. Besides, Dimitri was in no mood for diplomacy. The need to find Emma was like a savage fire burning in his gut. He did not care if he had to sift the damnable country sand grain by sand grain to find her.

“I have a letter of introduction from the Duke of Huntley,” he growled. “What more could I need?”

“Who is to say with these heathens? Best for me to approach the caliph when the timing is appropriate.” The baron’s tone was patronizing. “Until then I promise to keep you suitably entertained. You mentioned an interest in the local brothels? I know of a female who can dance the—”

“My only interest lies in finding the Russian girls who were stolen from St. Petersburg,” he interrupted.

Koman heaved a deep sigh as he struggled to lift his considerable bulk off the divan.

“I would expect such a tedious lack of appreciation for the exotic pleasures from Alexander Pavlovich,” the older man mourned. “But I had expected better from you, Tipova.”

Dimitri smiled wryly. “It seems I am destined to be a disappointment to all I encounter. Have you heard rumors of Russian girls being sold in the markets?”

With a flick of his hand, Koman sent his servants scurrying from the room, leaving them alone to speak in privacy.

“In truth, Muhammad Ali Pasha’s disapproval of the slave trade has made the traffickers meticulously cautious. The females are no longer paraded through the bazaar for a gentleman to purchase.” The baron pulled a handkerchief from the sleeve of his robes, his gaze sliding uneasily away from Dimitri’s. “You must receive an invitation to the private auctions.”

Dimitri tensed. The bastard. It was obvious the man was intimately familiar with the slavers and their delicate wares.

“I am certain a gentleman of your standing could swiftly procure the necessary invitation,” he said.

“Undoubtedly, but it would be such a bother. Far better to allow the officials to tend to such affairs.” With a forced smile, the baron backed toward the entryway. “Ah. If you will excuse me?”

“Of course.”

Dimitri made no effort to halt the idiot as he scurried out of the room.

Why bother? The baron was a worthless idiot who Dimitri was embarrassed to claim as a fellow Russian. But there had to be at least one person in the house who could be of use.

With that thought in mind, Dimitri left the smoke-filled room and dredged up memories of the brief tour he had taken of the house last eve. There was a separate counsel building near the pasha’s citadel, but Dimitri recalled Koman waving a dismissive hand toward an office before leading him to his private quarters.