Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

Passing the stairs that led to the upper rooms, Dimitri turned down a short hall and entered the large chamber that held a traditional desk and chair. Tall shelves lined with leather-bound books consumed the walls and a Persian carpet covered the floor. The double doors leading to the inner courtyard had been left open and Dimitri sucked in a deep breath of the fresh air. Although his profession meant he spent many nights in dark gambling houses filled with smoke and sin and lust, he found it increasingly unpleasant to mingle among the desperate souls.

Yet another warning he was growing old, he wryly accepted.

Stepping over the threshold, Dimitri halted as a thin gentleman with a thick mane of brown hair, dressed in a modest gray jacket and black waistcoat, rose to his feet. At first glance he appeared a somber man with unremarkable features and retiring demeanor. But Dimitri was accustomed to seeking the worth of a man beyond his outward appearance.

He, better than anyone, understood that a man could create any guise he desired.

“Stanislav, is it not?” he asked. “Baron Koman’s secretary?”

Stepping around the desk, the man offered a deep bow, his brown eyes filled with a shrewd intelligence.

“Yes, my lord?”

Dimitri waved a dismissive hand. “Please call me Tipova, I am no gentleman.”

“May I be of assistance?”

“That is my hope.” Dimitri folded his arms over his chest. Stanislav was young, but there was an air of tidy efficiency about the office otherwise absent throughout the rest of the house. “There must be one person on the baron’s staff who possesses the skill and ambition to ensure that Alexander Pavlovich is unaware that his Egyptian ambassador is a fat, lazy letch with no interest beyond his enormous appetites. I am betting that person is you.”

The man paled, his gaze darting toward the door. “Sir—”

“Any deception came to an end the moment I stepped over the threshold,” he warned his companion. “Now it is your decision whether my recommendation to Alexander Pavlovich includes the removal of the entire household or merely the baron.”

Stanislav froze, his expression revealing his flurry of emotions—suspicion that Dimitri was attempting to lure him into a trap; fear that he might be tarnished with his employer’s incompetency; and a burgeoning hope that his secretly nourished ambitions might at last be fulfilled.

It was the hope that at last triumphed, and with a small gesture, the secretary headed toward the private chamber attached to the office.

“If you will follow me?”

“You are a gentleman destined for a fine career,” Dimitri murmured.

“I can only hope I survive to reap my just rewards.” Once they were in the small chamber that held nothing more than a narrow bed and wooden armoire, Stanislav closed the door and turned to face Dimitri. “What do you desire of me?”

“You know why I am in Egypt?”

“I heard rumors that you seek a female who was taken from St. Petersburg by slavers and that you believe she was brought to the streets of Cairo.”

Dimitri nodded in approval at the concise response. “What do you know of the woman?”

The man folded his hands behind his back, his expression clouding as he considered the question.

“There have been several Russian females sold in the slave markets over the past years.” He shook his head. “Unfortunately, the poor creatures are so broken by the time I can find them that they dare not speak of the men who have abused them. A pity. I can think of nothing I would enjoy more than having the animals drawn and quartered.”

Dimitri smiled. “Do not fear, Stanislav, soon enough those men responsible for the theft of the girls will be brought to justice. If not by Alexander Pavlovich’s hand, then by my own.”

The young man arched a brow at the cold, lethal intent that was threaded through Dimitri’s voice.

“I have heard that angering Dimitri Tipova is more dangerous than crossing paths with a wolf. Now I realize the rumors did not exaggerate.”

He gave a sharp laugh. Certainly he had cast himself in the role of a dangerous wolf, stalking his prey with patient cunning. Only Emma had made him realize that he had been little better than those he hunted, willingly sacrificing young girls to sate his personal lust for revenge.

“A pity the rumors did not also claim I was man of intelligence.”

The secretary frowned. “I beg your pardon?”

“Before I could detain those responsible they fled to England with several Russian girls.”

“Ah.” If Stanislav sensed that Dimitri was not being entirely forthcoming, he was wise enough to keep such thoughts to himself. “And you believe they were traveling to Cairo?”