Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

His heart nearly stopped. “Never.”

“You were given the opportunity to earn the fair lady’s heart, but you cared more for your revenge,” Rajih challenged.

“You know nothing of the matter.”

“I know that Emma believes you betrayed her trust as well as her heart. She will never forgive you.”

“That is for Emma to decide.”

“Her decision was made when she stepped onto my ship.” Rajih shrugged. “Accept your loss as a gentleman and walk away.”

“I seem to waste an inordinate amount of time reminding others I am no gentleman,” Dimitri snarled. “Emma will never be your bride.”

“You have no means to stop me.”

“I will see you in hell before I allow you to take Emma from me.”

“I already have taken her,” the caliph reminded him.

“Not for long.”

Dimitri charged forward, fully intending to kill the bastard with his bare hands. Emma was his. No man, powerful prince or not, was going to steal her away.

He had taken a handful of steps when the garden was filled with burly servants dressed in robes and armed with curved swords that gleamed with a deadly promise in the torchlight. Still he continued forward, his calculating intelligence for once overwhelmed by primitive emotion.

Thick, muscular arms grabbed him from behind, then a large fist slammed into his jaw from the side, briefly making him lose consciousness. When he awoke it was to discover that he was framed by two of the servants, his arms held in iron grips as he was being roughly hauled through the back gate and tossed onto the street.

Rising to his feet, Dimitri dusted off his robes and lifted

his head to discover Rajih standing just inside the gates.

“A small warning, Tipova,” he drawled. “The next time you enter my home uninvited I will have you beheaded.”

Dimitri narrowed his gaze. “You will regret standing in my path.”

EMMA HID IN THE MIMOSA, watching the gates being slammed in Dimitri’s face and Rajih leading his servants back toward the inner courtyard.

The sound of raised voices disturbed the night air, luring her from her private rooms, but by the time she had pulled on her robes and made her way out of the house, the servants had Dimitri in their hands and were tossing him out of the palace.

Now she stood in shadows, watching the man she had assumed she would never see again.

She had been shocked last evening when she had overheard Rajih’s conversation with the Frenchman. He had sounded as if he had been expecting Dimitri’s arrival in Cairo. Which was absurd, was it not?

Dimitri had achieved what he desired. He had the witnesses he needed to stand before Alexander Pavlovich and swear that Count Nevskaya was involved in the slave trade. Why would he travel to Egypt rather than St. Petersburg?

The question badgered her throughout the sleepless night and restless day.

Now she watched as Dimitri slammed his hand against the sturdy wrought-iron gates, his face shrouded in shadows. Not that she actually needed to see his face to sense he was infuriated at having been so rudely tossed from Rajih’s home.

He was a man who gave the commands and expected others to obey them.

A wry smile touched her lips as her heart fluttered and her blood heated. Despite the velvet darkness and the distance between them, she could feel the tug of his compelling presence. It did not seem to matter that she was furious with him. Just the very sight of Dimitri was enough to make her tingle with awareness.

Waiting until Rajih had disappeared into the inner courtyard, Emma moved toward the gates, ignoring the tiny voice that whispered she was being a fool.

No doubt it would be far more sensible to return to her quarters and pretend that Dimitri had never arrived in Cairo. Surely she had enough troubles keeping Rajih at a proper distance and finding her sister?

But her curiosity would not allow her to simply walk away.