Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

Nevskaya flinched before he could stop the revealing movement, his gaunt face unnaturally pale.

Satisfaction warmed Dimitri’s heart. For a man with his father’s bloated pride it was unbearable to be shunned by his peers.

“This scandal will pass in time,” the older man muttered.

“Not if you are locked in Czar Alexander’s prison. Which is precisely why you fled when you discovered that Sanderson was revealing your sordid secrets.”

“You know nothing.”

Dimitri shrugged. “It is true I am confused why you would choose to flee to Cairo.”

“It is none of your damned business.”

The sound of a cart rattling down the dirt road filled the carriage as Dimitri considered the various possibilities.

Egypt was a convenient country to disappear in.

So long as a man had money he could live in comfortable seclusion. Still, he could not imagine the fastidious Count Nevskaya choosing to live among the savages.

He regarded his father with a frown. “Did you hope that Valik would take you in like a poor stray?”

“Those females belong to me.”

Of course. How had he been so stupid?

“You were hoping to locate your servant so you could auction the girls and claim the full profit before you attempted to disappear.” He shook his head in sheer revulsion. “Where did you hope to go once you had your money? The Indies? America?”

“Does it matter?”

“No, I do not suppose it does.” Dimitri breathed in deeply, reminding himself the girls were safely out of the reach of this vile creature. “Not after I managed to ruin your scheme yet again,” he taunted, his voice thick. “How very frustrating it must be for you to be constantly outwitted by your bastard son.”

Fury darkened his father’s golden eyes. “You may have escaped the pasha’s guards tonight, but you will never be allowed to leave Egypt. Eventually you will be returned to the citadel.”

Being returned to the citadel was the least of Dimitri’s concerns at the moment, but the threat did put in mind a nagging question.

“That reminds me. However did you force Koman to crawl off his divan and petition my guilt before the pasha?”

There was a moment of sullen silence, then the older man absently smoothed the folds of his cravat, his fingers lingering on the ruby stickpin that shimmered like a drop of blood on the crisp white linen.

“The baron possesses a young daughter who resides with her mother in St. Petersburg.”

“And?” Dimitri prompted.

“And I pointed out that such a gently reared female would be worth a fortune in the slave market.”

Dimitri’s breath hissed through his teeth. Whatever his dislike of the fat, indolent baron, no man deserved to have his daughter threatened with rape.

“And I have been branded a coldhearted bastard. Have you no conscience whatsoever? Ah…” His lips twisted in a sneer. “Of course. I was forgetting that noblemen have no need for common decency.”

His father waved away Dimitri’s mocking criticism. “I merely made a suggestion. It was Koman who assumed that it was a threat.”

“You are truly remarkable. Do you take responsibility for nothing?”

His father leaned forward, his eyes glittering with a cold hatred.

“You are in no position to judge me,” he hissed.

“Why? Because I am the son of a whore?”