Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

St. Petersburg

WITH A BREATH OF RELIEF, Emma slipped into the blessed silence of a small breakfast room at the back of Vanya Petrova’s town house. A brief glance revealed walls covered in green damask panels with birchwood furnishings, but it was the view of the sunken rose garden that attracted her attention.

The hem of her ivory gown richly trimmed with gold lace brushed the parquet floor as she walked and her hands absently stroked the lovely fabric.

Vanya had surprised Emma with the dress earlier that morning. Obviously, the wily noblewoman had already suspected that Emma intended to use the excuse of having nothing appropriate to wear to her wedding to hide in her rooms.

A faint smile curved Emma’s lips. She was, of course, delighted that Vanya was at last exchanging vows with her devoted lover, Richard Monroe. And deeply touched that the older woman had gone to the trouble of postponing the ceremony until Emma had returned to St. Petersburg.

After all, it was not as if she were a part of her family. Or even a close friend. She was simply a common peasant who imposed herself on the poor woman.

The realization had nagged at her with growing persistence over the past few days.

What reason did she have to linger in St. Peters burg?

Without warning, the image of a dark, lean face with golden eyes seared through her mind. Dimitri. The damnable man who had yet to make his glorious arrival.

A savage pain sliced through her heart before she was ruthlessly thrusting aside the worthless emotion.

Although she had heard from Herrick that Dimitri had managed to escape from the pasha, and had been forced to kill his evil father, she had received no more than a terse note that might have been sent from a stranger.

Which was perfectly fine with her, she told herself.

Had she not already decided that she and Dimitri Tipova were utterly unsuitable?

Now if she could just convince her traitorous heart.

Ignoring the distant sound of laughter floating from the formal parlor, Emma studied the garden that slumbered beneath the pale February sunlight. Absently, she rubbed her bare arms, a strange chill crawling over her skin. No doubt it was a mere reaction to the cold after the heat of Cairo.

It was not as if she believed in premonitions.

The stern warning had barely passed through her mind when the sound of footsteps had her spinning about, her heart lodged in her throat.

For a breathless moment she expected Dimitri to step through the door. Ludicrous, of course. Even if he had returned to St. Petersburg there was no reason for him to make an appearance at Vanya’s home.

No reason whatsoever.

Thankfully unaware of Emma’s stupid sense of disappointment, the Duchess of Huntley entered the room, appearing stunningly beautiful in a pale blue gown that perfectly matched her eyes with silver netting that was sprinkled with a king’s ransom in sapphires.

“What a beautiful wedding,” she said, moving toward Emma with a determined smile.

Emma did not have to be told that Leonida had been the one chosen to seek her out and ensure that she had not sunk into a fit of melancholy.

Over the past few days, she had been acutely aware of the worried glances from Herrick and Vanya, and even the haughty Duke of Huntley had chided her for the shadows beneath her eyes and the pallor of her skin. As if she were to blame for her sleepless nights.

“Yes.” She managed a smile, knowing that Leonida only had her best interests at heart. “And Vanya made an exquisite bride.”

“It makes one wonder why she tortured poor Richard for so many years by refusing to be his wife. It is obvious she adores him.”

Emma shrugged. She was only vaguely familiar with the complicated courtship between Vanya and Richard, although she had heard several stories of Vanya’s cunning plots over the years to protect Alexander Pavlovich’s claim to the throne.

“Perhaps she was not yet prepared to sacrifice her independence.”

“True. She is a remarkably intelligent woman who has led a most fascinating life.” Leonida chuckled, the sunlight shimmering in her pale golden hair. “I hope someday she will be inclined to confess a few of her more thrilling adventures.”

Emma glanced toward the delicate vases that Vanya had acquired on her journey to China.

“I deeply admire her.”