Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

“No?”

“I meant his passion for protecting those he loves.”

Leonida wrinkled her nose, as if intimately familiar with domineering males.

“Ah, it is unfortunate, but there is no man who does not possess the urge to protect others,” she admitted, a glimmer of sly humor shimmering in her blue eyes. “A wise woman allows him to fuss and then do precisely as she pleases.”

“That might be well enough for most men, but not Dimitri.” Emma wrapped her arms around her waist as she shivered with an aching sense of loss. “He blames himself for his mother’s death.”

Leonida sucked in a sharp breath. “How dreadful.”

“The belief has tortured him his entire life.”

“Which is all the more reason he needs you to help heal his wounds,” Leonida urged gently, unaware her words were like a dagger to Emma’s heart.

“No.” She shook her head. “What he needs is a woman who is happy to depend upon him without question and does not mind having her life controlled by another.”

“Actually, I think I should be allowed to decide the sort of woman I prefer, Emma Linley-Kirov.”

A shocked silence filled the room as both women slowly turned to watch the handsome, raven-haired gentleman stroll toward them.

Her gaze slid down his slender form that was shown to advantage in a Persian-blue jacket with silver waistcoat and black pantaloons. His cravat was precisely knotted with a diamond stickpin tucked among the folds and his hair smoothed into a queue at his nape.

Emma’s heart squeezed with a painful excitement. He was so splendidly, dangerously beautiful.

“Dimitri,” she breathed.

At her side Leonida cleared her throat, a mysterious smile curving her lips.

“If you will excuse me, I promised Stefan I would save him a waltz.”

Emma barely noticed the woman’s discreet departure. In truth she was not certain she would have noticed if the ceiling had tumbled onto her head.

Not when her knees were threatening to give way and her breath annoyingly elusive.

He halted directly before her, his golden eyes watching the emotions rippling over her face with unnerving intensity.

“Did you receive my message?” he demanded at last.

His words helped to shatter the odd sense of unreality, reminding Emma that she had waited day after painful day for this man to reveal that he had not forgotten her existence.

“Wait for me is not a message,” she informed him stiffly. “It is a command.”

His lips twitched. “What I have to say to you could not be put into a letter.”

Emma lowered her gaze, belatedly realizing she was giving away more than she had intended. Hurriedly, she sought to turn the conversation.

“Herrick revealed that you…”

Her words stumbled to a halt as she struggled to find a delicate means to offer her sympathy.

“Shot my father through the heart?”

She lifted her gaze to study his guarded expression, her tender heart rebelling at the thought he might blame himself for his father’s death.

“That you were forced to protect yourself,” she corrected.

A rueful smile curved his lips, his hand reaching to tuck a stray curl behind her ear.