“A pity.” He regarded her with a hungry gaze, his blood stirring at the rich scent of her perfume. It had been far too long since he’d allowed himself to indulge in his little pastime. With a shake of his head, he stepped back. “Still, I suppose this is not the time or the place. I need a means to leave the house without being noticed.”
Ivanna heaved a shaky breath of relief, as if sensing how close she had been to glimpsing the true Sir Charles Richards.
“Of course.” She waved a hand toward the door. “I can take you out the back entrance.”
He caught her wrist, his grip punishing. “I said unnoticed.”
“Please, monsieur, I do not know what you want,” she whimpered.
“Think very carefully, Ivanna.”
His fingers tightened, threatening to snap her bones and she gave a sob of surrender.
“There is a hidden passageway that connects my kitchens with the coffeehouse next door.” She brokenly confessed the secret known only to those of royal blood.
A cold smile curled his lips. “You are quite intelligent for a whore.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
HERRICK GERHARDT ROUNDED the corner, careful to remain out of the flicker of the gaslight that lined the streets of St. Petersburg. Although attired in a plain black jacket and breeches with a beaver hat tucked over his silver hair, there were still too man
y who would recognize his gaunt features and piercing brown eyes. Even this far from the palace.
The price of being Alexander Pavlovich’s closest advisor.
As a rule he found the fear he inspired in others a tool he was swift to take advantage of. It was remarkable what his reputation as a ruthless bastard could achieve.
On this night, however, he was more interested in stealth than intimidation.
Halting next to Gregor, a burly Prussian soldier who was his most trusted guard, he nodded his head to the brothel across the street.
“Is our prey in there?” he murmured, speaking in German as various pedestrians strolled down the street. Prying ears could be anywhere.
“He is. His weekly meeting with the lovely Celeste.” Gregor leaned his large body against the iron railing behind him, his strong features settled in lines of stoic patience. Like all soldiers, he understood that the great majority of any war was waiting for the next battle. “The man is nothing if not predictable.”
Herrick clenched his teeth. He had been trailing Nikolas Babevich for weeks attempting to discover who he was working for. Thus far he had accomplished precisely nothing. His only solace was that Nikolas had not yet revealed the contents of the letters to anyone.
“If he is so predictable then why have we not yet discovered who is manipulating him?” he muttered.
“Are you still convinced he has a partner?”
“Nikolas Babevich is a pathetic coward who might cheat at cards and steal a man’s purse, but he does not have the courage or the intelligence to devise a scheme to extort money from Countess Karkoff.” Herrick shrugged, his gaze instinctively scanning his surroundings. No detail was too small to capture his attention. “Besides, I have searched through his past and from all I could discover he has never traveled beyond St. Petersburg. Whoever is behind the scheme must have some contact with England.”
Gregor nodded. The soldier knew that Nikolas was attempting to blackmail the Countess, but little more.
“I have reported all the people that Babevich has been in contact with.”
“I trust you, Gregor, it is just too difficult to keep a constant watch.” Herrick stilled, his gaze narrowing as he watched the tall, distinguished gentleman who stepped out of the coffee shop next door to the brothel. “Well, that is unexpected.”
“What?”
“Sir Charles Richards.”
“An Englishman?”
“Yes, and a particular friend of Prince Michael.”
Gregor straightened, easily detecting the edge in Herrick’s voice.