Bound by Love (Russian Connection 2)

“Just stay there and for God’s sake be quiet,” she muttered.

There was another loud pounding, and, yanking open the door, Leonida stepped into the hall and closed it swiftly behind her.

“Enough,” she commanded, conjuring her mother’s most imperious expression as she regarded the slender, rather fussy little man with gray hair and somber attire. “Why are you pounding on my door?”

The manager’s thin face was ashen as he plucked nervously at his starched cravat.

“A shot,” he managed to stutter.

“Shot?”

“I heard a pistol

being fired.”

“Oh yes, I thought something must have wakened me from my nap.” She slowly narrowed her gaze. “Do you mean to tell me that there is some madman in this hotel shooting your guests?”

The manager flapped his hands, nervously gazing down the empty corridor to ensure that no other guests had overheard her accusation.

“No, of course not. This is a respectable hotel. There is no trouble here.”

“Then why was there someone firing a gun?”

“I…”

Leonida took swift advantage of his obvious abhorrence at having any sort of disturbance threaten the peace of his guests.

“Perhaps it would be best if I packed my bags. I do not approve of being murdered in my bed.”

“Madame, I assure you, there is no danger.”

“And what of the shot you heard?”

“A mistake.” He straightened his narrow shoulders, happily convincing himself that nothing so bourgeois as an attempted murder could have occurred beneath his roof. “Perhaps one of the maids dropped a tea tray.”

“Tea…” Leonida stiffened, struck by a sudden, awful notion. Taking the manager’s arm, she steered him toward the nearby stairs and away from the door where Stefan was no doubt listening to the conversation. “Yes, of course. This entire incident has quite overset my nerves. I shall have need of a hot cup of tea with plenty of sugar.”

“Of course, Madame.” Relieved that Leonida was not about to make a disruptive fuss, the manager readily agreed to her modest request. “I will have it sent up at once.”

She leaned closer to her companion, lowering her voice until it was a mere whisper.

“And perhaps you could put in a drop or two of laudanum? I possess a weak constitution.”

“Certainly.”

“Thank you.”

Waiting until the small man was hurrying down the stairs, Leonida sucked in a deep breath and returned to her chamber.

A part of her was horrified by the plot forming in her mind. She was not by nature a devious, cunning woman who enjoyed outwitting others. Still, a larger part of her understood that she had no choice. Not if she wished to keep Stefan out of his grave.

Entering her room, Leonida closed the door, her heart contracting painfully at the sight of Stefan leaning wearily against the post of the bed. With his dark hair mussed and his face unnaturally pale, he appeared unbearably vulnerable.

As if sensing her unwelcome surge of sympathy, Stefan deliberately straightened, a sardonic smile curing his lips. “You are quite the accomplished actress, my dove. Even I was moved by your touching performance of the delicate widow.”

She tilted her chin. “You wished to be rid of him, did you not?”

“I did, but it makes a man wonder if you are ever sincere, or if your entire life is a well-rehearsed performance,” he mocked.