“So you did.” Without warning, Leonida began to laugh.
Both servants regarded her as if she had taken leave of her senses.
“What is it?” Pyotr demanded.
“I am just imagining that damned wheelwright’s expression when the owner of the carriage discovers it is missing.”
WHEN STEFAN AT LAST AWOKE, he briefly wished he hadn’t.
Christ. His shoulder ached, his mouth was as dry as an African desert, his purse had been stolen, and Leonida was missing.
Again.
Just as aggravating, his servants and seemingly half the hotel staff were clustered about his bed, all of them fluttering their hands and arguing what was to be done with the unconscious Duke.
With a few short words he had the hotel staff dismissed and his own servants on the hunt for Leonida.
Only Boris refused to obey his commands, stoically insisting on cleaning and tending to the wound before allowing Stefan to change into fresh attire.
The hulking Russian had been Edmond’s devoted servant for years and when Stefan had set off from Meadowland he had silently joined the three large grooms that Stefan had chosen to accompany him.
Stefan had dismissed any impulse to send the Russian back to his meddling brother. Edmond was without a doubt stubborn enough to lock him in the cellars of Meadowland if Stefan did not give in to Boris’s presence.
Finishing the knot in his cravat, Stefan turned as there was a knock on the door. Before he could move, however, Boris was crossing the room, his hand in his pocket where he had placed his pistol.
With a frustrated curse, Stefan wandered toward the window, gazing down at the narrow garden.
Night had fallen and the elegant streets of Paris were bathed in the glow of the gas lighting. Even to the most jaded eye it was a beautiful sight, but Stefan barely noticed. His thoughts were consumed with the knowledge that Leonida was out there somewhere. And that someone wanted her dead.
He heard the door close, then the clink of china.
“The tray you ordered, your Grace,” Boris announced.
It took Stefan a moment to gather his composure. An explosive combination of fury and a sharp fear that Leonida was already in the hands of her enemy clutched at his heart. The violent emotions were not at all satisfied to be trapped in the damnable hotel awaiting his servants to complete their search.
Thankfully he possessed enough common sense to settle at the small table Boris had procured and forced himself to eat the roasted pheasant and potatoes in cream sauce before pouring a cup of coffee in the hopes it would clear his still foggy brain.
Damn Leonida and her laudanum.
Of course, he had to admire her swift intelligence and brazen courage. What other woman would have so neatly outwitted him?
Settling back in his chair, Stefan sipped at the hot coffee and sternly reminded himself that there was nothing admirable in leaving a man shot and drugged in a nasty Paris hotel room.
Or being so stupid as to dash off with only her maid and groom when she was obviously being hunted by dangerous ruffians willing to put a bullet through her heart.
“What of Miss Karkoff?” he at last demanded, glancing up at the large servant hovering beside the table.
“She is not in the hotel.”
“You are certain?” he asked, not putting it beyond the clever wench to have hidden herself in the attics until he had hurried off in search of her.
The large servant who looked more a prize fighter met his gaze squarely, his expression assuring Stefan that not the smallest closet had been overlooked.
“Absolutely.”
“Damn.”
“She will be found.”