Bound by Love (Russian Connection 2)

When she had first opened her eyes, he had been standing rigidly by the window, his elegant profile tense and his hands clenched at his sides. At her slight movement, he had whirled to face her, his stark relief rapidly being replaced with an explosive anger as she had tentatively lifted her hand to touch the bandage at her neck.

“Never has it been my misfortune to be saddled with such a bloody-minded, impulsive, bird-witted…”

“I will point out that you have never been saddled with me, your Grace,” Leonida broke in, concentrating on the injustice of being blamed for the ghastly situation rather than dwelling on her bone-deep relief that he was near. She did not want to depend on Stefan to feel safe. “Indeed, I have done my very best to be rid of you.”

He shoved a hand through his disheveled hair, appearing oddly vulnerable with his eyes shadowed with a lack of sleep and his jaw in need of a shave. Or perhaps it was because he had at some point shed his jacket and waistcoat and was now attired in nothing more than his fine linen shirt and breeches that clung with tenacious persistence to his long, leanly muscled legs.

The elegant duke had been stripped away to reveal the raw, powerful man beneath.

“Now is not the moment to remind me that you left me drugged and penniless in a nasty Parisian hotel,” he rasped, thankfully unaware of her inane thoughts.

“You are right,” she snapped, pushing herself to a seated position despite the burning pain of her wound. Sir Charles might be gone, but her mother’s letters were still missing. And with no clear knowledge of how to retrace her steps to the inn where they had been left, she had no choice but to entrust the search to Herrick Gerhardt. “I have no time to waste on such foolish arguments.”

She reached to flip aside the covers, but with a lunging movement, Stefan was perched on the edge of the bed, his fingers clamping around her wrists.

“You attempt to get out of that bed and I swear to God that I will tie you down.”

She trembled at his sudden touch. “I do not take orders from you.”

“You will if you have any sense left in that thick skull.”

“Your Grace…”

“My name is Stefan, as you well know,” he growled, his magnificent eyes snapping with suppressed emotion. “And after weeks spent chasing after you, constantly terrified you were in the hands of your enemies or worse, I do not intend to spend another moment worrying whether you are well or not.”

Her heart fluttered at his rough confession, but Leonida dared not be distracted.

“If you are so concerned for my welfare, then why do you insist on remaining in this cottage where Sir Charles and his servants might return at any moment?”

His fingers eased their grip, his thumbs absently stroking the sensitive skin of her inner wrist.

“You are in no condition to be moved and we are far safer here than traveling through the dark. Boris and Pyotr will be on guard. No one will be allowed to approach unnoticed.”

“I cannot stay here.”

“Why?”

Leonida’s mouth went dry at his featherlight caresses. “My mother must be terrified. Sir Charles sent a ransom note.”

“Sir Charles.” His brows drew together. “Richards?”

Leonida stilled. “You acted as if you did not recognize him.”

“We have never met, but his name is familiar….” He abruptly shook his head. “Damn, I cannot recall. There was some ugly bit of scandal that drove him from England.”

Leonida thinned her lips. So the English now herded their madmen to Russia?

No wonder Alexander Pavlovich had disliked his journey to the country.

“He is a monster. He should have been sent to the Tower and had his head chopped off.”

Stefan’s lips twitched. “I will pass your complaint along to the King.”

She tugged her arms free. His touch was far too distracting.

“This is not amusing. My mother needs to know I am well.”

His brief humor fled as he planted his hands on each side of her hips and leaned close enough for her to feel his breath brushing her face.