Bound by Love (Russian Connection 2)

“Howard Summerville.” He spit out the name as if it was a curse. And in many ways it was. The spineless creature was an insult to the Summerville name. “My worthless louse of a cousin,” he grudgingly explained. “I caught him more than once stealing items from Meadowland. The last time I beat him senseless when I found him digging through my mother’s private safe.”

She slowly nodded, not appearing particularly surprised by his revelation.

“Would he associate with someone like Sir Charles?”

Stefan made a sound of disgust. “Howard would latch on to Beelzebub if he thought he might drop a quid in his pocket.”

Her brows drew together as she considered his condemning description of his cousin.

“That would answer the question of how Sir Charles learned of the letters.”

“But not why he would wait so long to approach the Countess,” he retorted. “Sir Charles left London years ago.”

“He mentioned something of his lifestyle demanding a great deal of money, although I refuse to even consider what his lifestyle might entail.” Leonida shuddered, her eyes shadowed with a lingering fear. “I assume he has fallen into debt.”

He instinctively reached out to cup her cheek with his hand. He never wanted her to feel fear when he was near.

“Or perhaps he only recently ran across my cousin,” he speculated, quite prepared to lay the entire blame on Howard Summerville’s shoulders. “The last I heard he was hiding from his creditors in Paris.”

She pushed back the golden hair that had dried in a tangle of soft curls. Stefan swallowed a groan, wanting nothing more than to shove his fingers through that pale mass of silk. Instead he forced himself to be content with tucking one of the stray curls behind her ear.

“It does not truly matter how Sir Charles discovered the truth of the letters,” she said, her voice not entirely steady.

“Not for the moment,” he conceded. “Although I find it astonishing that he would risk blackmailing one of the most powerful women in Russia with nothing more than a suspicion that incriminating letters might exist.”

“No doubt he assumed my mother would be so frightened that she would give in to his blackmail without proof of them.” She lifted an absent shoulder. “When she refused, he sent his men to England in the hopes that they could discover the letters before I could get them.”

His hand dropped to grasp her shoulder, his eyes narrowing in annoyance at her unexpected revelation.

“He sent men to Meadowland?” he charged, then before she could answer, he was struck by a sudden realization. “Of course. The poachers that Benjamin spotted. Why the devil did you not tell me?”

“We have been through this before.”

She tried to pull away, but Stefan was in no mood to allow her to escape. Instead he leaned forward, nearly touching her nose with his.

“And we will no doubt go through it again,” he threatened, his voice softening as the warm scent of her skin teased at his nose. Even when Leonida was driving him batty, he still wanted her. Desperately. “You will learn to trust me.”

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

LEONIDA REMINDED herself to breathe. The room suddenly seemed smaller, more intimate. And her world reduced to Stefan’s beautiful face so close to hers.

Her body might ache and her wound burn with a raw pain, but the urge to forget the horror of the past days in this man’s arms was near overwhelming. When Stefan was near she felt protected and utterly safe in a manner that was as unexpected as it was unexplainable.

The knowledge should have terrified her, not sent a comforting warmth through her heart.

Resisting the urge to close that slight distance to feel the intoxicating heat of his kiss, Leonida absently lifted her hand to finger the bandage over her wound.

“We were discussing Sir Charles,” she said huskily.

His hands gently skimmed down her bare arms, the light touch sending out tiny shock waves of pleasure.

“Were we?”

With an effort, she sucked in a deep breath. No. She could not be distracted. Not until her mother was truly out of danger.

“Yes, we were.” She conjured the image of her mother, reminding herself of just how distraught the Countess might be. For all her foibles, Leonida was devoted to her mother. She would never allow her to be hurt. “And may I point out that while we are sitting here he is currently escaping?”

His lips twisted with rueful resignation as he leaned back and studied her with an unwavering gaze.