Bound by Love (Russian Connection 2)

“Then again, they do know how to keep a woman warm at night.”

Leonida snorted, refusing to acknowledge the flutter in the pit of her stomach at the thought of Stefan keeping her warm.

“So does a blanket.”

Sophy straightened with an arch smile. “And they do come in handy when a woman is being kidnapped by a madman.”

Leonida concentrated on her dinner, a heat crawling beneath her cheeks.

“Not when they intend to kidnap you in return.”

“The Duke intends to kidnap you?”

“He has threatened to take me back to Meadowland whether I am willing to go or not.”

“Has he?” There was a short pause before the maid gave a sudden laugh. “Well, well.”

Leonida jerked her head up, her brows drawn together in a frown of disbelief. “I do not know why you look pleased. Stefan should obviously be locked in Bedlam.”

“A gentleman is rarely capable of thinking clearly when he has fallen in love with a woman,” Sophy said, her tone smug.

“Love?” Leonida’s voracious appetite abruptly disappeared. With a sharp movement she set aside the tray, her heart oddly heavy. “That is absurd.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. The Duke of Huntley might desire me as a temporary mistress, but lust has nothing to do with love.”

“A gentleman does not risk his life for lust.”

“He does if his pride is injured.” She shook her head. “Believe me, Sophy, the Duke wants nothing more from me than a brief affair.”

“And what is it that you want?”

Leonida leaned back against the pillows, not allowing her thoughts to dwell on the perilous question.

“Pea

ce.”

IT WAS A WEARY HERRICK GERHARDT who rode past the precisely constructed buildings of the military settlement despite the bright morning sunlight.

He had not rested since yesterday when he had received a cryptic note along with a roughly drawn map from Dimitri Tipova suggesting where he might search for Miss Karkoff. He had barely paused to change clothing before gathering Gregor and his horse and charging from St. Petersburg.

As he neared the location, however, the instinctive wariness that had kept him unscathed, despite the vicious Russian politics, had urged a measure of caution.

Only a fool would completely trust Tipova and he did not intend to tumble into a trap.

Not that his discreet inquiries along the way had provided him with much more than vague rumors of a disruption at a local inn and a strange Englishman who was searching for his missing ward.

He had hoped that the commander of the local settlement might be capable of providing more reliable information.

Shifting in the saddle that had grown more uncomfortable by the hour, Herrick urged his horse to a brisk pace, his gaze absently skimming over the encampment.

His military soul approved of the tidy rows of connected structures that housed the soldiers and their families. As well as the rigidly divided fields the soldiers planted to provide their food.

His heart, however, flinched at the grim atmosphere that lay like a sullen cloud over the entire settlement.

Where were the children who should be at play? Or the women gossiping and whispering as they tended their laundry? Or even the men laughing together as they shared a bottle of vodka?