Herrick leaned forward until they were nearly nose to nose. “Return to England, your Grace, before you…”
“Herrick?” A soft female voice had them both spinning toward the path leading from the cottage. Stefan’s heart gave its familiar jerk at the sight of Leonida, her slender form swathed in her ugly black gown and her face heartrendingly pale. With her throat still bandaged and her eyes shadowed from lack of sleep, she had never appeared so fragile, or so in need of his strength. Stefan instinctively stepped forward only to freeze when she gave a choked cry and without warning flew down the path to throw herself in Herrick’s waiting arms. “Oh, thank heavens.”
THE HOME OF VANYA PETROVA was an elegant St. Petersburg townhouse built near the Fontanka Embankment. Like its owner, the mansion was a mysterious combination of lavish beauty and hidden secrets.
Vanya had for years been a ruthless supporter of Alexander Pavlovich, using her wealth and power to bolster the young Czar’s original claim to the throne and then keeping an eye upon the treacherous nobles and various secret societies that had proven to be a constant threat over the years.
It had, indeed, been Vanya who had first approached Edmond to assist her in her covert efforts and happily lured the young, impetuous nobleman into one dangerous situation after another. A fact Stefan had depended upon when he had arrived unannounced on her doorstep.
Stefan had met Vanya on occasion over the past years, but he was counting on her heavy obligation toward his brother to secure her assistance during his visit to St. Petersburg.
Thus far his hasty plan had been successful.
A satisfied smile touched his lips as he glanced about the guest chambers he had been given. The lilac wall panels and satinwood furnishings held a hint of a European influence, but Vanya’s love for Russia was obvious in the lush velvet curtains, the delicate ornaments that sparkled with expensive jewels and the polished wood floor that was too beautiful to cover with a carpet.
A decidedly welcome change from the nasty inns that he had been forced to endure for weeks.
Another welcome change was the tailor that Vanya had insisted be brought to her home to provide a suitable wardrobe for the Duke of Huntley. Although his carriage had arrived in St. Petersburg, he had not packed the elegant evening clothes that would be necessary to move among the Romanov Court.
Now, three days after his arrival, he was attired in a precisely cut mulberry jacket stitched with gold and a champagne waistcoat. His black pantaloons were a soft knit that clung to the hard muscles of his legs, and his shoes sparkled with diamond buckles.
Choosing an Oriental knot for his cravat and brushing his raven curls to frame his lean face, he appeared every inch the powerful Duke of Huntley prepared to be entertained by the Emperor of Russia in his Summer Palace.
A fortunate thing, since the gilt-edged invitation had arrived just after breakfast.
He unconsciously grimaced as he absently stroked the enamel snuff box in his hand. His first inclination had been to ignore the royal summons. His only purpose in St. Petersburg was to be near Leonida until she came to her senses and returned to Meadowland. In the meantime, he had no interest in socializing among the always treacherous Russian Court.
Unfortunately, his visits to the Countess Karkoff’s home had been a pointless waste of time. The butler had turned him away at the door, claiming the Countess was ill and that Miss Karkoff was tending to her care. Since he had not yet reached the point of being willing to break down the door and carry Leonida off, he had no choice but to hope she would eventually make her appearance at the palace.
Besides, not even a lofty English duke could ignore an invitation from the Czar without attracting unwanted attention.
His resigned thoughts were interrupted by a sharp knock and Stefan turned to watch as the door was thrust open and Vanya Petrova sailed into the parlor.
A tall, curvaceous woman, Vanya was still beautiful with her silver hair and handsome features. This evening she was attired in a green crepe gown that perfectly matched the stunning emeralds hung about her neck with sable trim along the hem.
Closing the door behind her, Vanya’s blue gaze made a critical survey of Stefan before a smile curved her lips.
“A vast improvement,” she said, her English only faintly accented.
Stefan slid his enamel snuff box in a pocket beneath his jacket and straightened his cuffs.
“I knew I could trust you to create a miracle. Your exquisite sense of fashion is exceeded only by your beauty.”
Vanya clicked her tongue although a pleased blush stained her cheeks.
“And I thought it was Edmond who inherited your father’s gilded tongue.”
“False rumors that I suspect came from my brother.”
“Ah.” She sent him a significant glance. “Speaking of rumors.”
He grimaced. “Please, Vanya, I have not yet had my first brandy.”
“Allow me.”
With a regal grace, Vanya moved to the brass inlaid table to pour a measure of brandy into a glass. Returning to Stefan, she pressed it into his hand and watched as he tossed it down in one swallow.
“I do not suppose this can wait until I return from the palace?” Stefan muttered, placing the empty glass on the nearby mantle.