Bound by Love (Russian Connection 2)

“You…” She muttered something beneath her breath, no doubt damning him to the netherworld. “What do you want, Stefan?”

“Nothing more nefarious than your companionship.”

“My companionship?”

His smile faded as he reached to grasp her chin. He wanted to ensure there would be no confusion.

She would not be allowed to avoid him.

“You will no longer turn me away when I call upon you at your home,” he said, his tone uncompromising. “And if I issue you an invitation I will expect you to accept without complaint.”

“You want me at your mercy?”

“A charming notion, but at the moment I will be satisfied with the knowledge you will not be able to scurry back to your home and slam the door in my face. Do we have a deal?”

Her eyes flashed with fury. “Damn you.”

“I shall assume that means yes.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

HERRICK ALLOWED THE UNIFORMED servant to lead him through the maze of rooms, swallowing a sigh as he halted before the chamber that had once been Emperor Peter’s private study.

He had briefly hoped that Alexander Pavlovich had requested his presence to fend off some bothersome diplomat who was plaguing him with demands. It was not an uncommon occurrence.

But if they were meeting in this room, then it meant that what he had to say was private rather than state business.

And he could already guess just what was upon the Czar’s mind.

Briefly considering the pleasant notion of continuing on to the side door that led to the gardens, Herrick squared his shoulders and stepped into the study. There was no purpose in putting off the inevitable.

Closing the door behind him, Herrick allowed his gaze to roam over the shadowed chamber. It was one of his favorite rooms in the entire palace. Unlike most of the public rooms, there was no gilt or jewels or glittering chandeliers. Instead there was a somber beauty in the carved oak paneling and exquisite parquet floor. The furnishings were equally simple with a heavy writing desk and shelves that contained a collection of leather-bound books. In a place of honor was Emperor Peter’s large globe set in a wooden stand that spoke of his expertise in navigation.

The only splash of color was the three large portraits hung on the paneling. The largest, of course, was of Peter in shining armor and the second of Czarina Catherine on horseback. The third was of Alexander Pavlovich attired in his military regalia.

His gaze at last landed on the Czar, who was standing beneath his own portrait, a wistful smile on his still handsome countenance.

A tall, imposing figure attired in an elegant blue coat that precisely matched his shrewd eyes and black pantaloons, Alexander Pavlovich’s golden curls had begun to recede, but he retained the charm that had been his most potent asset over the years.

“Herrick.”

“Sire.” Herrick performed a bow. “You wished to speak with me?”

“Yes.” The Emperor waved a hand toward the desk. “Brandy?”

“No, I thank you.”

The Emperor turned to regard his portrait as Herrick crossed to stand at his side.

“You have served me faithfully a number of years, mon ami.”

Herrick chuckled as he studied the portrait. It had been painted shortly after the victory over Napoleon Bonaparte. A time that had been filled with glory and national pride.

“Indeed. It is almost impossible to recall the young, idealistic men we used to be.”

“Too idealistic,” the Emperor said on a sigh. “Had I known the burdens of wearing such a heavy crown, I would have allowed the Corsican Monster to keep Moscow.”

Herrick grunted in disgust. Napoleon might have been a military genius, but his overweening pride and belief his grand army was indestructible had made his defeat as certain as Russia’s glorious vict