Bound by Love (Russian Connection 2)

“The name,” Stefan grated.

The two men regarded one another, their gazes locked in silent combat. Then, as if realizing that Stefan would not compromise, Herrick muttered a low curse.

“Nikolas Babevich,” he gritted. “Do not interfere, Huntley.”

Stefan smiled. “I really must make my bow to the Emperor.”

Before Herrick could reach out to halt him, Stefan was smoothly moving away, winding his way through the crowd until he could locate a uniformed footman to carry a message back to Boris at Vanya Petrova’s house.

THE BALLROOM WAS CONSIDERED a masterpiece of the palace. The walls, painted a soft ivory, were broken by a double row of arched windows draped in crimson velvet that glowed beneath the brilliant crystal chandeliers. The floor was patterned parquet and the ceiling painted with a vision of Persephone leaving the underworld.

The Emperor was seated on a dais at one end of the long room while at the other end a string quartet played upon another dais. In between a hundred couples twirled in a dazzling waltz.

All quite lovely, but Leonida felt nothing but relief as she slipped through an antechamber and made her way onto a back terrace. The night air was chill, but the relief of being away from the choking crowd overcame her discomfort.

Strolling to the stone railing, she absently gazed over the vast orchard, breathing deeply as she sought to ease the tension that had gripped her the entire evening.

She had never particularly enjoyed such events at the palace. She far preferred the few occasions the Emperor had invited her to a private meal and the rare enjoyment of his undivided attention. Tonight, however, had been even more trying than usual.

Not only had she been plagued by the usual idiots who assumed she could offer them a claim to Alexander Pavlovich and the power of his throne, but there had been no means of ignoring the Duke of Huntley.

Oh, he had been well mannered enough. Remarkably well mannered.

When he had first entered the ballroom she had expected him to defy propriety and cross directly to her side, indifferent to his duty to the Emperor or the rabid tattle mongers that would have taken sordid delight in his obvious interest in Leonida.

But, after a short conversation with Herrick, the Duke had properly headed for the Throne Room, and while Leonida had been constantly on edge, he had thankfully kept his distance throughout dinner and later when Alexander Pavlovich had led his guests to the ballroom.

She might have assumed he had lost interest in her after their long afternoon of lovemaking if it had not been for his heated gaze that had followed her every movement.

There had been a smoldering hunger in those magnificent blue eyes that warned his desire for her was as strong as ever. And shockingly, her body had readily responded to his lingering stare.

Even as she had politely chatted with her dinner partners and accepted a waltz with an elderly admirer, her heart had pounded in her chest and her stomach had fluttered with excitement. She felt gloriously alive. Just as she had when he had held her in his arms and kissed her with a thrilling desperation.

The realization terrified her.

She was uncertain how much time had passed when the sound of approaching footsteps could be heard over the soothing fountains. There was no need to turn about to know who approached. She could be blind and deaf and still sense when Stefan was near.

Busy preparing herself for the encounter, Leonida did not turn when she felt him halt directly behind her. A mistake. She had no warning when he grasped her shoulders and with one yank whirled her around so he could haul her against the hard muscles of his chest.

“Christ, I thought I would never have a moment alone with you,” he muttered, his head bending down to claim her lips in a savage kiss.

Leonida instinctively gripped his shoulders, her knees going weak at the jolt of painful pleasure that surged through her. He tasted of fine cognac and male need. A heady combination that she was helpless to resist.

Closing her eyes, she allowed herself to become momentarily lost in the sheer pleasure of his kiss. There was little use in pretending she did not enjoy his lovemaking. Not when he could feel her shivers of pleasure.

He groaned low in his throat, his fingers running a restless path down her spine. Still, it was not until she felt the tug of a ribbon that held her gown together that she was jerked out of the sensual spell he was weaving.

“Stefan, you must behave yourself,” she chided, firmly tugging out of his arms.

“What do you think I have been doing this entire bloody night?” he rasped, the torchlight revealing the slash of color along his cheekbones and the pained frustration that smoldered in his eyes.

A frustration that resonated deep within her.

She unwittingly backed up until she was pressed against the stone balustrade.

“I will admit that I have been pleasantly shocked to discover you can behave as a proper gentleman,” she said, attempting to lighten the thick atmosphere.

His lips twisted. “Not willingly.”