Bound by Love (Russian Connection 2)

Stefan was not particularly shocked. Even in London a nobleman understood that once he left the comforting confines of Mayfair he was at the mercy of the local thugs.

“What makes you suspect the Beggar Czar?”

Boris hesitated, almost as if he regretted sharing his thoughts. Stefan frowned. Did the servant have something to hide

?

At last, Boris tugged the horses to a halt before a small park and turned on the seat to meet Stefan’s curious gaze.

“Babevich’s hand was chopped off.”

Stefan shuddered. “Yes, I had noticed, although I am doing my best to put it from my mind.”

“That is Tipova’s means of allowing others to know that he was responsible for the killing.”

“Good God, he desires people to know he is a savage?”

“Of course. Such a man does not rule by laws or charity to others. His only weapon is fear and he wields it without mercy.”

Stefan found himself intrigued by his companion’s matter-of-fact acceptance of Tipova’s brutal habits. Not many men could stomach the business of chopping off limbs.

“How do you even know of this man?”

Boris shrugged. “I have not always been employed by your brother.”

Realization took a moment to hit. “You were a criminal?”

“Nothing more shocking than pinching a few wallets, but I most certainly would have gone down that path if not for a young man who caught me in a bumbling effort to steal a gentleman’s walking stick,” Boris admitted.

“Tipova?”

“The same.”

“What did he do?”

“He hauled me to a public execution and told me I would be next if he ever caught me on the streets again.” The moonlight revealed his wry grimace. “Then he hauled me back to my mother who near beat me to death.”

Stefan sudden comprehended Boris’s refusal to condemn Tipova as a ruthless bastard. For whatever reason the man had shown enough compassion for a young boy to keep him from becoming yet another of the thieves that choked the poorer quarters of the city.

Of course, there were those who would consider his employment with Lord Summerville not much better than being a common criminal. God only knew how many laws his brother had encouraged him to break.

“How old were you?”

“Ten.”

“What of Tipova?”

“Barely shaving.”

Stefan lifted his brows. “And he was already cutting off hands?”

“A precocious youth with ambition.”

“A bit more than precocious,” Stefan muttered. “I thought nothing could be more dangerous than Russian politics.”

“A wise man avoids those who lust for power, whether rich or poor.”

Two drunken noblemen stumbled through the park, abruptly reminding Stefan that the hour was growing late.