Scandalous Deception (Russian Connection 1)

“Wait here while the guards search for any unwanted surprises. Once we are sure there are no traps, we will move into position and I will whistle.”

“That is not…”

Boris leaned forward, his considerable bulk hard and threatening beneath his heavy coat.

“Do not move until then.”

Edmond lifted a hand of defeat. Boris might be in his employ, but the trained soldier would willingly knock Edmond unconscious, if he thought it necessary to keep him safe.

“Go, Boris, I will wait for your signal,” he grudgingly conceded.

Remaining in the cloaking shadows of a nearby building, Edmond absorbed the sounds of the night. The click of horseshoes on the cobblestone streets, the shout of vendors peddling their wares to the passing pedestrians, the muffled voices of grooms as they passed the evening awaiting the return of their employers.

The predictable sounds of a city.

And the predictable odors.

Edmond grimaced at the scent of rotting garbage and sewage that wafted from the gutters. There were certainly times when he understood his brother’s violent loathing for London.

His patience was at a snapping point when at last the low whistle filled the air, and Edmond urged his horse into a trot toward the back of the stables. He had barely entered the yard, when a slender form detached from the shadows.

Pulling to a halt, Edmond slid from his horse and tied the reins to a nearby post.

“Chesterfield.”

The Runner was attired in the rough clothing of a groom, his face smudged with dirt. A perfect disguise to move about the London streets unnoted, but it was the speculative smile that captured Edmond’s attention.

“Now, I wonder why a Duke would hire servants that not only have obvious military training, but the skills more suitable for a master thief than a footman?”

Edmond shrugged, inanely acknowledging it was a stroke of fortune that Chesterfield was on his payroll rather than that of his enemy. The man missed nothing.

“It would be healthier not to wonder about such meaningless things,” he said, his voice soft with warning.

Chesterfield shrugged. “Just so long as the Crown Jewels do not go missing.”

“Your message said the carriage was discovered?”

“My employee noticed it outside Lord Milbank’s mews, but when he tried to slip closer, the carriage took off,” the Runner explained. “Thankfully London traffic is such a nasty tangle, it was easy enough to follow it to these stables.”

“And the driver?”

“Disappeared into Pultney’s Hotel.” Chesterfield jutted his chin toward the nearby hotel. “The back suite on the second floor.”

“Mon dieu.”

Chesterfield frowned. “Does it make sense to you, your Grace? Because it bloody well makes none to me. In my experience, murderers do not take rooms at Pultney’s.”

“No. But there is something…”

Edmond furrowed his brow in concentration. He was desperate to capture that elusive knowledge that he had been thinking of Pultney’s Hotel only days ago. But why? He had been sitting at the morning table, had he not? And he was…ah yes, reading the morning paper. There had been something that had captured his attention. Some ridiculous tidbit of gossip that had seemed out of place.

Viktor Kazakov! The Russian who Alexander Pavlovich had commanded to Siberia and who should never have been in London. Edmond had sent a note to the Russian ambassador, but then had put the man completely from his mind.

A lapse in judgment that had very nearly cost Brianna her life.

With a sharp curse, he turned to gesture toward his watchful servant.

“Boris.”