Her expression settled in stubborn lines, but when Edmond refused to allow her to escape his piercing gaze, she heaved an aggravated sigh.
“I am well aware that you visited La Russa while we were in London.”
“Mon dieu,” he breathed in shock. “How could you…” He halted his words and gave a shake of his head. What did it matter how she had discovered his brief visit to the famous opera singer? All that truly mattered was the realization that Brianna was clearly disturbed at the thought of him spending time with another woman. The restless tension that gripped him began to fade beneath a flare of startling satisfaction. His fingers eased their tight grip to stroke up her cheek. “Brianna, I am no saint, but I do not keep a string of mistresses. Not only are they expensive, but I do have responsibilities beyond the bedchamber.”
“You can say whatever you like, Edmond. I saw your carriage parked in front of her house.”
He chuckled softly. “I begin to understand why you were so cold that night. Well, until I managed to thaw your frosty temper. You were jealous!”
He felt her skin warm beneath his caressing fingers…whether from anger or embarrassed memory of their heated coupling against the wall of her bedchamber was impossible to know.
“I most certainly was not.”
His hand cupped the back of her head as he gently tugged her closer. “Do not fear, Brianna. My visit to La Russa’s was purely one of business.”
Her nose flared with distaste, but she made no effort to pull away. Indeed, her body quite readily arched closer to his aching body.
“I am well aware of La Russa’s business.”
“Brianna, I was at her town house for the sole purpose of meeting with a Bow Street Runner who was keeping watch on my worthless cousin,” he said, barely concentrating on his words as he wrapped his arm about her waist and shifted her onto his lap. “I do not need a courtesan to satisfy my pleasure. Not when I have a warm, spirited, exquisitely beautiful woman only too eager to please me.” He buried his face in the curve of her neck, breathing deeply of her sweet scent. A shudder wracked his body. How had he ever been so stupid as to believe he could leave her at Meadowland? This is where she belonged. Where she would always belong. “Allow me to prove my point.”
Her arms encircled his neck as he planted heated kisses up the curve of her neck.
“Edmond, we…”
“Later,” he rudely interrupted, covering her mouth in a kiss that revealed the savage need pulsing through his blood. “We have all the time in the world.”
CHAPTER NINETEEN
THE JOURNEY FROM LONDON TO St. Petersburg was made on a British two-decker that was constructed from sturdy timber and offered windows in the quarter galleries, as well as a wide deck for those who desired a refreshing stroll. The icy weather kept most passengers in their private cabins for the majority of the sea passage, and even on the few days that the North Sea was not churning with a vengeful fury, the incessant rain prevented nothing more than a hasty breath of fresh air.
Following the grueling sea voyage were endless days traveling from the coast in a cramped carriage as they pursued Viktor Kazakov through the blinding snow storms.
Brianna, however, had never ventured farther than from Surrey to London, and despite Edmond’s constant warnings that she was not to leave the carriage without a heavy veil to cover her face, discovered herself enjoying the unfamiliar surroundings. There was a sense of building anticipation as they raced through the foreign land.
Or at least she convinced herself that it was anticipation that made her waken with a smile upon her lips and added a decided bounce to her steps. Otherwise, she would be forced to consider the notion that it was Edmond’s near constant presence that was responsible.
She was quite prepared to accept that she craved his masterful touch during their long nights together. And was even developing a grudging respect for his quick wits and startling displays of humor. But she refused to concede that he was relentlessly creeping his way into her wary heart.
That would be madness.
Thankfully,
any unease at the strange, almost giddy sensations that plagued her was forgotten once they arrived in St. Petersburg.
Barely more than a century old, the vast, beautiful city was built on the Neva River that fed into the Gulf of Finland.
It was said that the numerous canals that sliced through the marshland had inspired Peter the Great to build his capital in the image of Venice, and that with ruthless disregard for the misery of his people, he had demanded that forty thousand peasants be sent every year to complete his masterpiece.
And it was a masterpiece, she had to admit, as the carriage carried them down the Nevsky Prospect.
She had never seen so many golden spires and domes glittering against a pure blue sky, all adding an exotic contrast to the bronzed statues and monuments to Peter the Great.
She had only a passing glimpse of the sea-blue and white Winter Palace, with its profusion of columns and pilasters and its golden dome above the Palace Cathedral, before they were headed past the Kazan Cathedral with its exotic onion dome and onto a narrow street with a collection of small shops that Edmond informed her was Gostinny Dvor.
The carriage at last slowed at the Fontanka Embankment, near the baroque palace known as Sheremetev House, then turned to the left, traveling the crescent street back toward the Neva.
A frown touched her brow as they halted before a vast town house where a number of elegant guests appeared to be arriving despite the fact that it was decidedly early for callers.