Bound by Love (Russian Connection 2)

Herrick waved an impatient hand, sending the footman scurrying away.

“Leonida.”

“Go to the Czar, Herrick,” she urged, managing a confident smile. “I will be fine.”

“If he harms you.

“Go.”

ACCUSTOMED TO THE TEDIOUS formality that surrounded a royal evening of entertainment, Stefan attempted to remain philosophical as his carriage crawled behind the long line of carriages leading toward the steps of the palace. He had waited days to see Leonida, he reminded himself as he fidgeted with impatience. A few more minutes would hardly matter.

Unfortunately, he could not entirely forget Vanya’s blithe reference to Leonida’s determined suitors. The thought that she was even now smiling as some man kissed her fingers or led her onto one of the shadowed terraces was enough to twist his stomach into a painful knot.

By the time his carriage reached the sweeping front steps, Stefan was climbing out before the footman could assist him. Brushing past the small clusters of guests, he rapidly made his way up the steps and entered the vestibule where he handed his hat and gloves to the servant waiting beneath the large portrait of Emperor Peter.

Belatedly aware of the curious glances trained in his direction, Stefan forced himself to take a breath and make his way to the upper floor at a dignified pace, occasionally nodding in the direction of vague acquaintances.

The Emperor was already curious about the Duke of Huntley’s presence in St. Petersburg. He would not call more attention to himself by dashing through the palace like an imbecile.

Reaching the top of the limewood steps of the Gala Staircase, he paused to study the various guests. Most were gathered together in an effort to see and be seen, although a few were admiring the large portraits that lined the walls.

His hands clenched as he realized that Leonida was not among the crowd. Then, from the corner of his eye, he caught a glimpse of curls the shade of morning sunlight.

An excitement he had no intention of examining fluttered through the pit of his stomach as Stefan thrust his way past a lady attired in a hideous puce gown and her whey-faced daughter. He was not about to allow his prey to escape.

Not again.

Keeping his gaze trained on the golden curls, Stefan pushed his way to the edge of the gathering, a predatory smile curving his mouth as he caught sight of Leonida’s delicately carved profile.

So his instinct had been right. She was here. His body tightened with a scorching need as he moved forward. He had spent too many nights lying awake, aching to feel her in his arms. He was damned well not spending another night with nothing more than empty frustration.

Almost as if able to read his thoughts, Leonida glanced at him over her shoulder and then deliberately slipped into a side chamber.

With long strides he was following in her wake to en

ter the small living room with Chinese silk on the walls and an embroidered divan that echoed the Oriental theme near the fireplace. Assuring himself they were alone, he firmly closed the door. A pity there was no lock.

For a moment, he leaned against the wooden panels of the door, simply appreciating the sight of Leonida as she stood in the center of the room.

Christ. She shimmered like a golden angel in the candlelight.

An alarming warmth filled his heart, spilling through his body. With a low growl he pushed from the door and stalked toward her. It had been too long since he had felt her pressed to his body.

Her eyes widened at his relentless approach, as if sensing his barely leashed hunger. And then he had his arms wrapped around her and the disquiet that plagued him for days slowly eased. She fit against him with astonishing perfection.

“Leonida,” he muttered, his lips restlessly stroking over the satin skin of her face, her warm jasmine scent clouding his mind with pleasure.

For a precious moment Stefan could feel Leonida melt against him, a soft moan of pleasure wrenched from her throat. He shifted to claim her lips in a kiss of blatant need, allowing the distant clamor of elegant guests to fade until it was just him and Leonida alone in the world.

Then the sound of a string quartet soared to life in the reception hall, breaking the spell. Leonida stiffened, raising her hands to press against his chest and turning her head to escape the demands of his kiss.

“Stefan, no,” she said huskily. “I must speak with you.”

Denied her lips, Stefan nibbled a path down the tender curve of her neck, careful to avoid the ribbon that hid her wound.

“Later,” he murmured against the rapid pulse beating at the base of her throat.

“You must halt.”