Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)
“I am not certain your wife would approve of such a tête-à-tête.”
His hands fisted. Wife. It was a word that made most men shiver in fear.
Who desired to be forever tied to the same female who would no doubt consider it her duty to nag him into an early grave?
It was not fear, however, that made Dimitri shiver when he thought of Emma Linley-Kirov. Instead, it was an emotion that he refused to name.
“Then perhaps it would be best if she did not learn of it,” he warned, already having endured a savage argument when Emma was forced to remain at the Huntley town house preparing for her introduction to London society.
“Women always have a means of discovering such things,” Huntley drawled.
“There is nothing to discover. I am merely asking a few questions.” His gaze narrowed. Huntley might be a powerful duke, but Dimitri had rightly earned his reputation as a ruthless bastard. “And Emma will have no means of knowi
ng unless you are incapable of guarding your tongue.”
There was no mistaking the glint of humor in Huntley’s blue eyes. “As you say.”
“You find something amusing?”
“I do indeed,” the man admitted without apology.
Dimitri bit back his sharp words and instead heaved a rueful sigh. Weeks ago Dimitri had taken a great deal of enjoyment in watching Huntley being driven to distraction by Leonida. Perhaps it was not so surprising the man would appreciate witnessing Dimitri’s bafflement when Emma was near.
“You are a vindictive bastard, Huntley.”
“And you are quite deserving of your inevitable fate.”
Dimitri shook his head. “We are wasting time.”
“I shall make a few discreet inquires among the guests, but I prefer not to linger longer than necessary.”
“I shall be swift.”
“A wise decision,” Huntley drawled as Dimitri headed toward the stairs.
Dimitri ignored the taunt. He intended to question the whores, not make use of their services.
Not that Emma could complain if he did, he told himself as he climbed the polished steps. Had she not been the one to claim their affair was at an end? As if their passion could be so easily dismissed.
Perhaps she should be forced to consider the notion that he had no need to beg for a woman in his bed. There were always females anxious to enjoy his seduction.
Thrusting aside his lingering annoyance, Dimitri forced himself to concentrate on the task at hand. He would deal with Emma Linley-Kirov later.
He reached the top of the stairs, prepared for the garish crimson sofas and crude paintings of naked women that lined the walls of the saloon. The main focus was expected to be the women sprawled upon the velvet cushions in varying degrees of undress.
His gaze skimmed over the females, barely noting the sheer gauze that revealed more of their lush bodies than it concealed or the sudden interest that brightened the heavily painted faces.
“Well, well.” The blonde who had been leaning over the railing sashayed across the carpet, licking her lips as she studied the manner Dimitri’s garnet jacket molded to his wide shoulders and the hard length of his legs in the black satin breeches. Or perhaps it was the emerald stickpin nestled in his cravat and the diamond on his ear that had captured her attention, he cynically acknowledged. “Ain’t you the lovely one?”
“Here now, it be my turn, Edwina,” a slender brunette protested, sidling next to Dimitri to thrust her bosom into prominent view.
“You never minded sharing afore,” Edwina snapped.
“Be quiet.” A commanding voice had both women hastily stepping back, revealing an imposing matron with her auburn hair piled high on her head and her lush curves encased in a jade satin gown striding in their direction. “The gentleman will decide which one of you he fancies.” The brown eyes regarded him with a shrewd gaze. “Perhaps you would like a small sampling before you choose?”
“That will not be necessary. I prefer a few moments alone with you, Mrs….?”
The woman’s expression hardened with suspicion. “Pickford,” she grudgingly supplied. “Surely you would prefer one of the younger girls?”