Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

Easily sensing her capitulation, Dimitri slid his arms around her waist, molding her to the hard muscles of his body as his lips continued their destructive path over the curve of her breasts.

Emma’s breath caught in her throat, her hands trembling as she reached up to clutch at his shoulders. She briefly forgot her stern determination to keep Dimitri at a distance, and even that they would be expected to meet the duke and duchess for dinner within the hour. All that mattered was…

She abruptly stiffened as the unmistakable stench of cloying perfume assaulted her.

Fury exploded through her. How dare he? He had told her he was devoting the day to tracking down the gentlemen who might have purchased her sister.

Instead, he returned to her reeking of another woma

n.

Gritting her teeth, she shoved her hands against his chest, nearly toppling him backward as she stalked toward the door and yanked it open.

“Get out.”

He scowled, a flare of color staining his high cheekbones as he studied her with a frustrated gaze.

“What is it, moya dusha?”

Her chin tilted. “You bastard.”

“True enough, but you’ve known that from the beginning,” he snapped. “Why are you so angry?”

“Do not ever kiss me when you stink of another woman.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

THE LONG, FORMAL GALLERY was predictably ornate, with marble columns topped by gilded capitals that framed the shallow niches where the Greek statues were displayed and a grand fresco painted on the vaulted ceiling.

At the far end a string quartet struggled to be heard over the gathered crowd. The elegantly attired aristocrats were far too intent on preening for one another to pay heed to the entertainment.

Not unless one considered entertainment to be scandal and seduction.

In no humor to appreciate the absurdity of London society, or the irony of pretending to be one of the aristocrats he so deeply despised, Dimitri leaned against a marble column and glared across the gallery at the honey-haired woman who was currently surrounded by a bevy of eager gentlemen.

And why would they not be eager?

Even among London’s most celebrated women she sparkled with a fascinating beauty that had nothing to do with the emerald gown embroidered with pearls and everything to do with the creamy perfection of her skin and mysterious shimmer in her hazel eyes.

He snarled beneath his breath as one particularly forward gentleman angled so he could have a perfect view of Emma’s scooped bodice. The savage need to march across the marble floor and publicly claim the stubborn female was like a punch to his stomach. Unfortunately, Emma was quite likely to slap him in the face if he dared to approach.

“Perhaps it escaped your notice, Tipova, but it took a considerable effort to procure invitations to this particular soiree,” Huntley drawled, coming to a halt at Dimitri’s side. “Should you not be taking advantage of your proximity to Sanderson rather than hovering in the corner and glaring at your faux wife?”

Dimitri’s gaze never strayed from Emma. “You are a duke. Every door is open to you.”

“Open for me, but not my unknown Russian companion who has yet to prove to London society that he is not a barbarian who lives among the wolves and gnaws on bones.”

Dimitri snorted, well aware that most of England believed that Russia was a land of savages. Granted the puffed up peacocks were willing enough to welcome Russian armies as allies in defeating Napoleon, but they certainly didn’t believe the people were civilized enough for an English drawing room.

“Pompous asses.”

“Do you wish to be introduced to Sanderson or not?” Huntley demanded.

Dimitri shook his head. “No.”

The duke scowled, his hand waving toward the crowd. “Tipova, if you forced me to this repulsive gathering as a punishment—”

“Compose yourself Huntley,” Dimitri drawled, his pride pricked. He might be floundering when it came to Emma Linley-Kirov, but he was perfectly capable of devising the best means to ensnare Lord Sanderson. Which was precisely why he had requested that Huntley procure them invitations to Sir Jergens’s soiree. And why he was lurking in the shadows rather standing next to Emma where he belonged. Or better yet, sweeping the aggravating woman back to his ship so they could have a few hours alone. “You admitted that you have never made a secret of your dislike for Sanderson. Do you not think it would be suspicious if you were to approach him for the simple purpose of introducing me, and then I begin questioning him on his most private affairs?”