Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

Emma nodded. The memory of her mother holding her tightly on her lap as she spoke of her homeland caused a bittersweet ache in the center of her heart.

“She often spoke of her home that she left behind to travel to Russia as a nanny. It made me long to visit.” She grimaced. “Although not under such circumstances.”

“Do you intend to contact your relatives while you are here?”

Emma shrugged. She had hesitated to contact her distant relatives after the death of her father. The last thing she desired was to be seen as a pathetic orphan in search of charity. And perhaps, if she were perfectly honest, she would have to admit that a small voice in the back of her head warned that there might be those among their relatives that might not consider her a suitable guardian for Anya. She would not take the risk her sister might be taken from her.

Utterly selfish of her, of course. And as she was discovering, utterly stupid.

Perhaps if she had allowed Anya to go to a traditional family with a stable home and a mother capable of devoting her time to her children, Anya might have outgrown her impulsive lust for attention.

“I might consider seeking them out once Anya is safe,” she said, refusing to imagine the possibility that she would not find her sister. “It would be nice to meet our family. We have been alone a long time.”

“You are not alone, Emma.” Without warning, Leonida leaned forward to grip her hand. “Never again.”

The warmth of Leonida’s generous kindness helped to ease the icy dread that was lodged in the pit of Emma’s stomach. It was odd. How often did the common folk in her tiny village complain of the cold disdain of the aristocrats, and how they cared for no one but themselves? And yet, her neighbors had done nothing to assist her when she needed help, while this woman who had been born into lavish luxury had not hesitated to extend a hand of friendship and to open her home to a perfect stranger.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice brimming with sincerity.

The carriage rolled to a halt, a handful of grooms scrambling to open the door and pull out the steps.

“Here we are,” Leonida announced, offering Emma a wink as they were carefully assisted from the coach and then discreetly followed by the burly guards as they passed through the gates.

A frown formed on Emma’s brow as they strolled along across the frozen ground, her gaze skimming over the flat expanse of parkland that was surprisingly bustling with elegant pedestrians.

“Heavens! I had no notion it would be so vast,” she murmured. “How will we ever find Lady Sanderson?”

“There are only a few paths that attract a lady of fashion.” Leonida threaded her arm through Emma’s and tugged her toward a line of trees. “This way.”

“Where are we going?”

“The Queen’s Walk. It passes by the basin.” They walked in silence, both enjoying the sense of peace that was so rare in the bustling city, then Leonida turned to catch Emma’s small smile. “What are you thinking?”

Emma sucked in a deep breath, acutely aware of the history that surrounded her. As beautiful as St. Petersburg might be, it had not yet acquired the centuries of stories and memories that shrouded London in mystery.

“My mother told me that Green Park was created by King Charles II and that it never was allowed to have flowers since his queen discovered him offering blooms to another lady while they strolled among the deer and temples.”

Leonida chuckled. “Who is to say if it is true or not? I do know the temples were destroyed during the various celebrations over the years and, of course, there was a fireworks accident that caused a dreadful fire. Not that I am complaining. There is something very appealing in simple nature unmarred by man.” Leonida leaned close to Emma’s ear. “I believe the woman in the burgundy cloak with the yapping dog is Lady Sanderson.”

Emma covertly glanced toward the woman who was struggling to maintain her grip on the leash holding a small, ill-trained dog. She stumbled in shock. Could that dumpy woman in a garish velvet cloak and matching bonnet be a lady of society? She looked more like the butcher’s wife with her plump, ruddy cheeks and brown curls that escaped the limp bun at the nape of her neck.

“Truly?” she breathed.

“It is rumored she br

ought with her a considerable dowry, although Lord Sanderson has swiftly squandered her fortune. How do you intend to approach her?”

“I haven’t the least notion.” Emma ignored her companion’s speculative gaze as they headed directly toward the woman who had halted to untangle her leash from a bush. It was not until Lady Sanderson had straightened and was watching their approach with astonishment that inspiration struck. “What a darling puppy,” she cooed, squeezing Leonida’s arm. “Is he not a darling, Your Grace?”

“Most handsome,” Leonida readily agreed, managing to hide her grimace as the dog rolled in a patch of mud. “Wherever did you find him?”

The woman’s mud-brown eyes widened with terrified shock at being approached by the elusive Duchess of Huntley.

“Your Grace, this is such a…” Lady Sanderson paused, making a visible effort to regain command of her shattered composure. “Lancelot was a gift from my father.”

Leonida smiled graciously. “Lady Sanderson, is it not?”

“Yes. Yes, it is indeed.”