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Scoundrel's Honor
Rosemary Rogers
When her younger sister is abducted, strong-willed Emma Linley-Kirov will make a deal with the devil himself to rescue her.Devastatingly handsome, Dimitri Tipova is a scoundrel, seducer…and the only man who can help her, though his motive is cold, hard vengeance. Emma dares to trust him, but at what price?As prince of Saint Petersburg's underworld, Dimitri has wealth, power, women - everything but revenge against his nefarious father. Emma is an enchanting means to an end.But as their dangerous pursuit sweeps them from the ballrooms of Russia to the steamy streets of Cairo, his savage desire for her grows. And leads him to a crossroads between his dark obsession…and the promise of love.
Praise for the incomparable ROSEMARY ROGERS
“[A] perfect beach book.”
—Publishers Weekly on Bound by Love
“Sizzling sensuality, seduction and danger, along with a fine overview of Russia and the political intrigues of the Romanov court, come together with a powerful, skillfully told love story…vintage Rosemary Rogers.”
—RT Book Reviews on Scandalous Deception (4½ stars)
“From the high roads of England to the French countryside, this is a classic sexy, adventure romance…Rogers continues to play on the timeless themes of the genre, providing a wonderful, albeit nostalgic, read. You can go home again.”
—RT Book Reviews on A Daring Passion (4 stars)
“The queen of historical romance.”
—New York Times Book Review
“Rogers’ legion of readers will be delighted to find that her latest historical romance features the same brand of arrogant, bold, and sexy hero; stubborn, beautiful, and unconventional heroine; and passionate plot that first made this genre wildly popular in the early 1980s.”
—Booklist on Sapphire
“Her novels are filled with adventure, excitement, and always, wildly tempestuous romance.”
—Fort Worth Star-Telegram
Rosemary Rogers
Scoundrel’s Honor
Thank you always, new readers and old.
—RR
SCOUNDREL’S HONOR
CONTENTS
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
CHAPTER ONE
THE VILLAGE OF YABINSK in the Volga River Basin near Moscow was the typical cluster of low, sturdy homes scattered near a wooden church. On the distant hills the wealthier citizens built their redbrick mansions to overlook the lesser folk, while small fishing boats painted in cheerful colors lined the meandering river.
On the very edge of the village, a three-storied coaching inn with attached stables squatted next to the narrow road leading to Moscow to the south and St. Petersburg to the north. With a tile roof and recently painted shutters the building managed to appear respectable, if not prosperous. It was an image that was enhanced by the meticulously clean foyer and the small chambers upstairs that smelled of wood polish and dried flowers.
Behind the stables was a small wattle-and-daub cottage nearly hidden behind the stone wall that divided the property.
It was little more than a kitchen, a front parlor and two bedchambers in the attic, but it was sturdily built to keep out the worst of the Russian winters and filled with delicate birch and cedar furnishings that were more suitable for the palaces of St. Petersburg.
In truth, Fedor Duscha had been a master craftsman before his untimely death and in great demand by many of the finest noble families. The furniture was worth a tidy sum of rubles, but his daughter Emma Linley-Kirov would have starved before selling it off. It had been wrenching enough to convert her father’s precious workshop into the coaching inn for a means to make money for her and her younger sister, Anya.
On this cool autumn day, however, she barely noted the scrolled settee set beneath the window of the parlor or the hutch that held her mother’s English china.
Instead, she paced the threadbare carpet, her stomach knotted and her hands shaking as she smoothed them down her plain gown of brown kerseymere. At last she turned to meet the concerned gaze of Diana Stanford, who was currently seated on the settee.
Although nearly ten years older than Emma, the English nanny was her dearest friend. Emma’s own mother had been raised in England and after her death there had been a comforting familiarity in Diana’s companionship.
A traditional English rose, Diana possessed fair hair and blue eyes that lent her an air of deceptive fragility. Emma on the other hand had inherited her father’s honey-brown hair, which she kept pulled into a knot at the nape of her neck, and a pair of hazel eyes that regarded the world with a grim determination that tended to intimidate any who hoped to take advantage of a woman forced to stand on her own.
A necessity for keeping her inn profitable and for raising her sixteen-year-old sister, but decidedly detrimental to her relationship with the local villagers. Most of her neighbors condemned the mere thought of a lady attempting to run her own business, let alone raise an impressionable girl. A proper, well-behaved female depended upon a man. Only an overly forward tart would dare to toss aside convention and remain independent.
The others found her a source of amusement, whispering behind her back and ensuring that she felt suitably unwelcome at the local gatherings.
Until today, she rarely allowed their opinions to trouble her.
“No, you must be mistaken,” Diana said, breaking the tense silence. “Anya might be stubborn and occasionally impulsive—”
Emma snorted. “Occasionally?”
Diana smiled wryly. Emma’s younger, far more beautiful sister was a volatile mixture of absurd fantasies and caprice.
“But she is not utterly bird-witted,” her companion continued. “She would never leave her home with two strangers who have no family connection to her.”
Emma reluctantly handed over the crumpled note she had found on Anya’s empty bed when she had awakened that morning.
“She would if those two strangers happened to be wealthy noblemen who promised her a career upon the stages of Europe.”
Diana read through the short missive, her brows drawing together.
“An actress?”
“You know how Anya has always dreamed of a glamorous life far away from Yabinsk.”
“Fah. What young lady does not fill her head with such nonsense? Every girl in the village has dreamed of attracting the attention of a handsome prince who will carry her away.” With a rustle of her pale peach gown, Diana slowly rose to her feet. “Yourself included, Emma Linley-Kirov.”
Emma shrugged. Any dream of handsome princes and tender romance had died along with her mother.
“Yes, but most of us put aside such fancies with our dolls. Anya, however, refused to accept there were no such things as fairy tales.” She wrapped her arms around her waist, shivering at the cold sense of dread that held her captive. “I blame myself, of course. After father’s death I did not devote nearly enough attention to her.”
“Good heavens, Emma, you have sacrificed everything to provide a home for your sister. You should take great pride in all you have accomplished.”
“Ah, yes, my accomplishments,” Emma said, her voice thick with bitterness as she glanced toward the nearby inn. “They are quite amazing.”
“Yes, they are, my dear,” Diana firmly said. “You were barely more than a babe when your poor mother died and you were forced to assume the duties of the household, not to mention caring for Anya. And then to lose your father.” The older woman clicked her tongue. “Well, any other girl would have fled such burdens, or at least have depended upon the charity of others. But not you.”
“No, I was determined to stand on my own, no matter what the cost.”
“Which you have done with remarkable success.”
Emma shook her head. Her friend was too loyal to mention the fact that Emma’s accomplishments had barely provided the essentials for her sister. And that she had managed to ostracize them both from local society.
“At the cost of Anya.”
“Absurd.”
Emma breathed in deeply, inanely astonished by the familiar scents of wood smoke and freshly baked bread. Since she discovered Anya’s disappearance, she had felt as if the world had become a strange nightmare.
“I convinced myself that I was teaching Anya the importance of being self-sufficient,” she rasped. “Now I have to wonder if I was merely being selfish.”
“Selfish?” Diana wrapped a comforting arm around Emma’s shoulders. “You are the most generous and kindhearted young lady I have ever known.”
Emma reluctantly forced herself to overcome the pained embarrassment that had held her silent since her father’s death nearly four years before.
“No, Diana, I could have accepted Baron Kostya’s offer.”
“Offer?” The older woman dropped her arm and stepped back in shock. “He proposed?”
“Not marriage, although his arrangement did include having me in his bed.” Emma grimaced, the memory of the night the baron had arrived on her doorstep with her favorite apricot-and-honey sponge cake seared into her mind. God almighty, she had been so stupidly naive. He had assured her that he was there to ease the burdens she was carrying and she had wildly imagined that he intended to invest in her coaching inn, or even to offer Anya a position as a maid at his mansion overlooking the village. It had never entered her mind that he would shame her with the demand that she become his mistress. Or his threat to make her life a misery if she did not accept. “No. He wished to offer me carte blanche and he was prepared to be remarkably generous.”
“Good heavens.” Diana pressed a hand to her impressive bosom. “That certainly explains his odd behavior. One day he was singing your high praises and the next—”
“He treated me as if I carried the plague,” Emma finished, not needing to add that his cruel attitude had only encouraged the villagers to turn their backs on her.
“Why did you not tell me?” Diana breathed.
Emma plucked at the frayed hem of her sleeve, a familiar sickness rolling through the pit of her stomach.
She had been horrified by the baron’s offer, but more than that, she had been deeply hurt.
Once her family had been highly respected in the area, and she could have chosen from a number of eager suitors. The very fact that the baron had felt free to offer such a shameful arrangement had revealed just how far she had fallen.
“It is hardly something I wished to discuss,” she muttered. “I was desperate to avoid any further gossip.”
Diana regarded her with sympathy. She better than anyone understood the sacrifices a woman on her own was forced to make.
“Well, I must admit that I would have counseled you to decline such a scandalous offer, but there is no denying that he is quite wealthy and I do not doubt his offer to have been generous.”
“Generous enough to ensure I could have devoted myself to Anya rather than to keeping a roof over our head.”
