Scoundrel's Honor

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“I need to know.”

“Emma.”

She laid a pleading hand on his arm. “Please, Dimitri.”

His gaze shifted to the window, absently noticing the aging palaces were being replaced by the classically designed homes preferred by Alexander Pavlovich’s architect, Carlo Rossi.

“It would be my guess they transport the women to a select group of gentlemen in England who, in return, send back the females they have lured into their trap,” he grudgingly revealed his suspicion. Now that he understood how his father had rid himself of the local females, it was a simple matter to deduce the remainder of his nefarious scheme.

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “But why go to such a bother?”

“They did not in the beginning, as my presence in St. Petersburg is ample proof.” He restlessly tugged off his hat and muffler, tossing them into the opposite seat. His gloves followed. “But Alexander Pavlovich has become remarkably pious as the years have passed and while he is not foolish enough to truly believe he can command his court to put aside their wicked pleasures, he has insisted they become more discreet.”

“I still do not understand.”

He reached to take her hand, not surprised to find her fingers were stiff with cold. Where the hell were her gloves? And her scarf? The foolish wench. She could shoulder the responsibilities of her business and her sister, but she was stunningly incapable of caring for herself.

Clearly she was in need of someone to protect her, regardless of her prickly independence.

“Allow yourself to imagine a very young and frightened English girl being smuggled into St. Petersburg,” he said, studying the shadows that darkened her beautiful eyes. “She would be a world away from her family and friends, she would have no money and no ability to speak the language. She would be utterly at the mercy of her captors.”

“She would not dare try to escape.”

“Precisely.”

She worried her lower lip with her teeth, too intelligent not to realize the dire fate awaiting such women.

“They cannot hold them captive forever.”

“No. Once they…” He rubbed a hand over his face, hating the necessity of discussing such a repugnant subject with Emma. “Wearied of the girls, they no doubt sell them to brothels in Novgorod or Moscow.”

She swayed, her face ashen. “Anya,” she breathed. “I have to find her.”

“Emma, we cannot be certain she was on the ship.”

She met his gaze with an implacable expression that made Dimitri’s gut twist with dread.

“There is only one means to discover.”

HER WORDS WERE STILL ringing through the air when the carriage was pulled to a halt in front of a newly constructed house.

It was a home any gentleman would be proud to claim.

Built of pale stone, it boasted five bays with a central bowed projection that was most notable for the Venetian glass he had imported for the windows that flanked the double doorway. A sweep of stairs led to the wraparound terrace that overlooked the sunken garden arranged on both sides and the high brick fencing that offered a rare privacy.

For once, Dimitri did not experience the flare of pride at his creation. He was far more intent on scooping the startled Emma into his arms and climbing out of the carriage.

Predictably outraged at being carried through the gate and up the stairs, Emma smacked his chest, a stormy flush bringing welcome color to her cheeks.

“Have you taken leave of your senses?” She continued with her futile assault. “Put me down.”

Dimitri crossed the terrace, smiling as the door was pushed open to reveal a broad man with the corded muscles of a laborer and the weathered features of a sailor. Hardly a typical butler, despite the distinguished mane of silver hair. In truth, Rurik looked exactly what he was. A pirate. And nothing could make him appear respectable. Not even the uniform Dimitri insisted he wear.

Dimitri shrugged. He had done his best to prevent panic among the neighbors.

“Caught a feisty one, eh?” Rurik demanded, a curious glint in his blue eyes. Dimitri had never brought a woman to this house.

“Not intentionally,” Dimitri gritted, entering the marble foyer and headed directly toward the massive cedar staircase that had been hand carved. “Now I must decide what is to be done with her.”

“The dungeon is currently empty,” Rurik offered.

Dimitri smiled down at the furious woman tucked in his arms.

“A temptation I must admit, but for the moment I will content myself with an undisturbed privacy. Would you ensure that dinner is prepared and kept warm in the kitchen?”

“Of course.”

Emma’s eyes widened as she turned her head to watch Rurik stride toward the back of the house.

“Wait.” She jerked back to meet his amused expression as Rurik disappeared. “I see you have your servants trained to ignore the pleas of the poor women you kidnap.”

Dimitri climbed the stairs, fully enjoying the sensation of Emma cradled in his arms.

“Rurik needed no training. He was a pirate who terrorized the seas until he was captured by the French during the war.”

“If he was captured then what is he doing here?”

He reached the upper landing and headed directly for the main saloon.

“I take exception to fine Russian citizens being tortured by that French imposter.”

She made a choked sound of disbelief. “You snuck into Napoleon’s prison?”

“There are few men more loyal than those who have been rescued from the guillotine. And, of course, his wife happens to be the finest cook in the empire. When she promised her services in exchange for her husband’s freedom I could not resist.”

Her eyes narrowed, obviously suspecting the danger Dimitri had risked sneaking into the brutal French prison despite his nonchalant tone. Thankfully, her probing questions died on her lips as he stepped into the long saloon.

A tiny gasp escaped her as she studied the coved ceiling with gilded rosettes that framed the line of crystal chandeliers. The walls were covered in emerald satin panels with marble columns set between the high arched windows. The furniture had been purchased from the finest Russian craftsmen as had the parquet floor that was inlaid with cherry and teak. In all, it was a room that spoke of refined elegance.

“What is this place?” she asked as he settled her on the gold settee beside the massive black marble fireplace.

He moved to light the logs already stacked in the fireplace, chuckling at her astonished tone.

“My home.”

“Your home?”

Turning, he leaned against the carved mantel and regarded her with a lift of his brows.

“Despite the rumors, I do not crawl from the pits of hell each evening.”

She waved a hand toward the delicate jade figurines perched on a satinwood table.

“This hardly suits the image of the Beggar Czar.”

“True—” he shrugged “—which is why I have several residences spread throughout the city. Each of them serve their own specific purpose.”

“And what purpose does this residence serve? Your private brothel?”

“If that were true it would be an abysmal failure.”

She jerked as if he had slapped her. “I suppose that is yet another insult at my lack of attractiveness?”

He frowned, prowling toward the settee. Was the woman demented? She was the most tempting, most exquisitely beautiful female he had ever encountered.

“On the contrary, moya dusha, it is the highest compliment.” He sat on the cushion next to her stiff body, turning to study her wounded hazel eyes. “You are the only female beyond my cook to ever step over the threshold. In fact, there are less than a handful of people who even know of this house. I come here when I desire to be alone.”

“Then why have you brought me here?”

With experienced ease, he reached to unbutton her cloak, tossing it aside, not at all surprised to discover her swathed in yet another layer of brown wool beneath.

“A dangerous question, Emma Linley-Kirov.”

He felt her shiver as he turned his attention to the buttons that lined the gown from her chin to beneath the soft swell of her bosom.

“For goodness’ sake, what are you doing?”

His blood heated as he slowly peeled back the heavy material to reveal the satin beauty beneath.

“Attempting to understand why you would believe for a moment I find you lacking in appeal.”

“You have accused me of being a shrill-tongued spinster, a selfish martyr—” Her recriminations faded to a breathless sigh when he pressed his lips to the base of her throat.

“A delectable innocent who I have imagined unwrapping from your woolen layers a hundred times.”

Her hands lifted to lie against his chest, but she made no effort to push him away.

“You complained when I did not hide myself.”

“Of course.” He stroked his lips to the hollow beneath her ear, his fingers continuing to unbutton the body of her gown. “Only I am allowed to enjoy your most intimate beauty.”

“I think you enjoy mocking me.”

“If you need proof of my desire I am happy to oblige.”

“That is not—” She squeaked in alarm as he effortlessly pressed her back onto the cushions of the settee, following downward to cover her with his larger body. “Oh. Good Lord.”

Good Lord, indeed.

CHAPTER EIGHT

EMMA KNEW SHE WAS IN trouble as soon as he claimed her lips in a kiss that seared her to the tips of her toes. She was aware of being lowered to the cushions, and the pleasant sensation of his hard body pressed to her softer curves. More distantly, she could feel the friction of the wool gown as it was pulled slowly, yet relentlessly down her body. But the fear that should have had her shoving him away was overwhelmed by the excitement that jolted through her.

Clutching at his shoulders, she quivered as his tongue traced the seam of her lips, silently encouraging them to part. Hesitantly, she opened her mouth, shocked as he dipped his tongue between her lips. He tasted of cognac and danger, a heady combination that made her heart race.

Over and over he plundered her willing lips, his tongue tangling with hers in a beautiful dance.

She heard him groan, his hands expertly loosening her curls and gently spreading them across the cushions beneath her. His touch was tender, but she sensed the fierce hunger under the surface. It was etched in the taut muscles beneath her hands and the harsh rasp of his breath.

She shifted beneath him, her fingers biting into his shoulders. What was the odd restlessness that was plaguing her? The sense that her body was seeking a fulfillment that only Dimitri could offer?

“So sweet,” he murmured, his lips drifting down the line of her jaw.

She instinctively tilted back her head, offering her throat to his skillful kisses.

“This is insanity,” she muttered.

“Delectable madness,” he readily agreed, his hands lowering to cup the soft swell of her breasts.

Emma shuddered in shocked pleasure, realizing her gown had been tugged down to her waist, revealing the plain shift she wore beneath. She could feel the heat of his hand branding through the thin material and when he bent his head to cover a straining nipple with his mouth, she nearly screamed. Dear Lord. The feel of the damp linen and the rough stroke of his tongue grazing her sensitive nipple were sending tiny darts of bliss through her.

She had never suspected a man’s touch could offer such exquisite pleasure. Or that her body would respond with an aching need that overrode the whispers of alarm in the back of her mind.

“Dimitri?”

“Yes, moya dusha,” he softly assured her, his lips continuing to torment her breasts as his hands slid beneath her, subtly tugging her heavy skirt upward. “Allow me to please you.”

She trembled at the heady sensations that swirled through her. She felt as giddy as if she had drunk an entire bottle of champagne.

A moan was wrenched from her throat as Dimitri’s slender fingers delved beneath her skirt to stroke up the back of her legs. Lightly, he traced the top edge of her stockings, making her lower stomach clench with a sharp pang of need.

Oh, this was…astonishing.

Her eyes squeezed shut as she instinctively allowed her legs to part. She could feel the hard thrust of his arousal against her hip and hear his fractured breathing as he buried his face in the curve of her neck, but nothing mattered apart from those clever fingers.

Allowing her hands to tangle in the thick satin of his hair, she unconsciously arched her back, seeking relief from the tension coiling deep inside.

There had to be something…

“Please, Dimitri,” she choked, not certain what she needed, but sensing he would understand.