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She froze, her hands clenching before she forced herself to turn and meet his brooding gaze.
“Yes?”
“Staid spinsters do not visit gambling clubs. If you wish to avoid unwanted attention you might consider a gown that does not smother you in wool.”
Her eyes flashed with the sort of fury that made Dimitri relieved that there was no knife at hand.
“I am not the one who needs to fear being smothered.”
EMMA PEERED OUT THE window of the carriage, allowing her maid’s incessant lecture on what happens to females who spend an entire afternoon in the company of known criminals to flow past her. She did not need to be reminded she had been a fool to meet with Dimitri Tipova. Or that she was an even greater fool to have agreed to his outrageous suggestion that she allow him to escort her to his gambling clubs.
For goodness’ sake, if she were recognized she would never overcome the scandal.
Whatever the dangers she fully intended to travel from one den of iniquity to another until she located the men who had abducted her sister. There was no point in dwelling on the insanity of her behavior.
Instead, she studied the overwhelming beauty of the city around her.
Over the past two days she had been too occupied with her troubles to truly notice its magnificence. Now she allowed herself to appreciate the stunning palaces that lined the narrow canals.
How odd to realize that such glory could rise from such brutality.
Her lips twisted as she recalled her history lessons. The cold-hearted Ivan and his private army, the oprichniki, who had terrorized the boyars until the Tatars attacked Moscow. Ivan had ordered any number of bloodbaths to maintain his ruthless rule until he had tumbled into utter madness and he was at last murdered by his own heir.
As much a monster as Ivan had been, however, the period of chaos that followed his death had proven the need for a strong leader to rule the vast empire. It had been the desperate Cossacks and outspoken Streltsi, and even a group of more prosperous peasants, that had demanded the zemsky sobor be called to name a new czar.
Eventually, Peter had come to the throne, his life already scarred by being forced to witness his closest family butchered when he was just ten years of age. Not that his years of being condemned to the remote hunting lodge on the Yauza River had been wasted. Indeed, they had offered him a rare opportunity for self-education.
Left to entertain himself, he studied with the local craftsmen to acquire skills in everything from blacksmithing to carpentry. He also gathered devoted friends who assisted him in mock battles and discovering the best means of drilling an infantry. Long before acquiring an army he had practiced besieging a scale-sized fortress and could calculate the ranges for his artillery.
Perhaps most important, he developed an obsessive fascination with sailing.
With remarkable foresight he had realized the future of his country depended upon opening itself to the world, and with a cruel efficiency he conquered a path to the Baltic Sea and then set about building a city that would rival Versailles.
There was a clatter of hooves as the carriage crossed the Fontanka River over the Semyonovsky Bridge and Emma realized they were nearing Vanya’s home.
Tugging the scarf more tightly around her neck, she was prepared as the carriage halted in front of the imposing mansion with its columned balcony and massive jade lions that guarded the double doors. Leaving the carriage she climbed the steps and entered the marble foyer.
There was an awkward moment as the uniformed servants scurried about her, attempting to perform small services before Emma waved them away. She would never become accustomed to having others wait on her.
Hovering uncertainly by a rosewood table that held a delicate Chinese vase, Emma was relieved by the sudden appearance of a strikingly beautiful woman with silver hair and a tall, curvaceous form attired in a morning dress of lavender silk.
“At last. I was becoming quite concerned,” Vanya murmured, a hint of worry in her pale blue eyes.
“I am sorry.” Emma removed her scarf and tossed it aside. “The impossible man kept me waiting for near two hours. As if he were royalty rather than a common criminal.”
Taking Emma’s hand, Vanya led her up a curved staircase. “I should never consider Dimitri Tipova common,” she said with a small sigh. “He is sinfully handsome, is he not?”
A dangerous sensation fluttered in the pit of her stomach. “I suppose he is handsome enough, although that does not compensate for his utter lack of civility. He is the rudest man I have ever encountered.”
Vanya allowed a mysterious smile to curve her lips as she led Emma into a private salon with emerald wall panels and gilt cornices. The furniture was a dark mahogany with gold velvet cushions and the wooden floor covered by an Oriental rug. The overall atmosphere was one of rich sensuality.
A perfect setting for Vanya.
“Odd.” Vanya settled on the sofa and pulled Emma down next to her. “I have always thought him to be surprisingly gracious.”
“You are well acquainted?”
Leaning forward, Vanya poured two cups of tea from the tray left on the low table, adding a generous amount of milk and sugar before handing a cup to Emma and leaning back into the cushions.
“He performed a great service for a dear friend of mine,” she explained, sipping her hot tea. “I consider myself in his debt.”
Emma hastily tempered her words, far too polite to insult a man her hostess held in high esteem.
“No doubt it is my fault.” She took a reviving sip of tea, hoping it would help the lies tumble from her lips. “He did mention that I stir his more primitive nature.”
“Did he?” Vanya’s smile widened. “How very intriguing.”
Intriguing? Emma found it utterly vexing. As if she were to blame for his irritating lack of manners.
“Let us hope our time together is of short duration.”
“Did he agree to assist you in your search for poor Anya?”
“Yes.”
“Thank goodness.” The older woman reached to pat Emma’s arm. “Whatever your opinion of Dimitri there is no gentleman more suited to helping you.”
Emma battled the urge to roll her eyes. “So he has told me.”
Vanya’s smile faded, her fingers gently squeezing Emma’s arm.
“Emma, do you prefer that I find another to lend you assistance?”
Her lips parted with a cowardly urge to agree to Vanya’s suggestion. Dimitri Tipova was arrogant and provoking and…
Dangerously attractive.
Then, she hastily swallowed the ridiculous words. If both Herrick and Vanya considered Dimitri Tipova the most suitable man to help her rescue Anya, then she would be inexcusably selfish to turn him away just because she…what? Feared him?
“No, of course not,” she said, her tone brisk. “Indeed, I need your help to prepare for the evening.”
“You have made plans?”
“I am to accompany Dimitri Tipova to several of his gambling establishments in the hopes I will recognize the gentlemen who lured Anya to St. Petersburg.”
If she was shocked by Emma’s revelation, then Vanya hid it well. Indeed, she nodded as if it were perfectly reasonable for a young, innocent maiden to allow herself to be escorted by a renowned criminal to his wicked clubs.
“Ah.”
“I shall need a means to disguise myself,” she firmly insisted. “I cannot risk being recognized. Who can say what the odious creatures will do to Anya if they realize I have followed them?”
“Do not fear, my dear.” A gleam that Emma did not entirely trust sparkled in Vanya’s blue eyes. “I shall ensure that not even your sister will recognize you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
THE SUNKEN ROSE GARDEN was thankfully wrapped in shadows as Dimitri strolled past the Italian sculptures and marble fountains. Despite his connections among the most elite members of the Russian court, he was still a bastard. Which meant he entered the fine homes by the servants’ entrance.
He was moving toward the narrow door at the back of the garden when his instincts prickled and he turned to discover a statuesque woman stepping into the garden from the French windows.
“Dimitri.”
Hiding a smile at Vanya Petrova’s imperious tone, Dimitri followed the flagstone path to halt before the older woman and perform a deep bow.
Vanya was one of the few aristocrats he truly admired.
“Vanya, as beautiful as ever,” he murmured. “I trust Richard Monroe appreciates just how fortunate he is to have captured your fair hand?”
A warm smile curved her lips at the mention of the Englishman who had been her devoted suitor for the past twenty years. Much to the surprise of St. Petersburg, Vanya had at last agreed to Monroe’s proposal.
“I presume he does.” She touched the large strand of pearls that encircled her neck. “The wedding is less than a month away and he has not yet bolted.”
“If I were not a dedicated bachelor I would attempt to steal you away.”
Vanya allowed her gaze to roam over his jacket in a pale blue-and-silver waistcoat that he had matched with black knee breeches. She smiled, almost as if she suspected he had taken particular pains with his attire.
“Every gentleman is a dedicated bachelor until he encounters the perfect woman.”
He clicked his tongue. “I did not expect such a predictable response from such a delightfully unconventional lady.”
“I intend to be even more predictable when I warn you that I am depending upon you to protect my young and decidedly innocent guest.”
“You have no need to fear. I promise that Emma Linley-Kirov will not leave my side.”
Vanya narrowed her eyes. “That does not entirely relieve my unease.”
Dimitri frowned, pretending that he had not spent an inordinate amount of time dwelling on his encounter with the bothersome female.
“For all my sins I am no debaucher of the innocent. Especially not when that innocence is wrapped in such a prickly package.”
“Do not allow her indomitable spirit to deceive you. Emma has taken on responsibilities that would have broken a lesser woman,” Vanya chastised. “Underneath all her pretense of courage, however, she is a young maiden who is terrified for her sister.”
His expression hardened. He was unaccustomed to being lectured as if he were a school lad. Not even the most cutthroat villain dared to question him.
“I will attempt to keep that in mind.”
There was the sound of footsteps and they both turned to watch Emma step from the house.
“Ah, here she is,” Vanya murmured.
Briefly caught in the candlelight from the house, Emma’s honey curls tumbled freely about her shoulders, but Vanya had cleverly hidden the young maiden’s face with a charming hat made of gold feathers and a diamond-encrusted veil that ended just above Emma’s lush lips. It added a hint of provocative mystery that would stir a man to investigate more. With the same masterful touch, Vanya had wrapped Emma’s slender body in a long cape of black velvet trimmed with matching gold feathers.
There was not a soul who would recognize her.
“Well done, Vanya,” he murmured. “I knew I could depend upon you to be rid of the nasty wool.”
The older woman chuckled, as if she harbored a secret. “You have no notion. Good luck, my dear.”
Moving toward the house, Vanya paused to kiss Emma on the cheek before disappearing through the French doors. Dimitri traced her footsteps, halting at Emma’s side to offer an arm.
“Shall we go?”
She hesitated, and Dimitri sensed her silent battle to overcome her fear. Then, with that courage he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was destined to lead her into trouble, she laid her hand on his arm and allowed herself to be led to the carriage Dimitri had left next to the mews.
Assisting her into the vehicle, Dimitri placed the heated bricks at her feet before settling at her side and tugging the rug over both of them. The night air was crisp enough to be uncomfortable.
He waited until the driver had set the matching black horses into a brisk trot before he reached into a drawer built beneath the leather bench and retrieved a silver flask and two small crystal glasses.
Pouring them both a measure of the potent spirits, he pressed one of the glasses into Emma’s unwilling fingers and lifted his own glass in a toast.
“Za vas.”
She cautiously sipped the expensive liquor, predictably choking as the fiery liquid slid down her throat.
“Good Lord. What is it?”
“Cognac.” Dimitri took a far more appreciative sip, savoring the nutty flavor of the well-aged spirit. “It will help keep you warm.”
She frowned, but she took another sip, perhaps hoping to ease her nerves.
“Is it a great distance to your club?” she demanded.
“No, it is quite close.” Dimitri refilled her glass, studying her brittle expression. She appeared ready to bolt. Clearly a distraction was in order. “Is this your first visit to St. Petersburg?”
“This is the first occasion I have ever left our tiny village.” A rueful smile touched her lips, her hazel eyes shrouded in mystery behind the gossamer veil. “I suppose that makes me impossibly provincial?”
“I refuse to be baited, Emma Linley-Kirov. Do you wish me to point out the more historical buildings we will pass on our journey?”
“I…” She paused, then offered a small dip of her head. “Yes, I would be very interested, thank you.”
Scooting closer to her, Dimitri glanced out the window as the carriage turned onto the Nevsky Prospekt.
Within moments the stunning Our Lady of Kazan Cathedral came into view. The domed church was an impressive sight with its sweeping colonnade that framed a small garden complete with a fountain.
“Perhaps you know Emperor Paul intended the structure to imitate Saint Peter’s Basilica in Rome despite the church officials’ outrage at having a replica of a Catholic church.”
As he had hoped, Emma’s tension eased as she pressed her nose to the window, obviously eager to enjoy the spectacular view.
“My father told me that Alexander Pavlovich had commanded the church become a memorial to the defeat of Napoleon.”
