Scoundrel's Honor. Rosemary Rogers
by Dimitri’s unexpected arrival, Emma allowed herself to be pulled through the gate and into the small stone grotto that hid them from view. It was only when he spun her to meet his furious gaze that she jerked her arm free of his slender fingers.
“You truly must overcome your habit of manhandling me, sir—”
“Dimitri,” he bit out, removing his hat and muffler and tossing them on a nearby marble bench.
A chill inched down her spine at the hard expression on his beautiful face, but she held her ground, refusing to reveal her unease.
“I will not be bullied.”
“Be happy that I have not turned you over my knee as I long to do,” he snapped.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I suspected that you were headstrong and impulsive and inclined to follow your heart rather than your head, but I did not realize you were without sense.”
“I do not have to remain here and be insulted by a—”
Her proud words were brought to a sharp halt as he reached up to tug the bonnet off her head, disregarding her angry protest as he dropped it on the ground.
“Did you truly believe that ridiculous concoction would protect you if you encountered the men who abducted your sister?”
“As a matter of fact, I do,” she said, tossing back the thick honey hair that tumbled about her shoulders. “No one took the least notice of me.”
“My servant recognized you from across the square.”
“More likely he recognized Vanya Petrova and assumed I was her companion,” she argued. “The men I am seeking have no expectation of seeing me in St. Petersburg and certainly not in the company of a noblewoman.”
He stepped forward, his hands clenched at his side. “You took an absurd risk.”
“I am quite at liberty to take whatever risks I desire. It is none of your concern.”
“Emma, do not be a fool,” he rasped. “Those men may hide among polite society, but beneath their fine clothing and excessively large homes they are no better than animals. If they decide you are a threat to them they will not hesitate to put you in a grave.”
Emma bristled at his unwanted lecture, but there was something in his voice that tempered her fury.
It was understandable for any gentleman with the least amount of decency to be outraged at the thought of innocent young girls being abused. But there was something personal, perhaps even intimate, in Dimitri’s anger.
Tilting back her head, she studied the chiseled perfection of his aristocratic features. This man was proving to be disturbingly complex.
“Herrick insisted that you were the best suited to assist me in finding my sister, but he did not reveal what connection you possess with these men.”
His eyes darkened. “Do you wonder if I am a partner in their crimes?”
“No. Certainly not.”
“I have confessed to be a sinner.”
Without thought, she reached to place her hand on his forearm. “You might be a sinner, but you are not evil.”
His gaze lowered to where her fingers lay against his coat. “There are those who would disagree.”
She shrugged off his warning, bitterly aware that the opinion of others rarely had anything to do with the truth.
“Besides, if you were involved in their ghastly business you would hardly be eager to bring them to justice.”
“Not justice.” A terrifying anger burned in his golden eyes. “I want them destroyed. I want their foul deeds exposed to the world so that they flee to the wilds of Siberia to hide from their shame. I want them to die alone and in complete despair.”
Emma shivered at the stark pain that she sensed beneath his fury. “They hurt someone you love. Your sister?”
His jaw hardened and she thought he intended to ignore her question. Then, with a sharp movement, he turned away to gaze out the small window overlooking the nearby fountain.
“My mother.”
Her heart squeezed with sympathy. “They abducted her?”
“There was no need. My mother was the daughter of a simple cobbler.” His voice was as hard and frigid as the Siberian winter. “One day Count Nevskaya walked into my grandfather’s shop and had his servant collect my mother and carry her to his waiting carriage.”
“He just…took her?”
“He tossed a few coins on the counter in payment.”
She swallowed the bile that threatened to rise in her throat. “And your grandfather did nothing to stay him?”
“It was a different time and the count was a close friend to Emperor Paul.” The lines of his shoulders were rigid, his hands clenched at his sides. She had obviously stirred his deepest demons. “My grandfather could not risk the wrath of a nobleman when he had several other children to support.”
Emma wrapped her arms around her waist, feeling cold to her very soul.
“How old was she?”
“Just turned fifteen.”
It was worse than Anya. Dimitri’s mother had been taken as if she were no more than an object that had been bought by a handful of coins.
“Where did he take her?”
“He owns a home near Novgorod. He kept her there for near six months, then…”
She unwittingly moved to his side, studying the bleak lines of his profile.
“Then what?”
“It became obvious she was with child so he dismissed her.”
Her breath tangled in her throat as she abruptly realized she had been absurdly blind. She should have suspected the truth from the moment she had caught sight of his lean, noble features. Or at least after he’d attempted to bully her. That sort of arrogance had to be bred into a man.
“You are that child?” she asked softly.
He slowly turned to face her, his expression guarded. Emma sensed how difficult it was to speak of his past, as if the wounds were still raw and bleeding.
“I am.”
She hesitated, unwilling to further his pain, and yet needing to know what happened.
“Did your mother return to her family?”
“They refused to take her back into their home. She was, after all, ruined in the eyes of the world. They could not hope to marry her off with a bastard child in tow.”
Her cheeks heated with outrage. “But she was taken against her will.”
Leaning against the fresco painted on the stone wall of the grotto, Dimitri studied her flush beneath his half-lowered lashes.
“You are not that naive, Emma.”
No, she was not.
So long as women were kept powerless they were at the mercy of men, society and even fate that too often treated them with a ruthless cruelty.
“What happened to her?”
“What happens to most women forced onto the streets,” he said harshly. “Once she gave birth to me she entered a brothel. Does that shock you?”
His wary gaze skimmed over her face, no doubt accustomed to others condemning his mother for the choices she was forced to make. Emma, however, felt only sympathy. And admiration.
“On the contrary, I admire her,” she said with a steady sincerity. “She