Scoundrel's Honor. Rosemary Rogers
the stage this afternoon, we should be in St. Petersburg within two days.”
“But—”
“I am quite determined, Diana, and you know it is a waste of effort to argue with me,” Emma firmly interrupted the looming lecture.
The older woman pressed her lips together in disapproval. “Always assuming you manage to arrive in St. Petersburg unscathed, how do you propose to find Anya? St. Petersburg is not a quiet village where neighbors are well-known to one another. You could search for weeks and never cross her path.”
Emma smiled wryly. She might be a provincial old maid, but she was not without a measure of common sense. She had known from the moment she’d made the decision to travel to St. Petersburg that she could not expect to stumble across Anya.
“I intend to request Herrick Gerhardt’s assistance.”
“Gerhardt? The emperor’s advisor?”
“Yes. He is rumored to possess mysterious powers that allow him to be aware of all that occurs in the empire. There are those who refer to him as the ‘Spider’ for his ability to spin webs that capture even the most clever of traitors.”
Diana stepped back, studying Emma as if she feared she’d taken leave of her senses.
“Whatever they may call him, Herrick Gerhardt is one of the most powerful gentlemen in Russia. You cannot just arrive on his doorstep.”
“As a matter of fact, I can.”
“Emma.”
“Do not fret.” Emma held up a slender hand. “He is related to my mother—a distant cousin I believe—and he sent a very kind letter after Father’s death inviting me to call upon him if he could ever be of service to me.”
Diana did not appear particularly reassured. “I do not approve of this dangerous scheme.”
Emma did not particularly approve of it herself.
Unfortunately she had no choice.
“Anya is all I have left in this world,” she said, her voice raw with suppressed emotion. “I will not fail her again.”
BLESSING THE FULL MOON that washed the elegant study in silver light, Dimitri Tipova knelt beside the mahogany desk. He had finished his search through the papers and journals in the drawers, now his slender fingers ran over the carved panels in hope of discovering a hidden compartment.
What gentleman did not have secrets to hide?
And Pytor Burdzecki had more to hide than most.
Intent on his self-imposed task, Dimitri nearly missed the soft footfall just outside the door, and it was only his swift instincts that had him straightening and moving to stand casually near the bay window. Wisely, he had opened it before beginning his search; a successful thief always had a ready escape prepared.
The door to the study was slowly pressed inward and Dimitri cast a downward glance to ensure his black jacket and silver waistcoat were properly buttoned and as crisp as could be expected, considering they had recently been tossed on a bedroom floor. A searching gaze would no doubt detect his cravat was hastily tied and the raven hair pulled back in a queue was still rumpled from feminine fingers, but with luck the darkness of the room would conceal such imperfections.
And if not…well, he possessed the means to keep his presence in the St. Petersburg town house a secret.
Reaching into the inner pocket of his jacket, Dimitri closed his hand over the pearl handle of his small pistol, prepared to kill until a slender, obviously female shape stepped over the threshold.
“Pierre?” the woman called softly.
Dimitri swallowed an impatient sigh. He had hoped to slip away before Pytor Burdzecki’s young bride, Lana, realized he was gone.
The pretty woman with auburn hair and wide blue eyes had been easy enough to seduce. He had only to pretend to be a visiting French diplomat who occasionally crossed her path at the opera, or at the Gostiny Dvor where she would shop with her maid. Within a handful of days she allowed him to escort her to the nearest coffee shop with giggles and inviting glances.
She had no reason to suspect that he was the infamous Beggar Czar, ruthless leader of the underworld, or that his interest in her was merely a means to enter this palatial home that was heavily guarded by trained soldiers.
Loosening his grip on the gun, he smoothly stepped toward her.
“Ma belle, I thought you were asleep.”
She glanced about her husband’s private study with a frown. “What are you doing?”
“Preparing to leave, I fear.”
“Did you lose your way?”
With another step he was close enough to tenderly tuck a dark curl behind her ear. She was a vain, self-absorbed little creature, but she was harmless. Which was more than her husband could claim.
Or Dimitri, for that matter.
“I prefer to slip away unnoticed by the servants,” he murmured, speaking the perfect French all Russian nobles favored. He was also fluent in Russian and English, and could comprehend several of the Germanic dialects. He was an excessively well-educated thief, thanks to his mother’s insistence that his bastard of a father pay for his schooling. “I would not desire such a beautiful creature to be the source of ugly gossip.”
“Oh.” She batted her lashes, eager to accept his smooth lie. “Must you leave so soon?”
“Hardly soon. I risk being castrated by your husband if I linger any longer.”
She pouted, grasping the lapels of his jacket as she pressed against him in unspoken encouragement.
“He never returns before dawn, if he even bothers to return at all.” She kissed the tip of his chin. “If we are fortunate, we could enjoy the entire day together.”
Dimitri narrowed his whiskey-gold eyes. “I never depend upon luck, ma belle.”
“But, when will we meet again?”
“Who can say when fate will be kind enough to cross our paths again?”
“Tonight—”
“We shall allow destiny to unfold,” he interrupted, firmly removing her hands from his maltreated jacket and lifted them to his lips. “Return to the warmth of your bed. You shall find a small token of my esteem tucked beneath your pillow.”
As expected, Lana was readily distracted. “A present?”
“Oui. I hope you will think of me whenever you wear them.”
“Wear them?” Her blue eyes sparked in anticipation. “What are they? Gloves? Earrings?”
“Why do you not go and discover for yourself?” he urged, smiling wryly as she giggled and hastily skipped from the room.
Despite the fact she was wed to a sexual deviant more than twice her age, Lana was little more than a jeune fille in many ways. Nothing like the women in his world who were rarely allowed a childhood.
Listening to the sound of retreating footsteps, Dimitri slid through the open window and dropped into the garden below. He had not yet finished his search of the house, but Lana was certain to have attracted unwanted attention among the guards, and he could not risk being caught.
He landed with the ease of an avid sportsman, his hand reaching for his pistol even as he straightened. The instinct that had kept him alive more times than he could recall was prickling in warning.
“Come out,” he growled softly.
A lean form draped in a heavily caped coat detached from the shadows of a marble fountain.
“I must admit to my own share of curiosity,” an aggravatingly familiar voice taunted. “What did you leave beneath the