Scoundrel's Honor. Rosemary Rogers
was a roaring fire across the room, but so close to the door there was a distinct chill in the air.
Settling uncomfortably in the wooden chair, Emma cast a swift glance about the wide room, relieved that many of the tables were empty. There were two elegantly attired gentlemen playing chess by the fire, and a group of more roughly dressed men at a table that ran the length of the far wall, but she was quite alone in her corner.
Her appreciation for her solitude, however, began to wane as an hour passed, and then another. Where the devil was Dimitri Tipova? Had he invited her here just to see if she would risk her reputation by meeting with a notorious criminal? Was this a mere hoax at her expense? Or were Beggar Czars so busy they found it impossible to keep their appointments?
Tapping an impatient finger on the table, Emma found her anxiety hardening to a simmering anger.
She was accustomed to being treated with disrespect. She was even accustomed to being ignored by others who thought themselves above her. But she could not afford to waste an entire day on some ridiculous game. If Dimitri Tipova did not wish to be of service then he should at least have the decency to send his regrets.
On the point of rising to her feet, Emma was caught off guard when a large man approached her table and settled in a chair at her side.
“Well, well. Such a tender little morsel,” he husked, his face with its heavy jowls and beady blue eyes far too close. “I wonder if you taste as sweet as you look.”
Emma tilted her chin, shifting away from the hulking body attired in a faded green coat and the heavy boots of a laborer.
“Please move along.”
A cruel smiled curved his lips. “Perhaps I do not want to move along. Perhaps I intend to take you to the back room and sample your wares.”
Emma should no doubt have been terrified, but at the moment her temper was fully aroused and in no mood to endure the man’s rude behavior. Even if he was twice her size.
Grasping the cup of coffee she had bought in an effort to pass the time, she narrowed her gaze.
“Either you leave me in peace or I will pour this exceedingly hot coffee into your lap,” she warned. “Perhaps that will teach you not to impose your vile presence on unfortunate maidens who might cross your path.”
The intruder blinked, as if stupefied by her threat. “You…”
His lips had barely parted when another man joined them, this one far more slender, although the scar running down his cheek from his eyebrow to the edge of his mouth made him appear far more sinister. Her companion seemed to think so as well, as his face paled and sweat beaded his forehead.
“Semyon, return to the docks and make certain that the ship that arrived this morning is properly unloaded. You know how our employer dislikes unnecessary attention to our business.”
“Yes…of course.”
Stumbling to his feet, the man performed an awkward bow and headed for the door. Emma straightened from her seat as well, her temper not appeased.
She had been ignored for hours, and then rudely insulted by that brute. She had endured enough.
“Emma Linley-Kirov?” the man demanded.
“And you are?”
“Josef. I am here to escort you.”
Her lips tightened. So, Dimitri Tipova could not be bothered to greet her in person.
“Escort me to where?” she demanded.
The servant waved an indifferent hand toward a door at the back of the room, clearly unimpressed with his current duties.
“Merely to the private rooms upstairs. There is no need to be afraid.”
She squared her shoulders. “I am not afraid, I am furious. Do you know how long I have been waiting?”
A startled silence filled the entire room as Josef regarded her with astonishment.
“Dimitri Tipova is a very busy man,” he said, his tone chiding. “You are fortunate he agreed to meet with you at all.”
Emma sniffed, refusing to be intimidated. “Ah, yes, you cannot imagine how honored I am to be graced with a few moments of the Beggar Czar’s precious time.”
With a muttered curse, the slender man headed toward the back of the room.
“This way.”
Stiffly, Emma followed in his wake, acutely aware of the hard gazes trained in her direction. Josef pulled open the door and led her up a narrow flight of stairs, then reaching a landing, he motioned her toward a small room with a brocade sofa and two scrolled chairs set beside a marble fireplace.
“Wait here.”
Not bothering to turn, Josef continued toward a door on the opposite side of the landing, shoving it open and stepping through. Ignoring good manners, Emma remained poised on the landing, blatantly attempting to overhear the low conversation between Josef and whoever was waiting in the room.
“She arrived?” A man that Emma presumed was Dimitri Tipova demanded, his dark voice sending an odd tingle down her spine.
“Regrettably,” Josef muttered.
“Why regrettably?”
“The woman is sour enough to curdle milk.”
“No doubt she is concerned for her sister.”
“It is not concern that makes a woman into an overbearing shrew. She is the nasty sort who tosses out orders and expects them to be obeyed.”
“Naturally.” The gorgeous male voice held an edge of resignation. “I should have known Gerhardt would take pleasure in plaguing me with his old maid cousin. No doubt he is seated before a warm fire, relishing his peace while I am stuck with the harridan.”
Emma winced, then gritted her teeth, pretending she wasn’t wounded by the familiar mockery. She had not traveled to St. Petersburg to charm the local thieves.
Stepping over the threshold, she had a brief impression of a small study with bookshelves lining the walls and a porcelain stove set between two leather wing chairs. Then a tall man lifted himself from behind a heavy walnut desk and her mind abruptly refused to function.
He was just so absurdly beautiful.
Her stunned gaze traced the bronze perfection of his features. The wide, intelligent brow. The slender nose and full, sensual lips. The slash of his prominent cheekbones. The chiseled brows that were the same raven-black as his long hair pulled into a tail at his nape.
It was his eyes, however, that stole her breath.
An astonishing gold that shimmered in wicked temptation, they were surely the eyes of the devil.
Or perhaps a fallen angel.
All Emma knew for certain was that he was a compelling combination of lethal power and male sensuality that would make any poor woman go weak in the knees.
An odd, heated excitement fluttered in the pit of her stomach as that golden gaze flared over her tiny form. An excitement that was swiftly replaced with hollow disappointment as his lush lips twisted with a familiar male disapproval.
What did she expect, she mocked her temporary insanity?
That Dimitri Tipova might be unconventional enough not to judge her bold manner? That a man forced to survive in a harsh world was capable of understanding the need for her to do the same?
Thrusting aside the inane thoughts, Emma conjured the icy composure that was her only protection.
“I may be an old maid, but I at least possess a few manners,” she stated, her gaze never wavering from the unnerving golden eyes. “Something sadly lacking among you and your loathsome band of cutthroats.”
DIMITRI SHOULD HAVE