Scoundrel's Honor. Rosemary Rogers

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СКАЧАТЬ scowled, cursing the missing Anya for dragging her elder sister into the muck. For all her courage and tenacious strength, Emma possessed an innocence that was remarkably rare.

      “Leave it be, Emma,” he said roughly. “You have been forced deep enough into this sordid business—”

      “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 СКАЧАТЬ