Scoundrel's Honor. Rosemary Rogers

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СКАЧАТЬ 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 been amused.

      The tiny female wrapped in layers of wool barely came to his chin and weighed less than his wolfhound. To have her burst into his room and chide him as if he were a naughty child rather than the most dangerous man in St. Petersburg was absurd.

      It wasn’t amusement he felt, however, as his gaze rested on the honey curls that peeked from her scarf to lie against the purity of her ivory skin and the steady hazel eyes that held unwavering strength.

      There was something about her that challenged him at his most primitive level.

      He wanted to loom over her until she dropped her bold gaze in silent defeat. He wanted to bluntly inform her that he was an unrepentant tyrant who expected immediate obedience from others.

      He wanted to haul her against his body until the defiance faded from her beautiful eyes and her lush lips softened in invitation…

      Thankfully unaware of the currents of prickling awareness that swirled through the air, Josef folded his arms over his chest.

      “What did I say? Curdled milk,” he muttered.

      Dimitri never allowed his gaze to stray from Emma Linley-Kirov’s stubborn expression.

      “That will be all.”

      “Are you certain? There is nothing more dangerous than an angry female.”

      “Thank you, Josef, I believe you have done quite enough,” Dimitri dryly assured his friend, waiting for his servant to leave the room before he rounded the desk and perched on the corner.

      His lips twisted as her gaze skimmed down his tailored, cinnamon jacket that he had paired with a cream satin waistcoat. He had tied his crisp cravat in an Oriental knot and a diamond the size of a thimble winked in the perfect folds. Clearly the woman had expected him to be a savage rather than the sort of sophisticated gentleman who could appear comfortable in the finest home.

      “There СКАЧАТЬ