Scoundrel's Honor. Rosemary Rogers

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      “If you must blame someone, then it should be those horrid strangers for taking advantage of a silly young girl. What sort of gentlemen would do such a thing?”

      Emma’s aching fear was replaced with a flare of pure fury.

      When the two elegant travelers had first arrived at her coaching inn she had been delighted. They were not only swift to pay their bills, but they were lavish with their tips. She had already begun to imagine the small Christmas gifts she could purchase with the extra funds.

      Now she would give everything she possessed if they had never come to Yabinsk.

      “No true gentlemen.”

      Diana blinked. “You believe they were imposters?”

      She gave a restless shake of her head. “I am not certain what I believe, but I know I must do something.”

      “What can you possibly do?”

      That was the question, was it not?

      When she first discovered Anya missing, she had been too shocked and bewildered to consider what should be done. She simply couldn’t accept that her sister had truly allowed herself to be carried off by strangers.

      Eventually, however, the fierce determination that had allowed her to survive any number of disasters had her thrusting aside her pained sense of guilt and considering how to rescue Anya.

      “Patya overheard the men in the stables speaking of their return to St. Petersburg. At the time he thought nothing of it, but when I went to the stables to discover precisely when the gentlemen had snuck away, he conveyed their conversation.”

      Diana’s grip on her fingers became positively painful as she regarded Emma with disbelief.

      “You intend to follow them?”

      “Of course.”

      “Emma, please do not be hasty,” Diana pleaded. “You cannot possibly travel to St. Petersburg on your own.”

      “I will take Yelena with me,” Emma assured her, referring to the aging maid who assisted at the coaching inn. “If we catch 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?”

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