Rosemary Rogers - Scoundrel's Honor

“The emperor or his most trusted advisor?”

“It is one and the same.”

“Is that why you are here?” Dimitri demanded. “To discover what I might find among Burdzecki’s papers?”

Herrick waved a dismissive hand. “Actually I am here to discover you.”

Dimitri stilled, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.

“And how, I wonder, did you know I would be here?”

“You are not the only gentleman with the ability to gather information.”

“Yes, but—” Dimitri bit off his words. “Never mind, I shall eventually uncover the traitor.” He waved a hand toward the empty flower beds and the marble fountains that had already been covered in preparation for the brutal Russian winter. “If you wished to meet with me you had only to send a message. There was no need to creep about in damp gardens.”

The smile faded from Herrick’s face, his eyes hard with the ruthless resolve that lurked just below his charm.

“You do not promptly respond to my summons.”

“I am not a toady of the empire.”

“No, but you are a loyal citizen, I trust?”

Dimitri dropped his arms, his hands curling into fists. Despite his considerable power, he never allowed himself to forget that Herrick Gerhardt need only speak the word and Dimitri would disappear into the nearest dungeon.

“Are you threatening me, Gerhardt?”

The silver head dipped in apology. “Forgive me, Tipova. You have proven your devotion to Czar Alexander more than once.”

“As if I had a choice,” Dimitri grumbled. “What do you want of me?”

“On this occasion I believe we can be of mutual benefit to one another.”

“I have no need of the royal coffers.”

“My business with you is of a personal nature and I offer something far more intriguing than money.” Stepping to the side, Herrick glanced toward the sleek black carriage that was waiting in the mews. “Will you join me?”

Dimitri paused, studying Herrick’s impassive face. Then, with a sigh, he conceded defeat. The older man would not leave him in peace until he had his way.

“Why do I sense I am going to regret this?” he muttered.

DIMITRI REMAINED SILENT as Herrick led him to the carriage and they settled into the soft leather seats. There was a small jerk as the driver urged the horses into motion, then they were traveling through the streets of St. Petersburg that were still crowded despite the late hour.

“Brandy?” Herrick inquired, pouring two glasses of the amber liquid and pressing one into Dimitri’s willing hand.

Taking a cautious sip, Dimitri lifted his brows in surprise. There was no mistaking the smooth ease with which the liquid fire slid down his throat.

“You must be anxious for my assistance if you are willing to share from your private cellar,” he said.

Herrick leaned back in his seat, his gaze hooded as he studied Dimitri.

“As I mentioned, I think our arrangement will be mutually beneficial.”

Dimitri could not prevent a small flare of curiosity. Herrick Gerhardt had devoted his life to Alexander Pavlovich. What private business could he possibly have?

“I am willing to listen to this…arrangement.”

“First I must bore you with a bit of family history.” Herrick swallowed his brandy and refilled his glass. “As you perhaps know I was born in Prussia to a respectable, albeit poor family. I was fortunate enough to travel to St. Petersburg to finish my education when I was just seventeen and eventually to capture the attention of Alexander Pavlovich. My elder cousin, on the other hand, chose to seek his fortunes in England where he wed and produced several children.”

“Fascinating.”

“One of my cousin’s daughters became a governess to a Russian family to teach the children English. She in turn wed a local furniture maker and had two daughters before she died.”

Dimitri tapped his finger against his glass, his brows pulled together in a frown.

“I presume this tedious story has an end?”

“As I was saying, there were two daughters, Emma and Anya Linley-Kirov,” Herrick continued, ignoring Dimitri’s growing impatience. “After their father was tragically killed by a poacher, Emma transformed her father’s workshop into a small coaching inn.”

Dimitri’s frown deepened. He adored women. All women. And it was well-known that any man who mistreated a female beneath his protection was a certain means to a brutal beating, if not death. Still, he could not deny he preferred to avoid those women with more spirit than sense.

In the end they not only brought misery to themselves, but those who cared for them.

“How very unconventional of her.”

“It was quite admirable of her,” Herrick corrected, easily sensing Dimitri’s lack of approval. “Unfortunately her considerable courage did not protect her from the nefarious gentlemen who stayed at her coaching inn for several days.”

“Nefarious?”

“When they left the inn they took Anya with them.”

Dimitri stilled, his attention fully captured. “The sister?”

“Yes.”

“How old is she?”

“She just turned sixteen.”

Draining the last of his brandy, Dimitri carefully set aside the glass, silently considering the unexpected revelation at the same time he accepted that his personal investigations were not quite so secret as he believed them to be.

“And Emma Linley-Kirov is certain she was taken by the gentlemen?” he demanded.

“Quite certain. Anya left a note explaining she was to become a famous actress.”

Dimitri was careful to keep his expression unreadable, even as his heart gave a jolt of recognition at the familiar ruse used by his father and his cohorts to lure young females from their homes.

“Did the note also mention the gentlemen were traveling to St. Petersburg?”

“A groom overheard the gentlemen discussing their return to the city.”

“And the woman is certain she would recognize them if she were to see them again?”

“Yes.”

Dimitri casually glanced out the window, not surprised to discover they had made a circuit of the Upper Nevsky and were nearly back to Pytor Burdzecki’s palatial home. There was never a moment when he was not acutely aware of his surroundings.

“What made you believe that I would have interest in your tragic, though not uncommon, tale?”

“It has not escaped my notice that you keep a very close watch upon Count Nevskaya and his associates.”

Dimitri absently studied the Anichkov Palace that had once housed Catherine’s favorite lover, Prince Potyomkin, and had been recently refurbished by Giacomo Quarenghi to house the Imperial Cabinet. Unlike many, he preferred the classical colonnade to the earlier, more flamboyant style.

Not that Czar Alexander had requested his opinion.

Grudgingly he turned his attention back to his companion.

“As you have no doubt surmised, the count is my father.”

A smile touched the older man’s lips as his gaze deliberately studied the elegant lines of Dimitri’s features, lingering on the aristocratic thrust of his nose and high, Slavic cheekbones.

“It is difficult to overlook the resemblance.”

Dimitri’s jaw hardened. He often used his considerable male beauty to his advantage, but he cursed the resemblance to the man who had brutally forced himself on a young, defenseless female.

“We share the same countenance, but make no mistake that is where the similarities end,” he said, his voice colder than a Siberian winter.

Herrick dipped his head in acknowledgment. “That is difficult to overlook as well, which is why your constant surveillance of the count piqued my interest. It was obvious you were searching for particular information.”