Bound by Love (25 page)

She licked her lips, suddenly appearing uncertain. “I…”

“Ah, but why halt there?” he silkily demanded. “Maybe I shall destroy Alexander Pavlovich and make my own bid for the throne. I do have a remote connection, after all.”

She at least possessed the grace to appear embarrassed by her insulting accusations. If only momentarily. Refusing to meet his hard glare, she lowered her head.

“If you do not have them, then where are they?”

“Obviously they have been stolen.”

“By who?”

The question had been plaguing him since Boris had revealed the luggage was missing.

“It could have been anyone. A local who strolled past
and thought the bag might have money stashed inside.” He shrugged. “Or one of Sir Charles’s guards.”

Her head abruptly lifted, her eyes wide as she appeared to be struck by a sudden thought.

“Josef,” she breathed.

“Who?”

“The man who helped Sir Charles escape.”

Stefan had a brief memory of a small, scarred man who had appeared to haul Sir Charles into a waiting carriage. At the time he had been so consumed with the blood spilling from Leonida’s wound that he had no interest in the roughly attired peasant, or the madman he was helping to flee.

“He was not in the cottage when we entered,” Stefan said, speaking his thoughts aloud. “So it is entirely possible he caught sight of our approach and decided to hide in the woods to avoid capture.”

She chewed her bottom lip, her eyes troubled by some inward thought.

“He was the one who searched my rooms at the inn. He told Sir Charles he could not find the letters, but at the time I wondered if he knew more than he was willing to reveal.” She shifted restlessly beneath his grip. “Perhaps he deliberately left them behind in the hopes he could return later and retrieve them without Sir Charles realizing his betrayal.”

Stefan prepared himself for yet another battle. The fear for her mother was already etched on her tight features. Within moments she would be once again demanding that they return to St. Petersburg.

Regardless of the fact she was in no condition to travel.

Or that he was in no condition to allow her to escape.

“That would make sense,” he conceded. “But if he discovered I had been so kind as to deliver the letters into his hands, why would he bother to rescue Sir Charles?”

Her brow furrowed. “I do not know.”

“Those letters have caused a considerable amount of
trouble,” he snapped, frustrated by Leonida’s constant concern for her mother. Did she never think of herself or her own needs? “Why the devil did you not just burn them?”

“My mother wished to keep them.”

“Why?”

“She…” There was a brief hesitation. “She is a very sentimental woman.”

Stefan’s lips thinned at the absurd lie. He did not need to be able to read Leonida’s mind to realize that the Countess Karkoff wanted the letters for some nefarious purpose of her own.

No doubt she hoped to use them to protect herself, and her position, from the always unpredictable Romanovs.

“No, she is a very cunning and calculating woman.” He held her gaze, his expression grim. “She desired the letters to protect herself and was willing to sacrifice her own daughter to get her greedy hands on them.”

“That is not true.”

“Why do you defend her?”

“She is my mother.”

“Then she should behave as one. And you should have more sense than to fall in with her dangerous schemes.”

Her eyes narrowed, never one to be intimidated. Strangely it was one of the qualities he admired most about her.

“Do not attempt to tell me you would not risk your neck for Lord Summerville,” she countered. “Or that he would not do the same for you.”

He snorted, knowing he could not argue with her logic. Only last year Edmond had pretended to be Stefan to draw the danger away from his brother. That did not mean, however, that he was willing to allow Leonida to continue with her reckless behavior.

Once he had her back at Meadowland she would be protected as she should be.

“Yes, but I would also blacken his eye for being ridiculous enough to put me in danger in the first place.”

“If I decide to blacken someone’s eye it will not be my mother,” she warned.

His annoyance abruptly faded as his gaze swept over her defiant expression.

For all Leonida’s ability to stir his anger and exasperate him beyond measure, not to mention the manner she had tossed his peaceful life into utter chaos, she was still the most fascinating woman he had ever encountered.

“You truly are an ungrateful brat,” he chided, loosening his grip to stroke the satin skin of her upper arms. “Your mother shoves you into the hands of Sir Charles and you have no word of complaint, while I rescue you from the madman and you desire to blacken my eye.”

Her expression remained unyielding, but Stefan did not miss the delicate shiver. She could spit fire all she wanted, but she still responded to his touch. The knowledge was absurdly satisfying.

“I left Meadowland so you would not be put in danger,” she said, as if that excused her mad flight into the path of Sir Charles. “If you had remained where you belong then you would not have been put in the position to rescue me from any madman.”

He shook his head at her convoluted logic, but he could not halt his slow smile. “You are concerned for my welfare?”

Her lashes fluttered down to hide her expressive eyes. “I would not want you hurt because of Russian conspiracies.”

He chuckled, lowering his head to bury his face in the thick golden curls, breathing in her warm, jasmine scent.

“Why can you not just admit that you care?”

“Not wishing someone dead does not mean…” Her words broke off in a groan as his lips discovered the sensitive spot just below her ear. “Oh.”

He nipped the lobe of her ear. “Can you at least confess that you desire me?”

“I do not want to,” she rasped, even as her head arched back to invite his caress.

“Leonida.” He trailed his lips over her cheek, careful to keep his touch light. He was acutely aware of her painful injury. Any further seduction would have to wait until she was fully healed. “My sweet dove. I will not allow you to slip away again.”

She reached to clutch at his shoulders, the heat of her hands searing through the thin linen of his shirt.

“I must go home.”

Her words hit him like a blow. Did she truly believe that he would allow her to walk away?

He pulled back, a disturbing fear clutching his stomach as she lifted her lashes to reveal an unexpected determination.

“No. My carriage will be waiting in St. Petersburg. Return to Meadowland with me.”

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself. “You know that is not possible.”

With an effort, Stefan contained his burst of frustration, instead rising to his feet so he could cross the room and stir the fire. He had devoted his entire adult life to avoiding the complications of women who desired more than he was willing to offer. Perhaps it was the irony of fate that ensured the one woman he refused to allow out of his life was so determined to leave.

The flames flared and crackled, filling the small room with heat. Setting aside the poker, Stefan turned to meet her guarded gaze.

“Anything is possible.”

“If it were known I was staying beneath your roof without Lady Summerville to act as guardian my reputation would be in tatters.”

“Then you can stay at Hillside,” he easily countered. “I know Brianna would be delighted to have your companionship. Especially now that she is confined to the house.”

“And your brother would be wishing me to the netherworld.”

He leaned against the rough stone wall, knowing quite
well that Edmond would readily open his home if he thought it would please his brother.

“I can ensure Edmond is welcoming.”

“No, Stefan.” Her voice was low, but unhesitating. “My place is in St. Petersburg.”

L
EONIDA PULLED THE BLANKET
over her trembling body and settled deeper against the pillows as Stefan paced the floor. She was still annoyingly weak from her injury. Or at least, she told herself it was her injury. What else besides the shock and loss of blood could make her hands tremble and her skin feel cold and clammy?

She was not about to admit that the unpleasant sensations were entirely due to the thought of her bleak future without Stefan.

Reaching the window, Stefan abruptly turned on his heel and paced back toward the bed to glare down at her undoubtedly pale face.

“And what waits for you in St. Petersburg beyond your mother?” he abruptly demanded.

She swallowed her sigh of frustration. Why was he making this so difficult?

Deep in her heart she ached to do whatever necessary to keep Stefan in her life. But her logic understood that she would court nothing but disaster to give in to her desires.

What did he offer beyond the risk of scandal? Desire, of course. What else? Fleeting affection?

Life had taught her that affection was as undependable as it was costly.

Just look at the mess she was in because of her devotion to her mother.

“I happen to have a very full life with a number of friends and several charities that depend on me,” she
informed him stiffly. “And of course, with Alexander Pavlovich’s return to the Summer Palace there will be a number of society events to attend.”

“I thought you disliked parties,” he accused.

“They are not my favorite means of devoting an evening, but we all do what we must.” She met his gaze squarely. “A duke is not the only one with duties.”

“And if your mother or the Emperor decides that it is time for you to wed?”

She blinked, startled by the unexpected question. “They decided it was time for me to wed several years ago. Thankfully, that is a decision no one will make for me.”

His beautiful face was hard, unreadable. “And you have decided that you have no need for a husband?”

Leonida paused, uncertain what he wanted from her. He appeared annoyed by the thought her parents would press her into marriage and even more annoyed by the fact she would never be wed against her will.

Impossible man.

“No, I am just certain that I have yet to encounter a gentleman who has convinced me that a life with him would be preferable to sacrificing my independence,” she said tartly.

His brooding gaze swept down her slender form covered by the blanket.

“You would consider marriage a sacrifice?”

“Would you not?”

It was his turn to pause, seeming to give the offhand question serious thought.

“It would, of course, depend entirely upon my potential bride.”

Leonida flinched at the painful thought of Stefan with his eventual bride. She would be English, of course. One of those sweet-tempered debutantes that had been trained from the cradle to pander to a gentleman’s vanity. And beautiful.

A lovely English rose.

“This is a ridiculous conversation,” she muttered.

His jaw tightened, but he readily allowed himself to be diverted. “Then let us return our attention to more important matters.”

“The only important matter is finding those letters.”

“You are not going to distract me, Leonida.” He settled on the edge of the bed, a dangerous shimmer in his eyes. “I did not travel across the continent to return to England alone.”

Her mouth went dry, starkly aware of the tantalizing awareness prickling over her skin. The urge to curl against the warm strength of his chest and feel the comfort of his arms wrapping around her was near unbearable.

Instead she grimly reminded herself that she was no clinging female who needed a gentleman to tell her what she was or was not going to do.

“Then I fear you are going to be disappointed.”

“No.” He leaned forward, his hands braced on each side of her waist as he loomed above her. “I am not a man who accepts disappointment.”

“The choice is not yours to make. I am returning to St. Petersburg and there is nothing you can do to halt me.”

“You should know better than to challenge me,” he drawled, a dangerous edge to his voice. “I would prefer you come with me willingly, but I am not opposed to convincing you of the pleasures to be found in our journey to England.”

Leonida was absurdly relieved by the spark of anger at his smug assurance that he could bend her to his will. It was much easier to ignore the craving to close the small distance and lose herself in his kisses when her pride was injured.

“Are you threatening to hold me against my will?”

“It would not be against your will for long.” He bent to brush his lips along the curve of her ear. “We both know the only reason you are resisting your desire to be with me is fear of scandal.”

Leonida hid her shiver of pleasure, her hands lifting to press against his chest.

“You arrogant…”

“Not arrogant, determined.”

“Arrogant,” she fiercely repeated. “And no better than Sir Charles.”

Stefan sucked in a sharp breath, abruptly pulling back to regard her with an insulted expression.

“You would compare me to that bastard?”

She ignored her prick of guilt. She had allowed this man to beguile her too many times. She could not risk being lured back to England and disaster.

“Sir Charles was just as eager to hold me against my will and force me to obey his commands. How are you different?”

“The madman was prepared to blackmail your mother and slice open your throat,” he gritted.

“My point is that I am not a bit of property to be claimed by some man. I am perfectly capable of deciding what I desire for my future.”

He held himself unnaturally still, his elegant features rigid in the flickering firelight.

“So you are prepared to walk away from me without regret?”

Without regret. She swallowed the near hysterical laugh.

“It is for the best.”

“The best for you or me?” he rasped.

“Both.”

He leaned so close she could feel the brush of his breath on her face, their gazes locked in a silent battle of wills.

Sensing that he was caught between the urge to kiss her into compliance and the more uncomplicated choice of tossing her over his shoulder and carrying her off, Leonida breathed a small sigh of relief when the door was shoved open and Sophy entered bearing a wooden tray.

“Here we are. Freshly baked bread and rabbit stew.”

With a muttered curse, Stefan rose to his feet, regarding Leonida with a glare that made her stomach clench with unease.

“I will stand guard so Pyotr can eat his dinner,” he said, his eyes narrowing. “This conversation is not finished.”

He brushed past the startled maid, slamming the door behind his retreating form.

With an unfathomable smile, Sophy continued her path to the bed, waiting for Leonida to scoot to a sitting position before laying the tray across her legs.

“Dare I ask what conversation I interrupted?”

Leonida tore apart the warm bread with more force than absolutely necessary.

“The Duke of Huntley is insufferable.”

“And what man is not?” Sophy asked. “They always believe they know what is best and find it impossible to accept a woman might be capable of thinking for herself.”

“Exactly,” Leonida muttered, suddenly realizing just how hungry she was as she swallowed a large spoonful of the savory stew.

“And even more insufferable when they are obviously in the wrong, and yet refuse to admit as much.”

“I do not believe they ever accept the notion they might be wrong.”

With a chuckle, Sophy busied herself with straightening the blanket covering Leonida and arranging the pillows.

“Then again, they do know how to keep a woman warm at night.”

Leonida snorted, refusing to acknowledge the flutter in the pit of her stomach at the thought of Stefan keeping her warm.

“So does a blanket.”

Sophy straightened with an arch smile. “And they do come in handy when a woman is being kidnapped by a madman.”

Leonida concentrated on her dinner, a heat crawling beneath her cheeks.

“Not when they intend to kidnap you in return.”

“The Duke intends to kidnap you?”

“He has threatened to take me back to Meadowland whether I am willing to go or not.”

“Has he?” There was a short pause before the maid gave a sudden laugh. “Well, well.”

Leonida jerked her head up, her brows drawn together in a frown of disbelief. “I do not know why you look pleased. Stefan should obviously be locked in Bedlam.”

“A gentleman is rarely capable of thinking clearly when he has fallen in love with a woman,” Sophy said, her tone smug.

“Love?” Leonida’s voracious appetite abruptly disappeared. With a sharp movement she set aside the tray, her heart oddly heavy. “That is absurd.”

“Is it?”

“Yes. The Duke of Huntley might desire me as a temporary mistress, but lust has nothing to do with love.”

“A gentleman does not risk his life for lust.”

“He does if his pride is injured.” She shook her head. “Believe me, Sophy, the Duke wants nothing more from me than a brief affair.”

“And what is it that you want?”

Leonida leaned back against the pillows, not allowing her thoughts to dwell on the perilous question.

“Peace.”

I
T WAS A WEARY HERRICK GERHARDT
who rode past the precisely constructed buildings of the military settlement despite the bright morning sunlight.

He had not rested since yesterday when he had received a cryptic note along with a roughly drawn map from Dimitri Tipova suggesting where he might search for Miss Karkoff. He had barely paused to change clothing before gathering Gregor and his horse and charging from St. Petersburg.

As he neared the location, however, the instinctive
wariness that had kept him unscathed, despite the vicious Russian politics, had urged a measure of caution.

Only a fool would completely trust Tipova and he did not intend to tumble into a trap.

Not that his discreet inquiries along the way had provided him with much more than vague rumors of a disruption at a local inn and a strange Englishman who was searching for his missing ward.

He had hoped that the commander of the local settlement might be capable of providing more reliable information.

Shifting in the saddle that had grown more uncomfortable by the hour, Herrick urged his horse to a brisk pace, his gaze absently skimming over the encampment.

His military soul approved of the tidy rows of connected structures that housed the soldiers and their families. As well as the rigidly divided fields the soldiers planted to provide their food.

His heart, however, flinched at the grim atmosphere that lay like a sullen cloud over the entire settlement.

Where were the children who should be at play? Or the women gossiping and whispering as they tended their laundry? Or even the men laughing together as they shared a bottle of vodka?

Ah, Alexander Pavlovich, why are you so blind to the seething resentment?

With a shake of his head, Herrick passed the soldiers standing guard at the edge of the settlement and joined Gregor, who’d waited patiently at the side of the main road.

Bringing his horse to a halt, Herrick watched his companion easily vault back into his saddle, wryly considering the advantages of youth. At the moment his entire body ached and his tired eyes felt as if they had been rubbed raw with sand.

What had happened to the time he could endure a day of battle and then ride the entire night to engage in the next campaign?

“Did they have any information?” Gregor demanded, his bulky body attired in a plain black coat and breeches that matched Herrick’s modest style.

Herrick hoped to avoid any unnecessary attention among the peasants.

“They confirmed the rumors of an inn being attacked by a group of ruffians and a woman being taken against her will,” Herrick said, keeping his searing fear caged beneath his stoic composure.

He could not think clearly if he allowed his emotions to cloud his judgment.

“Do they know where they took her?”

“The Commander claimed that he has been keeping watch on the road and that all carriages have been halted to ensure that the villains did not pass.”

“So they must still be at the cottage.”

“Yes.”

Gregor studied him intently, sensing Herrick’s hesitation.

“You do not seem convinced.”

Herrick smiled wryly. There were disadvantages to hiring a soldier with intelligence rather than one content to mindlessly follow orders.

“The Commander also mentioned that one carriage passed late last night at a dangerous pace and nearly ran down the guard when he attempted to halt the driver.” His fingers tightened on the reins, his horse shifting with unease beneath him. The thought that he could be so close to rescuing Leonida only to have Sir Charles slip past him was enough to make him howl with frustration. “He said the guard was certain there was only one male passenger, but it is impossible to know for certain.”