Bound by Love (8 page)

Now his only purpose was to discover her nefarious plot.

“Did she take anything from the room?”

Goodson shrugged. “There was nothing in her hands.”

“Have her room searched while she is at dinner.”

“Of course, sir.”

The butler was turning away when Stefan halted him. “Goodson.”

“Yes, your Grace?”

“Did Benjamin track down the strangers he caught on the grounds?”

“I fear not.” The butler’s stoic expression hardened with frustration. “The innkeeper claimed that he has not had any
foreign guests for months and no one in the village recognized the description of the villains.”

“Have him continue to search through the neighborhood, but request that he be discreet. I would prefer no one realize that I am suspicious of their presence.”

“Very good.”

This time Stefan allowed the butler to disappear toward the back of the house, slowly turning to study the closed door to Leonida’s chambers.

For a moment he brooded on charging back down the hall and bluntly confronting the deceitful woman.

Unlike Edmond, he did not enjoy political intrigue or pitting his wits against a cunning foe. He was a forthright gentleman who expected the same from others. Which was, no doubt, why King George and Alexander Pavlovich rarely called upon him when they had need of guile rather than practical assistance.

It was only the knowledge that Leonida could not be bullied or coerced into revealing the truth that kept him standing in the shadows, his hands clenched at his sides.

“What the devil is your scheme, Leonida Karkoff?” he muttered.

St. Petersburg

T
HE BORDELLO TUCKED BETWEEN
a coffeehouse and furniture warehouse was like many others spread throughout St. Petersburg.

The building was a nondescript brick structure that was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence and guarded by a brute of a man who frightened even hardened soldiers. Inside the front parlor the furnishings were a gaudy, overly opulent combination of plush velvet sofas and fur rugs where a gentleman could wait in comfort for his particular whore to become available. Or, if he preferred, he could join the high-stakes gambling that was offered in the back
rooms. Upstairs, the private rooms were individually created to indulge in whatever vice might tempt the jaded members of Russian society.

But it was not the dubious taste in furnishings, or the lovely, well-trained whores that plied their trade that attracted the rich and powerful.

It was instead the absolute discretion that Madam Ivanna demanded of her guests and servants.

A gentleman who stepped through the door could be assured that his presence or his…unusual sexual appetites would never be revealed.

Such a promise of privacy was worth the outrageous sums that Ivanna charged.

Heading up the narrow flight of stairs, Nikolas Babevich was already hard with anticipation at the thought of Celeste and her wicked chains and whips. Such sweet pain was expensive, but well worth every ruble.

Not that he possessed an overabundance of rubles, he acknowledged, a bitter anger burning in the pit of his stomach.

Damn the Countess Karkoff.

It was entirely her fault that he was now reduced to borrowing funds from his nagging sister and dodging the bill collectors who refused to offer him credit for so much as a new pair of boots.

Thankfully he had managed to relieve a drunken Prussian of his purse outside the Opera House last eve or he would have been forced to cancel his standing appointment at this brothel. A near unbearable notion.

Pushing open the door at the end of the long, candlelit hallway, Nikolas licked his lips, expecting to discover Celeste standing in the center of the room, whip in hand.

What he discovered instead was a tall, distinguished gentleman with silver hair and a handsome countenance that was barely lined despite his fifty-odd years.

Sir Charles Richards had arrived in St. Petersburg from England only a few months ago, but had swiftly become
a favorite of Prince Michael, younger brother of Alexander Pavlovich.

To most in society he was a charming, intelligent foreigner who was renowned for his impeccable manners and simple elegance, tonight displayed by his plain but exquisitely tailored black coat and dove-gray breeches that were at such odds with the Russian love for flamboyance.

Nikolas was one of the few who suspected that behind his affable smile was a merciless soul that was capable of great evil.

“Good evening, Nikolas Babevich,” Richards drawled, his elegant fingers holding one of the small whips that was always so appealing in Celeste’s hands, but was nothing less than terrifying when held by the Englishman.

Licking his dry lips, Nikolas cast a covert glance about the barren room, barely noting the various tools of torture that were hung on the walls or the wide bed that was covered in black satin and shackles. Ridiculously he had hoped that Celeste or one of the numerous servants might be lurking in a dark corner.

As if their presence would protect him from the malevolence that filled the thick air.

“How…” Nikolas was forced to halt and clear his throat. “How did you get in here?”

The nobleman’s lips curled as he flicked a dismissive gaze over Nikolas’s short, unfortunately pudgy figure that was attired in a growingly threadbare jacket in moss green and the too-tight tan breeches.

“There are few doors closed to me,” he drawled.

Nikolas clenched his hands into fists. Despite his fear, he wouldn’t be mocked by a damned foreigner.

“My congratulations. Now, if you do not mind, I came here for a specific entertainment that does not include spectators.”

“Your entertainment will have to wait until after our little chat,” Sir Charles sneered, twirling the whip in his hand.

“I told you that the Karkoff bitch refuses to give me the money without proof of the letters. What would you have me do?”

“Did you know the Countess sent her daughter to England? Surrey to be precise.”

Nikolas frowned. The Countess Karkoff could rot in hell as far as he was concerned.

“Why should I care?”

“For one thing, it proves there is something in those letters worth discovering. The Countess would never send her daughter on such a journey otherwise.”

“Wait,” Nikolas growled. “I thought you knew what was in those letters.”

“Howard Summerville claimed they must hold nefarious secrets since they were not only written in a mysterious code, but the Duke of Huntley had nearly beaten him to death when he caught him with them in his hands. It was worth taking the chance to discover if the boorish imbecile had truly stumbled across the means of acquiring a fortune or was making his usual empty boasts.”

Nikolas stiffened in outrage. He had risked his life on a mere hunch?

“You lied to me.”

“I told you what you needed to know.” Richards dismissed his accusation with a shrug. “Now, however, Miss Karkoff’s presence in Surrey endangers our tidy little plot.”

“How?”

The unnerving black eyes narrowed in frigid anger. “Because that is where the letters were last seen, you idiot.”

“Does she have them?”

“And how would I know?” Richards tossed the whip onto the bed in an impatient motion. “I sent my servants to search the Duke’s home weeks ago, but Miss Karkoff’s presence complicates matters.”

Nikolas tugged at his wilted cravat, not for the first time
wishing he had never allowed Sir Charles Richards to convince him to take part in the dangerous scheme.

Not that you truly had a choice
, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

Gambling had always been his weakness and when he’d lost far more money than he possessed to the Englishman, he had no choice but to listen to his outlandish scheme. And in truth, the thought of gaining a small fortune with such ease had been a temptation he couldn’t resist.

Now he could do no more than curse his stupidity.

“We should never have approached the Countess until we had our hands on those letters.”

“You were as eager as I was to claim the fortune. Who would have suspected the Emperor’s whore would have the nerve to question your threat?” The dark eyes glittered with a cruel light. “Obviously you were not very convincing.”

Nikolas shuddered, his skin crawling with an indefinable fear. “I did what was asked. It isn’t my fault the Countess—”

“Shut up,” Richards interrupted. “I weary of your excuses.”

Nikolas swallowed the lump lodged in his throat. “Fine. We gambled and lost.
C’est la vie
.”

Richards took a step forward, his expression grim. “This is not over. I will have my money.”

“How? If the daughter manages to discover those letters then they will know that we have never seen them.”

“My men have orders to keep a close eye on the female. If she does manage to uncover the letters they will be able to retrieve them from her.”

“And if she does not?”

“Then she will return to Russia with the information that the letters are indeed missing.”

Nikolas bit back the urge to point out the numerous flaws in the plan. His existence might be miserable at the moment, but he was in no hurry to meet the death that lurked in his companion’s eyes.

“So we wait?”

“No, we cannot allow the Countess to suspect this is a bluff,” Richards snapped, a dark edge in his voice making Nikolas relieved that he did not know what was going through his companion’s mind. He sensed it would give him nightmares for weeks to come. “I desire you to approach the Countess again and warn her that for every week that passes, the cost of your silence increases by five thousand rubles.”

Nikolas took a discreet step backward. “And if she refuses?”

“You will continue to pester her. It will keep her fretting rather than devoting her time to considering how to outwit us.” The man’s lips curled into a sneer. “Women are incapable of behaving in a sensible manner when they are flustered.”

Nikolas’s humorless laugh echoed eerily through the room. “Have you ever met the Countess?”

“She is a female.” Richards easily dismissed the strong-willed Countess, obviously unaware of the power she could wield. Stupid man. “Keep her terrified that she is about to lose her devoted and very wealthy lover and she will do whatever necessary to keep her life of luxury.”

“Why must I be the one to approach her?” Nikolas changed tactics. “It seems to me that I am risking my neck while you hide in the shadows.”

Before Nikolas could blink, Richards was across the room, his hands circling Nikolas’s throat with enough pressure to prove he could easily snap his neck.

“That is what you are being paid to do, is it not?” he demanded in low, deadly tones. “And believe me, being caught by the Russian officials is the least of your concern. Fail me and I will cut out your heart and feed it to the wolves. Do you understand?”

Nikolas’s blood froze in his veins. “Yes.”

“Good.”

With a derisive motion, Richards tossed Nikolas
against the wall and then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his hands. As if he feared he might have been contaminated.

Bastard.

Pushing from the wall, Nikolas jerked his jacket back into place. “And what will you be doing while I am confronting the Countess?”

“I am traveling to Paris. It will be far easier to keep in contact with my men in England.”

“So you leave me alone to be shot as a traitor?”

“That,
mon ami
, is entirely in your hands. Do what I command and we both shall be very wealthy gentlemen.”

C
HARLES STEPPED FROM
the torture room, assured that Nikolas would do as he had been commanded. The wretched creature might long to condemn Charles to the netherworld, but they both knew he would never possess the courage to openly challenge him.

Which, of course, was the reason he had chosen the fool in the first place.

A pity he had not been so clever in predicting the Countess’s stubborn refusal to hand over the money he so desperately needed.

With an effort, Charles battled back the black fury that had plagued him since he was in the nursery. As satisfying as it might be to slice the bitch’s throat, it would not solve his problems.

He had to have money if he wanted to keep his nasty little secrets safe.

A shiver shook his body before he regained command of his icy composure. No. He would not be exposed by a filthy peasant. Even if that peasant was the Beggar Czar, Dimitri Tipova, who reportedly ruled the criminal underworld of St. Petersburg.

Slipping into the room across the hall, he regarded the woman he had ordered to wait for him.

Madam Ivanna was a lushly curved woman who had retained much of her early beauty despite the gray that was threaded through her thick black hair and the wrinkles that fanned beside her wide green eyes. Currently she was attired in a low-cut velvet gown that displayed her considerable charms and matched the decor, but only a fool would miss the shrewd glitter in her eyes.