Bound by Love (9 page)

“Ah, Ivanna, so kind of you to allow me a few moments with my associate.” Moving forward he raised her fingers to his lips, relishing her shiver of disgust. Ah yes, shrewd indeed. Unlike most women, Ivanna was intelligent enough to sense the darkness beneath his handsome countenance and practiced charm. “How can I ever repay you?”

She hastily tugged her fingers from his grasp. “It is nothing, I assure you.”

“You are certain you would not desire a small token of my appreciation?”

“No, it was my pleasure,
monsieur
.”

“A pity.” He regarded her with a hungry gaze, his blood stirring at the rich scent of her perfume. It had been far too long since he’d allowed himself to indulge in his little pastime. With a shake of his head, he stepped back. “Still, I suppose this is not the time or the place. I need a means to leave the house without being noticed.”

Ivanna heaved a shaky breath of relief, as if sensing how close she had been to glimpsing the true Sir Charles Richards.

“Of course.” She waved a hand toward the door. “I can take you out the back entrance.”

He caught her wrist, his grip punishing. “I said unnoticed.”

“Please,
monsieur
, I do not know what you want,” she whimpered.

“Think very carefully, Ivanna.”

His fingers tightened, threatening to snap her bones and she gave a sob of surrender.

“There is a hidden passageway that connects my kitch
ens with the coffeehouse next door.” She brokenly confessed the secret known only to those of royal blood.

A cold smile curled his lips. “You are quite intelligent for a whore.”

H
ERRICK
G
ERHARDT ROUNDED
the corner, careful to remain out of the flicker of the gaslight that lined the streets of St. Petersburg. Although attired in a plain black jacket and breeches with a beaver hat tucked over his silver hair, there were still too many who would recognize his gaunt features and piercing brown eyes. Even this far from the palace.

The price of being Alexander Pavlovich’s closest advisor.

As a rule he found the fear he inspired in others a tool he was swift to take advantage of. It was remarkable what his reputation as a ruthless bastard could achieve.

On this night, however, he was more interested in stealth than intimidation.

Halting next to Gregor, a burly Prussian soldier who was his most trusted guard, he nodded his head to the brothel across the street.

“Is our prey in there?” he murmured, speaking in German as various pedestrians strolled down the street. Prying ears could be anywhere.

“He is. His weekly meeting with the lovely Celeste.” Gregor leaned his large body against the iron railing behind him, his strong features settled in lines of stoic patience. Like all soldiers, he understood that the great majority of any war was waiting for the next battle. “The man is nothing if not predictable.”

Herrick clenched his teeth. He had been trailing Nikolas Babevich for weeks attempting to discover who he was working for. Thus far he had accomplished precisely
nothing. His only solace was that Nikolas had not yet revealed the contents of the letters to anyone.

“If he is so predictable then why have we not yet discovered who is manipulating him?” he muttered.

“Are you still convinced he has a partner?”

“Nikolas Babevich is a pathetic coward who might cheat at cards and steal a man’s purse, but he does not have the courage or the intelligence to devise a scheme to extort money from Countess Karkoff.” Herrick shrugged, his gaze instinctively scanning his surroundings. No detail was too small to capture his attention. “Besides, I have searched through his past and from all I could discover he has never traveled beyond St. Petersburg. Whoever is behind the scheme must have some contact with England.”

Gregor nodded. The soldier knew that Nikolas was attempting to blackmail the Countess, but little more.

“I have reported all the people that Babevich has been in contact with.”

“I trust you, Gregor, it is just too difficult to keep a constant watch.” Herrick stilled, his gaze narrowing as he watched the tall, distinguished gentleman who stepped out of the coffee shop next door to the brothel. “Well, that is unexpected.”

“What?”

“Sir Charles Richards.”

“An Englishman?”

“Yes, and a particular friend of Prince Michael.”

Gregor straightened, easily detecting the edge in Herrick’s voice.

“Is something wrong?”

Herrick paused. He had long ago learned to depend on his intuition, and at the moment his senses were on full alert.

“I am simply wondering why a gentleman who is frequently a guest at the palace would choose to frequent a coffee shop that is more suited to the bourgeois.”

A frown touched Gregor’s heavy brow. “Perhaps he needed refreshment after visiting Madam Ivanna.”

“Perhaps.”

“You do not seem convinced.”

Herrick lowered his voice as a party of gentlemen weaved their way toward the brothel. Drunken idiots. They would be fortunate to make it out of the neighborhood without being knocked over the head and robbed of their purses. Only a fool would travel the lesser streets of St. Petersburg without well-armed servants.

“When the Prince first befriended Richards I made a few discreet inquiries among my connections in England,” he admitted, returning his attention to Sir Charles, who had moved down the street to impatiently await his carriage.

“There was something that concerns you?”

Herrick crossed his arms over his chest. “From most accounts he is precisely what he claims to be, a minor baronet who was well liked among society and respected as a reformer in Parliament.”

“Why would such a gentleman choose to leave his home and career to live in a foreign country?”

“Precisely my question.”

“And?”

Herrick considered what he had discovered, his brooding gaze noting the manner in which the various pedestrians veered a wide path around the English nobleman. Almost as if they could sense a danger in accidentally brushing against him.

Odd.

“There were rumors, most of them carefully suppressed by Richards’s powerful friends, but they were enough to encourage him to leave England and seek a new home far enough away he would not be troubled by scandal,” he murmured.

“It must have been a considerable scandal to have forced an English nobleman to travel to St. Petersburg.”

“Yes.” Herrick’s gaunt face hardened. He took personal insult to a foreigner who brought a threat to his city. “Over
the past ten years a number of whores were discovered floating in the Thames with their throats slit.”

Gregor made a sound of shock. “Richards?”

“There was never any proof, but one of the brothel owners was willing to tell anyone who would listen to her that two of the whores had been regulars of Sir Charles and that he had been the last to see them before they died. Unfortunately, the word of a mere madam could not bring a nobleman to justice.”

“But it could cause unpleasant gossip,” Gregor murmured.

“Exactly.”

Gregor’s large hands clenched into fists. Before attracting Herrick’s notice, Gregor was a simple soldier who had been the son of a butcher. His humble past gave him a compassion for the peasant class that was all too rare.

“Have any whores in St. Petersburg been found with their throats slit?”

It was, of course, the first thing that Herrick had attempted to discover.

“No, but that does not mean they have not been murdered.” He grimaced. “Dimitri Tipova keeps an iron grip on his territory and would rather dispose of any untidy messes than risk being brought to the attention of the authorities.”

Gregor gave a disgusted grunt, not at all surprised that even a man with Herrick’s power could not penetrate the murky politics of St. Petersburg’s underworld.

Dimitri Tipova, the Beggar Czar, was a law unto himself.

“A pity.”

“Not entirely. Dimitri has a tendency to inflict his own manner of justice against those who threaten his position.”

“If that is true then Sir Charles appears remarkably healthy.”

Herrick nodded, his expression thoughtful. “So either there have been no deaths or Dimitri has chosen to punish Sir Charles by a means that did not include the usual torture.”

“What do you mean?”

“The Englishman appears to possess enough wealth to live in comfort.”

“True.” It took a moment for Gregor to follow the direction of Herrick’s thoughts. “Ah. You believe that Dimitri is demanding money?”

“I would.”

Gregor’s gaze snapped back to the brothel as the door was pushed open and a satisfied customer tripped down the stairs.

“A nasty situation, but surely a problem for another day?” he demanded once he had assured himself the gentleman was not Nikolas Babevich.

“Unless he is somehow connected with our current problem.”

“You think…” Gregor gave a sharp shake of his head. “No, I have been standing here since Babevich went into Madam Ivanna’s. Richards did not come in or out while Babevich has been inside. They could not have been meeting.”

“Ah, but you were watching the front entrance, not the hidden corridor that leads from the brothel to the coffee shop,” Herrick drawled.

“Hidden corridor?”

Herrick smiled. “Even the most powerful gentlemen enjoy the services that Madam Ivanna provides. They simply prefer their visits to be discreet.”

Gregor arched a brow. “So how do you know of the corridor?”

“There is very little that escapes my notice.”

“A knowledge that has kept me from making any number of foolish mistakes,” Gregor said dryly. “Do you truly believe that Sir Charles is here to meet with Babevich?”

“After weeks of following the fool with nothing to show for my efforts but sore feet, I no longer know what I believe.” Herrick heaved a frustrated sigh. “Still, there can be no harm in paying a visit to Sir Charles in the next few days. If nothing else it will allow me to judge whether or not he is intelligent and ruthless enough to conceive a
scheme to blackmail the Countess.” Reaching out, Herrick laid a hand on his companion’s shoulder. “Go home, Gregor. I will keep watch on Nikolas Babevich.”

Surrey, England

A
FTER YET ANOTHER FUTILE
search through the library, the back parlor and the billiards room of Meadowland, Leonida retreated to the garden to enjoy the sun that had broken through the morning fog.

Perching on a marble bench in the center of the rose garden, Leonida lifted her face toward the sky and attempted to ease the tension that gripped her body.

A part of her comprehended that she was wasting precious time. For once Stefan had left just after breakfast to meet with his solicitor in the village and Brianna had taken a carriage to oversee the workers at Hillside.

She was alone except for the servants. A perfect opportunity.

Leonida, however, was weary of her self-imposed task.

She hated deceiving Brianna, who had been nothing but kind and warmly welcoming to her. She hated sneaking about the beautiful estate as if she were a common thief.

And most of all, she hated the situation that made the Duke of Huntley her irrevocable enemy.

If only…

She angrily broke off the futile longing.

What was the point? No matter what her fascination with Stefan, her duty and loyalty lay with her mother.

And Russia.

Nothing could alter the untenable situation.

Almost as if her thoughts had conjured the very man who occupied far too much of them, Stefan suddenly appeared before her, attired in a dark cinnamon jacket and gold waistcoat.

Her heart contracted, her gaze helplessly moving over
his dark features. Dear lord, he was so beautiful. The elegant lines of his features. The sensuous curve of his lips. The broad width of his shoulders.

She shivered, her entire body tingling with pleasure.

“I thought I might discover you savoring the sunshine,” he murmured, his eyes darkening as they drifted over the hair she had left free to fall over her shoulders and the sprigged muslin gown that was trimmed with peach ribbons. It was one of her few dresses that had been cut to show the soft curve of her bodice and her breath tangled in her throat as his heated gaze lingered on the ribbon tied between her breasts. “All alone?” he rasped.

It took a moment to find her voice. “Brianna has returned to Hillside to oversee the workers who are refurbishing the parlors. She is convinced they will never properly choose the fabrics for the curtains.”

That ruthless will he was so careful to keep hidden was briefly exposed as he planted his hands on his hips.

“So she slipped away before I could halt her?”

“She promised she would do no more than sit on a sofa and search through the fabric swaths that were to be delivered this morning.”

“I hope she understands that Edmond will have my head on a platter if anything happened to her.”

“No one desires this baby more than Brianna,” she pointed out in reasonable tones. “She will not do anything to put herself at risk.”

“Hmm.” His gaze narrowed. “At least tell me she took a carriage with a groom and outriders?”

“I believe so.” She regarded him with a curious frown. “Do you suspect there is danger between here and Meadowland?”

“Poachers always pose a danger. I would prefer you not leave the grounds without an escort.”

She rose to her feet at his smooth response. He was lying. Whether it was because he wanted to frighten her so she would remain close enough to keep his eye on or
because he feared she might cause Brianna some harm was impossible to determine.

Her chin tilted to a stubborn angle. Perhaps she deserved to be treated with such obvious distrust, but she did not have to enjoy it.

“Unlike Brianna, I have nowhere to go.”

His expression eased as a slow, wicked smile curved his lips. “Are you becoming bored with the rather tedious routine of an English country estate, my dove?”

“I have told you I prefer a peaceful existence.”

“So you have.” He took a deliberate step closer, his scent wrapping around her. “While I insist you possess a more adventurous spirit.”

The very air seemed to thicken with an awareness that Leonida desperately attempted to ignore.

“Which only proves you know nothing of me.”

“I am discovering more with each passing day,” he murmured, his fingers drifting along the edge of her bodice, sending tiny shocks through her body. “I now know that you must be kept warm like a delicate orchid and that you have little taste for spirits. I know you prefer comfort to silly fashion, which says a good deal about your common sense, and that you can spend hours lost in a book that catches your fancy. I know that you harbor secrets that you keep hidden from the world and that you fear your passionate nature.”