One Night of Sin (42 page)

In any case, Drax and the colonel were pulling ahead of the esteemed MP and the upstart grandson of a Birmingham coal factor who looked rather dapper with his monocle fixed in his right eye as he inspected his cards. Drax, for his part, was wearing his lucky hat with a brim that cast a shadow over his face, helping to conceal his expression.

Between hands, Alec lifted his head, stretched a bit, and spotted Count Lieven. He started to greet the ambassador, but noticed that Lieven was engrossed in a note that a servant had brought him. Alec watched intently as the count folded up the note with a tense look and put it in his pocket, unaware that he was being observed. He then stood and hurried out of the room, thanking his host on the way out.

Lieven did not return.

It was two
A.M
. before a win was achieved. Drax and Tallant at the other table claimed the victor’s laurels; ten minutes later Mikhail and Alec tasted triumph. His heart pounding, his smile tentative after such a long bout of intense effort, he rose from the table and shook the losers’ hands, rather stiff after six hours of play.

Tallant was exuberant, like he could smell a kill. Kurkov puffed out his chest and broke out with a cigar.

“Well played, Alexei,” he rumbled, landing an easy blow on Alec’s shoulder, a smile slashing his dark beard. “Good luck in round four,” he added with a ruthless glint of humor in his gray eyes. “Of course, I’ll kill you if I have to.”

“Likewise, Your Highness,” Alec answered in a silky tone, more pleased by the prospect than his enemy knew.

“Do you know something, Mikhail?” Eva asked, regarding the great hard beast in cynical amusement. “You are the first Russian I ever fucked. Isn’t that nice?”

He merely grunted.

Paying her little mind, Mikhail lay staring at the sea, brooding and smoking a cheroot much later that night while Eva played with his short beard and raked her fingers through the fur on his chest.

“Give me that.” To get his full attention, she borrowed his cheroot and took a puff from it, blowing an expert smoke ring.

“That’s very impressive,” he remarked, watching her. “Are you sure you don’t have any Cossack blood?”

She laughed.

Mikhail took the small thin cigar back from her with only the trace of a smile.

Dawn was drawing near, but it was still gray outside Lady Campion’s little yellow pastel summerhouse. Far off on the ocean’s horizon the sun showed only a flat glimmering line. They could see it from her bedroom window, indeed, from her curtained bed where the two of them had spent all night battling for supremacy, nearly tearing each other apart as they struggled to determine who was going to be in control of this affair.

When Mikhail had come back from Arundel Castle, victorious after round three of the whist drive, Eva brushed off the news that he had been paired with Alec Knight and then playfully offered her new lover his reward. He accepted, and their rough contest had begun.

It was rare to find a man who could give back to her as good as he got, and in the end, to Eva’s amazement, Mikhail had won. She had teeth marks and bruises all over her body and felt, in all, as though she had been ravished by the big bad wolf of fairy-tale fame. Extraordinary, but she quite believed she was smitten. Her Russian beast was not like any other lover she had ever known. A man completely beyond her control. A man who could force
her
to obey. Put her in her place. She might chafe under his domination, but she knew it was exactly what she needed.

In short, the baroness had made up her mind to keep him. She had been alone long enough, playing games and chasing pleasure. The change in Alec, her former plaything, his new discovery of love, he and his little Precious, had made Eva fear the future in a way she never had before. She had brooded on it for days after finding out he was engaged, and after receiving his threat. For the first time in her life she faced the fear that had gnawed at her for longer than she cared to admit: that she was really going to end up old, shriveled, and alone.

But now she had found her perfect mate.

All she had to do was strip Mikhail of his silly plan to marry Parthenia Westland and replace the chit with herself as his bride. She was tired of always being the mistress. She wanted to be the wife—and she licked her lips over gaining the title “Princess,” as well. That would be a fine feather in her cap—a cap she had now privately set at Mikhail Kurkov. She was eager to endear herself for the added reason that if she could secure his affection, then she could make her ruthless prince punish that male whore for daring to threaten her. What gall he had, after all that she had done for him! She had saved his bloody worthless life, and in return, Alec Knight had scorned her. Well, he would learn sooner or later that
Hell hath no fury. . . .

Still, after his quite terrifying threat, Eva dared not cross Alec outright yet, nor reveal to anyone the existence of his precious little ladybird. Instead, she kept her eyes and ears open for some way that she could safely strike back at the ingrate. Most of all, her grudge festered over the way he had humiliated her, causing her to flee the house like a frightened ninny—she, Eva Campion!—who had taken such pleasure in mastering him. That was what stung most of all.

When Alec had thrown her against the wall and menaced her, Eva had seen in his eyes how much he hated her. She had realized in shock that after all she had gleefully done to him, she had real reason to fear this man.

But soon she would have Mikhail to protect her, and then she could do what she liked. Oh, yes, she would pay that pretty bastard back somehow, as well as that hateful young beauty now warming his bed. Fiancée, indeed.

God, someone ought to throw vitriol on that pretty face and then see if the chit could still snare herself a Knight brother. Becky—Abby—whatever the hell her name was, Eva thought with an inward sneer.

When a discreet knock sounded on the door, Mikhail got up abruptly, tossing her aside. Eva scowled at the offhand treatment.

Mikhail hitched his trousers up and prowled to the door. When he opened it, she heard but could not understand his low-toned exchange with the leader of his six huge warriors stationed outside her house.

Turning onto her side with a sulky stare, she rested her face on her hand.

Mikhail shut the door and stalked back toward the bed, his closed expression more remote than ever. He seemed restless and agitated. Indeed, in the few short days of their acquaintance, she had often noticed this dark mood of his beneath his outward indifference. It fascinated her.

“What is it, Misha?”

“Nothing,” he rumbled, sitting on the edge of her bed. He laid his hand appreciatively on the curve of her naked hip.

“What did your men want?”

“To see if I had any further orders before the changing of the guard.”

“Why do you need so many bodyguards, anyway?”

“To protect me from women like you,” he said, clapping her soundly on the rear end and causing her to squeal.

“You mean old hairy monster, Kurkov!” she scolded, then sat up and gazed deeply into his steely eyes. She could see the dark thoughts churning in his brain. “You look troubled.” It took considerable courage, but she lifted her hand and caressed his head. “Why don’t you tell Eva what is wrong? Maybe I can help.”

“Help me?”

“Yes,” she answered, lifting her chin. “Don’t underestimate me, darling. Men have done so in the past, to their folly.”

Mikhail considered her words and chewed upon her offer, studying her.

He could not help but smile faintly at this she-wolf he had found. If Lady Parthenia was ice, Eva Campion was pure deadly fire. She was the most enticing female he had ever encountered, and if she possessed a single inhibition, he had yet to find it. She had started as a mere distraction for him, a bit of recreation to take his mind off his missing cousin as well as the worrisome fact that he had not had any communication from his co-conspirators back in Russia for some weeks.

But now as he dragged her across his lap, he knew he had found a possible ally. Unlike most people, including Parthenia and all fourteen of his concubines at home, this scheming harlot understood him. He raked his hand in uneasy but possessive affection through her short, dark curls, which he had already tousled thoroughly. He owned her, he knew, every inch.

Eva closed her dark eyes, reveling in his touch. Her eager submission pleased him, hard won as it had been. “Tell me your troubles, Mikhail,” she murmured. “I only wish to serve you.”

His eyes flickered with gratification, and he felt his loins grow heavy yet again with want of her. He still didn’t trust the bitch, but at least now he was satisfied he could control her. “Shall I?” he whispered more to himself than to her.

“Yes.” She dragged her eyes open and stared into his. “Let me prove myself worthy of you.”

Mikhail considered her offer cautiously. Perhaps she could be of use. God knew, nothing else had worked so far. He had men scouring London and Brighton for the girl, men posted along the main routes back to Yorkshire, men watching the Westlands’ house around the clock, but no one had seen hide nor hair of Rebecca Ward. This had led Mikhail to suspect that someone must be hiding her. Perhaps this single, crafty woman could succeed where all his men had failed.

As a fixed presence in the ton and a woman privy to the rich mine of Society women’s gossip, the baroness no doubt had means of learning secrets that he could not tap into. Perhaps she could learn for him who might be hiding the girl, or at least find some new lead for him to follow in his maddeningly fruitless hunt for her.

Confiding in a woman was a risk he would not normally take, but Rebecca had been missing for nearly a month now and he was getting downright nervous. Besides, he needn’t tell Eva everything. He could tell her just enough to give her the scent, and then let her track the quarry by her own devices.

“Perhaps there is something you could do for me.”

“Name it,” she whispered, straddling his lap with her arms wrapped around his neck.

“When my grandfather died, I was made the guardian of a young cousin of mine, an orphaned girl of about twenty. Well, the foolish chit rebelled at having been placed under my authority; until I came along, her caretakers had let her run wild. When I tried to impose some discipline, she threw a tantrum and ran away.” Mikhail spilled her off his lap and got up to crush out the stump of his finished cheroot. “I don’t know where she is or who may have her,” he said while Eva watched his every move. “I suspect she is entirely ruined by now. She had little money when she left, and her youth and beauty would have made her easy prey.”

Eva flinched at the words “her youth and beauty.” The fleeting jealousy she betrayed amused Mikhail, but since he wanted her help, he gave her a soothing glance.

“For myself, I don’t give a damn what becomes of Rebecca at this point,” he lied. “What concerns me is that the girl has shown a nasty habit of going around telling lies about me.”

“Really?” she murmured.

“Yes. Lies of a most shocking and serious nature. Enough to cause me considerable trouble unless she is brought to heel. Unfortunately, my men have had no success in finding her to date. She was last spotted in London a few weeks ago. Since then, it’s as if she’s simply vanished.”

“Perhaps she’s dead.”

“No. I have a man in London keeping an eye on the obituaries for just that possibility, but so far, nothing.”

“Have you contacted her close friends?”

“She has none that I know of. She knew no one outside her village. I think it’s possible she may have fled to one of my grandfather’s old cronies for help, using the Talbot name to gain entry.”

“Someone in Society?” Eva murmured, intrigued.

“Yes. She could be with anyone, saying any manner of filth against me. I have been restricted from making inquiries myself because of,” he said delicately, “the situation with Lady Parthenia.”

“Right.” Slipping into her red silk dressing gown, Eva tied it and went to him. “Perhaps I can help you find her.” She tilted her head a bit, studying him with a distinct, wicked gleam in the depths of her coal-black eyes. “What does she look like?”

“Well, as I said, she is about twenty years old. About this high.” He held his hand up to about the level of his breastbone. “Shapely girl, quite pretty. She has wavy, dark hair to her waist and bluish-colored eyes.”

“Why, she sounds beautiful,” Eva said sourly, then eyed him skeptically. “Are you quite sure she ran away because of your . . . discipline, Mikhail?”

“What are you implying?” he demanded with an indignant lift of his chin.

She just smiled at him like a cat with cream. “Oh, nothing. So, what is this ravishing young thing’s name?” She turned to put out the nearby candle as the dawn’s light grew.

“Rebecca. Rebecca Ward. She more commonly goes by Becky.”

For a fleeting second Eva went very still. “There wouldn’t happen to be . . . any other names she goes by?”

He shook his head. “None that I know of.”

“Aha.”

“You will make a few discreet inquiries among the ton? Subtlety is paramount,
loobeemaya.
”

“Why, yes. And I suspect I can produce her for you like a—a magician pulling a rabbit out of a hat!” she exclaimed in a sinister purr. “But first I have just one small condition, if I am to give you my help.”

“Now, why am I not surprised?” Mikhail murmured. He could not help smiling, bewitched by her scheming when he probably should have been outraged. She was as brazen as she was beautiful. “What is this condition I must grant you, Baroness?”

She slipped her arms around his neck and offered up a coy smile, flames in her eyes. “If I find her for you, then you must forget Parthenia Westland and marry me.”

He put her hand against his cock. “Find her for me, and I’ll let you have this again.”

“We’ll see.”

They exchanged a slightly diabolical smile, and then Mikhail turned and got dressed. “I’m leaving,” he said. “I require sleep before the final round of the whist drive tonight. Some wicked sorceress kept me awake half the bloody night.”