Scoundrel's Honor

by Rosemary Rogers

  Or to him.

  But he couldn’t deny his frustration at the impenetrable barriers she had surrounded herself with since arriving in London.

  “I sympathize with her impatience, but I cannot allow her emotions to lead her to foolishness,” he growled. “If she does not trust that I am capable of rescuing Anya, then she is most certain to take matters into her own hands.”

  Huntley smiled wryly. “I could have warned you of the dangers of entangling yourself with a headstrong female.”

  An icy dread gripped his heart as the haunting memory of his mother and her brutal death seared through his mind.

  “There is no need for such warnings,” he replied. “I am painfully familiar with the dangers. You are certain Leonida is keeping a close guard on her?”

  Huntley arched a dark brow. “Why do you ask?”

  With a sharp motion, Dimitri turned to pace toward a towering bookcase.

  “I suspect Emma is keeping a secret from me.”

  “She is a woman. They are compelled by nature to keep a poor man baffled and suspicious.”

  “Not all women,” Dimitri protested. And it was the truth. How many females had he taken into his care over the years? How many had eagerly allowed him to protect them from the cruel injustices that threatened them? “There are those who comprehend the need to depend on a man and to defer to him rather than constantly battling to assert her independence.”

  “If you say.” Huntley at least made an effort to disguise his amusement. “Why do you believe she is keeping a secret from you?”

  Dimitri continued his pacing, his brow furrowed with frustration. He had first assumed Emma’s oddly furtive manner was caused by her annoyance at his refusal to allow her to chase about London in search of her sister. It was understandable she would desire to punish him.

  But as the days passed, he was forced to accept that Emma was not a woman to harbor a grudge. If she were annoyed with him, then she would brazenly slap his face, not pout behind his back.

  No. There was something occupying her mind. Something she was determined to keep hidden from him.

  “It is those guilty glances when she thinks I am not looking,” he muttered, acutely aware that he sounded a fool. “And those tiny flinches of surprise when I enter a room unexpectedly.”

  Huntley slowly smiled, crossing to regard Dimitri with an amused gaze.

  “Have you considered her wariness in your presence is caused by the same affliction that has you pacing the floors and snapping at those foolish enough to cross your path?”

  Dimitri tensed, not particularly pleased to be a source of entertainment for the duke.

  “What affliction?”

  “Desire.”

  “That is none of your concern,” he growled, his voice edged with warning.

  “I am not blind, Tipova,” the man persisted. “It is obvious that the two of you have been intimate. Perhaps if you would return Emma to your bed then both of you could collect your composure and concentrate on your purpose here.”

  Dimitri gave a sharp crack of laughter. Did the duke believe that he was responsible for his enforced celibacy? Christ, he would sooner be tarred and feathered than spend another night alone in his bed.

  “It was not my choice to have separate chambers,” he proclaimed.

  A hint of pity darkened Huntley’s expression. “Ah.”

  Dimitri ignored the implication that it was his lack of talent that had driven Emma from his bed. He had no need to boast of his skill. Instead, he concentrated on making certain Huntley realized just how fragile Emma was beneath her facade of unshakable fortitude.

  “Emma has been forced to take on responsibilities that would have crushed most women.”

  Huntley nodded. “I suspected as much.”

  “Then you must also have suspected that her unconventional choices have made her vulnerable to nasty gossip that has plagued her since her father’s death. She would be deeply hurt if Leonida were to consider her less than a proper lady.”

  Huntley stiffened, obviously outraged by the suggestion they would deliberately harm their guest.

  “Leonida is already extremely fond of Emma, as am I. We would never think less of her.”

  Dimitri shrugged. “Perhaps you could convince her. I have been unable to do so.”

  Huntley paused, studying Dimitri’s guarded expression. “Why do I sense you have not made the attempt?”

  Dimitri swallowed a sigh. The duke was annoyingly perceptive.

  “Emma was a virgin before becoming my lover,” he grudgingly confessed.

  “You did not—”

  “Force her? No,” he snapped. “But in her mind I did seduce her. It appeased her conscience to tell herself that I took advantage of her innocence.”

  “And now?”

  Dimitri shifted uneasily. What did the man want from him? A confession that his relationship with Emma had gone beyond a short tumble to ease his lust? That he needed her to be more than merely a reluctant lover?

  “Now I wish her to accept her place in my bed because that is where she desires to be and not because I have lured her there,” he muttered.

  Huntley reached to clap him on the back. “Take the word of a man who has made his fair share of mistakes, Tipova, pride is a cold companion.”

  Dimitri headed toward the door, unwilling to discuss Emma and the baffling emotions that refused to leave him in peace.

  “Sanderson will be waiting for me.”

  UPSTAIRS IN THE DUCHESS of Huntley’s private parlor, the two women might have been poised for a painting.

  Leonida was prettily settled on a brocade settee, her lilac gown a perfect complement to her golden beauty. Across the room decorated with painted mural scenes and boasting a coved ceiling, stood Emma attired in a blue-and-silver-striped walking gown with a blue velvet pelisse fastened with large silver buttons as she glanced out the bow window.

  Neither woman, however, was remotely aware of the charming vision they created.

  In truth, Emma was aware of nothing beyond the sight of Dimitri striding through the back garden to the mews. Even at a distance he appeared absurdly handsome with his caped greatcoat emphasizing the width of his shoulders and the pale light slanting over the savage beauty of his bronzed face.

  Her teeth clenched with a combination of unwelcome appreciation and sheer annoyance that he was once again spending the day hunting for her sister, while she was expected to remain quietly at home, awaiting his return like a well-trained dog.

  “If the tea is not to your taste I could order you whatever you desire,” Leonida murmured from behind.

  Turning, Emma set aside her Wedgwood cup with a grimace. “Arsenic?”

  “No man is worth dying for.”

  “Oh, I did not intend the poison for me.”

  Leonida tilted back her head to laugh with rich appreciation. “Oh, I do like you, Emma Linley-Kirov.”

  “Why did he bother to bring me to London if he meant to forget my very existence?” she growled, pacing across the Persian carpet to absently toy with the jade figurines that lined the mantel.

  “If the burning glances he has been sending in your direction is any indication, he has not been capable of forgetting your existence for even a moment.”

  Emma could not contain her shiver. She was well aware of Dimitri’s hot, lingering glances. How could she not be? The air itself seemed to catch fire the moment he entered the room. And she would be lying if she did not admit that she had spent more than one night aching for his touch.

  But she had made her decision to bring an end to their affair. A decision that was only strengthened by the realization that she would never be capable of keeping her secrets hidden while sharing a bed with Dimitri Tipova.

  How long would it be before the incorrigible man not only realized she was making her own inquiries throughout London in an effort to locate Anya, but that there was a strange man supposedly keeping watch over her?

  No. Whatever the te
mptation, she had to keep in mind that Dimitri had his own purpose in being in London. And if she, or Anya, had to be sacrificed to achieve that goal, then so be it.

  “Desiring me in his bed and including me in his search for my sister is not at all the same,” she said, her voice bitter. “He refuses to admit I might have some value beyond my body.”

  Leonida sighed. “Men are so sadly stupid.”

  “I doubt you would include your husband in your condemnation of the opposite sex.”

  “Of course I would,” the duchess corrected. “Until I managed to properly train him, Stefan was as arrogant, insensitive and incapable of accepting a woman’s ability to make her own decisions as Dimitri.”

  “Do you truly believe a man such as Dimitri Tipova could be trained by any woman?”

  “You would not ask that question if you knew Stefan’s brother, Edmond.” Leonida set aside her teacup and rose to her feet. “I do not envy Brianna for the torment that man put her through before they wed. Of course now she is excessively happy.”

  Emma’s heart twisted with an emotion perilously close to envy. She would be a fool to ever believe she shared more than a passing affair with Dimitri. Her destiny was a small coaching inn in Yabinsk. To yearn for more was only inviting disappointment.

  “Enough of Dimitri Tipova,” she snapped. “I am here for Anya, no other purpose.”

  “Certainly,” Leonida calmly agreed. “How can I be of service?”

  Emma sucked in a deep breath, regaining her composure. “Your maid was kind enough to discover that Lady Sanderson enjoys a late morning stroll through Green Park.”

  “Good.” With brisk steps, the duchess moved toward the door. “Then we should be on our way.”

  Emma hurried behind the woman as she headed down the long hall and then the marble sweep of stairs.

  “There is no need for you to accompany me, Leonida,” she protested. “You have done enough as it is.”

  “Nonsense.” Pausing in the foyer, Leonida waited for a maid to scurry forward with a fawn cloak lined with fur and matching bonnet she settled on her golden curls. “I am going with you and there will be no arguments.”

  Hastily Emma pulled on a pair of warm gloves and a pretty bonnet trimmed with blue velvet ribbons.

  “I cannot allow you to put yourself in danger.”

  “What danger can there be in a morning stroll through Green Park with two burly footmen to keep guard?”

  Emma studied her companion’s resolute expression, then she heaved a sigh of resignation.

  “You are very stubborn.”

  Leonida chuckled. “So I have been told.”

  There was a brief wait as the groom scurried to bring around a black carriage with the Duke of Huntley’s insignia painted on the side. But soon enough they were settled on the leather seats with blankets swaddled around them and warmed bricks beneath their feet.

  Emma instinctively shifted to peer out the window as they rattled over the cobblestones, a sigh of appreciation escaping her lips as they turned onto Park Lane. Her gaze lingered on the palatial Grosvenor House with its stuccoed exterior and two-story bays that overlooked Hyde Park with aloof grandeur. And the less flamboyant Londonderry House that had been originally designed with a formal simplicity by Stewart and was in the process of lavish restorations. Leonida had whispered that Lady Londonderry was funding the alterations and desired to have a suitable setting to display her famous diamonds.

  “London is perhaps not as elegant as St. Petersburg, but it has its own charm, do you not think?” Leonida murmured.

  “I do,” Emma readily agreed, a wistful smile curving her lips. “It is just as my mother described it.”

  “Yes, Dimitri mentioned your mother was English.”

  Emma nodded. The memory of her mother holding her tightly on her lap as she spoke of her homeland caused a bittersweet ache in the center of her heart.

  “She often spoke of her home that she left behind to travel to Russia as a nanny. It made me long to visit.” She grimaced. “Although not under such circumstances.”

  “Do you intend to contact your relatives while you are here?”

  Emma shrugged. She had hesitated to contact her distant relatives after the death of her father. The last thing she desired was to be seen as a pathetic orphan in search of charity. And perhaps, if she were perfectly honest, she would have to admit that a small voice in the back of her head warned that there might be those among their relatives that might not consider her a suitable guardian for Anya. She would not take the risk her sister might be taken from her.

  Utterly selfish of her, of course. And as she was discovering, utterly stupid.

  Perhaps if she had allowed Anya to go to a traditional family with a stable home and a mother capable of devoting her time to her children, Anya might have outgrown her impulsive lust for attention.

  “I might consider seeking them out once Anya is safe,” she said, refusing to imagine the possibility that she would not find her sister. “It would be nice to meet our family. We have been alone a long time.”

  “You are not alone, Emma.” Without warning, Leonida leaned forward to grip her hand. “Never again.”

  The warmth of Leonida’s generous kindness helped to ease the icy dread that was lodged in the pit of Emma’s stomach. It was odd. How often did the common folk in her tiny village complain of the cold disdain of the aristocrats, and how they cared for no one but themselves? And yet, her neighbors had done nothing to assist her when she needed help, while this woman who had been born into lavish luxury had not hesitated to extend a hand of friendship and to open her home to a perfect stranger.

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice brimming with sincerity.

  The carriage rolled to a halt, a handful of grooms scrambling to open the door and pull out the steps.

  “Here we are,” Leonida announced, offering Emma a wink as they were carefully assisted from the coach and then discreetly followed by the burly guards as they passed through the gates.

  A frown formed on Emma’s brow as they strolled along across the frozen ground, her gaze skimming over the flat expanse of parkland that was surprisingly bustling with elegant pedestrians.

  “Heavens! I had no notion it would be so vast,” she murmured. “How will we ever find Lady Sanderson?”

  “There are only a few paths that attract a lady of fashion.” Leonida threaded her arm through Emma’s and tugged her toward a line of trees. “This way.”

  “Where are we going?”

  “The Queen’s Walk. It passes by the basin.” They walked in silence, both enjoying the sense of peace that was so rare in the bustling city, then Leonida turned to catch Emma’s small smile. “What are you thinking?”

  Emma sucked in a deep breath, acutely aware of the history that surrounded her. As beautiful as St. Petersburg might be, it had not yet acquired the centuries of stories and memories that shrouded London in mystery.

  “My mother told me that Green Park was created by King Charles II and that it never was allowed to have flowers since his queen discovered him offering blooms to another lady while they strolled among the deer and temples.”

  Leonida chuckled. “Who is to say if it is true or not? I do know the temples were destroyed during the various celebrations over the years and, of course, there was a fireworks accident that caused a dreadful fire. Not that I am complaining. There is something very appealing in simple nature unmarred by man.” Leonida leaned close to Emma’s ear. “I believe the woman in the burgundy cloak with the yapping dog is Lady Sanderson.”

  Emma covertly glanced toward the woman who was struggling to maintain her grip on the leash holding a small, ill-trained dog. She stumbled in shock. Could that dumpy woman in a garish velvet cloak and matching bonnet be a lady of society? She looked more like the butcher’s wife with her plump, ruddy cheeks and brown curls that escaped the limp bun at the nape of her neck.

  “Truly?” she breathed.

  “It is rumored she br
ought with her a considerable dowry, although Lord Sanderson has swiftly squandered her fortune. How do you intend to approach her?”

  “I haven’t the least notion.” Emma ignored her companion’s speculative gaze as they headed directly toward the woman who had halted to untangle her leash from a bush. It was not until Lady Sanderson had straightened and was watching their approach with astonishment that inspiration struck. “What a darling puppy,” she cooed, squeezing Leonida’s arm. “Is he not a darling, Your Grace?”

  “Most handsome,” Leonida readily agreed, managing to hide her grimace as the dog rolled in a patch of mud. “Wherever did you find him?”

  The woman’s mud-brown eyes widened with terrified shock at being approached by the elusive Duchess of Huntley.

  “Your Grace, this is such a…” Lady Sanderson paused, making a visible effort to regain command of her shattered composure. “Lancelot was a gift from my father.”

  Leonida smiled graciously. “Lady Sanderson, is it not?”

  “Yes. Yes, it is indeed.”

  “Sanderson?” Emma tilted her head to the side, pretending to be deep in thought. “Why is the name so familiar? Ah, of course. Your husband has kindly offered to escort Dimitri about town.”

  There was no mistaking the loathing that briefly flared through the older woman’s eyes before she managed a stiff smile. Emma shuddered in sympathy. As difficult as her life had been, she at least had not been bartered off to a man she held in disgust. Not all the money, or exclusive parties or grand houses in Mayfair could compensate for that misery.

  “Did he?”

  “I believe they were also discussing some business or another.”

  “Business?” Lady Sanderson blinked in confusion. “I am sure you must be mistaken.”

  Emma giggled, ignoring the small pang of guilt at deceiving the poor woman.

  “That is quite possible. Dimitri is forever scolding me for making a muddle of what I am told.” She deliberately paused. “Still, I was quite certain that he mentioned Lord Sanderson was seeking a buyer for a piece of property that he wishes to sell.”