He glanced toward the older woman. “You tread a dangerous path, Vanya.”
“Not nearly so dangerous as you, mon ami,” she said, a smug smile on her lips as she turned back toward the house. “I will send word to the stables that your mount is to be saddled.”
ENTERING VANYA’S STABLES, Edmond was unsurprised to discover Boris awaiting him with a sour expression. The large warrior had not been pleased to discover he was not to join his employer. His life was devoted to hunting traitors.
Now he stood blocking the stall with his considerable bulk, his arms crossed over his chest.
“I should be with you.”
A swift glance about the hay-scented darkness assured Edmond that they were alone.
“I need you to keep an eye upon Kazakov. He dare not show his face in the streets of St. Petersburg, but that does not mean he is not up to some mischief. If he has a visitor, I wish to know.”
“That is surely Gerhardt’s duty?”
Edmond grimaced. “He was unable to avoid the Prince’s demand that he make an appearance at the Winter Palace, at least not without revealing the truth. Something he is loath to do, even to the Prince.”
“Do you suspect that the conspiracy is so well-connected?” Boris demanded.
“There have been rumors that would make such a claim, but no, I do not believe that the Romanovs are involved.” There was a pause. “At least, I hope they are not. I do not believe that Alexander Pavlovich could recover from such treachery.”
“So I am to spend the night standing on a cold street, keeping watch on a gentleman who dare not leave his house?”
Edmond clapped his companion on the shoulder. “You know it could be worse, my friend.”
“Worse?”
“You could be dining at the Winter Palace.”
Boris turned to stomp toward the nearest stall, his foul curses filling the air.
TO MOST VISITORS, THE VAST Winter palace was an overwhelming maze of marble and gilt and polished wooden floors. Even within the public rooms, it was an easy matter to become lost among the endless galleries, chambers and staircases. Thankfully, Alexander Pavlovich possessed a large battalion of uniformed servants who stood at every doorway, prepared to assist the flood of guests that arrived each evening.
Edmond, however, had long ago memorized the complex floor plans, including the Czar’s private antechambers and the servants’ narrow hallways.
Attired in a gray and mauve uniform that marked him as one of Richard Monroe’s personal footmen, Edmond managed to slip into the palace and to his lordships’ rooms without drawing attention. Not a difficult feat, considering Monroe had deliberately chosen chambers that possessed a private terrace with stairs that led directly to the back gardens.
Entering the sitting room decorated with Russian birch furnishings and plaster walls painted in a delicate ivory, Edmond crossed the inlaid wood floor to where Monroe leaned against his cluttered desk, looking every inch the aristocrat in his formal attire.
Although he had no official capacity, Monroe was the voice of England in those issues too delicate for an official ambassador to become involved. His shrewd intelligence, his calm ability to reason under pressure and his skills in negotiation made him an invaluable asset for King George.
There were few gentlemen that Edmond held in greater esteem.
Halting in the middle of the room, Edmond ran a hand down the jacket of his uniform, his smile wry.
“I must thank you for having my new attire delivered to me, although I believe the buttons are a trifle understated.” He touched one of the plain gold buttons. “Surely you should have your insignia stamped upon them?”
Surprisingly, the older gentleman’s expression remained grim as he studied Edmond.
“The uniform will fool others from a distance, but your face is too familiar not be recognized. You must remain out of sight.”
Edmond’s gaze narrowed at the unexpected words of warning. No matter how well-intentioned, he did not appreciate being told how to conduct his business.
“Is there a reason you are lecturing me as if I am a schoolboy fresh from the nursery, Monroe?” he said, the warning in his voice clear.
Monroe straightened from the desk, his gaze steady. “Because gentlemen who are distracted are inclined to make dangerous mistakes.”
“Distracted?”
“I was fortunate enough to encounter Miss Quinn this afternoon.” Monroe made no attempt at subtlety. “She is exquisite.”
Edmond took a step closer. Logically, he might understand Monroe’s concern, but the thought of any man, no matter how close a friend, attempting to interfere in his relationship with Brianna managed to stir his anger.
“Yes, she is. Do you have a point?”
“In all the years I have known you, this is the first occasion you have revealed your secrets to a female. You would never have done so if she were not important to you.”
“My relationship with Brianna is no one’s concern.”
“That is not entirely true.” Monroe absently adjusted the cuff of his black jacket. “By bringing her to Vanya’s you put us all at risk.”
With a muttered oath, Edmond stepped forward.
“Are you implying that she is a traitor?”
Monroe held his hand up in a gesture of appeasement. “Be at ease, Edmond. I am merely pointing out that you have obviously judged her to be worthy of your trust. An honor you have never before offered to any woman beyond Vanya.”
Realizing that his melodramatic reaction had revealed far more than he desired, Edmond gave a restless shrug.
“I have known Brianna Quinn since she was born. That aggravating chit may be stubborn, annoyingly independent and incapable of admitting that I know what is best for her, but she would never betray me.” His voice held an absolute faith. Brianna Quinn might be the most maddening woman alive, but he would readily trust her with his very life. “She is incapable of such treachery.”
“A woman of worth, then.”
“Yes, she is.”
The dark eyes held a knowing glint. “As I have said…a distraction.”
“Surely it is time that we were on our way to dinner?”
Moving forward, the older gentleman placed a hand on Edmond’s shoulder.
“Just be on your guard, Edmond. There is a tension in the palace on this night.” He shook his head as Edmond’s lips parted. “And before you ask me to explain, I cannot. It is nothing more than a feeling in the air. As if lightning were about to strike.”
“Or a powder keg about to explode,” Edmond murmured, recalling Herrick’s words months earlier.
“Precisely.”
WAITING UNTIL SHE WAS certain that Edmond had left for the Winter Palace, Brianna pulled on a night robe and climbed into her bed with a sigh of relief.
Perhaps a part of her should be annoyed that she was banned from the public rooms as if she were some shameful secret that must be hidden away, but in truth she was simply relieved that she would not be expected to attire herself in a fine dress and mingle among a crowd of strangers. Her stomach was once again tender and her body so weary that she wanted nothing more than to curl beneath the heavy covers and sleep for the next fortnight.
It was near an hour later when there was a light tap on her door and Vanya peeked her head into the room.
“May I enter?”
Feeling embarrassed to be caught taking to her bed at such an early hour, Brianna shoved herself into a seated position.
“Of course. I would love the company.”
Pushing the door wide, Vanya stepped over the threshold, holding a silver tray in her hands.
“I have brought you a small surprise.”
Brianna’s embarrassment only deepened. “Good heavens, you have no need to wait upon me, Vanya.”
The older woman merely smiled as she crossed to settle on the edge of the bed, placing the tray across Brianna’s legs.
“I enjoy ensuring that my guests are comfortable.”
&
nbsp; “But your maid already sent me a dinner tray,” Brianna protested as Vanya poured a cup of the hot tea and added several small spoons of sugar to the steaming liquid.
“One that you returned without even having taken a bite,” Vanya retorted. “My poor cook was nearly in tears.”
“Oh.” Brianna winced as she recalled the plates of exquisite food that had been delivered and returned. Just the scent of roasted duck and rich lobster in butter had made her stomach heave in protest. “Please assure your cook that the food was perfectly lovely, but my stomach seems to be off today.”
Vanya removed the white linen napkin from a plate on the tray to reveal the fresh gingerbread biscuits. “Perhaps a cup of tea and a biscuit will help.”
Brianna breathed in deeply, relieved when she felt nothing more than a faint pang of hunger.
“Actually, it does smell wonderful,” she murmured, taking a bite of the gingerbread before sipping the tea.
Vanya watched Brianna with an odd expression as she polished off two of the biscuits and drank the tea.
“Better?”
“Yes.” Leaning against the headboard, Brianna heaved a satisfied sigh. “It is so silly. I am never ill. My mother always claimed that I had the constitution of a horse.”
Vanya plucked the tray off Brianna’s lap and set it on the bedside table.
“Have you thought that there might be a reason for your current…discomfort?”
Brianna shrugged. “I presume I must have caught a chill on the journey. It was rather a grueling voyage.”
“Perhaps.”
The older woman sounded far from convinced and Brianna frowned in confusion. She sensed that something was troubling Vanya, and that whatever it was concerned Brianna.
“Vanya?” she prompted, softly.
With a jerky motion Vanya was on her feet, her hands nervously twisting the priceless jewels on her fingers.
“I think that you should consider the possibility that you are with child, ma petite.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
STANDING IN THE SHADOWS of the anteroom that offered a perfect view of the dining room, Edmond attempted not to fidget as he watched the guests seated about the small round tables with live orange trees growing through the center. Even without Alexander Pavlovich’s presence, a dinner at the Palace was always a formal affair with endless dishes served by Mameluke servants who moved through the vast room with a silent dignity.
From his vantage, it was a simple matter to keep sight of Fedor Dubov as he shared a table with the lesser dignitaries at the edge of the room. The short, rotund gentleman was flashing his practiced smile, hiding his undoubted annoyance at being seated so far from the Czar’s younger brother, Prince Michael and the royal family, but Edmond’s practiced gaze did not miss the nervous twitch of his hands as he smoothed his cravat, or the manner in which his eyes darted about the room.
Fedor had never possessed Viktor’s smooth ability to kiss the cheek of his enemy while sliding a dagger into his back. If any of the conspirators were to make a mistake, he was Edmond’s best hope.
At precisely ten o’clock, the few royals in residence rose from their table and headed out of the room, signaling the end to the meal. Edmond melted farther into the shadows, a smile curling his lips as Fedor signaled someone with a covert nod of his head and then strolled casually toward the side door that would lead toward an empty ballroom.
With swift movements, Edmond was slipping from the antechamber to the nearest staircase, relieved that the servants would be distracted by the crowd of guests being led toward the Hermitage for the evening concert.
Reaching the upper gallery, he was careful to avoid the splashes of candlelight as he hurried to crouch in the shadows of the marble balustrade that overlooked the short corridor leading to the ballroom. He had barely managed to catch his breath when Fedor stepped through the door, followed shortly by a large gentleman who was attired in the uniform of the Semyonoffski regiment of the Foot Guards.
Edmond sucked in a sharp breath. Grigori Rimsky had been known in his younger years to possess sympathies for the Polish independence movement, but since transferring to the regiment that Alexander Pavlovich claimed as his own, he had proven to be a courageous commander who had risen swiftly through the ranks during the war with Napoleon. Edmond had never suspected his loyalty for a moment.
Which made him the most dangerous sort of traitor.
The highly decorated officer glanced about the seemingly empty corridor before giving the nervous Fedor a furious glare.
“Have you no sense?” he growled, his low voice easily carrying up to the gallery above. “We cannot speak here. If we are seen together…”
“I cannot risk another note,” Fedor interrupted, withdrawing a handkerchief to blot the perspiration from his round face. “My house is being watched.”
Grigori snapped to attention. “By whom?”
Fedor shrugged. “Gerhardt, no doubt.”
“So, by now he knows that Viktor Kazakov has returned to St. Petersburg?”
“It will hardly matter in a few hours.”
Edmond choked back his shock. A few hours? Mon dieu. As much as he longed for this nasty business to be done with, he was woefully unprepared to halt the mysterious revolt. He needed information. And he needed it swiftly. Even if it meant tipping his hand and hauling these two traitors to the nearest dungeons. Grigori might possess the courage to face death rather than expose their nefarious plot, but Fedor’s spine was not nearly so stiff. A few lashes with a horsewhip and he would be begging to confess all.
“Besides,” Fedor continued, “Gerhardt is not our greatest concern.”
“What do you mean?”
“Lord Edmond is here.”
Grigori hissed at the same time that Edmond stiffened in shock. Christ. How had they discovered his presence?
“In St. Petersburg?” Grigori barked.
“Yes.” Fedor wiped his face again, his tension palpable in the air. “Viktor has a spy within Vanya Petrova’s household.”
Edmond silently swore to personally interview each and every one of Vanya’s staff. By the time he was done with his little chat, they would be praying that the Czar’s guard would arrive and haul them to the dungeons.
Grigori paced sharply toward an elegant Grecian statue, his hands clenched at his side as if his stoic composure were threatening to crack.
“Viktor promised me that Lord Edmond Summerville would be too occupied protecting his brother to trouble us.”
“It seems that my cousin was mistaken.”
Grigori turned and glared at the younger man.
“Do not make light of this, Fedor. Your family is obviously incapable of performing your roles, no matter how simple they might be, and somehow allowed the bastard to realize that the danger to the Duke of Huntley was no more than a ruse.” He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “God, I should have known better than to trust any of you. You have put us all at risk.”
Fedor blanched, his weak chin trembling. He might be a coward, but he was not stupid. He easily realized that the furious soldier was quite capable of breaking his neck.
“Lord Edmond will not be a problem,” he stammered.
“And how can you be so certain?” the older man demanded. “He has thwarted us on too many occasions.”
Fedor swiped his face with his handkerchief. “In the unlikely event that he manages to discover our plans, Viktor and I have ensured that he will not interfere.”
Edmond frowned even as Grigori made a sound of disgust. “Indeed? Will you put a bullet through his black heart?”
“A charming notion, although I am not foolish enough to pit my skills with a dueling pistol against the man,” Fedor muttered. “It is said that he has killed at least a dozen opponents.”
“I do not care if he has killed a thousand. How do you intend to keep him from bringing us to ruin?”
“Lord Edmond did not come to Russia alone. He brought his brother’s fiancée.”
“His brother’s fiancée?” Grigori scoffed. “You are mistaken. All know that the man is a ruthless bastard, but that he would do anything for his precious brother. That is the reason we decided to make the fool believe the Duke was in danger.”
“Which means that he must be desperate for this woman,” Fedor said, his voice shrill with nerves. “And willing to do anything to protect her.”
“You have her?” Grigori demanded.
“I received a message during dinner that Viktor is preparing to collect her from Vanya Petrova’s as we speak.”
“Preparing to collect her and managing to do so are two very different things. She will not be unprotected.”
“Viktor said in the message that he had caught Summerville’s servant, Boris, skulking outside my house and has him tied in the wine cellar until I can return and discreetly dispose of him. She is not nearly so protected as some might believe.”
“Where…” The soldier broke off his words with a muttered curse and, grasping Fedor by the arm he hauled him toward the nearby door. “Someone is coming. Join the others in the Hermitage. I must set matters in motion.”
“Now?”
“Lord Edmond will not be allowed to interfere this time.” Grigori marched from the hallway, but his words floated through the air. “I will have my throne.”
Above the two men, Edmond lowered his pistol to the ground as he struggled to breathe.
A very small part of him realized that it was his duty to follow Grigori from the Palace and discover the remaining traitors so they could be rounded up by the guards to await Alexander Pavlovich’s judgment. The intrigue was about to be unleashed, and God only knew how many innocent people would be hurt if it were not halted.
That small part of him, however, was no match for the stark panic that clutched at his heart.
Brianna.
That bastard Viktor Kazakov intended to sneak into Vanya’s home and put his filthy hands on…
No. Oh, no.
He would kill him.
He would kill him, and then he would rip his heart from his chest and feed it to the vultures.
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