Scoundrel's Honor

by Rosemary Rogers

  Entering the coffee shop, she took the seat closest the window as the message had demanded. Thank goodness she had wrapped herself in a sturdy gown of dark gray that buttoned to her chin and brushed the wooden floor past her sensible leather boots. And that her honey hair was covered by a wool scarf her mother had knit. There was a roaring fire across the room, but so close to the door there was a distinct chill in the air.

  Settling uncomfortably in the wooden chair, Emma cast a swift glance about the wide room, relieved that many of the tables were empty. There were two elegantly attired gentlemen playing chess by the fire, and a group of more roughly dressed men at a table that ran the length of the far wall, but she was quite alone in her corner.

  Her appreciation for her solitude, however, began to wane as an hour passed, and then another. Where the devil was Dimitri Tipova? Had he invited her here just to see if she would risk her reputation by meeting with a notorious criminal? Was this a mere hoax at her expense? Or were Beggar Czars so busy they found it impossible to keep their appointments?

  Tapping an impatient finger on the table, Emma found her anxiety hardening to a simmering anger.

  She was accustomed to being treated with disrespect. She was even accustomed to being ignored by others who thought themselves above her. But she could not afford to waste an entire day on some ridiculous game. If Dimitri Tipova did not wish to be of service then he should at least have the decency to send his regrets.

  On the point of rising to her feet, Emma was caught off guard when a large man approached her table and settled in a chair at her side.

  “Well, well. Such a tender little morsel,” he husked, his face with its heavy jowls and beady blue eyes far too close. “I wonder if you taste as sweet as you look.”

  Emma tilted her chin, shifting away from the hulking body attired in a faded green coat and the heavy boots of a laborer.

  “Please move along.”

  A cruel smiled curved his lips. “Perhaps I do not want to move along. Perhaps I intend to take you to the back room and sample your wares.”

  Emma should no doubt have been terrified, but at the moment her temper was fully aroused and in no mood to endure the man’s rude behavior. Even if he was twice her size.

  Grasping the cup of coffee she had bought in an effort to pass the time, she narrowed her gaze.

  “Either you leave me in peace or I will pour this exceedingly hot coffee into your lap,” she warned. “Perhaps that will teach you not to impose your vile presence on unfortunate maidens who might cross your path.”

  The intruder blinked, as if stupefied by her threat. “You…”

  His lips had barely parted when another man joined them, this one far more slender, although the scar running down his cheek from his eyebrow to the edge of his mouth made him appear far more sinister. Her companion seemed to think so as well, as his face paled and sweat beaded his forehead.

  “Semyon, return to the docks and make certain that the ship that arrived this morning is properly unloaded. You know how our employer dislikes unnecessary attention to our business.”

  “Yes…of course.”

  Stumbling to his feet, the man performed an awkward bow and headed for the door. Emma straightened from her seat as well, her temper not appeased.

  She had been ignored for hours, and then rudely insulted by that brute. She had endured enough.

  “Emma Linley-Kirov?” the man demanded.

  “And you are?”

  “Josef. I am here to escort you.”

  Her lips tightened. So, Dimitri Tipova could not be bothered to greet her in person.

  “Escort me to where?” she demanded.

  The servant waved an indifferent hand toward a door at the back of the room, clearly unimpressed with his current duties.

  “Merely to the private rooms upstairs. There is no need to be afraid.”

  She squared her shoulders. “I am not afraid, I am furious. Do you know how long I have been waiting?”

  A startled silence filled the entire room as Josef regarded her with astonishment.

  “Dimitri Tipova is a very busy man,” he said, his tone chiding. “You are fortunate he agreed to meet with you at all.”

  Emma sniffed, refusing to be intimidated. “Ah, yes, you cannot imagine how honored I am to be graced with a few moments of the Beggar Czar’s precious time.”

  With a muttered curse, the slender man headed toward the back of the room.

  “This way.”

  Stiffly, Emma followed in his wake, acutely aware of the hard gazes trained in her direction. Josef pulled open the door and led her up a narrow flight of stairs, then reaching a landing, he motioned her toward a small room with a brocade sofa and two scrolled chairs set beside a marble fireplace.

  “Wait here.”

  Not bothering to turn, Josef continued toward a door on the opposite side of the landing, shoving it open and stepping through. Ignoring good manners, Emma remained poised on the landing, blatantly attempting to overhear the low conversation between Josef and whoever was waiting in the room.

  “She arrived?” A man that Emma presumed was Dimitri Tipova demanded, his dark voice sending an odd tingle down her spine.

  “Regrettably,” Josef muttered.

  “Why regrettably?”

  “The woman is sour enough to curdle milk.”

  “No doubt she is concerned for her sister.”

  “It is not concern that makes a woman into an overbearing shrew. She is the nasty sort who tosses out orders and expects them to be obeyed.”

  “Naturally.” The gorgeous male voice held an edge of resignation. “I should have known Gerhardt would take pleasure in plaguing me with his old maid cousin. No doubt he is seated before a warm fire, relishing his peace while I am stuck with the harridan.”

  Emma winced, then gritted her teeth, pretending she wasn’t wounded by the familiar mockery. She had not traveled to St. Petersburg to charm the local thieves.

  Stepping over the threshold, she had a brief impression of a small study with bookshelves lining the walls and a porcelain stove set between two leather wing chairs. Then a tall man lifted himself from behind a heavy walnut desk and her mind abruptly refused to function.

  He was just so absurdly beautiful.

  Her stunned gaze traced the bronze perfection of his features. The wide, intelligent brow. The slender nose and full, sensual lips. The slash of his prominent cheekbones. The chiseled brows that were the same raven-black as his long hair pulled into a tail at his nape.

  It was his eyes, however, that stole her breath.

  An astonishing gold that shimmered in wicked temptation, they were surely the eyes of the devil.

  Or perhaps a fallen angel.

  All Emma knew for certain was that he was a compelling combination of lethal power and male sensuality that would make any poor woman go weak in the knees.

  An odd, heated excitement fluttered in the pit of her stomach as that golden gaze flared over her tiny form. An excitement that was swiftly replaced with hollow disappointment as his lush lips twisted with a familiar male disapproval.

  What did she expect, she mocked her temporary insanity?

  That Dimitri Tipova might be unconventional enough not to judge her bold manner? That a man forced to survive in a harsh world was capable of understanding the need for her to do the same?

  Thrusting aside the inane thoughts, Emma conjured the icy composure that was her only protection.

  “I may be an old maid, but I at least possess a few manners,” she stated, her gaze never wavering from the unnerving golden eyes. “Something sadly lacking among you and your loathsome band of cutthroats.”

  DIMITRI SHOULD HAVE been amused.

  The tiny female wrapped in layers of wool barely came to his chin and weighed less than his wolfhound. To have her burst into his room and chide him as if he were a naughty child rather than the most dangerous man in St. Petersburg was absurd.

  It wasn’t amusement he felt, howev
er, as his gaze rested on the honey curls that peeked from her scarf to lie against the purity of her ivory skin and the steady hazel eyes that held unwavering strength.

  There was something about her that challenged him at his most primitive level.

  He wanted to loom over her until she dropped her bold gaze in silent defeat. He wanted to bluntly inform her that he was an unrepentant tyrant who expected immediate obedience from others.

  He wanted to haul her against his body until the defiance faded from her beautiful eyes and her lush lips softened in invitation…

  Thankfully unaware of the currents of prickling awareness that swirled through the air, Josef folded his arms over his chest.

  “What did I say? Curdled milk,” he muttered.

  Dimitri never allowed his gaze to stray from Emma Linley-Kirov’s stubborn expression.

  “That will be all.”

  “Are you certain? There is nothing more dangerous than an angry female.”

  “Thank you, Josef, I believe you have done quite enough,” Dimitri dryly assured his friend, waiting for his servant to leave the room before he rounded the desk and perched on the corner.

  His lips twisted as her gaze skimmed down his tailored, cinnamon jacket that he had paired with a cream satin waistcoat. He had tied his crisp cravat in an Oriental knot and a diamond the size of a thimble winked in the perfect folds. Clearly the woman had expected him to be a savage rather than the sort of sophisticated gentleman who could appear comfortable in the finest home.

  “There is a saying that listeners rarely hear good of themselves,” he at last broke the silence.

  An indefinable emotion flared through her eyes before she was jutting her chin in silent condemnation.

  “I am indifferent to your opinion of me, sir—”

  “Dimitri,” he smoothly corrected.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “I am no gentleman as you have so graciously implied. You will call me Dimitri.”

  Her lips tightened, whether in disapproval at the informality or at being given an order, it was impossible to determine.

  “If you insist,” she grudgingly conceded.

  “I do.”

  “Can we please discuss my sister?” she snapped. “I have wasted enough of my day.”

  Dimitri narrowed his gaze, shoving from the desk and prowling toward the woman regarding him with an imperious scowl. A surge of male satisfaction raced through him as she instinctively backed away from his approaching form, even as his more civilized nature was shocked by his fierce reaction to the delicate slip of a woman.

  What the hell was wrong with him?

  Herding her until she was pressed flat against the bookcase, he reached to grasp the shelves on either side of her shoulders.

  “Perhaps we should discuss the nature of our—” his brooding gaze lowered to the tempting curve of her lips “—relationship, Emma.”

  Heat flared beneath her ivory skin, but her eyes shimmered with rebellion.

  “There is no relationship, merely a set of unfortunate circumstances that have forced us to join our resources for the time being.”

  He pressed closer, caught by surprise when a raw awareness of her slender body seared through him. It was inconceivable. He enjoyed his women soft and vulnerable. The sort who depended upon him to offer support and protection. Not aging tartars who smelled of soap and starch.

  “Then let me clarify the joining of resources.”

  Her color deepened at the hint of huskiness in his voice. “What do you mean?”

  “You desire my assistance, then you will have to follow my rules. Otherwise you can turn around and leave now.”

  A tense silence filled the room he had recently converted into his private office, then without warning, Emma was shoving him away and pacing toward the window that overlooked the street.

  Dimitri couldn’t deny a grudging respect for her courage. He knew only one other woman who would not have fainted or fled by now.

  His mother.

  The realization did nothing to ease his potent need to tame the prickly female. His mother’s courage had put her in an early grave.

  “Fine.” Slowly turning, Emma regarded him with an unflinching gaze. “What are these precious rules?”

  “The first is that I will not tolerate an ill-tempered termagant in my presence. If you cannot control your sharp tongue, then I will discover a means to tame it.”

  Her eyes widened. “Tame? If you think I will tolerate being beaten by—”

  He was moving before he could halt the impulse, his hands holding her face steady as he lowered his head and covered her mouth in a soft, coaxing kiss. He had intended to teach her a lesson in controlling her shrewish tongue, but at the first taste of her honeyed innocence his passions stirred, his body hardening. His hands tightened on her face as he deepened the kiss.

  Just for a moment she softened against him, her lips parting in a sweet surrender. Then, with a choked moan, she jerked back, her eyes blazing with a fury that did not entirely mask her startled desire.

  “Why, you…”

  Well versed in the ways of women, Dimitri easily caught the hand she lifted to slap his face, bringing her fingers to his mouth.

  “The second rule is no striking your master,” he could not resist taunting.

  Flecks of gold smoldered in the hazel eyes. “Master?”

  He kissed her slender fingers. “You are in desperate need of my assistance, which means that while you remain in St. Petersburg you are in my power.”

  “I will not be treated as if I am a serf.”

  “You will do precisely as I say and you will do so without complaint.”

  She jerked her hand from his grasp, marching toward the door with her chin high and her back stiff.

  “This is absurd.”

  “If you walk out that door, Emma, I can assure you that you will never find your sister.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  EMMA HALTED AT THE soft threat.

  Dimitri Tipova was not at all what she had expected. She had been prepared for a rough, ill-mannered oaf who used his fists, not his wits, to control the underworld. Certainly, she had never dreamed he would be a sophisticated, well-educated gentleman who was as beautiful as an angel and as wicked as Lucifer.

  And that kiss…

  No. She hastily thrust aside the feverish memory of her first kiss.

  She was suitably rattled without the distracting thought of Dimitri’s warm, seeking lips and the potent heat that speared through her body.

  Slowly turning, she met his ruthless gaze. “You know where she is?”

  “No, but—”

  “Then I will find someone less offensive to help me.”

  He strolled forward, the scent of sandalwood and warm male skin teasing at her senses.

  “There is no one in all of Russia who has devoted the time and resources that I have to uncovering the habits of those noblemen who prey on children.” Halting directly before her, he cupped her chin, his gaze briefly dipping down to her mouth before returning to meet her wary gaze. “And more important, I have only to whisper in the requisite ears and there will be no one in St. Petersburg willing to lend you help.”

  “Herrick warned me that you had your share of arrogance, but you cannot possibly believe you possess the power to influence every citizen in St. Petersburg.”

  “So naive,” he mocked. “Tell me, Emma, how many merchants would be willing to speak with you once it became known that the goods they purchase from my warehouses were about to double in cost? And how many servants would agree to speak with you once they learn you are a suspected spy for Alexander Pavlovich in search of traitors to the crown? As for society…” His soft chuckle brushed over her cheek, causing her stomach to clench with a startling excitement. “Well, even presuming they would be willing to meet with a commoner, they would have you tossed in the nearest dungeon for daring to implicate a noble in such a wicked crime.”

  She clenched her hand
s, wanting desperately to walk away from the conceited beast and never look back. Unfortunately, she suspected his words were not empty boasts.

  Could she truly risk the opportunity to find Anya just because this man threatened to drive her to madness?

  “Why are you being so cruel?” she demanded.

  “Not cruel—efficient,” he corrected. “As you said, for the moment we have need of one another. I have no intention of spending the next days, perhaps weeks, being flayed by a shrill-tongued harpy. If you behave as a lady and do as I say, we shall rub along quite nicely.”

  “So I am expected to be a proper lady while you are at liberty to behave as an ill-mannered brute?”

  “You are at least intelligent.” A slow, wicked smile curved his lips. “Do we have a bargain?”

  Emma sucked in a sharp breath, not for the first time wishing she had been born a man. How delightful it would be if she possessed the power to knock the arrogant toad onto his backside.

  “Do I have a choice?” she gritted.

  “Of course.” He peered deep into her eyes, almost as if willing her to obey his words. “You can return to your home where you belong.”

  “I will not leave St. Petersburg without my sister.”

  “Even if I give my word I will do my best to discover her whereabouts and return her to you?”

  “And why would I trust the word of a—” Her insult was sharply interrupted as his head swooped down and he kissed her with a seeking demand that made her heart skip a beat. Dear…Lord. After the death of her father she had resigned herself to becoming an old maid. At the time she had regretted the loss of many things, most notably the lack of a companion who could share her joys and fears and the mundane events that were all a part of life. It had not occurred to her that she might rue the lack of a man’s touch. Not until Dimitri had revealed just how potently addictive that touch could be. Arching back, she struggled to breathe. “Stop that.”

  He studied her from beneath his thick tangle of lashes. “I did warn you that I would tame your unruly tongue.”

  Emma grimly stiffened her spine, refusing to dwell on her tingling lips or the restless, achy sensation that gripped her body. Obviously she was coming down with a chill.