Oh, she comprehended that a measure of their interest was stirred by her arrival in the company of the Duke and Duchess of Huntley. And, of course, by being on the arm of Dimitri, who appeared to terrify society with his ruthless beauty and hint of savage danger in his golden eyes.
But she was female enough to accept that had she not been so frantic to discover some hint of her sister, she might have taken pleasure in the soiree.
Instead, she stood at Leonida’s side with a smile forced onto her lips and waited for Dimitri to covertly trail Lord Sanderson onto the terrace. The man had confessed what he had learned in the brothel, but had adamantly refused to allow Emma to be a part of the search for Anya.
Which meant Emma intended to take matters into her own hands.
Leaning close to Leonida, she whispered into her ear. “It is time.”
The duchess covertly tugged Emma away from the crowd, her beautiful face creased with concerned.
“Emma, please take care.”
Emma hid her smile, having heard the story of Leonida’s frantic flight from England to St. Petersburg that had included a kidnapping and near-death experience. The woman was hardly in the position to lecture Emma on being careful.
“I intend to do nothing more than question the staff. I swear I will be discreet.”
“And quick.” Leonida glanced toward the imposing duke, who stood near a marble column, his remote expression keeping away all but the boldest encroacher. “If Stefan discovers you are missing, then he will most certainly come in search of you. And I know from painful experience he is a difficult man to avoid. And as for Dimitri…” She grimaced. “I shudder to think of what he would say should I allow you out of my sight.”
Emma did a good deal more than merely shudder.
She was well aware that if Dimitri discovered she was executing her own search for Anya he would have her hauled back to his ship and sent to Russia.
“I shall return before anyone suspects I am gone,” she swore.
Weaving her way toward the entrance at the far side of the gallery, Emma ignored the attempts to capture her attention. Then, moving down the corridor away from the near-deafening chatter of the guests, she slowed her pace as she peered into the various rooms. They were all opulently decorated with rosewood furnishings and richly painted ceilings. Her stomach clenched. Did Sir Jergens afford his lavish home by selling Russian children?
She had nearly reached the back of the house when she spied the maid who was stirring the fire in what appeared to be a small parlor. Pausing in the doorway she bent down to rip the hem of her gown before she entered the room and headed directly toward the servant.
“You there.”
The maid, with a round face and fuzzy brown hair that escaped her white cap, hurriedly rose to her feet, wiping her hands on her apron.
“Aye, my lady?” she breathed, bobbing a hasty curtsey.
Emma summoned a kind smile, hoping to put the maid at ease. “I fear a clumsy oaf has trod upon my gown and torn my hem. Would you be kind enough to assist me?”
“Of course. If you will follow me?”
The maid led her toward a window seat where a basket of darning had been tucked out of sight.
“Is it very bad?” Emma demanded.
The maid knelt on the carpet, reaching to pull out a needle and thread from the sewing basket.
“Not at all,” she assured Emma, “I shall be done in a trice.”
“I know it is not your duty…”
“Maggie,” the girl shyly offered at Emma’s prompting.
“Maggie, but my maid was forced to return to her mother in St. Petersburg and I have yet to replace her.”
“I am happy to oblige, my lady.”
Emma allowed the maid to concentrate on threading the needle and begin stitching the hem before she pretended to be struck by a sudden thought.
“Do you know, it has just occurred to me that you might be just who I need to speak with.”
The maid glanced up in puzzlement. “Me?”
“Yes, I shall have need of a servant during the remainder of my visit and while I am certain an English maid would be perfectly qualified for the position, I must admit that I would prefer a Russian girl. Do you know where I might hire such a maid?”
The color visibly drained from the plump face. “Russian?”
The woman was obviously alarmed, but it was impossible to know if it was a mere reaction to being questioned by a supposed noblewoman. Emma considered her words.
“Well, most London domestic services only offer English or French servants. I had hoped you might be acquainted with a suitable girl.”
“I…”
“Have I said something wrong?”
Maggie abruptly ducked her head, concentrating furiously on sewing the ripped hem.
“No.”
“I would be willing to pay for your assistance, Maggie,” Emma urged softly.
“I’m sorry, my lady, I don’t know any foreign girls.”
Emma bit her lip, studying the rigid line of the maid’s shoulders and the tremble of her finger as she tied off the thread. The poor girl was truly frightened. Did she dare press her further?
“Then perhaps one of your friends would be able to recommend someone?” she at last asked.
The maid surged upright, a hectic glitter in her brown eyes. “There you are, as good as new.”
“Maggie?”
“I must be returning to my duties.” Without warning Maggie was turning to rush out of the room.
“Wait.”
Cursing her lack of finesse, Emma belatedly followed in the servant’s wake, not entirely surprised to discover that the girl had already disappeared. She was certain Maggie must know something. But what? And how did she force the poor girl to confess?
Ten minutes later, Emma came to a halt and glanced about the warren of rooms and hallways that made up the servant’s quarters. Maggie was nowhere to be found and the servants who scurried past her were sending her the sort of curious glances that inevitably led to gossip. The one thing that Emma was determined to avoid.
Accepting that she had done enough damage for one evening, she gave a shake of her head and turned to retrace her steps back to the ballroom. It was only then that she realized that an extremely large man with a dark complexion had crept up behind her. Her eyes widened as she realized he was oddly attired with a scarf on his head and a matching loose white robe wrapped with a black rope that held it in place.
Who was he? And more important, what was he doing creeping about the London town house?
Instinctively, her lips parted to scream, but before she could make a sound the man had clamped a hand over her mouth and firmly wrapped an arm around her waist, plucking her feet far enough off the ground so he could back toward a nearby door.
Emma struggled as a surge of fear exploded through her. She might be several pounds lighter and barely tall enough to reach the man’s shoulder, but that did not keep her from scratching at the hand over her mouth or desperately swinging her legs in an attempt to connect a blow to his knee.
The brute flinched and muttered beneath his breath, but he never hesitated as he used his foot to kick open the door and hauled her down a narrow flight of stairs into the abandoned rose garden.
Emma stilled her futile struggles. The man was too powerful for her to battle. Her only hope was to conserve her strength and pray she would be offered the opportunity to escape once he released his painful grip.
She shivered as a breeze whipped around the side of the house, easily cutting through the thin fabric of her gown. English winters might not compare to the brutal ferocity of Russia, but this was no weather to be prancing about frozen gardens without so much as a cloak.
The stranger carried her down the narrow path, heading toward the small grotto in the center of the garden. Then, stepping through the opening, he roughly set her back on her feet, making no effort to assist her when she stumbled into the darkness.
A slender male hand grasped her arm, gently steadying her before she fell to her knees. Emma was aware of the potent scent of exotic spices and warm male skin before the hand was removed and the darkness was pierced by candlelight.
She blinked against the sudden change from dark to light, then as her eyes became accustomed, she studied the slender man standing directly in front of her.
Her first thought was that he was as exotically male as his scent had been.
Although attired in English clothing with a black jacket fobbed with gold and white satin pantaloons, there was no mistaking the foreign beauty of his finely carved features and the rich glow of his golden skin. His hair was as dark as the midnight sky and cut close to his head, emphasizing his wide brow and the black, deep-set eyes that smoldered with a restless intelligence.
She shivered. The stranger carried with him the lethal allure of the desert. Scorching days beneath the incandescent sun and cool nights by the oasis, wrapped in a man’s arms.
Emma’s heart slammed against her chest as the stranger studied her for a long, disturbing moment, then his dark gaze shifted over her shoulder and he spoke to a man still standing behind her in a strange language.
There was a shuffle as the robed man left the gazebo and Emma was alone with the strikingly handsome man who set aside the candle and strolled toward her.
“Forgive me,” he murmured, his smoky voice feathering down her spine. “I requested that my servant bring you to me and apparently he took my command quite literally.”
Emma licked her lips, not fooled by his polished manners. She did not doubt for a moment that the servant had been commanded to bring her to the garden by whatever means necessary.
“So it would seem.” She clutched her shaking hands together, glancing about the marble grotto with its pastoral scenes painted on the walls and benches set beneath the slotted windows. It was surprisingly spacious, but to Emma’s mind the stranger’s presence seemed to overwhelm the circular space. “Who are you?”
He offered a half bow. “Just as you, I am a visitor to this country.”
Which told her precisely nothing.
“And you believe that gives you leave to have me hauled about as if I am a bit of rubbish?”
A small smile curved his lips, emphasizing his dark beauty. “I have apologized.”
Emma remained wary, but her panic eased. Surely if the man intended harm he would not be chatting with her in a grotto near enough for someone to hear her scream?
“But you have not yet introduced yourself, or told me why you have brought me to this excessively cold garden,” she pointed out.
The dark gaze swept over her upturned face. “For now I believe it is best that we both guard our true identities…” He deliberately paused. “Emma.”
“How did you know—”
“There are more dangers in London than you suspect,” he overrode her startled question.
She shivered at his odd words. Did he know why she was in London? Was he somehow involved with those who had taken her sister?
“Is that a threat?” she breathed.
“A warning for you to take care,” he corrected, his hand lifting to cup her chin in a gentle grip. “It would be tragic if you were to be harmed.”
Acutely aware of the warmth of his touch and the tantalizing brush of his breath on her cheek, Emma resisted the urge to struggle against him. Dimitri Tipova had taught her to recognize a predator when one had her cornered.
“What do you want of me?”
“I have told myself that we could be of assistance to one another, but now that you are so near I wonder if I was not deceiving myself.” His voice roughened as his gaze deliberately rested on her lips. “You are quite beautiful.”
“Please…do not.”
He ignored her unsteady plea, his fingers tracing the delicate lines of her face.
“Such exquisite skin. And soft, silken hair. And eyes that are the precise shade of my beloved cat.” His head slowly lowered. “Fascinating.”
“No.” Emma pressed her hands against his chest, her cheeks flushed. “I will scream.”
With a rueful grimace, the man pulled back, the dark eyes glittering with a wicked promise that their kiss had merely been delayed.
“You have no need to fear me,” he promised. “I only wish to let you know that you are not alone in your search.”
Her heart skipped a beat. “My search?”
He frowned as he abruptly glanced toward the door. “Someone approaches.” He grasped her shoulders, his expression somber. “If you wish my help you will tell no one of this encounter.”
“Why not?”
“Because, like the scorpion, I prefer to remain in the shadows until the moment is ripe to strike at my enemies.”
Emma studied the proud golden features. This was a man accustomed to giving commands and having them obeyed. Not that a position of power made him trustworthy, of course. The men who had kidnapped her sister were supposed noblemen.
But she could not deny there was a part of her that was certain he was someone she could rely upon.
“And what if I have need of you?” she husked. “How can I contact you?”
The dark eyes flared with satisfaction and before she could stop him, he had leaned down to steal a brief, possessive kiss.
“Do not worry, I shall always be near,” he whispered.
Not entirely reassured, Emma shivered as he silently slipped from the grotto and disappeared into the shadows of the garden.
She was not at all convinced he was a gentleman she wished to have keeping watch on her, she acknowledged as she followed him out of the grotto and headed back toward the town house. Then again, if he could provide assistance in rescuing her sister, then he could lurk in the shadows all he desired.
Avoiding the servant’s door where she had been forced into the garden, Emma instead hurried toward the terrace at the far edge of the house. She climbed the steps and was headed for the French doors when a familiar form stepped into her path.
“Emma.” Dimitri glared down at her with obvious annoyance. “What are you doing out here?”
Emma jerked in surprise, her raw nerves not at all prepared to deal with yet another overbearing male. What had she done to be plagued with such creatures?
“I…I needed a breath of fresh air.”
“Fresh air?”
“Yes.”
The golden eyes narrowed with suspicion. “And you had no intention of attempting to overhear my conversation with Lord Sanderson?”
She breathed a soft sigh of relief at the realization he had presumed she had followed him onto the terrace. She might be a fool, but for now she had no intention of telling Dimitri of her encounter with the strange foreigner.
Not when he was certain to use the knowledge as an excuse to keep her locked in the Huntley town house, or worse, returned to his ship.
Besides, who knew whether the stranger might eventually be of service?
“There is nothing nefarious in my presence on the terrace, Dimitri. I took a brief stroll through the garden and now I am returning to the ballroom.”
“Alone?” he drawled in disbelief. “Where is Leonida?”
“No doubt in the company of her charming husband.”
“Ah.” His expression softened as he stepped close enough to wrap his arms around her waist. “And were you jealous, milaya? Did you perhaps wish to be in the company of a charming, clever, excessively handsome gentleman?”
She trembled at his familiar touch, her body tightening with a sharp-edged hunger. In the flickering torchlight, with his hair ruffled in the breeze and his eyes dark with desire, he appeared enticingly uncivilized.
The desire to have him sweep her off her feet and carry her into the shadows of the garden was terrifyingly potent. Instead, she forced herself to step back, meeting his smoldering gaze with a tilt of her chin.
She would not be manipulated. Not by Dimitri Tipova nor by the stranger in the grotto.
&nb
sp; “Yes,” she admitted with a taunting smile. “Unfortunately, I have yet to discover such a man.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
DESPITE HIS BEST INTENTIONS, Dimitri found his thoughts drifting as Huntley discussed the various political implications from the recent Congress of Verona. It was not that he did not comprehend the dangers inherent in Spain’s current instability, or France’s proposed intervention. The mere fact that Alexander Pavlovich was offering to send one hundred and fifty thousand troops to Piedmont to dampen the uprising of Jacobins meant that there was a very real potential for war.
But on this winter afternoon, the squabbling between Metternich and Wellington and Chateaubriand seemed thankfully distant.
Instead, he gazed down at the terraced garden shown to full advantage by the row of floor-to-ceiling windows, his mood as dark as the threatening clouds.
At last sensing Dimitri’s tension, Huntley rose from the heavy walnut desk and crossed the white marble floor of the library.
“How does your hunt go?”
“Slowly.” Dimitri grimaced, reluctantly recalling the paltry entertainments he’d been forced to endure over the past days. Drunken boxing matches, seedy gambling halls, a dog fight and brothels that catered to any number of perversions. None, however, had offered the sort of young females he had demanded of Lord Sanderson. “I have hopes this evening I can convince my prey I am to be trusted with his secrets.”
“It has only been a fortnight.” The duke shrugged. “You cannot expect a miracle.”
Dimitri’s humorless laugh echoed through the vast room. The elegant library was large enough to house an army battalion.
“I cannot, but I assure you that is precisely what Emma expects.”
“Understandable. It is obvious she is consumed with fear for her sister.”
Dimitri clenched his hands. He fully sympathized with Emma’s concern. He better than anyone knew the guilt that tormented her at Anya’s continued absence, and her relentless determination to rescue her. No matter what the cost to herself.
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