Scandalous Deception

by Rosemary Rogers

  “That message was sent to the Winter Palace only moments after Viktor Kazakov’s arrival in St. Petersburg.”

  The handwriting was rough, nearly illegible, but Edmond managed to make out the Voltaire quote, along with a short message at the end.

  “All murderers are punished unless they kill in large numbers and to the sound of trumpets. The time is upon us…I await your call.”

  His blood ran cold.

  “How did you come by this?”

  “As I said, I have never trusted Fedor Dubov, so I have been paying a number of his servants to keep me apprised of his movements and of those who visit.” He pointed toward the note in Edmond’s hand. “One of them was quick enough to copy the message before it was sent. I received it only moments ago.”

  Edmond cursed beneath his breath. Kazakov clearly had no desire to waste even a moment before claiming the power he always felt his due.

  “Who was the message being delivered to?”

  “I fear the servant did not know. Kazakov sent his personal valet to the palace and the man is annoyingly loyal.” The shrewd brown eyes narrowed with a grim determination. “I have commanded those who are keeping a watch upon Fedor Dubov’s home to follow the valet upon the next occasion he leaves the house.”

  “Mon dieu.” Crumpling the note, Edmond tossed it onto the floor of the sleigh. It was as if he were standing before an avalanche that he was powerless to halt, an unbearable sensation that he had not endured since the death of his parents.

  Herrick’s gaze was knowing as he studied the frustration that tightened Edmond’s expression.

  “We will discover who is behind this treachery.”

  Edmond reached for the brandy bottle that was kept in a small compartment next to his companion. With a smooth motion, he lifted it to his lips and took a deep swig. The welcome burn of the fine spirits helped to ease the chill that was settled in the pit of his stomach.

  “Have you had word from the Czar?”

  Herrick dipped his head. “He is safe and well-guarded.”

  “I will not deny I am relieved that you returned to St. Petersburg rather than remaining with Alexander Pavlovich. I fear you are more greatly needed here.”

  “The treaty was signed and the formalities observed. I had no reason to linger. In truth, I sensed that there was trouble stirring.”

  Edmond snorted. “A pity that the Emperor did not share your urgency. Although I would not wish him in danger, his place is here among his people. Perhaps then, his enemies would not grow so bold.”

  Herrick instinctively smoothed his expression. He might trust Edmond with his life, but he would never reveal his most private opinion of his Czar. His loyalty was as constant and unshakable as the vast pyramids of Egypt.

  “We both know that the crown sits uneasily upon Alexander’s head. He finds peace in his travels.”

  Edmond shook his head in a gesture of frustration. It was not that he did not sympathize with the Emperor. Alexander Pavlovich had sought reform only to be undermined by his own people, and now, when his rule had returned to the rigid repression of his forefathers, there had been the constant threat of revolt. No matter what his efforts, he could not seem to win the love of his citizens.

  Still, he possessed a duty he could not continue to ignore.

  “His people have need of him.”

  Herrick held up a thin hand, his expression revealing a hint of sadness.

  “We all do the best that we can, my friend. It is all we can ask.”

  Edmond wanted to protest. Alexander Pavlovich needed to do more than just his best. He needed to rise from the ashes of his insecurities and become the strong, decisive leader that Russia so desperately needed.

  “I will speak with my associates,” he said, swallowing his desire to demand that Herrick send for the Emperor. Alexander would return to St. Petersburg only when it suited him. “Perhaps they have information.”

  “You will let me know.”

  “Of course.”

  Herrick leaned to glance out the frosty window, giving a hand signal toward the nearby outrider that resulted in the sleigh turning back toward the city.

  For a time, the gentlemen rode in silence, both consumed with their dark thoughts. Then, with an obvious effort, Herrick attempted to lighten the atmosphere.

  “So tell me of this woman.”

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Boris has told me that you have brought an English companion to Russia.”

  “He should learn to keep his mouth shut.”

  “Is she beautiful?” Herrick clicked his tongue. “A foolish question. Of course she is beautiful. When have you ever chosen a woman who is not exquisite?”

  “She is beautiful, but for once it would not matter. My fascination has nothing to do with the curve of her cheek or the delectable line of her lips.”

  Herrick gave a startled cough. “A dangerous admission, my friend.”

  It was dangerous, of course. When a gentleman began to discuss a woman as something other than a tasty morsel to be enjoyed and forgotten, it usually meant that he was about to do something incredibly stupid.

  “Denial has done little good,” he grudgingly admitted. “I have hopes that proximity will prove more effective.”

  “You believe you will grow weary of her companionship?”

  “It is the inevitable conclusion of all affairs.”

  Herrick tilted his head to one side, his expression curious. “And if you do not grow weary?”

  Edmond ignored the mocking voice in the back of his mind that assured him that he had been well and truly bested by a slip of a girl who could alter his entire mood by nothing more than a smile.

  “Then she will remain my lover,” he growled. “Forever.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY

  EDMOND COMMANDED THAT Herrick leave him near the Cathedral of our Lady of Kazan. The church had been commissioned by Emperor Paul I and built in a similar style to St. Peter’s in Rome. The name was given by the Icon of Our Lady of Kazan who was supposed to have miraculously saved Moscow in 1612.

  It was not the beauty of the dome or the colonnaded arms that swept outward in a graceful arch that lured Edmond to its steps. It was, instead, its proximity to the Nevsky Prospect and the Gostinny Dvor.

  Keeping his hat pulled low and the heavy scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face, Edmond carefully traversed the snow-packed street toward a small coffeehouse near the busy shops. He entered the smoky warmth, and keeping his head low, weaved his way through the gathered crowd to a private room at the back.

  He had barely managed to rid himself of his snow-dusted greatcoat and hat when a large, burly man with dark hair and eyes stepped into the small room that was barren except for a desk and wooden chair, closing the door behind him.

  “Welcome home, Commander,” he rumbled, crossing the room to pull Edmond in a rough hug of welcome.

  Edmond laughed as he disentangled from the thick arms that threatened to crush his ribs. Sergey had served with Edmond during the war and had proven his loyalty by taking a bullet to the shoulder that had been intended for Edmond. When Sergey had been forced to leave the military, Edmond had purchased this coffeehouse for the man, knowing the overly proud soldier would never accept his money.

  “Good lord, I had no notion that a coffeehouse could attract such a crowd. I feared I might be trampled by the stampede of customers.”

  Sergey ran his beefy hands down the expensive fabric of his jacket. “Ah, well, the citizens of St. Petersburg are wise enough to recognize a fine establishment.”

  “They are indeed.” Knowing the gregarious man could talk the entire day, Edmond considered how best to come straight to the point of his visit. “Tell me what you have heard.”

  The jovial expression faded from Sergey’s face to be replaced by a weary concern.

  “The rumblings on the streets are as bad as I have ever heard them, Commander.”

  Edmond frowned. “What do they say?”

/>   “The usual complaints of the nobles squandering their wealth while their serfs starve. The peasants are poor, they are not blind. Their voices grow louder with each passing day.”

  “Understandable, but as you say, all too common.”

  “There is also a growing anger among the local merchants,” Sergey continued. “They resent the fashion of importing foreign goods rather than purchasing their wares from local craftsmen. The European ships clog our port and flood the markets with their wares.”

  Edmond shrugged. It was more or less what he had expected. Too many lived in squalor, while a small handful displayed their wealth with gaudy splendor. For the moment, however, they were powerless.

  “Viktor Kazakov would not seek serfs or merchants to assist him in overthrowing the Czar.” He shook his head. “They may mutter treason beneath their breath, but they are too fearful for outright revolt.”

  Sergey folded his arms over his massive chest. “No doubt the French government was similarly confident.”

  “Perhaps, but the Russians do not possess a Rousseau who is capable of stirring the masses to bloodshed.” Edmond’s stomach clenched at the mere thought. As much as he desired a better existence for the serfs, he would do everything in his power to avoid a bloody revolution. “At least not yet.”

  “True enough.” The soldier’s brown eyes hardened with hatred. “They would never follow Viktor Kazakov. His brutality to his serfs is well-known.”

  Edmond knew an answering hatred was echoed in his eyes. Viktor had long been rumored to treat his serfs as animals, raping girls no older than nine and beating more than one worker to death. Edmond would see him dead before he could claim power.

  “Precisely.”

  “You have your suspicions of who is prepared to assist Viktor Kazakov?”

  “More a…vague fear.”

  “Do you intend to share these vague fears?”

  Edmond hid his smile at the clipped command. It seemed that once an officer, always an officer.

  “Gather any associates that you still have in the military and question them closely. I want to know precisely what is being said and felt in the barracks.”

  Sergey sucked in a sharp breath. “Good God.”

  Edmond held up a warning hand. “I have no logical reason for my unease. Just a gut feeling that Viktor Kazakov is wise enough to know this will be his last opportunity to grasp the power he has always craved. If he fails, his life is forfeit.” His hands clenched at his sides. “He cannot hope for a dubious uprising among the serfs that might never occur. He will have to strike hard and fast at the very heart of the government.”

  “A military coup,” Sergey breathed.

  “Not if we have anything to say about it, Sergey.”

  His companion lifted a clenched fist. “I happen to have a great deal to say, my friend.”

  BRIANNA SLEPT NEARLY TWO hours after Edmond left, but rising from the bed, she discovered she still felt oddly lethargic with a hint of queasiness. She fully blamed Edmond and his intense bout of lovemaking. It was a wonder she was able to even leave her bed, she told herself as she slipped from beneath the covers and swiftly dressed in a round dress of rose figured silk. It was a struggle to pin her thick curls atop her head without the assistance of Janet, but she was reluctant to disturb Vanya’s servants. From the noisy echo of voices floating from the public rooms, it sounded as if there were enough guests to keep them occupied.

  Pulling open the door, Brianna left her chambers, hoping to rid herself of the clinging lassitude. She avoided the wide staircase that led to the more public area of the vast house, and instead wandered down the corridor until she stumbled across what appeared to be a music chamber.

  She smiled at the glossy parquet floors, the light lemonwood furnishings and the priceless tapestries framed upon the walls. There was an intimate comfort to the atmosphere, but she was willing to bet it cost a fortune in rubles to achieve.

  Bypassing the gilded harp, Brianna moved to the window seat that overlooked the shallow garden. The air was chilled next to the tall windows, but it seemed to ease her unsettled stomach, and wrapping the heavy cashmere shawl she had brought with her around her shoulders, she watched the snow drift down in a soft, hypnotizing pattern.

  She lost track of time, her brow pressed against the frosted window, as she allowed her mind to drift. It was the first time she had been completely alone in weeks, and the hushed silence was a relief.

  Of course, the peace could not last forever. Eventually there was the sound of approaching footsteps, and before Brianna could think to retreat back to her chambers, a tall stranger entered the room and regarded her with a quizzical smile.

  He was a distinguished gentleman with a handsome face and dark hair heavily threaded with silver. His elegant mauve coat and gray breeches marked him as a gentleman of wealth, as did the large diamond that shimmered in the folds of his cravat. But she had no way of knowing if the man was one of Vanya’s trusted guests, or a stray visitor who would question her presence in the house.

  “Ah, you must be Miss Quinn,” he murmured, his hand lifting at her wary expression. “Do not fear. I am under strict orders to tell no one of your presence in Russia, and believe me, when Vanya issues an order, a wise gentleman is swift to obey.”

  Her unease became surprise as he halted directly in front of the window seat.

  “You are English.”

  “For my sins.” He performed a deep bow. “Mr. Richard Monroe, at your service.”

  She studied him for a long moment. There was unmistakable nobility carved into his handsome features, but the dark eyes held a kindness that instinctively eased her tension.

  “What are you doing in St. Petersburg?”

  “The truth?”

  Brianna blinked in confusion. “If it is not a secret.”

  “No, no secret.” His smile twisted with a self-derisive motion. “Vanya visited London near a decade ago, and I was foolish enough to tumble into love with her. Since then, I have been following her like a faithful hound, awaiting her to concede defeat and agree to become my wife.”

  “Ten years?”

  He chuckled at her expression of disbelief. “Astonishing, is it not?”

  “I…yes, quite astonishing.”

  “Miss Quinn? Have I said something to trouble you?”

  “Ten years is a rather long time. You must be a very patient gentleman.”

  He heaved a rueful sigh. “On occasion, I lose hope and travel back to my brother’s estates in Kent, but I always return.” He gave a lift of his hands. “My life is gray and tedious without Vanya to brighten it.”

  Brianna tugged her shawl tighter as a shiver wracked her body. It had to be the chill in the air.

  It had to be.

  “Do you live in this town house?”

  “No, I have rooms in the Winter Palace, which of course is the reason Vanya continues to encourage my companionship.”

  “I do not understand.”

  The gentleman shrugged. “My place in the Royal household ensures that I can keep a close guard upon those who are closest to the Emperor.”

  Brianna sucked in a sharp breath. Surrounded by such ease and luxury, it had been easy to forget that Vanya was deeply involved in the dangerous, potentially lethal world of Russian politics.

  “Oh. Of course.” She regarded her companion with a hint of curiosity. Mr. Richard Monroe was obviously a man of enormous wealth and power, and not even she was impervious to his potent charm. The man could have his choice of the most sought after debutantes London or St. Petersburg had to offer. So why would he toss aside everything for a woman who not only refused to wed him, but openly declared her preference for numerous lovers? “Does it not trouble you?”

  “That Vanya only sees me as a weapon to be used in her private war to keep the Romanovs in power?”

  “Yes.”

  Something flashed through the dark eyes. Not pain, but more a wistful longing.

  “At times, bu
t as a rule I am far too happy to have any place in her life, no matter how small it might be.”

  “You must love her a great deal,” she said softly.

  He tilted his head to one side, a strange expression on his face.

  “Is there any such thing as a small love? Either you love or you do not.” Before Brianna could respond, the man gave a shake of his head and squared his shoulders. “Now, enough of my sad tale. I am far more interested in you. Tell me of yourself, my dear.”

  “I fear there is not much to tell. I have always lived a very sheltered life.”

  He eyed her with a wry expression. “Not too sheltered, if you have been whisked from your home by one of the most powerful gentlemen in all of England and tumbled directly into the midst of a brewing Russian revolt.”

  “Edmond does certainly possess a talent for making a woman’s existence a trifle more exciting.”

  Richard chuckled. “More than a trifle, I should imagine. Edmond is much like Vanya, despite the fact that they are not related by blood. They both possess that fascinating allure that is so fatal to us poor, benighted souls.”

  Her chest felt suddenly tight. No. She would never be like Mr. Richard Monroe. She would not spend her life nursing an unrequited love.

  “I suppose,” she at last managed to mutter.

  Easily recognizing her unease, Richard narrowed his gaze. “You do not sound particularly pleased.” He studied her for a long, unnerving beat. “You were not brought here against your will, were you?”

  “No.” She blinked in shock at the unexpected question. “No, of course not.”

  The older gentleman did not appear entirely convinced. “Miss Quinn, I want you to know that, if you have need of a friend, you can depend upon Vanya or my own humble self. You may be far from home, but you are not alone.”

  “You are very kind, but…”

  “I possess great admiration for Edmond, but I am not indifferent to his ruthless habit of forcing others to his will,” Richard gently, but firmly, overrode her words. “A young, innocent woman would have no ability to withstand his considerable resolve.”