Scandalous Deception

by Rosemary Rogers

BRIANNA’S QUEASINESS returned with a brutal force, but feeling as if she were suffocating, she struggled to wrench aside the heavy blankets and stumbled from the bed.

  “No.” She pressed a hand to her stomach as she paced toward a heavily scrolled armoire. “It…it is impossible.”

  Vanya remained standing beside the bed, her strong features lined with concern.

  “Are you certain? Absolutely certain?”

  Brianna forced herself to think past the panic flooding her mind. The past weeks had been a blur and it was hardly surprising that she had paid little heed to her body’s usual functions.

  So, how long had it been since her last bleeding?

  The answer came with shocking swiftness.

  Too long.

  With shaky steps she made it to a nearby chair before her knees gave way. “Oh, my God.”

  “Brianna.” With a rustle of silk, Vanya was standing at her side, her hand gently patting her shoulder. “Please do not distress yourself.”

  “Not distress myself? What if it’s true? What if I am carrying Edmond’s child?”

  “Then you will sit down with Edmond and discuss what you desire for your future,” Vanya said, her tone matter-of-fact.

  Brianna shied from the mere thought of telling Edmond that she was with child. Instead, she concentrated on dark panic that squeezed her heart so tightly she feared it might halt altogether.

  “What future?” she whispered, pressing her fingers to her throbbing temples. “Dear lord, it was going to be difficult enough to return to London and establish my own household without being utterly shunned by society. Now it will be impossible.”

  “You are always welcome to remain here with me until the babe is born.”

  Brianna lifted her head to meet Vanya’s steady gaze. “And then?”

  “Then you could foster the child to a good family and return to London with no one ever knowing.”

  Foster? Brianna abruptly surged to her feet, her mind-numbing fear oddly giving way to a surge of shock. No, it was not precisely shock. It was more…distress.

  “Give up my baby?”

  A wistful smile touched Vanya’s lips. “It is hardly an unusual situation, ma petite.”

  “It is bloody well unusual for me,” Brianna muttered, startled to feel a tear trickle down her cheek. “Damn.”

  “Brianna.” Vanya wrapped a comforting arm around Brianna’s shaking shoulders. “We know nothing yet. It might very well be that this illness is no more than a common chill.”

  Brianna, however, was not about to latch on to the vague chance that this was nothing more than a passing illness. Her mother had been willing to bet her future on nothing more than a hope and prayer. Brianna was far too practical for such nonsense.

  With an annoyed motion, she brushed away the tears and squared her shoulders.

  “I am not an utter fool, you know,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “I realized that there were bound to be complications when I became Edmond’s lover. But I somehow assumed that our affair would be so short-lived that there would be no time for…for a child.” Her lips twisted in a humorless smile. “My mother was wed near ten years to my father before I was conceived, and there was no child between her and Thomas Wade.”

  Vanya gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Every woman is different, as each gentleman is different.”

  Brianna was once again aware of that wistfulness that had settled about the older woman and she was struck by a sudden thought.

  “What of you?” she demanded, softly.

  “I beg your pardon?”

  “Have you…”

  Vanya’s arm abruptly dropped, her eyes darkening with a raw, smoldering pain before she managed to regain her smooth composure.

  “I have a daughter,” she said, her voice carefully even. “She just turned nine.”

  “Oh.” Brianna regarded the older woman with a frown. She was not precisely shocked that Vanya had produced a child. It was rather inevitable considering she had enjoyed a string of lovers. What she had not expected was the aching wound that the woman could not entirely disguise. “Does she live here with you?”

  “No.” Vanya absently tugged on a gold locket she had pinned to the bodice of her gown. “I placed her with a nearby solicitor and his wife who were unable to have children. Naturally, I assist in paying for her upkeep and schooling. They named her Natasha.”

  “Does she know that you are her mother?”

  Vanya flinched, although her countenance remained set in stoic lines. Her defenses had been honed to grim perfection.

  “When I had her, I thought it best she never know the truth. Even with a comfortable home and plenty of money, it would be difficult to overcome the scandal of being born a bastard.” Vanya sucked in a shaky breath as Brianna reached out to lightly touch her arm. “She has always believed she is the true daughter of her parents.”

  “That is no doubt for the best,” Brianna said, her words ringing false even to her own ears. Something had obviously died within Vanya at the loss of her daughter. Something precious.

  Realizing that she had not managed to fool Brianna with her pretense of indifference, Vanya allowed her stiff expression to soften to one of boundless yearning.

  “For her, I believe it has been for the best. For me…it has been difficult. To have her so close and yet never be able to truly know her as my daughter. At least I am allowed to see her from a distance, and her parents are good to send me small tokens that make me feel a part of her life.” With awkward motions, Vanya unpinned the locket from her bodice and flipped it open to reveal the tiny portrait of a pretty girl with dark hair and laughing brown eyes. “This is Natasha.”

  “She is beautiful.” Leaning forward for a better look, Brianna froze. The portrait was a miniature, but the masterstrokes clearly revealed the strong line of the girl’s jaw and the unmistakably sweet curve of her lips. Features that were easily recognizable. “Oh.”

  Vanya’s lips twisted at the color that flooded Brianna’s face. “Yes, Richard is her father.”

  “Does he know?”

  “No.” Vanya clenched the locket tightly in her hand. “When I discovered I was with child, he was traveling back to England. At the time, I thought he would never return.”

  Brianna recalled Richard’s wry confession that he occasionally fled Russia for his brother’s estates in England and her heart twisted with a wrenching sense of pity.

  Whatever pain Vanya had endured in giving up her daughter, it was nothing to Richard’s loss. He had never been allowed to know he had a precious daughter. Never given the opportunity to watch her from a distance or to carry her picture in a tiny locket.

  Surely it was a betrayal for a gentleman who was so desperately alone?

  Brianna gave a slow shake of her head. “Why have you never told him?”

  With short, restless steps, Vanya paced toward the window, her expression tight with pain.

  “Because he would never forgive me for having given her up,” she said, her voice laced with ancient regret.

  Brianna swallowed a gasp.

  “I do not claim to know Mr. Monroe well, but he loves you and there is nothing that love cannot forgive,” she said softly.

  “Perhaps if I had been honest when he first returned.” Vanya gave a sharp shake of her head. “But by the time I realized that he…well, it is too late.”

  Brianna was struck by a sudden thought. “That is why you have refused to wed him all these years? You feared he might discover the truth?”

  “Yes.”

  “Vanya, it is not too late…”

  Brianna’s words of comfort were abruptly cut off as a lean, dark-haired stranger stepped through the bedroom door, his arm raised to point a pistol directly at the older woman’s heart.

  “Ah, Vanya Petrova, forgive my intrusion, but you have something I need.”

  TOSSING CAUTION TO THE DEVIL, Edmond charged down the gallery, his mind so focused on reaching Brianna that he nearly missed
the tall form that stepped from the shadows as he darted toward the nearest door.

  “Edmond, I was waiting…”

  Herrick gave a startled grunt as Edmond swept past him, grabbing his arm and hauling him toward the narrow door that would lead to the long terrace.

  “Come,” he barked, not surprised when the older man easily fell into step beside him. Herrick was a gentleman who adapted with a calm efficiency to any crisis.

  “Where are we headed?”

  “The stables.” He ignored the hovering servants who melted back into the shadows at the sight of Herrick, refusing to slow his mad dash as he burst through the door onto the icy terrace. “You must have Grigori Rimsky arrested. He is the leader of the conspirators.”

  “Rimsky?” Herrick briefly stumbled, his expression shocked. “You are certain?”

  Edmond leaped down the shallow marble steps to the frozen garden. “I overheard him with Fedor Dubov.”

  Muttering curses beneath his breath, Herrick struggled to keep pace as Edmond angled a direct path to the stables.

  “Does he have the military behind him?” the older man demanded, as always capable of distinguishing the most potent risk of having powerful officers in command of the rebellion.

  “He must be convinced that he has some who will follow his lead.”

  “Rimsky. Which regiment does he serve?” Herrick muttered, his breath creating an icy cloud in the moonlight as Edmond shoved open a wrought-iron gate set in the high hedge. Together, they stepped into the cobblestone stable yard, the older man sucking in a sharp breath as realization at last struck. “No. The Semyonoffski Regiment would never betray Alexander Pavlovich.” Without warning, Herrick grasped Edmond’s arm and forced him to a halt. “He is their chief.”

  “A chief who has not set foot in St. Petersburg for months and who left his Regiment in the control of that brute Araktcheyeff,” Edmond rasped, shaking off Herrick’s hand as he continued toward the stables. At the moment, he was too concerned with reaching Brianna to spare much thought to the conspiracy. Or Alexander Pavlovich’s sense of betrayal if his Regiment were proved to be a part of it. “We both know that, as painful as it might be to admit, they are ripe for revolt.”

  “Damn,” Herrick muttered, grimly waving away the anxious servants who watched as Edmond grabbed the reins of the nearest horse and vaulted into the saddle.

  “Take enough men to capture Rimsky, but not enough to attract the attention of Araktcheyeff or, God forbid, Prince Michael. The more discreetly we can capture the conspirators the better,” Edmond commanded, his voice a mere whisper. The traitorous soldier could not be far away. “And send a few soldiers to Fedor Dubov’s house. They will find Boris being held captive in the cellar. You might warn them to take care when they untie him. He’s bound to be in a dangerous mood, and I would not wish any accidents.”

  Herrick’s brows snapped together. “You are not joining me?”

  “No. I must get to Vanya’s.”

  “Why?”

  “Viktor Kazakov intends to kidnap Brianna.”

  “How did he know…” Herrick’s words were brought to a sharp halt, as he pulled a dagger from his jacket and turned toward the nearby door. At the same moment, Edmond had his pistol in his hand, his eyes narrowed as he watched the tall gentleman rush through the entrance.

  Indifferent to the danger of forcing his way into Edmond’s private conversation, Richard Monroe did not halt until he was standing beside the horse Edmond was attempting to steal.

  “What is happening?” he demanded, clearly having followed them from the Palace.

  “Herrick will explain, I must reach Brianna.”

  “Wait…I am coming with you.”

  Ignoring Monroe’s hasty efforts to retrieve a horse, as well as Herrick’s shouted commands for the nearest guards, Edmond dug his heels into the flanks of his nervous mount and bolted from the stables to the biting wind that swirled through the frozen streets.

  A distant part of him was aware of the passing guards who hurried toward the stables, the sharp clatter of horse hooves from behind as Monroe followed his trail, and even the flickering gas lanterns that spilled dashes of light over the thick snow. His mind, however, was focused solely on reaching Vanya’s before Viktor Kazakov could arrive.

  Managing to traverse the slick streets without breaking his neck, Edmond halted before Vanya’s doorway, vaulting from the saddle without caring if the nervous horse bolted.

  There was a brief moment of tension as he burst through the door and a number of servants scrambled to halt him. Only the barked command of the butler prevented bloodshed as Edmond shoved aside the baffled footmen and rushed up the staircase.

  His hectic charge, however, faltered as he realized that the door to Brianna’s chamber was wide open and a uniformed guard was standing just over the threshold.

  A cold, savage fear clutched his stomach as he forced his way past the servant, his narrowed gaze sweeping over the sitting room before landing upon Vanya, who was pacing the floor with nervous steps. He did not need to be told that Brianna was gone. He could feel it in the heavy emptiness that filled the room. In the dull ache that pulsed in the center of his chest.

  “Brianna.”

  With a tiny gasp, Vanya turned to regard him with a startled gaze. “Edmond.”

  “Where is she?”

  The older woman pressed a trembling hand to her ample bosom. “Viktor Kazakov took her.”

  “Where?” He was not even aware he had moved until his hands were grasping Vanya’s shoulders and he was glaring into her pale face. “Where did he take her?”

  “Easy, Edmond.” There was the sound of footsteps behind him and then Richard Monroe was moving to stand behind Vanya, his face carefully set as he tugged the older woman from Edmond’s tight grip. “We are as anxious as you to ensure Miss Quinn’s safe return.”

  Edmond swallowed his furious words at Monroe’s unwelcome interruption. Vanya was clearly rattled and in need of the older man’s steady comfort. It would no doubt make his questioning easier if she had the man to lean upon.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  With an effort, Vanya sucked in a deep breath and composed her panicked thoughts.

  “He…he just appeared in the doorway to Brianna’s rooms with a gun in his hand. He demanded that Brianna accompany him.” Vanya held out her hand to reveal a crumpled piece of parchment. “He left this for you.”

  Smoothing the paper open, Edmond read the neatly printed words aloud:

  A sacrifice is not worthy unless it is paid in blood. It is for you to choose. Your heart or your soul. Your lover or your country. One or the other will bleed.

  Richard grunted in disgust as Edmond cursed and tossed the note onto the floor.

  “How tediously melodramatic Russians tend to be.”

  Under other circumstances, Edmond might have laughed at the flowery threat. Even for Viktor Kazakov, the words were absurdly theatrical, as if he intended to have them read upon a stage or shouted from the rooftops.

  And perhaps he did.

  Christ. Edmond shoved his fingers through his tousled hair. No doubt Viktor was already envisioning the days when he was in power and the events of this evening would be celebrated as some grand victory over tyranny. The idiot was just pompous enough to have written the note with the thought it would be framed in a museum someday.

  “If he so much as leaves a bruise on Brianna I will choke the life from him,” Edmond muttered, his hands clenching as the black fury pounded through him. “Slowly.”

  With a small, wounded cry, Vanya moved forward, her fingers clutching the tense muscles of Edmond’s forearm.

  “Oh, Edmond, forgive me.”

  “What is it, Vanya?”

  “I should have done something to stop Viktor,” she breathed, her cheeks damp with tears. “I have always thought myself so brave, and capable of dealing with any situation. But I feared he might become violent if I called for the servants and so I let him
take her away without so much as lifting a hand in protest. What a damnable coward I am.”

  Knowing the older woman would torture herself for failing to have kept Brianna from harm, Edmond tugged her into his arms and gave her a swift hug.

  “Hush, Vanya, it is all right,” he muttered. “I will soon have Brianna home safe and sound.”

  “How?” Tilting back her head, Vanya regarded Edmond with a terrified expression. “Dear God, Edmond, how will you ever find her?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  PRESSED IN A CORNER OF THE elegant carriage with her arms wrapped about her shivering body, Brianna struggled against the panic that threatened to consume her. Giving in to terror would achieve nothing, she told herself over and over. Not so long as Viktor Kazakov was seated across from her with a pistol in his hand and an eagerness for violence shimmering in his dark eyes.

  No, becoming hysterical would solve nothing. Instead, she bit her inner lip until she drew blood and forced herself to consider the situation with as much logic as she could summon.

  She did not believe for a moment that it was sheer chance that this gentleman had entered Vanya’s house on this eve. Or that she was chosen to be abducted out of the numerous guests. He had to know that Edmond had followed him to St. Petersburg and that she was his current mistress.

  Which could only mean he had taken her captive in an attempt to coerce Edmond. Or worse, lead him into a trap. Neither of which she would allow to happen.

  Brianna remained silent as they thundered out of St. Petersburg and headed south. She knew it would be futile to try and escape. Not only could Viktor Kazakov easily overpower her, but there was no mistaking the echo of hoofbeats behind them. There were at least two, perhaps more, outriders following in their wake.

  And she would not dare risk throwing herself from a moving carriage into the frigid snow. Not when there was even the least chance that she might actually be carrying Edmond’s child. There were some sacrifices she was not willing to make.

  Her only option appeared to be in convincing her captor that her presence was not nearly so valuable to Edmond as he presumed.