“Do not say such things,” she breathlessly commanded.
“Even if they are the truth?”
An unmistakable fear darkened her hazel eyes as she lifted her hands and pressed them against his chest.
“I may be attired as a tart, but I assure you I am a lady,” she gritted.
His lips twisted. “I am painfully aware you are a lady, Emma Linley-Kirov, and for the moment you are under my protection.”
“Then release me.”
His gaze lowered to her honeyed lips that could drive a saint to sin.
“Is that what you desire?”
“You must.”
“Damn.” Pushing away from the delectable heat, Dimitri shoved his hands through his hair and struggled to regain command of his rebellious body. “You should never have come to St. Petersburg.”
AT ANY OTHER TIME, Emma might have been dazzled by her surroundings.
Who knew that a den of iniquity would be a sprawling honeycomb of ivory-and-gold rooms with crimson carpets and marble columns that soared up to the vaulted ceiling painted with Greek gods playing among the clouds? Or that the massive chandeliers would cast a blazing light over the elegant gentlemen who weaved their way among the card tables and flirted with the women dressed in low-cut gowns?
She had assumed the place would be dark and cheap with furtive men hunched over their cards, or tossing dice in the corner.
Which only proved she truly was naive as Dimitri claimed.
Dimitri…
She covertly glanced at the man walking at her side, a dangerous excitement fluttering in the pit of her stomach. Even elegantly attired, there was no disguising the ruthless predator that lurked just beneath Dimitri’s polished exterior.
Not that his dark beauty and experienced touch was an excuse for the manner in which she had melted beneath his kiss. Or the prickling awareness that continued to torment her. She was supposed to be a sensible female of advanced years, not a giddy maiden who dreamed of being rescued from her life of drudgery by a handsome prince.
After all, she was quite reconciled to being a spinster, and even if Dimitri were a prince rather than the Beggar Czar, he was not interested in making her his princess. Just like Baron Kostya, Dimitri considered her worthy of a quick tumble, but nothing more.
She felt an odd pain knife through her heart, but before she could consider the cause, a tall, silver-haired gentleman in a burgundy jacket and gold-striped waistcoat that did nothing to flatter his rotund figure deliberately stepped in their path.
“Tipova,” he said, his beady eyes skimming over the veil that once again hid Emma’s face before latching on to the swell of her bosom. “As always you have managed to create a sensation.”
Dimitri wrapped an arm around her shoulders, shielding her from the rude leer.
“I fear I cannot take the credit on this occasion, Prince Matvey.”
“Do you intend to introduce me to your companion?”
“Actually she is visiting from Moscow and prefers to keep her privacy.” His smile was one of sheer male possession. “Is that not so, moya dusha?”
She huddled in the protection of Dimitri’s arm. “Yes.”
“Ah.” The prince licked his fat lips. “A mystery.”
“Have you seen Count Fedor?” Dimitri demanded.
“Tarvek?” The prince glanced around the crowded room. “Not this evening, although I encountered him at the Winter Palace last eve.”
“Then he returned from his journey?”
“Yes, I believe he returned with Sergei last Sunday. Do you have a particular need to speak with him?”
Emma sucked in a sharp breath, her suspicious gaze studying Dimitri’s cold expression.
“I am a businessman at heart and I make a habit of knowing where to locate those who are in debt to me,” Dimitri drawled.
“Yes, of course.” The prince blanched and tugged at his elaborately tied cravat, as if it were too tight. “If you will excuse me?”
Dimitri smiled. “Certainly.”
Waiting until the prince had vanished among the crowd, Emma struggled to put a measure of space between them.
“You told me that you did not know who had taken Anya—”
“Shh.” He lowered his head to speak directly in her ear. “I had a suspicion when you said their names. It seemed a strange coincidence that the men arrived at your inn claiming to be brothers and possessing the names Fedor and Sergei, but I cannot be certain since they at least had the sense to alter their title. It would be dangerous to leap to conclusions.”
She stilled, ruefully accepting the truth of his words. “Very well.”
Pulling back, he regarded her with an unreadable expression. “We will take a turn through the dining room to ensure we have not overlooked our prey and then take our leave.”
“How many clubs are we to visit this evening?”
A muscle clenched in his jaw as he steered her toward an arched doorway.
“One has been more than ample.”
“I do not understand.”
“My nerves are quite shattered,” he drawled, the golden eyes blazing with an indefinable emotion as he glanced down at her puzzled expression. “I intend to return you to the protection of Vanya.”
“But—”
He placed a silencing finger against her lips. “Do not play with fire, Emma, unless you wish to be burned.”
CHAPTER FIVE
THE MANSION THAT COUNT Fedor Tarvek shared with his younger brother Sergei was not the finest in St. Petersburg. Situated on the banks of the Neva, it had once been a grand structure with an ornate frieze carved over the front entrance and tall windows that overlooked the formal gardens. Unfortunately, time and neglect had stolen the original charm, and there was no hiding the growing shabbiness of the estate.
Slipping silently through the cavernous rooms, a portion of Dimitri deplored the rotting floorboards and the mold marring the once handsome furnishings even as he appreciated the lack of servants. He preferred to invade another’s privacy without interruption.
Intent on his search through the upper bedchambers, he nearly missed the slender man who silently approached the house through the kitchen garden.
With a lift of his brows, Dimitri hurried down the stairs.
He
