And I have heard whispered she is not the only female to disappear.”
“Do you…” Emma’s words were cut short as the maid abruptly grasped her hand and nodded toward the window.
“The devil himself,” she whispered.
Her breath was lodged in her throat as she leaned forward, staring at the two gentlemen who strolled past the window.
They were both elegantly attired in dark tailored jackets and breeches with high glossy boots that she would bet her last quid were worth more than her cramped cottage. Beneath their tall hats she could catch a glimpse of gray hair and lined countenances. That, however, was where the resemblances ended.
One man was short and stocky with a heavy jowl and an unmistakable paunch under his charcoal-gray jacket. The other was tall and lean with an autocratic profile and air of haughty superiority that annoyed her even from a distance.
Her gaze lingered on the shorter man, her heart skipping a beat as she recognized the debauched face.
“That is Tarvek?” she rasped.
“Yes. Filthy murderer.”
Emma clenched her hands at her side. So, Dimitri’s conjecture had proven right. Count Tarvek was the man who had stayed at her inn and snuck away with her sister.
She had a name for the bastard, now what did she do with the information?
“Who is that with him?”
“Count Nevskaya,” the maid said, her eyes widening as Emma mouthed a startled curse as she realized she was staring at Dimitri’s father. “Is something the matter?”
“I shall return in a moment,” she muttered, heading for the nearby door.
The maid scurried behind her. “No, listen to me,” she pleaded softly. “They truly are dangerous men.”
“They will never know I am near,” Emma promised, tossing the woman a reassuring smile before she slipped from the kitchen and headed for the back gate.
Count Tarvek and Dimitri’s father. Two men who both possessed an evil lust for young girls.
It could not be coincidence they were together, clearly attempting to avoid others as they strolled along the paved lane.
Emma followed behind the two men, careful to keep a cautious distance. Despite Dimitri’s low opinion of her intelligence, she had no desire to put herself in danger. But neither was she willing to ignore an opportunity to discover more of the men responsible for her sister’s disappearance.
Staying in the shadows of the looming buildings, she shivered as the breeze tugged on her woolen cloak. After the oppressive heat of the palace, the chill of the gray afternoon was even more noticeable. Or perhaps it was a reaction to being led farther and farther away from the guests.
With her heart lodged in her throat, Emma followed the men through a stone archway, nearly stumbling over her feet as they came to an abrupt halt. Thankfully, neither glanced over their shoulders and she was able to scurry behind a bush as they stood closely together, pretending to study the nearby flow of the Neva River.
“The ship has sailed?” Tarvek demanded, his voice pitched low.
The tall, slender gentleman nodded, turning to regard his companion, and Emma’s breath tangled in her throat. Good God. There was no mistaking he was Dimitri’s father. It was in the chiseled perfection of his profile and arrogant thrust of his jaw.
Not that he could claim Dimitri’s stunning beauty, she decided. There was a frigid lack of emotion in his eyes and a repellent sneer that twisted his thin lips. He reminded her of a snake. Cold, lethal and willing to strike without remorse.
“It departed on schedule,” he was assuring his companion. “Soon it will arrive in London with our tender cargo.”
Tarvek rubbed his fat hands together in a gesture that Emma remembered with a quiver of disgust.
“Tender, indeed,” he husked. “I hope that our English friends were fortunate in their hunting. The last lot they delivered was barely tolerable.”
Emma frowned in puzzlement. Tender? Hunting? Were they transporting live game? And if so, why would they go to such an effort to discuss their business so far from the other guests?
Dimitri’s father shrugged. “They were not of the finest quality, but they brought a tidy profit.”
“For you, perhaps,” Tarvek growled. “My allotment was not nearly so generous.”
“It is my ship that hauls the cargo and my crew who protects our investments. It was agreed I should have the larger profit.” The older count slashed his hand through the air in a gesture of disdain. “Besides, you contributed only two of the females for our last shipment.”
Tarvek shifted uneasily. “I cannot always control Sergei.”
“It is unfortunate, but not my concern,” Nevskaya said, his cold voice sending a chill of horror down Emma’s spine.
With a gasp, she grabbed at the bush, feeling her knees threaten to buckle.
God almighty. The cargo was not wild game.
They were speaking of girls. Sweet, helpless children they considered of no more worth than animals.
And what did Tarvek mean that Sergei could not be controlled? Her stomach rolled at the mere thought.
“You should at least be pleased with my latest offerings,” the villain said, a nasty smile of anticipation curving his lips. “Those were three of the most succulent females I have ever captured. It’s a pity that they will be wasted on a boorish Englishman. Any man who would willingly live on that soggy island is barely more than a savage.”
Emma’s disgust was overwhelmed by a tidal wave of fury. Was Anya one of the three women? Was she even now being hauled far away from Russia? Her hands clenched. If she had a gun she would have shot both the monsters in the back.
Nevskaya laughed, unaware of the woman behind him plotting his imminent murder.
“So long as they fulfill their part of the bargain then I do not care if they mold in their dreary homes.”
Lost in her violent imaginings, Emma was unaware of the shadow looming behind her, or the faint crunch of gravel beneath an approaching boot. It was not until a hand clapped over her mouth and a masculine arm wrapped around her waist that she realized the dangers of her distraction.
CHAPTER SEVEN
IGNORING THE FRANTIC struggles of the woman held tightly in his arms, Dimitri hauled her away from his father and Tarvek. In truth, she was fortunate that the need to avoid attention kept him from tossing her in the nearby river.
He ground his teeth, his temper still smoldering at the sight of her crouched behind the bush, mere steps away from two of the most savage creatures to roam St. Petersburg’s streets.
The aggravating wench was clearly determined
