moya dusha,” he rasped close to her ear, rounding the corner of the palace where his horse and carriage waited.
With a jerk of her head, she managed to dislodge the hand he had clamped across her mouth.
“How dare you follow me?”
Dimitri conveniently ignored the fact he had not only followed her to the palace, but that he had scoured the damned place from the attics to the cellars before he had at last caught sight of her behind the bush.
He was not prepared to admit how desperate he had been to find her, not even to himself.
“Such vanity,” he mocked. “Do you believe I am so taken with you I must trail behind you like a hungry stray?”
“I think you are the most irritating, arrogant, utterly vexing man I have ever had the misfortune to meet,” she hissed.
He tightened his arms around her slender body, taking grim pleasure in the feel of her squirming form pressed against him. He was angry, not in his grave. Just having this woman near was enough to stir his desire.
“Careful, Emma, you will quite turn my head with such flattery.”
“How did you find me?”
“I was searching for my father when I recognized a luscious backside where it did not belong,” he glibly dissembled. “I knew it was only a matter of time before you were discovered.”
“And so you charged to my rescue?”
“It is an unfortunate habit I seem to have acquired.”
“And one you can leave off at any moment,” she tartly informed him.
“Ah, if only it were that simple.” He caught the gaze of his waiting driver and gave a nod of his head. Instantly, the carriage rolled forward.
“It is,” she challenged. “Put me down.”
“I have not yet completed my rescue,” he said, reaching to yank open the door and tossing his wiggling bundle inside. Then, with a smooth motion, he was on the leather seat beside her, slamming shut the door.
“What are you—” Emma’s angry words were forgotten as the carriage jerked into motion, racing over the cobblestones at a brisk pace. “Stop this carriage at once.”
His lips twisted at her imperious tone. “I realize you are accustomed to giving commands in your isolated kingdom, Emma Linley-Kirov, but I am not one of your subjects.”
Anger flashed through her magnificent eyes, but she was wise enough to realize he would not be bullied. Instead, she nervously shifted into the corner of the seat, as if that paltry space could dim the awareness prickling between them.
“Please, Dimitri,” she stiffly pleaded. “Vanya will be frantic with concern if I disappear.”
He shifted to face her directly, his leg stretched outward to prevent any attempt at escape. God knew she was idiotic enough to risk throwing herself out of a moving carriage.
“Word will be sent to Vanya that you are in my care.”
Her lips thinned. “And that is supposed to reassure her?”
“Certainly it is preferable to having you left to your own devices, creating chaos among the fine citizens of St. Petersburg.”
She muttered something beneath her breath that Dimitri suspected was comparing him to midden heap and glanced out the window, her brows drawing together at the elegant shops of the Gostiny Dvor they passed at a shocking speed.
“Where are you taking me?”
“I merely wished to speak with you in private.” He diverted her question.
“Why?”
“What did you overhear between Tarvek and my father?”
She jerked, her eyes widening at his abrupt question. “You lecture me for being a reckless fool and now you desire me to share the information I have discovered?”
A slow smile curved his lips. “I do admire your intelligence.”
With a snort she folded her arms over her chest. “I have no intention of telling you anything.”
He leaned forward to whisper directly in her ear. “You will if you truly desire to find your sister.”
Her hands lifted to press against his chest, but Dimitri didn’t miss her revealing shiver. Or the leap of her pulse that fluttered at the base of her neck.
“Fine,” she rasped. “I very much fear that Anya has been sent to England.”
Dimitri reared back, his breath hissing between his clenched teeth.
“What did you say?”
Emma hesitantly repeated the conversation she had overheard, her wary gaze never straying from his grim expression.
A heavy silence filled the carriage as he considered the shocking information. How many years had he searched to find a trace of the women he suspected were being abused by his father and his associates? Christ, he had spent countless hours hidden in frozen gardens and dark alleys attempting to discover the truth. And worse, he had stumbled across the truth and he had been too blind to realize he held it in his hands.
“Dimitri?”
Shaken out of his dark thoughts, he clenched his hands with self-disgust.
“I have been unforgivably stupid,” he gritted. “The Katherine Marie. I should have recognized the name.”
“Who is she?”
“Not who. What,” he corrected. “The Katherine Marie is my father’s private ship.”
“My God,” she breathed, her face pale and her hands trembling as she folded them in her lap. “Then it’s true. They have taken Anya away from St. Petersburg.”
Dimitri resisted the peculiar desire to cradle her in his arms and offer her comfort. He protected women. He bedded them. He even supported a few. But there was something unnerving in the tug of tenderness Emma Linley-Kirov inspired.
Besides, she was as likely to slap him as to thank him for his effort. Emma was not a woman who appreciated having others witness her vulnerabilities.
“It would explain a great deal,” he admitted.
He heard her draw in a deep, steadying breath, her chin tilting with the stubborn determination that was certain to give him nightmares.
“Such as?”
“I hire a vast number of people to keep me well informed. It seemed impossible that I was unable to discover more than vague rumors that young girls, and occasionally boys, were disappearing. I assumed they must take them from St. Petersburg, but it never occurred to me they would actually ship them abroad.”
“I do not understand. If they—” she
