am content…for the most part.”
“Contentment and happiness are not the same.”
“No, they are not,” he said, the hint of wistful yearning tugging at her heart.
Abruptly she turned to face him, her expression wary. Dear lord. What was the matter with her? The Duke of Huntley was the last man who needed or deserved her sympathy.
He was handsome and wealthy and utterly ruthless in getting whatever he desired.
If he was alone, it was by choice, not fate.
“I suppose you will not leave until I agree to join you for dinner?”
Something that might have been disappointment flashed through the blue eyes before his features hardened.
“You are as intelligent as you are beautiful,” he taunted.
“And you, sir, are an arrogant bully.”
He grasped her chin between his fingers, his gaze focused on her lips.
“You have a quarter of an hour, Leonida. If you do not make an appearance then I will assume you are inviting me to share your dinner in bed.”
STEPPING OUT OF LEONIDA’S chambers, Stefan placed his hands flat against the wall and sucked in a deep breath. He was a fool.
Whether it was because he had allowed his anger at Leonida’s attempt to hide from him to impetuously lead him to her bedchamber, or because he hadn’t taken advantage of being there, he had yet to decide.
In either case, he was once again hard and aching with no hope of ready relief.
With a muttered curse, he pushed away from the wall and forced himself to continue toward the servants’ staircase, where he knew Goodson would be waiting for him.
On cue, the uniformed butler stepped from the shadows, regarding Stefan with a stoic expression.
“Your Grace.”
“Well?” Stefan demanded abruptly. Sensing his employer’s tension, Goodson came straight to the point.
“I could not approach as close as I would like since Miss Karkoff’s maid was standing guard as if she were one of those savage Cossack soldiers.”
“Yes, a most formidable woman,” Stefan agreed dryly. He had thought when he entered Leonida’s rooms he might have to physically toss the protective Sophy out of his path. “What did you manage to see?”
Goodson cleared his throat. “Miss Karkoff left her chamber shortly after you could be heard going downstairs and went directly to the Duchess’s rooms. She remained in there until the maid rushed to warn her of your approach.”
Stefan clenched his teeth, leashing his wave of disappointed fury.
He had already suspected that Leonida had some purpose in suggesting that she and Brianna come to Meadowland. And he was not vain enough to suppose it was an overwhelming desire to be closer to him.
Now his only purpose was to discover her nefarious plot.
“Did she take anything from the room?”
Goodson shrugged. “There was nothing in her hands.”
“Have her room searched while she is at dinner.”
“Of course, sir.”
The butler was turning away when Stefan halted him. “Goodson.”
“Yes, your Grace?”
“Did Benjamin track down the strangers he caught on the grounds?”
“I fear not.” The butler’s stoic expression hardened with frustration. “The innkeeper claimed that he has not had any foreign guests for months and no one in the village recognized the description of the villains.”
“Have him continue to search through the neighborhood, but request that he be discreet. I would prefer no one realize that I am suspicious of their presence.”
“Very good.”
This time Stefan allowed the butler to disappear toward the back of the house, slowly turning to study the closed door to Leonida’s chambers.
For a moment he brooded on charging back down the hall and bluntly confronting the deceitful woman.
Unlike Edmond, he did not enjoy political intrigue or pitting his wits against a cunning foe. He was a forthright gentleman who expected the same from others. Which was, no doubt, why King George and Alexander Pavlovich rarely called upon him when they had need of guile rather than practical assistance.
It was only the knowledge that Leonida could not be bullied or coerced into revealing the truth that kept him standing in the shadows, his hands clenched at his sides.
“What the devil is your scheme, Leonida Karkoff?” he muttered.
St. Petersburg
THE BORDELLO TUCKED BETWEEN a coffeehouse and furniture warehouse was like many others spread throughout St. Petersburg.
The building was a nondescript brick structure that was surrounded by a wrought-iron fence and guarded by a brute of a man who frightened even hardened soldiers. Inside the front parlor the furnishings were a gaudy, overly opulent combination of plush velvet sofas and fur rugs where a gentleman could wait in comfort for his particular whore to become available. Or, if he preferred, he could join the high-stakes gambling that was offered in the back rooms. Upstairs, the private rooms were individually created to indulge in whatever vice might tempt the jaded members of Russian society.
But it was not the dubious taste in furnishings, or the lovely, well-trained whores that plied their trade that attracted the rich and powerful.
It was instead the absolute discretion that Madam Ivanna demanded of her guests and servants.
A gentleman who stepped through the door could be assured that his presence or his…unusual sexual appetites would never be revealed.
Such a promise of privacy was worth the outrageous sums that Ivanna charged.
Heading up the narrow flight of stairs, Nikolas Babevich was already hard with anticipation at the thought of Celeste and her wicked chains and whips. Such sweet pain was expensive, but well worth every ruble.
Not that he possessed an overabundance of rubles, he acknowledged, a bitter anger burning in the pit of his stomach.
Damn the Countess Karkoff.
It was entirely her fault that he was now reduced to borrowing funds from his nagging sister and dodging the bill collectors who refused to offer him credit for so much as a new pair of boots.
Thankfully he had managed to relieve a drunken Prussian of his purse outside the Opera House last eve or he would have been forced to cancel his standing appointment at this brothel. A near unbearable notion.
