center of the room, whip in hand.
What he discovered instead was a tall, distinguished gentleman with silver hair and a handsome countenance that was barely lined despite his fifty-odd years.
Sir Charles Richards had arrived in St. Petersburg from England only a few months ago, but had swiftly become a favorite of Prince Michael, younger brother of Alexander Pavlovich.
To most in society he was a charming, intelligent foreigner who was renowned for his impeccable manners and simple elegance, tonight displayed by his plain but exquisitely tailored black coat and dove-gray breeches that were at such odds with the Russian love for flamboyance.
Nikolas was one of the few who suspected that behind his affable smile was a merciless soul that was capable of great evil.
“Good evening, Nikolas Babevich,” Richards drawled, his elegant fingers holding one of the small whips that was always so appealing in Celeste’s hands, but was nothing less than terrifying when held by the Englishman.
Licking his dry lips, Nikolas cast a covert glance about the barren room, barely noting the various tools of torture that were hung on the walls or the wide bed that was covered in black satin and shackles. Ridiculously he had hoped that Celeste or one of the numerous servants might be lurking in a dark corner.
As if their presence would protect him from the malevolence that filled the thick air.
“How…” Nikolas was forced to halt and clear his throat. “How did you get in here?”
The nobleman’s lips curled as he flicked a dismissive gaze over Nikolas’s short, unfortunately pudgy figure that was attired in a growingly threadbare jacket in moss green and the too-tight tan breeches.
“There are few doors closed to me,” he drawled.
Nikolas clenched his hands into fists. Despite his fear, he wouldn’t be mocked by a damned foreigner.
“My congratulations. Now, if you do not mind, I came here for a specific entertainment that does not include spectators.”
“Your entertainment will have to wait until after our little chat,” Sir Charles sneered, twirling the whip in his hand.
“I told you that the Karkoff bitch refuses to give me the money without proof of the letters. What would you have me do?”
“Did you know the Countess sent her daughter to England? Surrey to be precise.”
Nikolas frowned. The Countess Karkoff could rot in hell as far as he was concerned.
“Why should I care?”
“For one thing, it proves there is something in those letters worth discovering. The Countess would never send her daughter on such a journey otherwise.”
“Wait,” Nikolas growled. “I thought you knew what was in those letters.”
“Howard Summerville claimed they must hold nefarious secrets since they were not only written in a mysterious code, but the Duke of Huntley had nearly beaten him to death when he caught him with them in his hands. It was worth taking the chance to discover if the boorish imbecile had truly stumbled across the means of acquiring a fortune or was making his usual empty boasts.”
Nikolas stiffened in outrage. He had risked his life on a mere hunch?
“You lied to me.”
“I told you what you needed to know.” Richards dismissed his accusation with a shrug. “Now, however, Miss Karkoff’s presence in Surrey endangers our tidy little plot.”
“How?”
The unnerving black eyes narrowed in frigid anger. “Because that is where the letters were last seen, you idiot.”
“Does she have them?”
“And how would I know?” Richards tossed the whip onto the bed in an impatient motion. “I sent my servants to search the Duke’s home weeks ago, but Miss Karkoff’s presence complicates matters.”
Nikolas tugged at his wilted cravat, not for the first time wishing he had never allowed Sir Charles Richards to convince him to take part in the dangerous scheme.
Not that you truly had a choice, a voice whispered in the back of his mind.
Gambling had always been his weakness and when he’d lost far more money than he possessed to the Englishman, he had no choice but to listen to his outlandish scheme. And in truth, the thought of gaining a small fortune with such ease had been a temptation he couldn’t resist.
Now he could do no more than curse his stupidity.
“We should never have approached the Countess until we had our hands on those letters.”
“You were as eager as I was to claim the fortune. Who would have suspected the Emperor’s whore would have the nerve to question your threat?” The dark eyes glittered with a cruel light. “Obviously you were not very convincing.”
Nikolas shuddered, his skin crawling with an indefinable fear. “I did what was asked. It isn’t my fault the Countess—”
“Shut up,” Richards interrupted. “I weary of your excuses.”
Nikolas swallowed the lump lodged in his throat. “Fine. We gambled and lost. C’est la vie.”
Richards took a step forward, his expression grim. “This is not over. I will have my money.”
“How? If the daughter manages to discover those letters then they will know that we have never seen them.”
“My men have orders to keep a close eye on the female. If she does manage to uncover the letters they will be able to retrieve them from her.”
“And if she does not?”
“Then she will return to Russia with the information that the letters are indeed missing.”
Nikolas bit back the urge to point out the numerous flaws in the plan. His existence might be miserable at the moment, but he was in no hurry to meet the death that lurked in his companion’s eyes.
“So we wait?”
“No, we cannot allow the Countess to suspect this is a bluff,” Richards snapped, a dark edge in his voice making Nikolas relieved that he did not know what was going through his companion’s mind. He sensed it would give him nightmares for weeks to come. “I desire you to approach the Countess again and warn her that for every week that passes, the cost of your silence increases by five thousand rubles.”
Nikolas took a discreet step backward. “And if she refuses?”
“You will continue to pester her. It will keep her fretting rather than devoting her time to considering how to outwit us.” The man’s lips curled into a sneer. “Women are incapable of behaving in a sensible manner when they are flustered.”
Nikolas’s humorless laugh echoed eerily through the room. “Have you ever met the Countess?”
“She
