own heir.
As much a monster as Ivan had been, however, the period of chaos that followed his death had proven the need for a strong leader to rule the vast empire. It had been the desperate Cossacks and outspoken Streltsi, and even a group of more prosperous peasants, that had demanded the zemsky sobor be called to name a new czar.
Eventually, Peter had come to the throne, his life already scarred by being forced to witness his closest family butchered when he was just ten years of age. Not that his years of being condemned to the remote hunting lodge on the Yauza River had been wasted. Indeed, they had offered him a rare opportunity for self-education.
Left to entertain himself, he studied with the local craftsmen to acquire skills in everything from blacksmithing to carpentry. He also gathered devoted friends who assisted him in mock battles and discovering the best means of drilling an infantry. Long before acquiring an army he had practiced besieging a scale-sized fortress and could calculate the ranges for his artillery.
Perhaps most important, he developed an obsessive fascination with sailing.
With remarkable foresight he had realized the future of his country depended upon opening itself to the world, and with a cruel efficiency he conquered a path to the Baltic Sea and then set about building a city that would rival Versailles.
There was a clatter of hooves as the carriage crossed the Fontanka River over the Semyonovsky Bridge and Emma realized they were nearing Vanya’s home.
Tugging the scarf more tightly around her neck, she was prepared as the carriage halted in front of the imposing mansion with its columned balcony and massive jade lions that guarded the double doors. Leaving the carriage she climbed the steps and entered the marble foyer.
There was an awkward moment as the uniformed servants scurried about her, attempting to perform small services before Emma waved them away. She would never become accustomed to having others wait on her.
Hovering uncertainly by a rosewood table that held a delicate Chinese vase, Emma was relieved by the sudden appearance of a strikingly beautiful woman with silver hair and a tall, curvaceous form attired in a morning dress of lavender silk.
“At last. I was becoming quite concerned,” Vanya murmured, a hint of worry in her pale blue eyes.
“I am sorry.” Emma removed her scarf and tossed it aside. “The impossible man kept me waiting for near two hours. As if he were royalty rather than a common criminal.”
Taking Emma’s hand, Vanya led her up a curved staircase. “I should never consider Dimitri Tipova common,” she said with a small sigh. “He is sinfully handsome, is he not?”
A dangerous sensation fluttered in the pit of her stomach. “I suppose he is handsome enough, although that does not compensate for his utter lack of civility. He is the rudest man I have ever encountered.”
Vanya allowed a mysterious smile to curve her lips as she led Emma into a private salon with emerald wall panels and gilt cornices. The furniture was a dark mahogany with gold velvet cushions and the wooden floor covered by an Oriental rug. The overall atmosphere was one of rich sensuality.
A perfect setting for Vanya.
“Odd.” Vanya settled on the sofa and pulled Emma down next to her. “I have always thought him to be surprisingly gracious.”
“You are well acquainted?”
Leaning forward, Vanya poured two cups of tea from the tray left on the low table, adding a generous amount of milk and sugar before handing a cup to Emma and leaning back into the cushions.
“He performed a great service for a dear friend of mine,” she explained, sipping her hot tea. “I consider myself in his debt.”
Emma hastily tempered her words, far too polite to insult a man her hostess held in high esteem.
“No doubt it is my fault.” She took a reviving sip of tea, hoping it would help the lies tumble from her lips. “He did mention that I stir his more primitive nature.”
“Did he?” Vanya’s smile widened. “How very intriguing.”
Intriguing? Emma found it utterly vexing. As if she were to blame for his irritating lack of manners.
“Let us hope our time together is of short duration.”
“Did he agree to assist you in your search for poor Anya?”
“Yes.”
“Thank goodness.” The older woman reached to pat Emma’s arm. “Whatever your opinion of Dimitri there is no gentleman more suited to helping you.”
Emma battled the urge to roll her eyes. “So he has told me.”
Vanya’s smile faded, her fingers gently squeezing Emma’s arm.
“Emma, do you prefer that I find another to lend you assistance?”
Her lips parted with a cowardly urge to agree to Vanya’s suggestion. Dimitri Tipova was arrogant and provoking and…
Dangerously attractive.
Then, she hastily swallowed the ridiculous words. If both Herrick and Vanya considered Dimitri Tipova the most suitable man to help her rescue Anya, then she would be inexcusably selfish to turn him away just because she…what? Feared him?
“No, of course not,” she said, her tone brisk. “Indeed, I need your help to prepare for the evening.”
“You have made plans?”
“I am to accompany Dimitri Tipova to several of his gambling establishments in the hopes I will recognize the gentlemen who lured Anya to St. Petersburg.”
If she was shocked by Emma’s revelation, then Vanya hid it well. Indeed, she nodded as if it were perfectly reasonable for a young, innocent maiden to allow herself to be escorted by a renowned criminal to his wicked clubs.
“Ah.”
“I shall need a means to disguise myself,” she firmly insisted. “I cannot risk being recognized. Who can say what the odious creatures will do to Anya if they realize I have followed them?”
“Do not fear, my dear.” A gleam that Emma did not entirely trust sparkled in Vanya’s blue eyes. “I shall ensure that not even your sister will recognize you.”
CHAPTER FOUR
THE SUNKEN ROSE GARDEN was thankfully wrapped in shadows as Dimitri strolled past the Italian sculptures and marble fountains. Despite his connections among the most elite members of the Russian court, he was still a bastard. Which meant he entered the fine homes by the servants’ entrance.
He was moving toward the narrow door at the back of the garden when his instincts prickled and he turned to discover a statuesque woman stepping into the garden from the French windows.
“Dimitri.”
Hiding a smile at Vanya Petrova’s imperious tone, Dimitri followed the flagstone path to halt before the older woman and perform a deep bow.
Vanya
