Scoundrel's Honor. Rosemary Rogers

who would recognize her.

      “Well done, Vanya,” he murmured. “I knew I could depend upon you to be rid of the nasty wool.”

      The older woman chuckled, as if she harbored a secret. “You have no notion. Good luck, my dear.”

      Moving toward the house, Vanya paused to kiss Emma on the cheek before disappearing through the French doors. Dimitri traced her footsteps, halting at Emma’s side to offer an arm.

      “Shall we go?”

      She hesitated, and Dimitri sensed her silent battle to overcome her fear. Then, with that courage he knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was destined to lead her into trouble, she laid her hand on his arm and allowed herself to be led to the carriage Dimitri had left next to the mews.

      Assisting her into the vehicle, Dimitri placed the heated bricks at her feet before settling at her side and tugging the rug over both of them. The night air was crisp enough to be uncomfortable.

      He waited until the driver had set the matching black horses into a brisk trot before he reached into a drawer built beneath the leather bench and retrieved a silver flask and two small crystal glasses.

      Pouring them both a measure of the potent spirits, he pressed one of the glasses into Emma’s unwilling fingers and lifted his own glass in a toast.

      “Za vas.”

      She cautiously sipped the expensive liquor, predictably choking as the fiery liquid slid down her throat.

      “Good Lord. What is it?”

      “Cognac.” Dimitri took a far more appreciative sip, savoring the nutty flavor of the well-aged spirit. “It will help keep you warm.”

      She frowned, but she took another sip, perhaps hoping to ease her nerves.

      “Is it a great distance to your club?” she demanded.

      “No, it is quite close.” Dimitri refilled her glass, studying her brittle expression. She appeared ready to bolt. Clearly a distraction was in order. “Is this your first visit to St. Petersburg?”

      “This is the first occasion I have ever left our tiny village.” A rueful smile touched her lips, her hazel eyes shrouded in mystery behind the gossamer veil. “I suppose that makes me impossibly provincial?”

      “I refuse to be baited, Emma Linley-Kirov. Do you wish me to point out the more historical buildings we will pass on our journey?”

      “I…” She paused, then offered a small dip of her head. “Yes, I would be very interested, thank you.”

      Scooting closer to her, Dimitri glanced out the window as the carriage turned onto the Nevsky Prospekt.

      Within moments the stunning Our Lady of Kazan Cathedral came into view. The domed church was an impressive sight with its sweeping colonnade that framed a small garden complete with a fountain.

      “Perhaps you know Emperor Paul intended the structure to imitate Saint Peter’s Basilica in Rome despite the church officials’ outrage at having a replica of a Catholic church.”

      As he had hoped, Emma’s tension eased as she pressed her nose to the window, obviously eager to enjoy the spectacular view.

      “My father told me that Alexander Pavlovich had commanded the church become a memorial to the defeat of Napoleon.”

      “Yes,” Dimitri agreed dryly. The emperor had been quite eager to ensure that his victory over the Corsican monster was suitably commemorated throughout the city. “The great Mikhail Kutuzov is laid to rest in the cathedral and the keys from several European cities and fortresses were placed in the sacristy in honor of Russia’s victory.”

      The carriage rattled onward and Dimitri pointed out the Stroganov Palace with its massive entrance arch supported by two Corinthian columns. Like much of St. Petersburg it had been designed by Rastrelli. Turning eastward they passed the Admiralty and headed toward the Palace Square. It was, of course, the crowning jewel of the city with its lavish facade painted a pale green and trimmed in white. Massive statues lined the roof and at one end an onion dome dominated the skyline. Next to the palace were the Hermitage houses that held Catherine’s vast collection of paintings as well as the theater built for Catherine by Giacomo Quarenghi.

      Dimitri hid his smile as Emma pointed toward the passing buildings, asking endless questions and unabashedly enjoying the short tour. It had become fashionable to pretend a jaded indifference to the world, and he could not deny it was refreshing to be in the company of a woman willing to reveal her emotions.

      Her eyes widened in fascination as she spotted the Peter and Paul Fortress on the northern bank of the Neva, she sighed at the beauty of the summer gardens, and shivered at the forbidding Mikhailovsky Castle, a fortress built by an insane Emperor Paul where he was later to be murdered.

      It was almost a disappointment when they crossed the bridge leading to the lower Nevsky and turned onto a narrow street lined with unpretentious elegant buildings.

      Emma turned to him in surprise. “Why are we slowing?”

      “I prefer not to leap from a moving carriage unless absolutely necessary,” he informed her dryly.

      She sucked in a sharp breath, her gaze taking in the building painted a brilliant yellow with a wide entrance that was guarded by two servants. Although it was early, there was already a steady line of opulently clad gentlemen climbing the stairs and producing their gilt-edged cards that marked them as members.

      “This is your club?”

      Ridiculously, Dimitri discovered himself offended by her shock. “Did you expect a hovel in a dark alley?”

      She drained the last of her cognac before setting aside the empty glass.

      “I have never given much thought to gambling establishments. Now I realize they must be quite profitable.”

      He shoved open the door, assisting her onto the paved walk. “Sin is not without its reward.”

      “Spoken by an unrepentant sinner.”

      “Of course,” he agreed.

      As the bastard of a nobleman he had received a fine education, but was forbidden to take his place among society. At the same time, he was too cultured to be accepted among the peasants. With no true place in the world, he had turned his ruthless willpower to creating an empire of his own making.

      Leading Emma up the stairs, he nodded toward his guards and entered the large octagonal vestibule that was tastefully decorated with a black-and-white-tiled floor reflected in the silver-framed mirrors that lined the walls.

      At their entrance a tall servant with a regal bearing approached to offer a deep bow.

      “Vladimir will take your wrap,” Dimitri informed his silent companion, his brows lifting as she clutched the velvet cloak with a white-knuckled grip. Did the chit fear his servant intended to make off with her clothing? “I promise you it will be returned.”

      “Very well.”

      Her chin lifted as she tugged off the cloak with a swift motion and handed it to the waiting servant. In a heartbeat, the crowd came to a captivated halt as all eyes turned toward Emma.

      It was not that her gown was particularly shocking. Indeed, it was a deceptively simple sheath cut to reveal her shoulders and gathered beneath the gentle swell of her bosom. It was more the shimmer of the gold satin that molded to her slender body. And the tiny diamonds that glittered along the low-cut line of her bodice that drew attention to the perfection of her ivory skin.

      Combined with the satin tumble of honey hair and the promise of her sensuous lips, it was enough to make every male in the club crave to have her in his bed.

      Including Dimitri.

      Muttering a startled curse, he grasped her upper arm and hauled her through a nearby alcove, tugging her down the short hall until he could thrust her into the privacy of his office.