Dimitri was not pleased. He spied on others, they did not spy on him.
“You have an annoying habit of meddling in my private business.”
“It is my duty to meddle in the business of others.”
“You play a dangerous game, Gerhardt.”
Herrick shrugged, unperturbed by the threat in Dimitri’s soft voice.
“And you are intimately familiar with dangerous games, are you not, Tipova?” he asked. “The count would be most displeased to realize his bastard son suspects he is involved in illegal activities.”
Dimitri briefly considered the pleasure of tossing the older man into the nearby Fontanka Canal, then disregarded the notion. As pleasant as it might be to see Herrick’s impervious calm rattled, it was not worth the loss of his head.
Besides, there were more important matters to consider at the moment.
“What would you have of me?”
Herrick leaned forward, his dark eyes glittering in the moonlight.
“Meet with Emma Linley-Kirov. I truly believe the two of you are searching for the same answers.”
“I knew I was going to regret this meeting.”
PEERING OUT OF THE carriage window, Emma studied the pale stone building built with a columned portico in the center and two wings that spread along the canal. Although newly arrived in St. Petersburg, she would presume that the far side of the building was devoted to gentlemen lodgers. Why else would the small cluster of men be standing on the paved walk and keeping such a close watch on the passing traffic? On the other side was a more familiar coffee shop with several small tables and a back counter that held trays of tempting pastry that made Emma’s mouth water even at a distance.
“There it is,” she said, turning her head to meet her maid’s sour expression.
Yelena had firmly disapproved of Emma’s decision to meet with the Beggar Czar, Dimitri Tipova.
Of course, the elderly maid with a thatch of gray hair and slender body wrapped in a black cloak had disapproved of traveling to St. Petersburg, of accepting Herrick Gerhardt’s surprisingly warm welcome, and even of being sheltered by Herrick’s dear friend, Vanya Petrova in her beautiful mansion beside the Fontanka Canal.
Emma, on the other hand, was deeply grateful to the older man who had greeted her without a word of condemnation of her forward behavior and had promised he would do whatever possible to help her locate Anya.
“It does not appear to be a den of iniquity,” Yelena at last muttered. “Are you certain this is the proper address?”
Emma wrinkled her nose. “Appear
ances are too often deceptive, as I have so painfully discovered. It is rather public, however.”
“I should think it is public.” Yelena folded her gnarled fingers in her lap, her lips pinched together. “You cannot meet with a strange gentleman in private without so much as a proper introduction.”
Despite her raw nerves, Emma couldn’t contain her sudden chuckle. “I am about to request the assistance of the most renowned criminal in all of Russia and your concern is our lack of a proper introduction?”
The older woman sniffed. “I have a great number of concerns.”
Instantly contrite, Emma reached across the elegant carriage that Vanya had kindly insisted she use during her time in St. Petersburg, and patted her companion’s hand. Yelena was one of the very few people who had stood by her through the years.
“Forgive me, Yelena. I fear my nerves are in tatters. I did not mean to snap.”
Yelena’s expression immediately softened. “The past week would try the patience of a saint.”
Surely truer words had not been spoken, Emma acknowledged with a sigh. She did not wish to recall the grueling journey to St. Petersburg, or her sick trepidation as she had approached Herrick Gerhardt’s beautiful home to beg for his assistance.
It was enough to concentrate on today’s troubles.
Perhaps more than enough.
Pretending that her stomach was not cramped with fear, Emma managed a smile as the uniformed groom pulled open the carriage door.