Bound by Love (20 page)

“I am not hungry.”

The frigid eyes narrowed at her small defiance. “It was not a request, Miss Karkoff.”

A small movement from Pyotr warned Leonida that her groom was about to do something stupid. Hastily she moved to put herself between the nobleman and her servants.

“Very well.” She tilted her chin. “May I have a few minutes to tidy myself?”

“Vanity, thy name is woman,”
Sir Charles mocked, his gaze flicking dismissively over her bedraggled form. “You have five minutes to make your appearance downstairs before I send Josef to fetch you. Trust me, you would not care for his methods.”

There was a tense silence as the nobleman offered a sardonic bow and turned on his heel to leave the attic.

Watching his departure, Leonida’s mind churned with desperation. She had to
do
something. Her pride would not allow her to go down without a fight.

“What do you suppose he wants?” Sophy said, her voice shaking with fear.

“I haven’t the least notion, but it cannot be good.” Leonida abruptly motioned toward the maid. “Help me out of this gown, Sophy.”

“What are you doing?” Sophy demanded, reluctantly moving to unbutton the back of Leonida’s black crepe gown.

Leonida ignored the sound of Pyotr’s choked cough and the shuffle of his feet as he hastily turned his back on them.

“No doubt it is a waste of effort, but I must feel as if I am at least making some attempt.”

Leonida shimmied out of the gown and hastily loosened her corset. Her shift followed the rest of the clothes to the dusty floor. Then, much to Sophy’s puzzlement, she tugged the corset back into place and pulled on her dress, waiting for the maid to refasten the buttons.

Snatching the shift off the ground, Leonida crossed to the narrow window that overlooked the front of the house. Pyotr had earlier shoved open the sash to allow a fresh breeze into the stuffy attic, and leaning through the opening, Leonida hung the shift on a nail protruding from the window frame.

Standing at her side, Sophy frowned in concern. “What if one of the guards sees it?”

Leonida shrugged. “They are all careful to remain out of sight of the road. Besides, I can always say I washed it and hung it out to dry.”

“You think someone will take notice of it?”

“Not with my luck, but it is all I can think of at the moment.”

Leonida’s gaze shifted to the empty path. Even if a
miracle did happen and someone passed the cottage there was little hope they would be curious enough at the sight of the shift to investigate. Her only hope was that if someone were actually searching for her and her servants they would catch a glimpse of the undergarment and realize the cottage was not empty.

Without warning the image of Stefan’s lean, beautiful face rose to mind.

He had claimed he would not allow her to escape him. That he would follow her no matter how far she ran. Was it possible that he could still be searching for her? Could he reach her before Sir Charles had his money and decided to dispose of her?

With an angry shake of her head, Leonida attempted to dismiss the faint surge of hope that filled her heart.

What man in his right mind would chase after a woman who had lied to him, stolen from him, drugged him and nearly caused his death?

The Duke of Huntley was a stubborn creature, but he was in full possession of his faculties. By now he was no doubt safely returned to England, tending to his lands and appreciating his latest collection of books. If he thought of her at all, it would be with relief she was no longer about to disturb his peaceful existence.

Besides, she had run from Stefan precisely because she did not want him put in danger.

She would never doubt Stefan’s courage or his ability to defeat his enemies, but he was at heart a gentleman of honor. Sir Charles, on the other hand, was a man who would happily shoot another in the back. The bastard would do whatever necessary to save his worthless neck.

As if sensing Leonida’s dark thoughts, Pyotr moved to grasp her hands, his expression hard with determination.

“We will get out of this.”

Leonida managed a strained smile. “I very much hope you are right, Pyotr.”

Pulling away from the comfort of her groom’s touch, Leonida forced her feet to carry her down the stairs and into the main portion of the cottage.

It was not a vast improvement on the attics.

There was a tiny hallway with a door that led to a small parlor and beyond that to two bedchambers. On the other side of the hallway there was an entrance to the kitchen and pantry. Directly before her was a heavy door that opened to the front courtyard.

She ignored the ridiculous urge to make an attempt at escape.

Not only would she be caught within moments, but Sir Charles had already warned what would happen to Sophy and Pyotr if she tried something so stupid.

Schooling her expression, Leonida stepped into the parlor, prepared as Sir Charles rose from the shabby settee and waved a hand toward the table set in the middle of the wooden floor.

He should have appeared ridiculous, so elegantly attired in the musty room with peeling plaster on the wall and thick cobwebs clinging to the open beams of the ceiling, but instead he simply looked dangerous.

“Allow me, Miss Karkoff.” He held out one of the chairs at the table, his dark, unwavering gaze savoring her stiff reluctance as she took her seat and he reached to tuck a napkin into her lap. Only when he had provoked a shudder of revulsion from her did he at last straighten and round the table to take his own seat. “I trust you will forgive such peasant fare, but I am currently without my chef.”

“I prefer simplicity,” she muttered, pretending an interest in the smoked fish that had been wrapped in traditional wheat pancakes, the roasted duck with a mushroom sauce and stewed apples. In truth it was as unappealing as the vodka he poured in her glass.

Her companion’s lips twitched, as if sensing her distaste. “Do you? How odd. I find nothing charming in
living without the elegances of life. Indeed, I refuse to do without them.”

“Which, I presume, is the reason you are holding me hostage.”

“In part.” His features briefly tightened. “My chosen style of life has lately become excessively expensive.”

She picked at the food on her plate, not wanting to even consider his chosen lifestyle.

“I presume that you have sent your demands to my mother?”

“But of course. The quicker we have finished this unpleasant business the better.”

“I could not agree more, but how can you be certain she will meet your demands?”

His chuckle sent a chill down her spine. “So little faith in your own mother? Shame on you.”

She forced herself to meet his unnerving gaze. “It has nothing to do with faith, and everything to do with my mother’s inability to live within her means.”

A hint of complacency marred his handsome features. “Do not fret. From all reports the Countess is hastily scrambling to gather her pretty jewels, her silver and even her prized collection of
Savonnerie
tapestries. Such an enterprising woman shall discover the means to rescue her daughter from my evil clutches. And if not…” He shrugged, downing his vodka in one swallow. “Well, there is always your father. There can be no doubt he possesses the means to pay my demands.”

She tilted her chin, infuriated by the thought that this man might be given so much as a ruble. The only thing he deserved was a place in front of a firing squad.

“If my father learns of your treachery there will be no place in Russia you can hide from his justice.”

“Then it is a fortunate thing that I have grown quite weary of your grim country,” he taunted. “With the proper funds I shall be able to travel anywhere in the world.”

“I know where I should like to send you,” she muttered before she could halt the words.

His eyes flashed with a cold loathing. “So much spirit. A pity I am not a gentleman who admires a woman with courage.”

“Do you admire any woman?”

“Touché.” Refilling his glass, he lifted it in a mocking salute. “You are quite right. I find most females repulsive creatures who will lie with a smile upon their lips and barter their soul…” He paused, his lips twisting. “Or even their children, for a few baubles.”

Leonida hid a shiver, wondering what had happened in this man’s childhood to have created such a monster. Or perhaps it was best she didn’t know, a small voice whispered in the back of her mind. She was not so innocent that she did not realize that some mothers were unbearably cruel to their children.

“There are no doubt selfish and wicked women, just as there are selfish and cruel gentlemen,” she pointed out, giving up all pretense of eating. “That does not mean that most people are not good and decent.”

“You cannot believe such drivel,” he scoffed, shoving aside his own plate.

Leonida froze as she caught sight of the carving knife that had been hidden beside the platter of duck.

Dear God. If she could get her hands on the weapon…

Realizing she was staring, Leonida hastily jerked her gaze back to meet Sir Charles’s snide smile.

“Why should I not?”

“Your own mother traded her lovely body to entrap the most prized catch in all the empire. Do you believe she ever once thought of how her sordid affair would affect her bastard?”

She refused to flinch at the ugly truth in his words. “I am not a bastard.”

“Of course not. Your mother seduced yet another poor
idiot to wed her so she could be certain her precious reputation could be salvaged and she could enjoy all the luxuries she never deserved.” He deliberately paused. “And then there is the undeniable fact that when she feared her comfort might be threatened she readily threw her own daughter to the wolves.”

She abruptly rose to her feet and angrily moved toward the window that was so filthy she could barely see out the warped panes. She told herself that she was simply attempting to lure him from the table so she would have an opportunity to steal the knife, but deep inside she could not entirely dismiss his hateful accusation.

Over the years, she had resigned herself to the knowledge that her mother would always put Alexander Pavlovich and his position of power first. But that did not mean that she did not occasionally long to find someone who would consider her worthy of being the most important person in their heart.

“I will not remain here and listen to my mother being insulted,” she said huskily.

As hoped, Sir Charles rose to his feet to stroll to her side, unable to halt his nasty desire to taunt her.

“Ah, did I touch a tender nerve?”

“Did you bring me down here just so you could insult me?”

Leonida instantly regretted her sharp retort as his smile thinned and that horrifying craving smoldered in his eyes.

“I would like to do a great deal more than insult you, my dear.” His hand lifted to grasp her chin in a painful grasp. “You have no notion the effort it has taken me to leave you…untouched. And of course, I have been forced to threaten my men with death to keep them from joining you in the attic. You owe me a great debt of gratitude.”

She ground her teeth, refusing to plead for mercy. Damn her foolish pride.

“Gratitude? You kidnap me, hold me and my poor servants against our will in a cramped attic…”

With lightning speed his fingers released her chin and wrapped around her throat, squeezing so tight that black flecks danced before her eyes.

Instinctively, she lifted her hands to pound at his chest, desperate for air.

“That is it, my sweet.” He leaned down to whisper in her ear. “Fight me. Scream.”

“No,” she managed to choke out.

He gave her a sharp shake, pulling back to relish the pain twisting her features.

“Scream for me.”

On the point of passing out, Leonida barely heard the sound of approaching footsteps. It was not until a voice spoke from directly at her side that she realized they were no longer alone.

“Forgive me, sir.”

With a guttural growl of frustration, Sir Charles shoved Leonida away.

“How dare you interrupt me?”

Lifting a hand to her bruised throat, Leonida struggled to breathe as Josef stood before Sir Charles without flinching.

He was either incredibly brave or as insane as his master.

“I thought you should know that Mikhail and Karl have disappeared,” the scarred servant said, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Absurd,” Sir Charles snapped. “They are no doubt hunting. Or more likely, lying drunk in the stables. Worthless peasants.”

“They were supposed to be on guard duty, but when I checked on them I discovered they were not only missing, but they had taken their belongings and two horses.”

Sir Charles stiffened, enraged by the suspicion of treachery among his serfs.

“Bloody hell. I will speak with Vladimir.” He waved a dismissive hand toward the still gasping Leonida. “Return the bitch to the attics.”