“Why must I be the one to approach her?” Nikolas changed tactics. “It seems to me that I am risking my neck while you hide in the shadows.”
Before Nikolas could blink, Richards was across the room, his hands circling Nikolas’s throat with enough pressure to prove he could easily snap his neck.
“That is what you are being paid to do, is it not?” he demanded in low, deadly tones. “And believe me, being caught by the Russian officials is the least of your concern. Fail me and I will cut out your heart and feed it to the wolves. Do you understand?”
Nikolas’s blood froze in his veins. “Yes.”
“Good.”
With a derisive motion, Richards tossed Nikolas against the wall and then pulled a handkerchief from his pocket to wipe his hands. As if he feared he might have been contaminated.
Bastard.
Pushing from the wall, Nikolas jerked his jacket back into place. “And what will you be doing while I am confronting the Countess?”
“I am traveling to Paris. It will be far easier to keep in contact with my men in England.”
“So you leave me alone to be shot as a traitor?”
“That, mon ami, is entirely in your hands. Do what I command and we both shall be very wealthy gentlemen.”
CHARLES STEPPED FROM the torture room, assured that Nikolas would do as he had been commanded. The wretched creature might long to condemn Charles to the netherworld, but they both knew he would never possess the courage to openly challenge him.
Which, of course, was the reason he had chosen the fool in the first place.
A pity he had not been so clever in predicting the Countess’s stubborn refusal to hand over the money he so desperately needed.
With an effort, Charles battled back the black fury that had plagued him since he was in the nursery. As satisfying as it might be to slice the bitch’s throat, it would not solve his problems.
He had to have money if he wanted to keep his nasty little secrets safe.
A shiver shook his body before he regained command of his icy composure. No. He would not be exposed by a filthy peasant. Even if that peasant was the Beggar Czar, Dimitri Tipova, who reportedly ruled the criminal underworld of St. Petersburg.
Slipping into the room across the hall, he regarded the woman he had ordered to wait for him.
Madam Ivanna was a lushly curved woman who had retained much of her early beauty despite the gray that was threaded through her thick black hair and the wrinkles that fanned beside her wide green eyes. Currently she was attired in a low-cut velvet gown that displayed her considerable charms and matched the decor, but only a fool would miss the shrewd glitter in her eyes.
“Ah, Ivanna, so kind of you to allow me a few moments with my associate.” Moving forward he raised her fingers to his lips, relishing her shiver of disgust. Ah yes, shrewd indeed. Unlike most women, Ivanna was intelligent enough to sense the darkness beneath his handsome countenance and practiced charm. “How can I ever repay you?”
She hastily tugged her fingers from his grasp. “It is nothing, I assure you.”
“You are certain you would not desire a small token of my appreciation?”
“No, it was my pleasure, monsieur.”
“A pity.” He regarded her with a hungry gaze, his blood stirring at the rich scent of her perfume. It had been far too long since he’d allowed himself to indulge in his little pastime. With a shake of his head, he stepped back. “Still, I suppose this is not the time or the place. I need a means to leave the house without being noticed.”
Ivanna heaved a shaky breath of relief, as if sensing how close she had been to glimpsing the true Sir Charles Richards.
“Of course.” She waved a hand toward the door. “I can take you out the back entrance.”
He caught her wrist, his grip punishing. “I said unnoticed.”
“Please, monsieur, I do not know what you want,” she whimpered.
“Think very carefully, Ivanna.”
His fingers tightened, threatening to snap her bones and she gave a sob of surrender.
“There is a hidden passageway that connects my kitchens with the coffeehouse next door.” She brokenly confessed the secret known only to those of royal blood.
A cold smile curled his lips. “You are quite intelligent for a whore.”
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