Midnight Angel (Stokehurst #1)(79)

Emma is safe with Alicia, she reassured herself. All I have to do is to elude Nikolas and find refuge somewhere, and send for Luke…She left the food hall and hurried through the draper's shop, toward the side exit. Once she was outside, she would blend into the crowded street. Even Nikolas, with his predator's instinct, wouldn't be able to find her in that bustling mass of humanity.

Tasia slipped outside into the fetid air of London on a summer day. Before her foot touched the pavement, she felt a brutal arm close around her middle with the impact of a blow, squeezing until she felt her spine flex from the pressure. At the same time, a large gloved hand covered the lower half of her face. Quietly, efficiently, two men ushered her along the side street to a waiting carriage. Nikolas was standing there with the calm of a satiated tiger. He was a young man, not yet twenty-five, but all traces of youth and kindness had vanished a long time ago, if indeed he had ever possessed those qualities. His eyes were as round and shiny as golden saucers…emotionless…sterile.

“Zdráhstvuyti, little cousin,” Nikolas murmured. “You look well.” He reached out and caught a tear that trembled on her lashes and fingered it as if it were some precious elixir. “You could have made it much more difficult for me, you know. You could have hidden in the country as a peasant girl. It might have taken years for me to locate you. Instead you became the fodder for gossip all over London—the mysterious foreign governess who married a wealthy marquess. After hearing a few of the stories, I knew it could only be you.” He subjected her silk-clad form to a contemptuous glance. “Apparently your taste for luxury is stronger than your common sense.” Gently he lifted her white-knuckled fist, surveying the thick gold band on her finger. “What is your husband like? Some rich old man with a yen for young flesh, I suppose. Someone should tell him what a dangerous child you are.”

Nikolas gestured for the cossacks to shove her inside the carriage, but not before he saw the flicker of alarm in Tasia's eyes. Spinning around, he narrowly avoiding the whistling swing of an ivory umbrella handle. The knob missed his head and struck his shoulder with bruising force. Acting swiftly, he yanked away the makeshift weapon and seized the gangly young girl who had used it. She opened her wide mouth to scream.

“Make a sound and I'll have her neck broken in an instant,” he said.

The girl fell silent, staring at him with blazing blue eyes. She was flushed with fury and fear. The contrast between her scorching pink face and fiery hair—the color of rare red amber—was enchanting.

“Another dangerous child,” Nikolas said with a quiet laugh, holding her lanky, flat-chested body against his.

One of the cossacks addressed him in Russian. “Your Highness—”

“It's all right,” he said curtly, answering in kind. “Get into the carriage with the woman.”

The child he held spoke in a hoarse voice. “Let my stepmother go, you bastard!”

“I'm afraid I can't, my charming little beast. Where did you learn such bad words?”

The girl tried to wrench away from him. “Where are you taking her?”

“To Russia, where she'll be made to pay the price for her crimes.” Nikolas grinned and released her, watching her stagger back a few steps. “Goodbye, little girl. And thank you—it's been a long time since anyone has made me smile.”

She turned and ran wildly into the store. Nikolas stood watching her for a moment before he went to the carriage, climbed in, and signaled the driver to leave.

Charles Ashbourne sat on the library settee with his wife weeping against his shoulder. Emma occupied a leather chair, hugging her knees to her chest. She was quiet and pale with grief. Luke stood by the window, his gaze fixed on the river view. Having been summoned from a meeting of the Northern Briton Railway Company board with a succinct message that he was needed at home, he had raced to the villa to find the Ashbournes there with Emma. His daughter had been nearly hysterical. Tasia was nowhere in sight.

Prompted by Charles, Alicia had explained to the best of her knowledge what had happened. “I left her for a moment to look at the silk scarves,” she faltered, “and suddenly she and Emma were gone. And then Emma came running in, screaming about some Russian man with yellow eyes who had taken Tasia into his carriage—I can't think of how he found her, except that he must have been following me—dear heaven, we'll never see her again!” She broke down and cried, while Charles patted her back and tried to calm her.

Except for her weeping, everything was quiet. Luke turned to look at the Ashbournes. He was trembling all over, with rage and a hint of madness that made everyone in the room cringe in anticipation of an explosion. But he remained wordless and white-faced. Unconsciously he traced his fingers over the wicked curve of the silver hook, as if it were a weapon about to be put to use.

Unable to bear the silence, Charles spoke nervously. “What now, Stokehurst? I suppose we could attempt some sort of negotiation through government channels—after all, we have an ambassador in St. Petersburg, and perhaps an envoy could be sent to appeal—”

“I don't need a damned envoy,” Luke said, striding to the open doorway. “Biddle!” His voice echoed through the house like a peal of thunder.

The valet appeared in a flash. “Yes, my lord?”

“Make an appointment for me to meet with the foreign minister this afternoon. Tell him it's urgent.”