Desert Rogue (33 page)

“Really? Then you'd better get used to it. The invitations have begun to pour in. You'll be seeing plenty of me for quite a while to come,” Jed said.

“I doubt you are telling the truth,” Hayden retorted, his words clipped and precise. “After all, what half-wit would sponsor your entry into polite society?”

“Oh, that was Cameron's doing,” Jed replied casually, taking Victoria's hand and leading her onto the dance floor as the first lilting notes of a waltz sounded.

Victoria felt herself blushing when Jed placed a hand behind her waist and pulled her near. If she closed her eyes, she could again be dancing with him across desert sands under a blazing sun.

“Are you really staying in Cairo indefinitely?” she asked, resorting to the first question that came to mind to quell the bittersweet memory. At Jed's affirmative nod, Victoria was filled with joy. She found herself becoming lost in the depths of his commanding green eyes until the room began to fade away and there existed just the two of them.

“But why? And why are you here tonight?” she inquired softly.

“I think you know the reason,” he replied, his rich, deep voice more melodic to her ear than the efforts of the orchestra.

“No, I'm afraid I don't,” Victoria denied. She needed to know what he meant, but was afraid to hear it all the same.

“It's you,” Jed murmured, bending his head to hers.

“How can you say that? You barely came near me most of the evening.” Her voice was no louder than the rustle of silk as she searched his face for clarification, aware that his simple statement made her life very complex indeed.

“If there's one thing you've taught me, it's not to rush things,” he announced. A brief chortle reverberated in the deep cavern of his chest. “And I figured this was something you would want us to ease into. That's why I waited to ask you to dance. Yet already I find myself impatient to get to the next step. Let me court you, Vicky,” he entreated with sweet urgency, his hot whisper playing across her small, delicate ear.

“But I'm promised to Hayden,” she protested halfheartedly, though her answer sounded as false to her as it did to him.

“Some promises were made to be broken. You don't love him. I know it, and in years to come, he will, too,” Jed insisted sincerely, twirling his lovely partner in time to the music. “That makes you the only one left to convince.”

“Jed, I— I—”

“Hush,” he ordered with an indulgent smile. “I'm not looking for you to make a decision right away. But you can see that I'm accepted in your world, and I know you fit into mine. Allow me to court you, or at least think about it.”

Victoria studied the man whose arms made her feel so secure. In the past, she had seen Jed Kincaid angry, loving, serious and playful. But never had she seen him displaying the vulnerability he exhibited as he concluded pleading his case. It was as though he had stripped away his pride to place his heart in her hands, and the sight of him almost tore her own heart in two. Although she could not instantly abandon the hopes her parents had for her in order to tell him yes, she found she could not say no. Instead, she fell into thoughtful silence, and Jed, feeling it best not to press his suit any further, did the same. Simultaneously, they gave themselves over to the music and quiet dreams.

Hayden stood at the fringe of the dance floor, his false smile hiding his true feelings. The sight of Kincaid holding Victoria much too tightly rubbed him raw, as did all of the praise he was hearing about the man who had gone to Khartoum to rescue Cameron Shaw's daughter. And to make matters worse, the girl's father, who had already spent an unconscionable time conversing with Kincaid earlier in the evening, stood smiling benignly as Victoria and the American glided by.

This public humiliation and the hornet's nest Kincaid had stirred up concerning the Mahdi prompted Hayden Reed to reach a decision. He had to find a way to be rid of Jed Kincaid, and he thought he knew just how to do so.

Cutting a path across the dance floor, Hayden tapped Kincaid's shoulder, reclaiming his fiancée for what was left of the dance.

Though Jed graciously relinquished her and kept away for the remainder of the evening, Victoria continued to feel as close to him as she had when he had held her in his embrace. No matter where he stood within the ballroom, she was acutely aware of his presence, watching him when she dared, and constantly feeling the temptation of his request. If she thought there was the least possibility she could make him happy...

A
week later, Jed found himself leaving the most disreputable section of the
medina,
a grim smile settled upon his lips. He was getting closer; he could feel it. The realization brought a rush of blood that sharpened his senses and heightened his reflexes.

He had been annoyed, at first, to learn that Cookson had put Hayden Reed in charge of investigating the Mahdi and the gunrunning to the Sudan. But now, Jed was almost appreciative. Prompted by Reed's attitude, the American adventurer had undertaken to find out what he could on his own. It gave him something interesting to do, kept his hand in, so to speak, while he dabbled in the staid world of respectable society.

And finally his perseverance was beginning to bear fruit. Hours spent among the most scurrilous of Cairo's inhabitants had brought him into contact with two Sudanese of questionable character. They had been recommended to him as men willing to earn extra money transporting stolen firearms to Khartoum.

That they had done so before was obvious from the conversation that took place when Jed had met them, as arranged, at an outdoor café. Over pots of the thick, strong Turkish coffee so popular in Cairo, it become clear that they not only knew about the growing arsenal in Khartoum and the powder magazine being built on Tuti Island, they had been there. Boasting familiarity with trade routes that would avoid the khedive's patrols, they were eager to travel south again with Jed's fictitious shipment of guns, elated that the next batch of weapons destined for the Mahdi was not to be the last, as they had so recently and unexpectedly been informed.

In confidential tones, Jed had persuaded the pair that a new supplier had been found to take the place of the individual who had decided it was too dangerous to continue now that the British government was looking into the matter. The Sudanese had no reason to doubt the rough, lethal-looking American with the cold green eyes. He was a man likely to be involved with such a precarious undertaking.

As he had reached for his last small cup of coffee, Jed had hinted to his unsavory companions that the guns would be arriving and leaving along the usual route. That was when the Sudanese had told him of their surprise that the warehouse near the Cairo docks was still considered safe from detection. From what they had been led to believe, the British were getting closer to uncovering it, which was why their operation had been marked for abandonment.

But Jed, glad to learn the approximate location for the storage of the guns, had assured them that such was not the case. Remembering what he had overheard at the oasis when he had gone to fetch water for Victoria, he advised the smugglers the only change in their routine would be the Englishman involved stepping aside. Everything else, he promised them, including the details of transport, would be very much the same.

The Sudanese were easy to convince. And though they were not so careless as to provide Jed with hard information and specific details, they had aided him in his quest nonetheless. A warehouse along Cairo's docks, how many could there be?

Now, after having made arrangements to meet with the men again, Jed was returning to his hotel room to transform himself into a presentable gentleman for a charity function at Shepheard's. As he walked along the narrow streets of the exotic city, the pungent aroma of spices and jasmine warring with less pleasant odors, Jed decided that in Cookson's absence, he was not about to share what he had learned with the British Consulate, or more specifically, with Hayden Reed. That officious fool would simply ignore what he had to say. Therefore, Jed determined to find the warehouse himself, hoping the discovery would lead him to the mysterious Englishman betraying his homeland and its foreign interests. Once the villain's identity had been established, Reed would be forced to take action.

* * *

The hulking Cairene drove his wagon, bursting with trees and shrubbery, through the gates surrounding the consular agent's new home. Though the house and its grounds were little more than modest in size, there was nonetheless a constant flow of carts and wagons arriving as the new occupant threw himself into renovations.

Planning a formal garden that would please his future wife was a tedious task, Hayden Reed had informed his neighbors. They no longer thought anything about the comings and goings at Reed's home, other than that the young diplomat must love Cameron Shaw's daughter to expend so much time and effort in the pursuit of her happiness.

“Greetings,
mudir,
” the driver called as he stopped the donkey cart in the rear of the house where Hayden was waiting for him. “I have brought the last of what you require.”

“I'm glad that's all of it,” Reed commented. “Once it grows darker, it'll be safe to bring it into the house. But tomorrow, you'll have to get someone to plant some of these bloody shrubs and rip out others.”

“And when shall my men and I return to cart away the debris?”

“As soon as I can make arrangements,” Reed replied, mopping his brow with a pristine square of white cloth despite the growing coolness of approaching evening. “I don't like having this here any longer than necessary and would have much preferred it going through the normal channels.”

“Things grow too perilous,” the Arab said.

“Don't you think I know that?” Hayden snarled. “Even with my overseeing the British inquiry, the warehouse is no longer safe. Who knows what some zealous fool in my command might find.”

“That is true. But tell me, what do you know about an American set to act as your replacement? He was put in touch with our two friends in the
medina,
and they feel he will soon be seeking our contact in the warehouse.”

“There
is
no replacement.”

“The American?”

“I know his identity and I will deal with him,” Hayden said vehemently, icy rage swelling up inside him. “Tell the others to have nothing more to do with the man.”

“As you say. If something should happen to this merchandise, it would anger our friends to the south. They already sent you a warning once before when you tried to increase your profits. You dare not fail them this time.”

“I have no intentions of doing so,” Hayden said. A frown creased his normally composed features. The admonishing threat had come in the form of Victoria's abduction. This time it would be his life the Sudanese dervishes would demand if they were dissatisfied. At the thought, sweat beaded on his patrician forehead. “However, I hope they understand that this is the last instance in which I can be involved.”

“They are not unreasonable men,” the burly Arab replied, a cruel smile snaking across his face. “It will be enough for them that the investigation you are being forced to conduct will leave our men in place and the main routes intact.”

“To be sure,” Hayden agreed hastily. Though the Arab was supposed to be in his employ, Reed had no illusions as to whom the fellow actually served. It was a dangerous game he played at present, and he was determined to win, Jed Kincaid be damned!

* * *

Jed woke early the next morning feeling exhilarated despite having kept late hours the night before. Polite small talk, glasses of sherry, chamber music and conventional behavior did not normally quicken his pulse. Yet the handsome, dark-haired American had come to actually enjoy each affair he had attended this last week, whether ball, dinner party or concert. Victoria's bright presence had transformed each otherwise drab event into something truly pleasurable.

More than that, Jed sensed her resistance to his overtures dissolving. With each circumspect conversation they shared, each glass of punch he fetched for her, each smile he coaxed from her lips, Jed patiently battered at the barriers Vicky had erected between them.

Unwilling to envision any other outcome, Jed looked forward to winning the war of hearts he waged so persuasively, just as he anticipated closing in, soon, on the circle of gunrunners and the mysterious Englishman who orchestrated the enterprise.

At first Jed had simply viewed it as his moral obligation to inform the British Consulate of the burgeoning threat in the Sudan. Then he had decided to uncover what he could when an ineffectual Reed had been charged with overseeing the investigation. But now Jed recognized that his efforts might very well bring him a benefit he had not foreseen. Should he be the one to lay bare the plot threatening Egypt, and indirectly Britain's interests in the land of the pharaohs, the Shaws would have to conclude that he was a better man than Victoria's worthless fiancé.

With renewed determination, Jed climbed out of bed. A trip to the docks called for his shabbiest, most disreputable clothing if he hoped to blend into his surroundings. Out of his wardrobe came an old, sun-bleached cotton shirt, his sturdiest, most faded, trousers, and his well-worn boots. Donning these, he completed his outfit by placing his leather hat on his head, his knife inside his boot top, and a pistol in his belt. Then he was ready. A deceptively lazy grin draped across his mouth at the prospect of finding danger and excitement within the city that had lately given him no more than an opportunity to display his manners.

* * *

Hayden's discreet inquiries and his network of informants established Kincaid's presence at the docks early that morning. Certainly someone with the American's impudent tenacity would continue his search until he discovered what he was looking for. And when he did, Hayden would be ready. Though he had a distaste for employing violence, in this instance, he would relish it.

From his hiding place in a narrow alley, the diplomat had an unobstructed view. His eyes impatiently swept the area around the warehouse used by the consulate for storing cargo it had ordered from England and the rest of the continent until it could be disbursed. Assigned the task of recording shipments and their disposal, Hayden had found it easy to occasionally hide additional illegal goods within the walls of the storehouse, and to arrange for their transport, as well. Now he'd use his power to utterly destroy Kincaid.

Almost a week ago, Hayden had begun to lay a paper trail that would implicate Jed in the smuggling. It consisted mainly of falsified receipts for shipments of questionable content and uncertain origins coinciding with Kincaid's sporadic sojourns in Cairo for this last year. In fact, heading Cookson's study made it quite simple to gather all he had to know about the rowdy American's previous stays at the Crescent Hotel.

Initially, Hayden had thought merely to cast aspersions on Kincaid so that he would no longer be welcomed in society and thus be removed from Victoria's sphere. But since the man was actively probing into the gunrunning, and was likely to appear at the spot where the rifles had usually been concealed, the American had given him an opportunity that could not be ignored. The bastard would pay for taking his woman and for putting his life in jeopardy.

Once Kincaid had visited the warehouse, the Englishman's contact inside would become expendable. Whether the man confessed his involvement or remained mute, it mattered little to Reed, for once Yosef Ahmed was dead, who would believe the American's story? With a bit of artful connivance, the murder would be blamed on Jed Kincaid. Hayden would have him arrested, and before Cookson had returned, the matter would be set to rest for good.

Given the deplorable conditions in the jails, it wouldn't be difficult for Hayden to prove the American's sudden demise while in custody was an unfortunate incident that had occurred when Kincaid had been trying to escape. And after the bastard was dead, who would dare to think he had not been guilty of the crimes the British Consulate would lay at his door?

Satisfied, Reed ran his hands along the rifle the large Arab had stolen from Kincaid's rooms after the American had left his hotel that morning, and he was hard-pressed to wait patiently for Kincaid's visit, before doing what had to be done.

* * *

Taking refuge from the afternoon sun, Victoria rested on the veranda of her parent's home. She sat dreamily, chin in hand, staring at the banks of the Nile. How extraordinary it was to think that the same waters in which she and Jed had bathed, the very ripples on the river's surface that had seen their lovemaking, had traveled northward to pass this exact location! The notion provided an irrevocable link to the past she and Jed shared. But would that history give rise to a future? She still was not certain.

Oh, she wanted Jed badly enough, so badly in fact, that she could taste his lips upon hers and feel his touch whenever she closed her eyes. But while he had recently spent time in her world, Victoria doubted her beloved, reckless Jed could ever reside there permanently. Nor, she suspected, would she truly want him to. A Jed chained by the conventions of society would not be the self-same renegade who had flaunted the rules to capture her heart in the desert. And so the question remained, was she a strong enough woman to be the sort of wife Jed would need? Think about it as she might, Victoria honestly didn't know.

Though Jed had faith in her ability to cope with the differences between them, he was blinded by his love for her. Swinging her foot in a most unladylike fashion, Victoria emitted a sigh, wishing she had even half the confidence in herself that Jed had placed in her.

She shook her head to clear it of such befuddling thoughts, and rose from her chair. Tonight she and her parents had been invited to a dinner party at Lady Trenton's house in the city. Hayden would be there, but so would Jed. If she wanted to look her best, she had to go inside and choose something to wear, certainly a much easier decision to make than any that concerned her future.

* * *

Jed's fingers stumbled over the ends of his formal bow tie for the third successive time. He swore softly in response and began his efforts anew, remembering exactly what it was he had always hated about evening attire as his usually agile fingers turned this way and that.

When he was finally successful, his was a smug reflection that stared back at him in the mirror. He turned to get his jacket when there was a loud, angry knocking on the door of his hotel room.