Lady Emily's Exotic Journey (20 page)

“Make me disappear? But why? Why do you want to harm me?” Emily looked both confused and horrified.

“It is all your fault.” Mélisande turned on her. “You are stealing Lucien from me. You must know that he is to marry me and take me to France. How else am I to escape this place?”

“Marry you? Are you mad?” Lucien stepped back, aghast. “Whatever gave you that lunatic notion?” He turned to Emily. “I swear to you, never did I say to her a word to make her think such a thing.”

Emily waved a hand dismissively. “Of course you didn't. Good heavens, I am quite certain you do not go around seducing schoolgirls. But this little viper…” She advanced on Mélisande. “What did you tell them to do? What will they do to Julia?”

“I don't know! I don't know! They do not tell me their plans.” Mélisande threw up her hands. “Why do you keep asking me?”

Just then, Carnac arrived in a flurry, clothing tossed on carelessly and beard matted, to seize Lord Penworth by the lapels. “What is the matter? Has something happened to the shipment?”

The marquess—and it was suddenly a marquess who stood there in full possession of his unquestionable power—looked down frostily and removed Carnac's hands. “The shipment is of no importance. What matters now is that your daughter has caused Lady Julia to be kidnapped, possibly by slave traders. Every power at my command, every power at my government's command, and every bit of knowledge at your command, is to be devoted to rescuing Lady Julia. Nothing else matters.”

“Kidnapped? Lady Julia? What nonsense is this? Why would she want to do such a thing?” Carnac shook his shaggy head in disbelief.

“Tell them I didn't mean it, Papa. Tell them I never meant to harm Lady Julia.” Mélisande hung on her father's arm, her face blotchy with tears.

“You see,” Carnac began, recovering himself a bit. “My innocent daughter would not…”

“Your daughter is anything but innocent.” Lucien took hold of Carnac's shoulder and swung him around to glare fiercely at the old man. “Her plans misfired, and the fate she intended for Lady Emily befell Lady Julia instead.”

“And you are to blame, you stupid little man,” said Lady Penworth, swinging him around in turn and shaking a finger in his face. “Had you paid any heed to your daughter, taken even the slightest care of her, none of this would have happened.”

“Easy, my love, there will be time for that later.” Lord Penworth gathered his wife to him. “First we must find Julia.”

“Oh, Phillip, what are we to do?” She looked up at him, her face crumpling.

Still cold but now calm, Lord Penworth looked at Carnac. “Two men who sometimes work for you…” He picked up Oliphant's letter and looked at it again. “Hadad and Karif. Where can we find them?”

“Worked for me?”

“On the excavation.” The thread of Lord Penworth's patience was snapping.

“Bah. How would I know? I do not know their names, these workmen. They are all useless fellows anyway.” Carnac shook his head dismissively.

Lucien lost patience completely and seized the old man by the shoulders again, giving him a shake. “Think, you old fool. They have Lady Julia and we must find them. Where do they live?”

Fear was beginning to dawn in Carnac's face as the distress and anger of those about him finally registered. He licked his lips as if he realized they would not allow him to dissociate himself from the situation and glanced at the faces about him, all unfriendly. “I don't know, I… Perhaps my headman would know.”

“And he is where?” Lucien gave him another shake.

Carnac winced. “Near the warehouse. He lives near the warehouse.”

* * *

They dragged Carnac along to the warehouse area, and eventually managed to locate the house of the headman. He was not at home—that would have been too easy, thought Lucien bitterly. Carnac was pulled along as they began a search of nearby coffee houses, not because he was wanted but because the others would not recognize the headman.

When they finally located him in a nearby coffeehouse, he was cooperative. He was horrified to hear what had occurred and was willing, even eager, to be of assistance. It was only that—Hadad and Karif? Where did they live? He raised his hands in a helpless gesture. Perhaps here, perhaps there. Did they even have a home?

Lucien would gladly have strangled the fellow, but that would hardly have helped. They trudged back to the house, having discarded Carnac somewhere along the way, and gathered with Irmak around a map, trying to decide on the most likely places to search.

Of course, thought Lucien, David was not a fool. He would already have searched the most likely places, wouldn't he? But would they all think of the same places? He closed his eyes and tried to think of something sensible to do. If he could not think of some useful action, could he at least think of something to say to Lady Penworth and Emily? They sat huddled in a corner of the courtyard, and he could almost see the cloud of worry around them.

“Effendi, effendi! A message!” Little Yusef came running in.

Penworth snatched the paper from him and tore it open. The distress on his face changed into amazement, and he sagged against the wall in relief. “She's safe! Oliphant has her and she's safe!” He looked around at the others joyfully before he returned to the note. “He wants to know if Emily is also safe—we must send news at once. He says he has taken Julia to his grandfather's camp, and if Emily has returned safely, they will remain there until they are…married.” He blinked at that and paused to read it again. “Yes, that's what it says. If all is well here, they will be married and will return the day after tomorrow.” He looked at his wife uncertainly.

She looked as startled as he, but recovered more quickly. “Well, no one can say it is a complete surprise. It's not a bad match for her, and they seem fond of each other. There will have to be another wedding of course. Getting married in an Arab camp is hardly suitable for an earl's sister.”

Emily gave a choked little laugh and collapsed against Lucien, who was too relieved to say anything. He just held her.

Night had fallen by the time Lucien was able to escape the discussions in the courtyard. It had been something of a revelation. He had not been aware of how much the marquess—and his wife, as well—knew about the servants here and the ones who had accompanied them from Constantinople, to say nothing of Irmak and the Ottoman troopers.

Perhaps he should not be surprised that his own efforts for Varennes, taken from afar with no personal involvement, should be viewed as inadequate. He had prided himself on being unlike his grandfather, but perhaps he had been measuring himself against the wrong yardstick.

But before any of that had happened, there had been the excruciating hysteria on the part of Carnac when he learned that the fleet of rafts had been attacked and most, if not all, of the shipment was at the bottom of the river. He had come racing to the house to demand that Lord Penworth take action immediately to deal with this tragedy. The boatmen who had been slaughtered he dismissed with a shrug. It took a while before he could be made to understand that when Lord Penworth spoke of what needed to be done, he was talking about providing for the families of the men who had been killed or injured.

“But we must send an expedition at once to recover the shipment,” Carnac protested. “The stone, it is soft and will be damaged by the water, by the currents.”

Mélisande, who had trailed along behind her father, seemed to find this amusing. Emily had taken one look at the smile on her face and departed.

Eventually, the Carnacs departed, dismissed rather forcefully, and followed by Lord Penworth's look of scorn.

“What ought we to do about them?” asked Lady Penworth, tilting her head.

Her husband shook his head. “The temptation is to simply leave them here to rot, but Julia and Oliphant are entitled to have a say. And Emily as well.” He looked around and frowned when he did not see his daughter.

“She went upstairs,” said Lady Penworth in a reassuring tone. “She is quite safe.”

“Yes, well…” Lord Penworth rubbed the back of his neck and managed a smile. “That's all right, then. Chambertin, I wondered if I might impose on you for a bit. Since Oliphant isn't here, I find myself in need of a translator.”

“Of course, sir. I will do my best.” What else could he say? His future father-in-law was not enthusiastic about his suit—he had heard himself described as a “frivolous ne'er-do-well”—so he needed to provide some evidence of his seriousness. He could hardly say, “Please excuse me. I wish to go make love to your daughter.”

Afternoon stretched into evening as recent events were pieced together. Servants were thanked individually with words and with coins for their efforts. For his courageous attempt to help Julia, the little door boy was rewarded with a gold ring from Lord Penworth and a kiss from Lady Penworth.

Lucien was then enlisted to draft an account of the numerous ways in which Irmak and his men had displayed courage and gallantry, though the final letters to the vizier and the sultan would have to wait for Oliphant to put them in proper form, to say nothing of the correct Ottoman Turkish of the court. Lucien had had enough difficulty translating the spoken Arabic of the servants for Lord Penworth—the written language of the Ottoman court was beyond him.

They were seated in the office—Lord and Lady Penworth and Lucien—with both the door and shutters open. The breeze entering the room felt pleasantly cool, and the sound of the fountain underlined the quiet of the courtyard. Lucien blotted the final sheet of his notes and carefully closed the ink bottle and wiped the pens, hoping he would now be free to seek out Emily.

Lord Penworth leaned back, rolling his shoulders with a slight groan.

Lady Penworth, still sitting perfectly erect and managing to look neat and unwrinkled in the dress she had put on the day before when she set out in search of her daughter, tilted her head thoughtfully. “I believe we have done all that we can at present.”

“Yes,” agreed her husband. He looked over at Lucien with an expression best described as rueful approval. “I must thank you, Chambertin. You have been a great help.”

Lucien shrugged. “What I have done today is nothing. I still cannot comprehend how Mélisande could have behaved so, that she could have thought… I swear to you that I never gave her reason.”

Lady Penworth held up her hand. “Do not try to understand. You are a personable young man, possibly the only one she has ever met. Given her situation, one can see how she would have woven you into her fantasies.”

Lord Penworth straightened up abruptly. “My dear, you cannot mean to excuse…”

“Not at all. Whoever said ‘To understand all is to forgive all' was talking nonsense. I can understand a great many things I consider unforgivable. I was simply telling M. de Chambertin that he need not feel responsible for the girl's behavior.”

The use of the
de
with his name brought a flush to Lucien's cheeks, and he began to apologize once more for misleading them, but she waved his words away.

“At least no real harm was done by your deception,” she said. “But there does remain a problem. You have been staying with the Carnacs, and I cannot think that you will find it comfortable to return to their roof. I think you must stay here. You can send someone to fetch clean clothes for you, and we have more than sufficient rooms in the men's quarters.”

“Good heavens, I hadn't even thought about that,” said Lord Penworth. “Of course you must stay here. It would be far too awkward for you.”

“You are most kind, and I am most appreciative of your invitation.” Lucien gave a bow of gratitude to Lady Penworth, but gratitude tinged with frustration. It was indeed most kind of Lady Penworth—and most inconvenient. Under her parents' roof, he would be required to behave with great circumspection. Were he living elsewhere—well, obviously not in the Carnacs' house—ah, it would make no difference. Emily would never be permitted to visit him, and even if she could, no rooms he could rent would provide any real privacy.

He was mad, that was all, quite mad. Mad with desire for Emily. All he could hope for was that her parents would agree to a wedding soon. Would a few days be possible?

He set out in search of Emily.

He found her on the roof, bathed in moonlight and looking impossibly ethereal. No, not ethereal. But bewitching. Against the inky sky, she was frosted with starlight, as enchanting as the moonbeams that caressed her. A magical creature, not an afreet but a genie, and he was under her spell.

When he came up behind her, she turned into his arms as if she had been waiting for him, as if she belonged there. No, she was not ethereal. She was real, all softness and smelling of jasmine. He rested his cheek on her hair, a silky cushion, and breathed in the sweetness of her. She was dressed in all her skirts and petticoats again. The fabric was silky soft, but there were layers and layers of it. Even so, his hand running down her back, pressing her to him, remembered the shape of her body, the curve of her buttocks.

He pressed a kiss on her temple, then on her cheek, and she turned her face to welcome his kiss, drawing him into her sweetness. The kiss began tenderly, but then heat flamed between them and hunger called forth more hunger.

His lips explored her cheeks, the sensitive spot behind her ear, the lovely line of her neck. She made little noises of pleasure while her fingers threaded through his hair to hold him close. The row of buttons running down the front of her bodice had started to part, and his hand slid into the lace-lined passage toward her breast only to find itself tangled in the ribbons of her chemise.

That was enough to make him pause and recall him to his sense of duty. He lifted his head and straightened his back, holding her face against his chest as he tried to ease his breathing. Her heart beat against him as rapidly as his own. “Forgive me,” he said hoarsely. “I want you so, I have been longing for you, but I must not…not here in your parents' house.”

For a moment, the only sound was the sound of their breathing, then she sighed. “That is one of those masculine rules, is it not?”

He choked on a laugh. “Yes, I suppose it is. And I fear it is a rule that your papa would consider of the highest importance. Since I wish to persuade him to agree to our marriage, and to agree that it must take place as soon as possible, it would be a great foolishness to anger him.”

“Not Papa. Mama.”

“Mama?”

“Yes. The great foolishness would be in angering Mama. She would probably like to arrange a grand wedding in London, and it could take a year for her to arrange that to her satisfaction. If we wish to marry soon—and I wish that too—we must persuade her to agree.”

Lucien looked dubious. “I do not think she dislikes me, but I do not know how to persuade her.”

“Of course not. That is my task. She will wish to make her approval uncertain to begin with, because she doesn't think we appreciate things we get too easily, but I understand her.” She smiled ruefully. “And she understands me.”

“I think perhaps your maman frightens me even more than your papa
.
They are a formidable pair, those two.”

“Nonsense.”

“But yes. You do not see it perhaps because you have always known them. Your father is a most powerful man.”

“Well, I suppose he is. After all, he is a marquess.”

Lucien shook his head. “That is not what I mean. It is part of it, perhaps. His title, his position—they set him above many. But it is more than that. For example, it is his word that will determine whether or not there is to be a railroad here, is it not? That is not because he is a marquess but because he is respected and trusted by those who sent him. They know that he will give them an honest answer, not colored by his own self-interest. And then, when we were in Constantinople, I could see that the sultan was pleased by his visit. His name was known. And even those who would not know his name—Irmak is pleased to serve him because he considers you father a man of honor.”

“Goodness, you make him sound quite dreadfully pompous.” She was half laughing, half puzzled.

Lucien stared down at the floor with a frown. “I am not sure how to make it so that you understand.” He looked up and faced her. “My grandfather is also a nobleman. He insists on every gesture, every word of respect that he considers owed to him. He is alive to every slight. He will punish any man who does not bow low enough before him, who does not remove his hat quickly enough. He once ordered the mayor of the village to have a man whipped for not removing his hat in my grandfather's presence.”

“But, but how utterly ridiculous in this day and age.”

The side of his mouth quirked up in an ironic half smile. “Ridiculous, yes. And fortunately the mayor did not obey, much to my grandfather's fury. But that is what my grandfather is like. That is how he deals with the world. Your father does not need to insist on the gestures because he already receives the respect they imply. Tell me, do many on your father's estates go hungry?”

“Oh no. Papa would never permit that. He is always informed of any problems, whenever anyone is injured or ill. The tenants, the people in the villages—they are our responsibility, after all.”

“Responsibility, yes.” Lucien nodded thoughtfully. “That is why he thinks ill of me. He thinks I have failed to live up to my responsibilities, and he has reason. I have done some things for Varennes, but many problems I will not hear about, not when I am so far away. And I have not taken care to arrange things so that the problems will be addressed even in my absence.”

“Well, that can be taken care of as soon as we reach Varennes.”