Must Have Been The Moonlight (5 page)

Alex turned her head. “Do I detect a hint of malcontent, Brea?”

Suddenly annoyed with herself, Brianna returned her attention to her camera, where she’d removed the outer box casing. “I think that I’m dissatisfied with the whole world order of things.”

“You always are.” Alex’s voice seemed to smile. “I’ve seen Major Fallon at various functions since we’ve been in Egypt. But no one knows anything about him. Women have tried.” Lady Alex studied her fork with an intensity borne of a new perception. “It’s better they pant over him rather than my husband.” She resumed eating. “Cairo pulls in quite a winter crowd. Fortunately, this is also the time of year when sites open for excavation and I spend most of my time out of town. I try to stay busy and not think about anything else.”

All of which Brianna understood. God only knew that she’d made her fair share of mistakes to end up in Egypt in the first place, but the thrill of adventure had waned considerably since her arrival.

It didn’t help that a derailed train had stranded them in an antiquated village for a week in September. Then there had been that dangerous altercation with their camel driver in October. As there was no notoriety in falling sacrifice to anyone’s brutal passions, Brianna had actually drawn her pistol on the turbaned brigand who was supposed to have been their guard. Then there was the horrible event last week…

“Major Fallon was very disturbed when he’d heard that Captain Pritchards was the officer in charge of the caravan,” Brianna said.

“The major was supposed to have been in charge of the caravan.”

“I see.” Brianna focused on the lens in her hands.

“Christopher didn’t want me to make the trip,” Alex quietly said. “You wouldn’t be here now if not for me, Brea.”

“I’m here because I choose to be, my lady.” Finished cleaning her camera, she began to put it back together. Although the morning was crisp, the air was rapidly becoming hot. Within an hour they would have to return inside. “Does Christopher know about the baby?” She changed the subject.

“No.” Alex dabbed the edge of her sleeve against her eye. “I’m thirty-two years old. Neither of us ever thought it possible.”

“My lady—”

“Brea…” There was unexpected affection in Alex’s tone. “Why do you remain so stubborn? You’ve always had permission to use my name.”

Brianna respected her sister-in-law more than any other person in the world. Alex was everything that she struggled to be. Intelligent. Daring. Independent. She’d made people proud of her. “Be still, my heart.” Brianna laughed. “Your real name? All ten of them?”

“You’re such a fraud, sister-of-mine. And far more headstrong than you should be.” Alex thrust her fork into her bowl and speared a piece of meat. “Did you know that this tastes almost as good as Major Fallon’s chicken stew?”

“Truly, my lady”—the absurdity of the statement coming from someone so worldly hit Brianna—“did you see any chickens clucking about the watchtower?”

Alex’s green eyes widened. Suddenly they were both laughing. Hysteria bubbled at the surface, but Brianna didn’t care. They were raving lunatics in a hostile world. Heaven only knew their will to survive had been all that had stood
between them and vanishing forever in the desert. Better to lose one’s mind now. Instead, it was as if a safety valve had suddenly opened to let out the steam.

Alexandra lay back on the sand. “It hurts to laugh.”

Brianna fell beside her and nearly on top of the pair of dusty boots that had suddenly appeared. Major Fallon was looking down at them. He no longer had a beard, and if he had been noteworthy before, he was devastating to her female psyche now. Brianna turned on her stomach. A woman could drown in eyes like his.

“Major Fallon.” Alex struggled to her elbow. “We were just touting your culinary expertise.”

“Your praise is obvious.” If he felt insulted, it didn’t show.

Beneath an open caftan that hung to his knees, his torso was bare save for the dark thatch of hair that narrowed and disappeared in the low waist of his baggy pants. In one hand he carried the long rifle. He knelt, bringing with him the scent of his shaving soap. Fine black hair shadowed his armpits.

“I’m glad to see that you’ve both recovered,
amîri
.” His eyes seemed almost a caress on hers.

The feeling inside Brianna was so unexpected, she wondered what was wrong with her. “We Donallys are forged in iron, Major,” she managed in the spirit of the moment.

“That’s reassuring,” he said, his voice silky dark. He stood. “Because I’ll be needing your clothes. Tomorrow night we’re riding back into hell.”

“I
t’s never my luck that anything might be simple.” Alex wrinkled her nose. “Or that Major Fallon couldn’t have found clothes from a man who’d bathed within the last year.”

Brianna struggled with the binding around her breasts, then slid a robe over her head. “I only hope he knows what he’s doing.”

“My lady, are you prepared to leave?” Abdul said from the other side of the screen after they’d finished dressing. Brianna looked up to find Alex working the turban over her head. A strand of Alex’s hair, bleached honey by the sun, had escaped captivity, and Brianna tucked it behind her ear. She worried that Alex felt feverish. “Walk with stride in your step, my lady.”

Major Fallon entered the tent as they stepped out from behind the partition. Earlier, he’d stopped to say something to the feminine versions of themselves, eating dinner outside beneath the awning. Their disguises complete, people had to believe Brianna and Alexandra were still in camp or Major Fallon’s plan would fail. The night was still.

The very image of a desert warrior, Major Fallon turned when Alex approached, and the front of the tent flap dropped as he stepped inside.

He’d been implicit in his instructions. Alex would leave first. She was dressed as one of Christopher’s cooks.

“You’ll be staying with the foreman’s family for two days before the caravan leaves. Everything will be packed,” he said, when he caught Lady Alex’s gaze going over the photographs on the shelves.

“I’m sure you’ve seen to every detail, Major Fallon.” Alex’s reply was every bit that of a lady. “I’m not worried for myself, only for my husband.”

“Five armed men from the outpost will be traveling with you. It will look like you’re part of your husband’s staff. If anyone is watching tonight, they will see me leaving with you and Miss Donally.”

“I don’t have to tell you to be careful.” She held out her hand, and he brought it to his lips. “
Salaam aleikum
. Go in peace.”

Bowed over her hand, he responded in kind. Abdul gave her a silver tea tray. Together they walked out of the tent.

Brianna remained where she’d been left as she watched Major Fallon observing Alex’s departure. A skein of jealousy lifted her chin. The strength of it caught her by surprise. A single tallow lamp lit the cavernous space of her brother’s desert abode. The plan was that she would wait thirty minutes. A guard would ride into camp, enter the tent, and she would ride out in his place.

Abdul had promised earlier that her photography equipment had already been packed. She didn’t want to fret over something so frivolous. She shifted her thoughts. The way Major Fallon had looked with his robe off that morning came to mind as she found herself alone with him. Brianna caught him regarding her, his expression indolent. And her heart did that strange flutter that she didn’t like.

His eyes went to the long winding cloth in her hands. She’d been unable to make the turban stay on her head. “I’m
afraid my hair is not the sleek, glossy tresses of which legends are made.” With one hand, she whirled her braid like a lasso. “I swear, I’m cutting it off when I return to Cairo.”

“That would be a shame.”

“Why?”

His soft leather boots making no sound on the carpet, he took the cloth from her hand. “I imagine it looks decent when brushed.”

“Goodness, Major”—she flapped a hand in front of her face in a mock swoon as he stepped closer—“you have a poetic way with words.”

He was taller than Christopher, who stood inches above most men. “Turn around.”

“My mother’s hair was blond and wavy,” she said.

His hands worked the turban around her head with deft ease. Unsettled by the novelty of her sensual interest in him, she schooled her features, ignoring his warmth against her back. “Not one person in my family inherited anything from her except the predisposition for wavy hair. She was English. Her family disinherited her when she married Da.”

Now if he’d been any other man, he’d have offered her condolences or sympathy and they might have diverted to a topic of dialogue. “British families are like that,” he said.

He suddenly became more fascinating. “What horrible sin did you commit that your family would disown you? Or did you disown them?”

The dark look he slanted her told her that the topic wasn’t up for discussion. Normally, she wasn’t so easily cowed, but these weren’t normal circumstances. Sizing up his mood, she elected to abstain from questioning him. Whatever softness might lie inside him was guarded and deep, and he had a way of closing himself off; except from Alex, she realized.

“As much of an aggravation as my family is, I love them very much,” she said quietly. “Stand against one Donally and a person stands against all.” Brushing her hands over the robe, she felt the push of her breasts against the tight bind
ings. She didn’t know how she was going to manage the constriction all the way back to Cairo.

And that was when she felt it all over again, the sense of dread that kept dogging her. She was comforted to know that she and Major Fallon were allies, so to speak. He’d shared her outrage, had a personal connection to the victims, and she welcomed his ability to think rationally. “Will there be a cart to take Lady Alexandra into the village?” she asked. “I’m concerned about her walking.”

“How far along is she?”

“I…” Brianna flushed hotly, and was glad he was hovering over her head and couldn’t see her face. She didn’t make the mistake of accidentally touching him, and kept her hands at her side.

“Surely someone who is never shocked isn’t struck speechless?”

“I’m not speechless.” Her nose was pressed to his chest as he tugged and looped the cloth around her head. “Nine, maybe ten weeks,” she said. “A logical conclusion, considering she didn’t know when we left Cairo. I mean, the last time she and my brother…they were together in Giza. They shared the same camel, all right?” She could feel his grin as she stumbled along making a fool of herself. “Are you sure this plan will work?”

He tipped her chin and looked down into her eyes. “My presence on that caravan will not make you any safer.” He returned his attention to her turban. “In fact, it’ll probably make you less safe. At least this way, if someone is out there watching us, they’ll be following me.”

As well as the two men outside, who were dressed up like women. They were setting an ambush. “Naturally that makes me feel more at ease. Who protects you?”

“I know what I’m doing,
amîri
.”

Their faces were close as he worked the turban. So close she tasted the scent of peppermint on his breath, which was pleasant.

It occurred to her in her musings and admiration that he’d experienced worlds she’d only glimpsed in novels and photographs. He spoke the language, had acquired the mannerisms of the people, and hadn’t seemed to fret that two proper English women had gawked at him while he shaved. Her gaze slid past his tanned throat to touch the firm square of his jaw and she focused on his slightly parted lips, which showed the edges of straight white teeth. Her feelings were potent because he’d kept her safe, and he was risking his life to continue to keep them safe. What woman wouldn’t find that a weight on her emotions? It wasn’t as if she were attracted to him. Completely, swooningly attracted, anyway.

She knew when he became aware of her eyes on his mouth. Her lashes lifted another notch, and she found herself staring into eyes the color of fine sterling. A smile was in his gaze and on his lips. Her mind had turned carnal. Curiosity more than anything kept her legs immobile.

“Stay with Abdul,” he said, his voice laced with gentle humor. “I don’t want to get back to Cairo and learn that you’ve been thrown into someone’s harem.”

“I’ll do my best, Major,” she said, her guilty thoughts making her response testy. “Though I have no idea how I’ll possibly control my urge to fraternize. I mean, it’s an awfully long trip.”

His gaze slid over her lips. In the silver glitter of his eyes, she recognized the challenge that she’d thrown at him last night. Indeed, ever since she’d told him that she wasn’t easily shocked, it seemed as if he went out of his way to shock her on purpose. Now that her ladyship wasn’t present, he was behaving obnoxiously.

He splayed his chin. “I did wash and shave.”

“Now you wish me to tell you if your kiss is memorable?” she brazened, unwilling to allow him to intimidate her.

A charged silence filled the empty space between them, forged on her part by recognition that unlike Stephan Williams, this man was not afraid of Christopher. The shock was exciting.

Dangerous.

Unexpected.

She knew she was insane to find him attractive, or to even think about involving herself with someone the khedive called the Barracuda. Yet, she’d discovered to her horror that she wanted him to kiss her.

“How old are you?” he suddenly asked.

“Excuse me?” Her head oddly dizzy, she only knew that she was old enough to kiss a man. “Twenty-two. In six months. Why?” She thought she’d heard an oath. “How old are you?”

“Much older than you are.”

“How much?”

“Eleven years. A decade…”

Her eyes widened in mock horror. “Four thousand days, plus or minus a few weeks.” She despised the implication that she was a child. More so now, because she was feeling her inexperience. Maybe it came from being the youngest in a family, and having to fight for every inch of respect she’d ever received. Or getting no respect at all. “Goodness, Major Fallon.” Stepping away, she put the space of the desk between them. “I still would have been wearing pinafores when you were off doing…whatever it is boys who think they are men do.”

He was leaning against the desk. “While you were wearing pinafores, I was fighting with Gordon in China.”

“I see.” Lord, how had they gotten to this point anyway? “I’m quite capable of making my mind up about men, Major.”

“No doubt you are.”

“It isn’t as if I haven’t seen enough pictures and statues in my lifetime to know what happens between a man and a woman. Christopher collects some of the most erotic eastern artwork I’ve ever seen.” Finding new purpose for her turban, she raised the heavy cloth over her mouth. “It is only art, after all.”

Major Fallon had not responded except to arch one brow.
“And here I was thinking, with the ten minutes we have left, we could have all-out lusty sex in the back room, just me and the desert breeze against your hot naked skin.” Exuding potent sexuality, he leaned toward her. Brianna flushed to the roots of her dark hair. Only her blue eyes shone above the tagilmust. “Trust me, Miss Donally, I may be a cad, but I am somewhat discriminating about the women I choose to take to bed.”

She laughed, rolling her eyes. The man had the morals of a camel. Not in her whole life had anyone ever spoken such candid filth to her. Her reaction was purely self-defense. “I happen to know that you have a mistress. So, you’re quite safe from me and my cap.”

He’d crossed his arms. His heavy sleeves covered his hands. “You mean Yasmeen?” He gave her a wicked smile that did not reach his eyes—a perfect sphinx version of his usual grin. If he was disconcerted that he was a familiar topic among the ladies at the consulate, it didn’t show. “It seems that you have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know anything about you. Except that you’re a photographer.”

“A very good one, too.” She released her turbulent exhalation. How many people in her life actually knew her? “I like the sunrise and the way the air smells in the morning. I love roses. I miss the rain.” She’d left her self-extolment a trifle seraphic, for she was also a member of the temperance society for city children. She’d marched in London with the ladies of suffrage, had seen the inside of more than one gaol, and, after having had her most recent publication banned in England, found herself exiled by her family to Egypt. Now, for someone who was supposedly in love with another man, she was experiencing myriad feelings that she didn’t understand. “And I think that you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen,” she finished by saying, and watched the mockery slide from his gaze. “They’re not quite blue. They are…”

“Gray, ashen, stormy?”

“One might even say they’re very nice to gaze into.”

“And what do you say, Miss Donally?”

“I say that it’s unfortunate you only want what you cannot have, Major.” She’d seen the way he’d looked at Alex on more than one occasion. “But I suppose, wanting what you cannot have gives you a reason to remain angry with the world.”

The silver gaze he fixed on her didn’t waver, and where his formidable authority had lent him only certitude moments ago, she now glimpsed something else in his expression that defied description. It pleased her that the intrepid Major Fallon was human after all.

The sound of an approaching horse intruded. Her heart began to beat harder. Her body double had arrived and, at any moment, a servant would be walking into the tent to announce his arrival.

“I don’t suppose I’m going to get that kiss after all?” She just had to be cocky. It was in her nature: when things got tough, she turned into an ass. Clearly not amused, Major Fallon pushed off the desk and walked to the cot, where he retrieved a rifle.

“You aren’t going to shoot me, are you?”

“Now there’s a thought that never crossed my mind.”