Nicole Jordan (19 page)

She wouldn’t be the victor this time, either, Caro realized after a heated moment; when he finally released her, she felt dazed.

“You are being devious again,” she muttered as she stepped back and positioned herself, prepared to engage foils once more.

Just then their bout was interrupted by the appearance of a somber footman, who cleared his throat.

Flushing, Caro abruptly turned, pushing some unruly strands of hair off her face. “Yes, what is it?”

“Sir Gawain requests your immediate attendance, Miss Evers. And Mr. Leighton’s also. Mr. Ryder has brought news.”

Hope and fear both suffused her. She didn’t even pause long enough to put down her rapier as she hastily exited the gallery, leaving Max to follow.

She found both Sir Gawain and John Yates in the baronet’s study, gathered around a table, listening avidly to whatever Alex Ryder was saying.

“Have you news about Isabella?” Caro demanded as she joined them.

“Yes,” Ryder answered, his gaze flicking to Max, who had moved to stand beside her. “Thorne’s message just arrived. As we feared, Isabella was sold into captivity as a slave, but it was at a private auction rather than the public market. That, in fact, was why her trail was so difficult to follow. But at least now we have a good notion where she was taken.”

“Where?”

“There.” He pointed to a place on the map of Barbary that was spread on the table. “In the mountains southwest of Algiers, beyond a stretch of desert. She was bought by a Berber chieftain for his harem and fetched an enormous price. Anyone who paid that much is likely to take good care of his purchase. The difficulty is, the Berbers are warriors, much more fierce than Arabs, and this man is head of his tribe, more warlord than sheik. And his fortress is in a remote mountain area. If Bella is being held there, rescuing her will not be simple or easy.”

Caro’s right hand clenched her rapier while her left balled in a fist of despair. This news coming on the heels of John’s heartbreak made her want to scream and weep at the same time. “So what is our plan?” she asked Ryder.

“We must first be certain Isabella is at the fortress. Hawk has headed there to scout it out. Hawk,” Ryder said for Max’s benefit, “is the Earl of Hawkhurst. He owns a renowned breeding stable here on Cyrene and makes regular trips to Barbary to buy Barb and Arabian stock.”

“And he works for the Foreign Office as well?”

“Yes,” Sir Gawain answered. “Hawkhurst is one of us.”

Again pointing to the map, Ryder continued. “When Thorne arrived in Algiers, Hawk had already determined which corsairs had captured Isabella’s ship. But it took some time to bribe them to reveal her purchaser. Hawk is traveling there with a few servants on the pretext of searching for breeding stock, while Thorne remains in Algiers, arranging for horses and weapons for a full expedition into the interior.”

“We need to develop a rescue plan at once,” Caro interjected. “We should sail for Algiers tomorrow.”

“Thorne has advised us to wait until Hawk returns,” Ryder said. “We need solid proof of Isabella’s location before we head off on a wild-goose chase. It may take a week or two more, but the delay will likely not matter.”

“It could certainly matter to Isabella!” Caro exclaimed. “If we are already in Algiers, we could set out for the fortress the moment we hear from Hawk.”

“Yet we don’t want to show our hand precipitously,” Sir Gawain said calmly. “If we land a significant force in Algiers with no destination in mind, we could not only arouse the suspicions of the local authorities, but lose the element of surprise. And if Lady Isabella is not at the fortress, we will have to start over trying to locate her. Furthermore, not all our resources have arrived on Cyrene. You heard Mr. Leighton, my dear. It is imperative to have adequate intelligence and resources and prepare carefully in order to mount a successful operation.”

Caro shot an obdurate glance at Max.

“No,” Sir Gawain declared, “before acting, we will wait for confirmation that Lady Isabella is being held in this chieftain’s fortress. I promise you, my dear, we will conference the moment we have enough intelligence to form a detailed plan.”

Caro clamped her lips shut, Max saw, but while she didn’t argue, her frustration was apparent.

Sir Gawain turned to Max. “Mr. Leighton, I would like you to take charge of the planning. I presume there are initial considerations to be weighed?”

“Quite a number of them,” he replied. “If we’re to trek across a desert in order to breach a mountain fortress, we’ll need to decide on our exact roles, what diversionary tactics to employ, the possible contingencies to allow for. Most importantly, what damages we are willing to sustain—what we’re willing to risk. There often comes a point in any operation when the cost could be counted as too high.”

“The cost could indeed be high in this case,” Ryder agreed, frowning. “Getting there is one problem. Getting Isabella safely out, then across harsh mountain terrain and a hundred miles of arid desert is entirely another. Especially since I doubt a warlord will easily give her up. We may have to fight our way out of the fortress and back to the coast.”

Max also found himself frowning as he pictured Caro fighting in hand-to-hand combat.

“You aren’t seriously thinking about participating?” he asked her. “There’s no reason to risk your life in what will doubtless be a dangerous expedition.”

Without warning Caro raised her foil and slashed the blade in a hissing arc before letting the tip come to rest at Max’s throat.

“My life is my own,” she said tightly, “and there is no one I would rather risk it for than Isabella.”

The men watching her went still with startlement, while Max froze. He didn’t honestly believe himself in danger, but he could see the fury and frustration in her eyes.

“Caro, my dear,” Sir Gawain murmured. “I am certain Mr. Leighton is not fully aware of your credentials, or the depth of your friendship with Lady Isabella. You needn’t take his head off for it.”

She ground her teeth visibly and spat out a terse apology before tossing the rapier down on the table. “There should be no doubt that I am going to Barbary. When you finally decide to plan our course of action,
pray
let me know.”

Spinning on her heel then, she stalked from the room.

At length, Ryder cleared his throat, breaking the tension. He met Max’s eyes, a glint of humor shining in his own. “You would be unwise to underestimate Caro’s skills simply because she is a woman, my friend. Or to challenge her to her face, even if it is out of concern for her safety. You will learn that she detests being coddled.”

Max’s wry smile was self-deprecating. “I can see that. If you will excuse me, gentlemen, I think I will try to make amends for my mistake.”

By the time he reached the stables, Caro had already mounted and spurred her horse across the cobbled yard. As she galloped past him and through the castle gates, Max flung himself upon his own mount and rode after her.

He kept her in sight as she headed north toward the island’s two mountain peaks. She eventually slowed—out of concern for her winded mount, he suspected. Max followed at a discreet distance, even though he felt certain Caro knew he was on her trail.

After nearly twenty minutes she allowed him to catch up to her. Max started to speak, but Caro shook her head sharply, refusing even to look at him. They passed another few miles of cultivated fields and silver-gray olive groves and well-tended vineyards before the terrain became steeper and they began to climb.

He judged that they had ridden more than half the length of the island when the terrain suddenly became wilder. When Caro turned left off the road onto an overgrown path, Max could smell the scents of juniper and pine and hear a faint rush of water in the distance—a sound that gradually muffled the rhythmic clop of their horses’ hooves.

After a while they emerged from a glade of holm oak and Aleppo pines into an open clearing and a scene of incredible beauty. Centered between the two forested slopes lay a small blue lake, glimmering in the sunlight like a brilliant sapphire. A narrow, silver-white waterfall cascaded off the western mountainside into the blue depths, throwing up a delicate mist that settled over the thickets of myrtle and wild oleander adorning the banks. In every shaded crevice, orchids grew in abundance, vying with rock roses and cyclamen and ferns for supremacy.

The quiet splendor rivaled every sight Max had thus far seen on this island paradise.

Caro halted her mount and gazed about her reverently for a moment, then dropped to the ground. “Come, I want to show you something.”

Crossing to a ferny bank on her right, she climbed up and pushed through a tangle of shrubs and bramble before apparently disappearing into the mountainside. Max swung down from his horse and followed her.

Behind the screen of greenery, he realized, was an entrance to a grotto. The dim-shadowed interior was cool and lovely, but he had no trouble seeing, since on the far side, a gap in the rock roof let in a measure of sunlight.

The grotto was perhaps the size of his own library at home, and to his surprise, it was furnished similarly, with a stone shelf of books gracing one rock wall. At the rear, golden light spangled down through a canopy of overhanging oak leaves, illuminating the simple furnishings—two hand-hewn wooden chairs, a small table, several wooden chests, a brazier, and a straw pallet for sleeping.

“I like to think this was Cyrene’s home,” Caro murmured softly, “where she welcomed Apollo. Isabella gave this to me.”

“This is your hideaway,” Max said with a sudden flash of insight.

“Yes. My secret place. Isabella thought I needed somewhere of my own, a quiet retreat where I could study my medical journals without interruption or fear of censure.”

He glanced around the tranquil little grotto with its rippling sunlight. The splash of the waterfall was merely an echo here, giving it the feel of a protective haven.

Under normal circumstances, one could find peace and solace here, Max had no doubt. But at the moment Caro was too wrapped up in her anger and frustration to allow herself to be soothed.

Her voice was tight when she went on. “I told you Isabella was like a mother to me, but she was even more than that. She is the reason I was able to study medicine. Isabella made Dr. Allenby take me on as his apprentice.”

Max nodded. Everything he’d learned about Isabella suggested she had been the prime instigator in encouraging Caro to forge an independent path for herself.

“I owe her so much.” Caro’s hands clenched into fists. “I won’t let her remain a captive, even if it means risking my life. I have to set her free, can’t you understand that?”

He did understand. “You intend to rescue her, no matter the cost.”

“Yes! And I want to do it
now
, not weeks from now. This waiting is killing me! I can’t bear to think of what might have become of her.” Abruptly Caro gave a fierce shake of her head, squeezing her eyes shut.

“We will find her,” Max said quietly, knowing he would do anything in his power to make that vow come true, anything to erase the bleakness on her face.

Her voice caught on a sob, and she bent her head, burying her face in her hands.

Max had never seen Caro give in to despair, and a surge of tenderness swept through him. He took a step toward her, intending to pull her into his arms…but then instinctively stopped himself.

Caro didn’t need soothing. What she needed was a focus for her anger. A challenge. She responded best to challenges.

“So you mean to weep about it?” he drawled, infusing an edge of sarcasm into his tone. “What good will that do your friend?”

Caro stiffened, as if not quite believing what she was hearing.

“I never would have taken you for a watering pot,” he added deliberately. “Or a weakling who gives up at the first obstacle.”

Dropping her hands, she raised her tear-bright eyes to glare at him. “You think me a weakling?”

“I think you are letting your emotions rule you.”

She took a step toward him, her fingers balling into fists again. “I wish I still had my foil.”

“So do I. It would help you release some of your anger.”

Closing the distance between them, Max reached behind her neck to curl his hand around her nape. She tried to jerk away, but he tightened his grasp, holding her immobile.

“What the devil are you doing?” Caro demanded.

“Obliging you. Now keep quiet.” He lowered his head to cover her lips with an intentional fierceness.

The sudden, dark seizure of his kiss caught her off guard.

She fought him at first. Futilely Caro shoved her hands against his chest, a startled sound of rage coming from her throat. But Max smothered her mouth with his, forcing her lips open, robbing her of breath.

Desire scorched his body at their first contact, and he hardened instantly. Since leaving her bed early this morning, he had wanted this. And judging from the way Caro arched against him in unmistakable arousal, he knew the same brutal rush of feeling had caught her in its power.

She made another incoherent sound of protest as his thrusting tongue plunged into her mouth repeatedly, stoking her hunger, and after only a few heartbeats he could sense her responding. Her arms twined around his waist, and she opened to his plundering caresses.

The battle subtly shifted between them. Caro was still trembling with angry need but no longer resisting him, instead meeting his assault in a heated duel of tongues. When his mouth attacked hers with bruising force, she sank her hands into his hair. And when he gripped her yielding buttocks and ground against her, he felt her immediate reaction: she trembled and moaned sharply.

Unable to wait, Max pressed her backward till he pinned her against the rock wall, imprisoning her against his hard length. Lifting his head briefly, he saw that her eyes had kindled, sparking yet darkening with sensuality.

At the desire in her gaze, blood pooled hot and thick at his groin, enough to drive his throbbing manhood against his breeches.

“Max…this isn’t wise,” she said in a shaking voice.

“I am not inviting debate.”