Scoundrel's Honor (16 page)

Stefan replaced the fire screen, then joined Dimitri at the window.

“You look like hell.”

“Which is precisely how I feel,” Dimitri admitted.

The duke's astute glance lingered on the bloody rip in Dimitri's coat.

“Shall I summon a surgeon?”

“I have recovered from far worse.” He took a drink of the vodka. “Have you spoken to Emma this morning?”

“It is still early. She is asleep in her bedchamber.”

Dimitri narrowed his gaze. Emma was frantic with her concern for her sister, not to mention anxious to stick a dagger in his heart, he would bet his last ruble she was pacing her floor as she awaited his return.

Assuming she had not found a means of slipping past Huntley's servants.

“Are you certain?”

Huntley grimaced. “I personally locked her in her rooms despite my wife's fervent protests. Any debt between us is now paid in full.”

A sympathetic smile touched Dimitri's mouth. He had been subjected to Leonida's “fervent protests” during her stay in St. Petersburg.

“Agreed.”

“Tell me what happened after I left,” Huntley commanded. “Did you manage to locate Sanderson?”

Dimitri rubbed the aching muscles of his neck, still awaiting the sense of elation he had expected to feel. He
told himself that he was too weary to properly celebrate his victory.

“I apprehended him as his carriage was leaving his town house. By the amount of luggage he had packed I assume he intended to be away from his home for a considerable length of time.”

“Did he struggle?”

“He fell to his knees, weeping like a baby.”

Huntley shook his head in disgust. “Spineless coward.”

“He did manage one lucky shot,” Dimitri muttered, his arm aching from the bullet wound. “The bastard.”

“Where is he now?”

“Your message to Liverpool ensured the prime minister was prepared for my arrival with my captive. Liverpool swore that Sanderson would be well guarded until he could finish his confession to the king.”

“And then?”

“Then he is to be given into my care to be taken to Alexander Pavlovich.”

“What of the others?”

Dimitri shrugged as he turned to pace the floor. Despite the exhaustion that clung heavily to his body, he felt oddly restless.

Or perhaps not so oddly, he wryly acknowledged.

The incessant need to be with Emma was an itch that would not be dismissed. She was his to protect, a savage voice whispered in the back of his mind. Not Huntley's.

“The king's guards have been sent to capture Timmons and Jergens. They should be in custody by the end of the day,” he muttered, unnerved by the primitive sensations that smoldered deep in his heart. “It will take weeks, if not months to gather the various servants involved.”

“So it is done.”

Dimitri turned back toward his companion, his expression grim.

“Not entirely.”

“Ah.” Huntley gave a nod of comprehension. “Anya.”

“Your servants have been searching through the stews, but thus far they have found nothing.”

“That is unfortunate.”

Dimitri's sharp laugh echoed through the room. “It is more than unfortunate. Emma will hold me responsible if we do not find her sister.”

Huntley offered a smile of sympathy, wise enough not to bother with absurd assurances that Emma would understand Dimitri was only doing what was best for her. They both knew the woman could not be reasonable when it came to her sister.

“They cannot hide forever, and I assure you that I have the roads leading from London being watched,” he promised. “They will not slip past my guards.”

“And the docks?”

With a shrug, the duke moved to pour himself a glass of brandy. “I have sent word that anyone seeking passage for a number of young ladies is to be detained.”

Dimitri's brows snapped together. “Huntley, men who are in the smuggling trade do not purchase tickets.”

“Perhaps not as a rule, but those men had no plans to flee London without notice. It is not a simple matter to arrange for a ship willing to sail with illegal cargo.”

“True enough,” Dimitri grudgingly conceded, still far from satisfied.

There were a large number of captains willing to turn a blind eye to smuggled goods with the proper incentive, but there were only a handful who were willing to dabble in the slave trade. It would surely take Valik a few days to arrange passage out of England.

Unless…

The flask dropped from his hand, the fine vodka spilling across the Persian carpet.

Huntley stepped toward him with a frown. “Tipova?”

“It is a simple matter if there is already a ship waiting,” he gritted.

“What?”

“The
Katherine Marie.
”

Huntley's eyes widened. “Bloody hell.”

“Well, I hope the two of you are pleased with yourself.”

As one they both turned to head toward the door, only to be halted as Leonida swept into the room, appearing remarkably beautiful in an ivory morning gown trimmed with sable and her golden hair artfully curled, but it was the angry flush on her cheeks and the tears glittering in her eyes that captured Dimitri's attention.

“Darling, now is not the best time…” Huntley began, then paused as his wife pointed a finger directly in his face.

“She is gone.”

An icy dread sliced through Dimitri. “What did you say?”

Leonida turned to glare in his direction, her expression one of furious accusation.

“Since I refuse to starve my guests while they are being held as a prisoner beneath my roof I had a breakfast tray prepared,” she hissed. “When I entered Emma's room I discovered her bed had not been slept in and that her belongings were missing. She is gone and you have no one to blame but yourself.”

E
MMA STOOD AT THE BOW
of the ship, watching the dancing waves that shimmered the color of mercury in the sunlight. In the distance, the coast of Alexandria was drawing ever closer, making her shiver at the exotic silhouettes of domes and obelisks that stood starkly against the vivid blue sky. Dear Lord, had she been a fool to come here?

It was a question that had haunted her since she had allowed Caliph Rajih to lead her from the Duke of Huntley's town house to his waiting ship.

Not that Rajih had given her cause for alarm, she conceded. In truth, he had behaved as a perfect gentleman during the voyage, joining her only for dinner in her private cabin before placing a chaste kiss on her lips and disappearing topside.

Emma could not discern whether his restraint was because the rough seas had demanded his full attention among the crew or because his flirtations in London had merely been a means to lure her onto his ship.

Or perhaps he considered her a female worthy of more than a convenient affair that would make her a source of amusement among his crew.

Unlike some gentlemen of her acquaintance…

Her hands tightened on the brass railing, her teeth clenching at the unwelcome thought of Dimitri Tipova.

No, she would not waste her time thinking of the man who had sacrificed her sister for his own revenge.

“Imposing, is it not?” a soft male voice whispered in her ear.

She turned her head to discover Rajih at her side, her eyes widening in surprise at the sight of him standing in his traditional white robes. Accustomed to seeing him in European attire, she could not deny a faint shiver of appreciation at the sight of his sophisticated facade stripped away to reveal the ruthless man of the desert beneath.

Of course, what woman would not appreciate the striking beauty of his dark, austere features and black eyes that burned with a restless intelligence?

Disturbed by her unexpected reaction to his presence, she abruptly turned to regard the vast citadel that Rajih was pointing out with obvious pride.

Constructed of pale stone, the large fortress consumed most of the island where it had been built to defend the city of Alexandria. Her gaze obediently skimmed fortified walls and forbidding castles that no doubt had terrified potential invaders.

“Very impressive.”

“Yes, however it is a pity that the famed lighthouse that once stood in that precise location was destroyed. It was said to possess a vast mirror that could offer glimpses of distant cities and could cause attacking ships to be consumed by flames.”

A portion of her tension eased at his light tone. As was no doubt his intention, she acknowledged with a faint smile.

“A most astonishing mirror.”

“It was. But now it is lost like so many of our treasures.” He shrugged, the anguished regret she sensed deep inside him at the callous plunder of his country tempered by a grim determination to regain command of Egypt's future. “But enough of the past.” He swept his hands toward the busy quay. “This is the future.”

Emma's attention turned toward the docks, momentarily dazzled by the large crowd milling along the banks of the
river. Men with turbans, veiled women, sailors, fishermen, hawkers and children in all hues filled the air with a near-deafening clatter.

It was confusing and strikingly foreign and for a moment, Emma breathed in the brilliant sights and sounds. How different this was from her cold, barren cottage in Yabinsk.

Never in her wildest fantasies could she ever have considered the thought of standing at the bow of a ship with a handsome caliph at her side as they arrived in Egypt.

With a shake of her head she sharply reminded herself of the reason for her to be so far from home.

“Exquisite, but far more crowded than I expected,” she admitted, her brow furrowed with concern. “How will we ever find Anya among so many?”

“It is doubtful the men will linger in Alexandria. They will earn a far better price for their merchandise in Cairo. For now there is nothing to be done but to appreciate the charms of the city.” Rajih stepped closer, a smile curving his lips as she gave a sudden exclamation of delight. “Tell me what you see.”

She pointed toward the strange animals kneeling at the edge of the water.

“I presume those must be the camels I have read of?”

He chuckled at her amazement. “They are as necessary to my people as the horses are to yours, but I must warn you they can be as temperamental and stubborn as a female.”

She narrowed her gaze. “Indeed.”

Capturing her hand, he lifted it to press his lips to her knuckles, then before she could protest his intimacy, he was pointing toward the horizon.

“There. Do you see the dome?”

“Yes.”

“That is the seraglio of the pasha.”

“Seraglio?”

“The harem.” He smiled at her predictable frown before
smoothly turning her attention toward the towering obelisk. “And there is Cleopatra's Needle as well as Amud el-Sawari, or as the French have called it, Pompey's Pillar.” His fingers brushed her cheek, his dark eyes lingering on the curve of her lips. “Perhaps if we have the opportunity I will take you to the catacombs. They are quite popular among the tourists.”

Her heart missed a tiny beat. Only a female in her grave would fail to appreciate Rajih's potent attraction.

“But surely you do not intend to linger?”

“It will be morning before a boat can be arranged to take us to Cairo.”

Her hands tightened on the railing. She had been certain they were gaining on the men who held her sister captive. Now Rajih was suggesting she tour Alexandria as if she were a silly tourist while Anya was taken ever farther away from her.

“What about those camels?” she demanded. “There must be a few we could—”

Rajih turned her to meet his somber gaze. “Emma, it will be far quicker, not to mention considerably more pleasant to travel by boat.”

She made a sound of impatience. “I am not a pampered lady of society. I am accustomed to hard work and considerable discomfort when necessary.”

“But it is not necessary.” He laid a finger over her lips to cease her objections. “And while I do not question your fortitude you are not yet prepared for the unmerciful punishment of the desert. You must trust me.”

Emma heaved a frustrated sigh. She did not want to trust Rajih. Or Dimitri. Or any other man.

She wanted to find Anya and return home where they both belonged.

Unfortunately, she had no choice but to depend upon the
caliph and to pray that he truly intended to help her rescue her sister from the monsters who had stolen her.

She returned to her cabin as they docked, pulling on a bonnet that was the precise shade of her pale orchid gown and arranged the veil to cover her face. Then, standing aside as her baggage was taken by a small boy wearing no more than a baggy pair of pants and sleeveless vest, she allowed Rajih to lead her off the ship and into a waiting carriage.

She settled on the leather seat, wincing at the turbaned servants who ran ahead of the vehicle, cudgeling the unwary who strayed in their path.

“Where are we to stay?”

“I own a house in Alexandria.” Rajih waved a slender hand at the men who rushed to line the streets, shouting out what Emma presumed must be words of welcome. “It is far more modest than my home in Cairo, but it will offer a welcome comfort after such a rough journey.”

On the point of demanding the precise nature of their living arrangements, Emma was distracted as their carriage was halted by a caravan of donkeys carrying men who beat small drums. Following them was a small crowd attired in silk robes trimmed with gold.

“Good heavens.”

“Do not fear.” Rajih placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. “It can be somewhat overwhelming for a visitor.”

“Somewhat?”

“Customs and fashions, and even religion, might separate countries, but people are very much the same wherever you might travel.”

She sucked in a steadying breath, her gaze skimming over the palm trees that lined the narrow lane and row of pale stone buildings that held shops, hotels and cafés where men sat around tables smoking tall pipes.

“I suppose that is true enough.” Her gaze lingered on the
gentlemen wearing familiar tailored jackets and breeches strolling down the street as if they were royalty. “And to be honest, I am surprised to find so many Europeans.”

Rajih shrugged. “It was not so long ago that the Sultan Kebir was in command of my country.”

Sultan Kebir?

“Napoleon?” she deduced.

He nodded, the muscles of his jaw knotted. There was no need to ask his opinion of the French invaders.

“Yes.”

“And you have yet to be rid of the infidel invaders?” she asked gently.

The dark eyes hardened in grim resolution. Caliph Rajih was a man who would sacrifice whatever necessary, including his pride, to resurrect his country from the ashes.

“For now we have need of their expertise,” he forced himself to admit. “In ages past there was none who could compare with our scholars and engineers and scientists. We ruled without equal and none could stand in our path.”

The carriage jerked back into motion, turning toward the outskirts of the bustling city.

“Do you intend to conquer the world?” she teased.

“Not this evening, but in time our glory will be restored.”

Emma wrinkled her nose. Egypt had not been the only country to be invaded by Napoleon's forces, nor to have sacrificed the blood of too many good soldiers to be rid of his armies.

“Perhaps it is because I am a mere female from a forgotten Russian village, but I prefer peace to glory.”

The merciless expression eased as he tugged a honey curl that had escaped from beneath her bonnet.

“As a
mere female?
” he drawled. “The crew of my ship was convinced you possessed the heart of a lioness with
your golden beauty and fierce courage. You are as rare as the finest emerald.”

His finger drifted down the curve of her neck, then scooped along the low cut of her bodice. She shivered, instinctively pulling away from the temptation of his touch. No matter what the caliph's attractions, she had given her heart to another.

Even if he was an ungrateful jackass.

“Rajih.”

He smiled with a rueful resignation. “He is far away and yet still in your thoughts, is he not?”

A flush touched her cheeks as she attempted to feign indifference.

“He?”

“Your Russian thief.”

“I have no desire to discuss Dimitri Tipova.” She clenched her teeth against the jagged ache of loss. “He is a part of my past I wish to forget.”

“And yet you carry his memory in your heart.” Before she could guess his intention, Rajih grabbed her hand and pressed it to his lips. “Have no fear, beloved. I shall banish his ghost in time.”

Having discovered it was impossible to argue with arrogant men, Emma sought to distract her companion instead.

“Goodness, why are those children darting into the road?”

The shimmer in his dark eyes revealed that he was aware of her ploy, but with a last kiss on her knuckles, he shifted to slide open the carriage window. At once a clutch of ragged boys ran forward, shoving tiny bundles into Rajih's outstretched hand. He tossed a handful of coins into the street before closing the window and turning back to Emma.

She watched in interest as he delicately unwrapped a fig leaf and revealed a small pile of dark fruit.

“Taste,” he urged, lifting one of the delicacies toward her mouth.

“What is it?”

“Dates dipped in honey.”

She took a tentative bite, sliding shut her eyes in appreciation as the sweetness exploded on her tongue.

“Mmm,” she breathed, unconsciously licking her lips. “Ambrosia.”

She heard Rajih's breath catch, his eyes darkening before he lowered his head.

“Allow me,” he rasped, kissing the honey that clung to her mouth. “The sweetest of ambrosia.”

His enticing scent cloaked around her, the exotic spice as heady a temptation as the strength in the hand that cupped her face. It would be easy to give in to Rajih's urging to replace Dimitri in her heart.

Not that she truly thought he could accomplish the impossible feat, but there would be undoubted pleasure in the effort.

Thankfully, she was a woman who learned from her mistakes.

She had allowed herself to depend upon Dimitri and had been betrayed. She would not allow another man the opportunity to disappoint her.

Pressing her hands to his chest, she pulled away from his kiss.

“We have halted.”

His hand briefly tightened on her cheek, then with obvious reluctance he pulled back, a flush staining his cheekbones.

They said nothing as a servant in loose robes rushed forward to pull open the carriage door, and Rajih led her
into the three-storied stucco home that was framed by palm trees and mimosa.

She noted the tiled floors and fountains surrounded by low divans as they moved through the foyer and into the inner rooms. She had no need for Rajih to tell her that the tapestries that lined the walls were ancient heirlooms or that the delicate pottery were priceless works of art. Even a peasant from Russia could recognize the exquisite craftsmanship of her surroundings, she wryly acknowledged.

They stepped through a set of towering doors into the square courtyard before Rajih at last came to a halt and turned to offer her a small bow.

“Welcome to my home, Emma Linley-Kirov,” he said in an oddly formal fashion.

Her brows lifted as she studied the small stream of water that meandered through the dark greenery and the banks of flowers that filled the air with a thick perfume. In the center was a large fountain that sprayed water into the air and was surrounded by marble benches.

It was like a hidden jewel; all the more lovely because it was so unexpected.