Inspired by his tenderness, she wept even harder.
As he continued to wipe away her tears with the sheet or his fingers or with a kiss, he racked his brain for some other means of bringing her relief. But tearful women had been rare in his life. He was nonplussed.
Silvery moonlight streamed through twin portholes in the bow, illuminating the small cramped space. It glossed Aurore’s fair hair, shimmered over her pale flesh, highlighted her liquid eyes and quivering mouth—the boundary between dream and reality briefly coalescing in magical imagery.
Her hot tears were cool on his chest, however—a rebuke to magical thinking. And Darley was never uncertain about the boundaries of reality for long. The sky was changing color outside, he pragmatically noted. Morning was hovering on the horizon. Perhaps the dawn of a new day would bring Aurore comfort.
“How long before we reach Paris?”
Her voice was barely audible. He stopped rocking her and bent his head low. “Did you say Paris?”
“Will it be long?”
Her eyes were huge, and dark in the half light. She looked sixteen. And desperately unhappy. “We could take the train from Varna. It might be faster. Would you like that?” He felt an inexplicable impulse to add, “Tell me what I can do to make you happy again—anything at all…just tell me.” Not yet lost to all reason, though, he didn’t.
She sat up a little straighter. “I’d like that.”
Her voice held a small hint of purpose, and her woebegone expression was a modicum less forlorn. “Then we shall,” he said, feeling as though he’d accomplished some signal feat.
“I need a kiss,” she whispered, lifting her face to his.
He obliged, but tenderly—a brotherly or cousinly kiss.
“More,” she said a few moments later in the softest of little purrs. And twining her arms around his neck, she leaned in closer.
Perhaps sex wasn’t out of the question after all, he thought, aware of her hard, peaked nipples brushing his chest, conscious of the delicately altered tempo of her breathing.
His kiss this time was a kiss of seduction—teasing at first, a light back and forth motion of his lips against hers, unruffled, soft as silk, sweet as clover, indulgent in a cloudless sky sort of way.
But very shortly her idea of indulgence apparently differed from his and she opened her mouth in a slow, tantalizing spur to seduction. Willingly conceding to her charming provocation, he slid his tongue past her lips, over her teeth, and deeper still until he felt the yearning little sigh rising from her throat.
Her arms tightened around his neck and she moved her hips ever so slightly, sliding her soft bottom over his thighs in the merest little wiggle.
He knew what she was asking for, but having served as handkerchief so recently and protractedly, he lifted his mouth and asked, “Are you sure?” It was an astonishing question for a man who had amused himself in the game of amour for a very long time. He was not usually so fastidious.
Her eyes widened the minutest degree and she shifted back enough to survey his face. “You’re not actually thinking about refusing me, are you?”
“I’m trying to be polite, that’s all.” His shoulder lifted in the smallest of shrugs. “You’ve been crying for quite a while.”
“For that precise reason, I would appreciate your taking my mind off my troubles. If you don’t mind. If I’m not imposing on you.” She wrinkled her nose. “Good God, Gazi, you of all people to be put off by a few tears.”
He laughed. She was back in form—the assertive little tigress he found so fascinating. “That’s the last time I’ll try to be tactful. Look, darling, I don’t mind if you don’t.”
She snorted. “Such false modesty. As if any woman would. You know you’re good.”
“I could say the same of you.”
“I’m not sure that’s comme il faut.” She smiled. “But then so little is in this charming arrangement of ours.”
“I didn’t know we had an arrangement,” he drawled.
Her gaze narrowed slightly. “We do until Paris. And don’t you forget it.”
“Yes, dear.”
She grinned. “A submissive Gazi. Let me mark the day and hour.”
“I am always yours to command, darling, you know that,” he smoothly replied.
“All I know, my sweet, is that your lovely cock is always interested and at the moment, he and I are of accord. I suddenly, and sensibly I might add, no longer wish to dwell on unpleasantness and misery. It must be because you’re an excellent kisser,” she added, her voice sultry and low. “So if you don’t mind, right now, I only want to feel the pleasure of your cock inside me and count orgasms.”
“Ah—so I’m simply here to play stud?”
He was grinning. She glanced at his erection standing at full mast. “Why don’t we say to Varna at least. And then after that we could renegotiate if you wish. I would be willing to make it worth your”—her gaze dropped to his crotch—“splendid friend’s while to accompany me through to Paris however.”
“Done,” he said.
She smiled. “I adore how you never quibble.”
“And I adore how you make me feel like fucking ’til I drop. I’m not seventeen anymore; this state of constant rut is not in a normal day’s work for me.”
“So you think of this as work?” Her pout was sugar sweet and very close.
“Not in the least, darling.” He grinned. “More like heaven on earth.”
“That’s better.”
“No, this is better…”
They played some Kama Sutra games, a certain wildness in the air. Darley had worshiped at various temples in India and had been recognized as an industrious acolyte in the arts of love. Aurore had read the texts in a Greek translation, a beautifully illustrated version. While not as accomplished as Darley, she was in the mood to escape the world. And her partner was more than willing to accommodate her.
“That’s why you can last so long,” Aurore whispered, much later, half-breathy and momentarily replete. “I have only read of such accomplishments.”
Darley kissed her lightly as she sat on his lap, facing him, her legs wrapped around his waist, his rigid erection filling her still. “Practice, darling. I spent one hot summer at a temple in northwestern India. And as you see,” he added with a quirked grin, contracting his gluts and flexing his hips slightly, “I have very good muscle control.”
“I am so very pleased,” she whispered with an answering grin.
“I gathered you were by that last high-pitched scream,” he murmured.
“Oh dear…do you think anyone heard?”
“We’re practically at the waterline. Don’t worry, no one heard,” he lied. It was his yacht, after all. He could cajole Aurore from her tears in any fashion he chose.
And he had.
And he continued to do so—until they reached Varna.
It was not a hardship.
Chapter 21
Two days later, they took their leave of Captain Harris. The Argo was sailing on to Kulali while they would travel overland. Hiring a fiacre at the docks, Darley instructed the driver to take them to the train station.
“The war has disrupted the train schedules,” the driver warned, speaking in a lingua franca common to commercial travelers. “War matériel being transported east is clogging the rail lines.”
“A delay could be problematical I suppose,” Aurore said, taking note of Darley’s frown.
“A prompt departure would be better,” he muttered. “But I know some people in town where we can wait.” Leaning forward, he said to the driver, “The Hotel Europa.” Preferred by business travelers, the lobby should be bustling with activity. There was safety in the midst of a crowd.
On their arrival at the hotel, Darley asked the driver to wait, and escorting Aurore into the busy dining room, he ordered tea and writing materials. After composing a brief note, he handed it to a servant with instructions for its delivery. Knowing Turkish custom was averse to visitors dr
opping in unannounced, Darley had tactfully conformed to convention. “Hopefully, Rashad is in town.” He smiled. “If not, we’ll try someone else.” They needed a safe location in which to wait for the train and, more important, a private railcar for their journey.
His friend Abdul Rashad could supply both.
Fortunately, Rashad was at home and promptly replied.
Darley and Aurore arrived at the Turkish diplomat’s home a short time later and were welcomed with great warmth.
“Come in, come in!” Abdul Rashad greeted them at the door of his home, brushing aside his major domo to vigorously shake Darley’s hand. “What a pleasure to see you again, my friend! It’s been too long!” He glanced at Aurore and smiled.
“Allow me to introduce Miss Clement,” Darley said. “We are both in flight from the Russian authorities.”
“A pleasure to meet you, my dear,” the sultan’s envoy to France said, offering Aurore an exquisite bow. Then with a glance for Darley he added, “I was wondering what brought you to this little outland. You are perfectly safe here, though, never fear.” His brows flickered in amusement. “My guards prefer dead Russians to any other kind, and they can smell one a mile away.” He beckoned them toward a drawing room visible across the hall. “Come, have tea with me and tell me of your adventures.”
Abdul Rashad was a tall, striking man, past middle age, but lean and fit, his hair graying, his dark eyes imperturbable. He had seen more than his share of the inequities of the world. A Croatian by birth, Rashad had served in the Austrian army before joining the Turkish army where he had risen to prominence. His marriage to one of the richest heiresses in Constantinople also had been instrumental in advancing his career.
“Naturally,” Rashad added as they moved toward the drawing room, “my home is at your disposal for as long as you wish.”
“Thank you. The hotels are too dangerous,” Darley replied. “The Third Section is, we assume, in active pursuit.”
The diplomat half turned and met Darley’s eyes for a moment. “Espionage?” He had rather thought an irate husband. “Although, I shouldn’t be surprised with England in this war.”
“Raglan can use all the help he can get,” Darley drily replied.
“So I have heard. Our Omar Pasha has distinguished himself, however.” Omar Pasha, like Rashad, was a native of the Balkans.
“Perhaps a relative of yours?” Darley quipped.
Waving them to chairs, Rashad said with a smile, “He might very well be with a father such as mine.”
Once they were seated and a servant had poured them tea and left the room, Abdul Rashad lounged back in his chair. “Now then, supply me with all the interesting details of your espionage activities.”
Darley explained briefly all that had transpired prior to his and Aurore’s meeting in Simferopol, then in slightly more detail described how they had been discovered in Adlberg’s study, their subsequent escape and his concern for their safety. “We still have most of Europe to cross and several more days of travel facing us. And if the trains are delayed, who knows?”
“I have a number of informers in my employ as well as a sizeable troop of mercenaries at my disposal. Why don’t we eliminate your pursuers before you leave Varna?” Leaning over, Rashad offered Aurore a plate of sweets as if talk of murder was inconsequential. “It’s a simple enough matter and then your journey would be uneventful. Try an apricot pastry, my dear,” he added with a smile for Aurore. “I recommend them.”
“Even if we liquidate some of the agents,” Darley said in a considering voice as Aurore obliged their host, “there are bound to be others.”
“True, but the subsequent ones will be more wary,” Rashad noted, offering Darley the plate of sweets.
Darley shook his head, excessive sweets a Turkish obsession he forbore. “I’d prefer staying ahead of the Russians instead—if possible. The more distance we can put between our pursuers and their superiors in Russia the better. Third Section agents generally are not allowed to operate independently. In addition, Miss Clement is rather inclined to reach Paris quickly.” Darley turned to smile at Aurore. “She is concerned for her brother’s safety. I was hoping, in fact, that we might make use of your private railcar—as a security measure—and leave as soon as possible.”
Custom railcars offering luxury, comfort and privacy were in common use by those wealthy enough to afford them.
“Unfortunately, the governor of the Danubian Principalities took my railcar to Bucharest yesterday. But I’ll send him a telegraph and have it returned immediately. It should be back in Varna by noon tomorrow. We’ll have the train for Paris delayed for you.” Another prerogative of wealth.
“Perfect.” Darley exhaled in satisfaction. “We are in your debt.”
“Nonsense. Actually,” Rashad noted, “my wife is in Paris as we speak. I was planning to send the car west soon anyway.”
“We are very grateful, nonetheless,” Aurore noted. “I hadn’t realized we would be pursued even outside Russia.” She shot a critical glance at Darley.
“I didn’t see any point in alarming you.”
“Nor should you be alarmed, Miss Clement,” Rashad interposed, stepping in to allay a possible argument. “I have considerable troopers under my command. Your journey home will be safe, I assure you. Now, if you would care to refresh yourself or rest before dinner, I could have you shown upstairs.”
“Thank you—how kind. I would like that immensely.” The last few days had been turbulent. She was feeling fatigued, and arguing about who knew what when would serve no purpose at this late juncture.
A short time later as the sound of her footsteps faded on the stairs, Abdul Rashad looked at Darley, one brow raised in query. “A female spy. Unusual.” He smiled. “As is the lady. She is quite out of the ordinary—assertive too,” he added with a smile, “and more than an acquaintance I surmise. Brandy?” Coming to his feet, he moved toward a liquor table.
“Yes, she is out of the ordinary and more than an acquaintance. And yes, a brandy would be most welcome.” Sinking lower in his chair, Darley relaxed for the first time in days, the remainder of their journey likely to be undisturbed thanks to his friend’s resources.
“Are you involved with the lady—beyond the superficial?” Rashad inquired as he poured two drinks. “I ask out of curiosity. I couldn’t help but notice an intriguing look pass between you two occasionally.”
Darley shrugged. “She’s a charming companion—nothing more. I continue on to England from Paris.”
“Ah.” The older man approached with their drinks. “I rather thought I might have detected a love match.”
Taking the offered glass, Darley smiled. “She is loveable certainly.”
Rashad’s lashes drifted lower. “But not loved.”
“You of all people are hardly capable of recognizing tender passion.” That Abdul Rashad had married for reasons other than love was universally understood. And while he had chosen not to take additional wives as Islam allowed, he had devoted considerable time to sexual amusements.
“My son has fallen in love,” Rashad murmured, taking his seat opposite Darley. “I find myself envious—thinking of all that might have been had I chosen another path in life.” He smiled faintly and shook his head. “Old age. I am more inclined to melancholy I’m afraid. Tell me now,” he went on, his voice suddenly brisk, “how does the incompetent Raglan?”
Darley explained all he knew of the ongoing operations at Sevastopol and, when asked, detailed why he feared that they were being followed. “Do you know a German named Hausmann?”
Rashad nodded. “He has crossed my path from time to time. A man of considerable experience to have survived so long in his chosen profession.”
“So I understand. He pointed out a little man to me one day. The Third Section agent in Sevastopol—a dogged type he said, ambitious too. Not that they all aren’t, but some aspire to more than monetary gain. This Kubitovitch was such a man, he said.”
“
Would you recognize him?”
“Of course.”
“Give me a description and we’ll have the harbor watched. Whether he arrives before or after you depart, I will see that he is eliminated.”
“Again—thank you.”
“An invitation to your wedding will suffice.”
Darley laughed. “I don’t suggest you wait for that.”
After another brandy, Rashad called in a servant and dictated a number of orders, after which he suggested he and Darley speak to the leader of his guard troop. “I’ll send some of my men with you, so you can enjoy your journey to Paris rather than having to concern yourself with assassins. You’ll like Stephan. He’s a countryman of mine—a cousin of sorts.” The Ottoman empire offered opportunities to ethnic minorities under the sultan’s suzerainty. While central power presided in Constantinople, the government was served by a meritocracy as well, where ability rather than nationality was recognized.
“After we’ve spoken to Stephan, I’ll introduce you to a couple who will accompany you in the capacity of cook and maid. They’ve become my personal bodyguards when I travel. Very competent. Circus performers at one time. You’ll like them.”
While Darley and Aurore were enjoying the hospitality of Abdul Rashad in Varna, Kubitovitch was disembarking from a coastal steamer in Odessa. The British navy controlled the Black Sea, but steamers plying the coast with cargo and passengers were allowed to operate under her majesty’s supervision.
Fortunately, false identity papers posed no problem for a Third Section agent. Kubitovitch had several forged identities.
Kubitovitch hired a carriage and had himself driven to Third Section headquarters where he closeted himself with the director of the secret police. He presented his case in a version in which no blame for Darley and Aurore’s escape accrued to him, explaining at great length that Osten-Sacken had been a considerable hindrance to his investigation. “Those nobles look at you with a sneer or worse—you know what they’re like,” he said, meeting his superior’s gaze. “They own the world.”
At Her Service Page 18