He oddly felt no fear. Only a wry acceptance that he was at last to be punished for his wicked ways. And regret. A sharp, biting regret that he would be leaving Emma far too soon.
Of course, if he were going to hell, he had no intention of going alone. Putting the full force of his body behind his strike, Dimitri drove the dagger directly into the center of Valik’s heart.
He felt the blade slide easily through Valik’s chest and at the same moment he felt as if a large, very angry horse had just kicked him in the shoulder. The breath was jerked from his body as the bullet slammed into his flesh, the force of the blow sending him rolling across the road.
Distantly, he heard the sound of Josef’s curses and Emma’s screams, but it was difficult to think through the sudden fog that was clouding his mind.
There was pain. Red-hot, searing pain. And a frustration that his body refused to respond to his commands, so that he could make certain Valik was dead as he was supposed to be and not preparing to shoot again. But there was also the shocking realization he was not about to make his inevitable journey to hell.
How many times had he been shot in his lifetime? A half dozen? Certainly often enough to recognize a flesh wound from a mortal injury.
He wasn’t going to die.
Well, at least not in the next few moments.
The relief had barely passed through his mind when there was a flurry of footsteps and Emma sank to her knees at his side. Welcome warmth filled his heart at the sight of her pale face leaning over him.
Surely that was terrified concern for him simmering in her beautiful green eyes?
“Dimitri, damn you,” she choked, her gaze shifting to the blood staining his robe. “I knew this was a ridiculous plan.”
He smiled at her, savoring the feel of her fingers gently smoothing the hair from his brow, even as her knee pressed against his arm to send a blaze of agony through him.
“I told you it was a bargain, not a plan,” he reminded her.
“It was still ridiculous.”
“My sharp-tongued vixen.” His gaze skimmed over her delicate features framed by a halo of honey curls. “Should you not be offering a kiss to ease my pain rather than lecturing me on my botched rescue? Which was highly successful despite your complaints.”
“Successful?” She regarded him as if he’d taken leave of his senses. And perhaps he had. He was lying flat on his back, bleeding onto a dirty Cairo street from a gunshot wound to his shoulder—his second gunshot wound in the past month—with his assailant only a few feet away, but all he could think of was the wonderment that his time with this lovely woman was not yet at an end. “You have been shot.”
“But you are safe,” he said softly.
She frowned, shaking her head in frustration. “You are the most aggravating—”
She was interrupted as Josef appeared at her side, a pistol held loosely in his hand.
“What of Valik?” Dimitri demanded.
“Dead,” the servant assured him. “What do you want me to do with the body?”
“Leave him for the jackals to enjoy,” he muttered, his pain making it difficult to think clearly. “For the moment I am more interested in bleeding somewhere other than a filthy street.”
“We must find a surgeon,” Emma breathed.
Dimitri shuddered. Any man who had traveled through the world knew one of the greatest dangers was putting his health in the care of the local doctors.
They inevitably caused more damage than they cured.
“Are you so anxious to see me dead?” he rasped.
She frowned in confusion. “Of course not, but you have just been shot.”
“I wouldn’t take my dog to the local surgeon,” Josef muttered.
“But—”
“Josef is experienced in stitching my wounds.” Dimitri headed off her arguments.
She grimaced, casting a jaundiced glance at his servant. “I suppose he has had a great deal of practice?”
“Enough,” Josef readily admitted.
“It is nothing to be proud of.” She returned her harried attention to Dimitri. “What if the bullet is still in your shoulder?”
Josef shrugged. “Then I will dig it out.”
“And risk it becoming inflamed?”
Ignoring his pain, Dimitri reached to grasp Emma’s hand. She was stubborn enough to go in search of a damnable doctor if she thought it best for him.
“I needn’t worry,” he said, his voice strained. “I will have you to nurse me back to health, milaya.”
Her eyes narrowed at his teasing, but the stroke of her fingers on his brow was exquisitely tender.
“How can you be so certain I will not leave you for those vultures you spoke of earlier?” she demanded.
“Because it is in your nature to care for others, even when they do not deserve your concern.”
Misery flared through her eyes and he silently cursed his thoughtless words.
The last thing he desired was to remind her of her worthless sister.
“Perhaps I have learned that caring for others is a dangerous emotion that is not worth the pain,” she said, her voice so low he barely caught her bitter words. “Emma—”
“Guards are coming,” Josef snapped, his hand tightening on the pistol and his slender body tense as he prepared for trouble.
Dimitri ignored Emma’s protest as he struggled to lift his head.
“The caliph’s?”
“The pasha. And they do not look pleased.”
He managed to sit upright despite the agony that jolted down his arm. “Damn.”
Seemingly indifferent to the approaching soldiers who were fully armed with both rifles and swords, Emma carefully shifted to put a bracing arm behind his back. Dimitri swallowed a rueful sigh. The ridiculous woman would always be more concerned with the welfare of others than her own safety.
Which was precisely why he intended to devote the rest of his life to protecting her.
“Surely that is good?” she asked. “We have done nothing wrong.”
Dimitri battled against the wave of dizziness, his gaze taking in the determined approach of the five soldiers. His heart sank at the sight of their military precision and obvious ease with their weapons.
This was no ragtag group of mercenaries.
They were trained fighters who had tasted war.
“We have shed blood on the streets of Cairo,” he absently murmured. “I doubt the pasha will approve.”
“Valik is…” Emma caught her words, glancing toward Valik’s unnaturally still body. “He was a slave trader. A criminal.”
“And what am I?” he demanded wryly. He turned to meet Josef’s calculating gaze. “Can we flee?”
“You can.” He nodded toward the nearby carriage. “I will distract them.”
“No.” Dimitri’s tone was commanding. He would not risk his most loyal servant. “I doubt the pasha’s mood will be improved if we were to kill his soldiers.”
He heard Emma suck in a sharp breath. “You are going to allow yourself to be captured?”
“There does not seem to be much choice.” He swiftly considered his severely limited options. There was no avoiding the soldiers. Not without putting Emma in danger. He could only hope that the pasha would offer a reasonable hospitality until he could find the means to escape. “Josef, slip away and gather the men. Take them out of the city and if we have not been released within the week—”
“Wait,” Emma interrupted, her expression grim. “You will need Josef. I have a better plan.”
His brows snapped together. “Emma.”
“Trust me.”
Without giving him the opportunity to stop her, Emma surged to her feet and darted toward the nearby palm trees before becoming lost among the shadows.
Dimitri gritted his teeth, and Josef muttered his vile opinion of females who were too stubborn for their own good. Neither, however, were foolish enough to risk drawing the approaching soldiers’ attention toward the fleeing wo
man.
Instead, they exchanged a resigned glance and prepared to be arrested by Muhammad Ali Pasha.
EMMA RAN THROUGH THE streets of Cairo like a mad woman, utterly indifferent to the drunken men and roaming packs of dogs that threatened her. All she could think of was finding help before Dimitri could be taken by the approaching guards.
A futile hope, she discovered as she at last reached Rajih’s palace only to be told he had not yet returned.
Not knowing where else to turn, Emma allowed herself to be escorted into the harem to await his arrival.
It was not as if she could approach the pasha and demand that his soldiers release Dimitri.
Could she?
Pacing the tiled floor, she impatiently counted the passing minutes. For once the soft tinkle of the fountain and the faint scent of incense did nothing to soothe her frayed nerves. Nor did the expensive wine that was left near the baths on a silver tray.
It seemed like an eternity before she at last heard the sound of voices in the inner courtyard. With a small cry of relief she darted from her private rooms, only to be forced to halt as she realized Rajih was not alone.
Standing behind one of the carved-marble columns, she watched as Rajih directed his servants to care for the five young girls huddling together in obvious fear.
She was briefly distracted as she studied the pale, dirty faces of the poor females who were dressed in gauzy trousers and tiny vests that revealed more of their shivering bodies than they concealed.
They looked so terrified. As if they could not allow themselves to believe they were actually safe in Rajih’s care.
And who could blame them? They had spent weeks being held hostage, forced from one place to another with the constant threat of being raped, or worse, hanging over their heads. It might very well be they would never again be able to trust in others.
Her heart constricted with unbearable pity, fiercely glad that Dimitri had managed to put a dagger in Valik’s black heart.
It was only a pity that the other men involved in the hideous business were not destined for a similar fate.
She waited until the robed servants had led the wary girls toward the back of the harem before she stepped from behind the column.
Sensing her presence, Rajih spun on his heel, his eyes widening in surprise as she launched herself forward, straight into his welcoming arms.
“Emma.”
“Oh, Rajih, thank God,” she husked.
He brushed his lips over the top of her head before pulling back to study her with a searching gaze.
“Should I be delighted by such a fervent greeting or alarmed?”
“Are those the girls from the brothel?”
His dark eyes shimmered with regret. “They are.”
“What will happen to them now?”
“Tipova implied that the current Russian ambassador is not to be fully trusted with young, vulnerable girls, so I will have my personal servants return them to St. Petersburg.”
She managed a small smile. If not for Dimitri Tipova, she was quite certain she would have lost her heart to this man.
“That is very generous,” she said. “You are a good man, Caliph Rajih.”
He shook his head, his fingers tucking her tangled curls behind her ear.
“You might wish to withhold your kind opinion,” he warned. “I fear I have unfortunate news.”
She pulled back, belatedly recalling he had put himself in danger to rescue the girls. Who knew how many guards Valik had left behind at the brothel?
“You were not hurt, were you?”
His dark features softened at her impulsive concern. “No, I am fine.”
“Then what has happened?”
He paused, clearly reluctant to reveal what was upon his mind.
“Emma, your sister was not among the girls I rescued from the brothel,” he at last disclosed. “I questioned the females but they claimed that Anya has been kept separate from them since they left England and they have no knowledge of where she is.” His arms tightened around her, as if fearing she might suddenly bolt into the night. “I have servants searching for her, but for the moment it seems that she has simply disappeared. I am sorry, I should have been quicker to send in my guards.”
Emma grimaced, regretting that Rajih was torturing himself with guilt at having failed her.
“No, Rajih, Anya fled before you were able to enter the brothel,” she swiftly reassured him. “All that matters is that you managed to rescue the other girls.”
“She fled?” Rajih frowned in confusion. “Alone?”
Emma shook her head, hunching her shoulders against the tide of sick betrayal.
“She was with one of the guards,” she said. “They are supposedly on their way to Austria.”
Rajih stilled, clearly sensing her distress. “Do you want me to send my guards after them?”
“No, she had made her choice.”
“Emma—”
Swallowing the lump in her throat, Emma pulled out of his comforting arms and tilted her chin. Now was no time to fret over her sister’s astounding selfishness. Not when Dimitri was depending upon her.
“Please, Rajih, I do need your assistance, but not for Anya,” she pleaded softly.
“What do you need?”
“Dimitri has been taken captive by Muhammad Ali Pasha’s guards. We must free him.”
A thick silence filled the courtyard as Rajih considered her confession, then slowly he folded his arms over his chest.
“Tell me what happened.”
As concisely as possible she revealed their carriage ride from the brothel to the mosque and Valik’s refusal to release her. She briefly faltered as she described Dimitri’s attack on the horrid man. There would not be a night when she was not haunted by the vivid image of Dimitri being shot, not knowing for an agonizing moment whether he was alive or dead.
With effort she gathered her composure and finished explaining Dimitri’s dire situation, emphasizing the very large and heavily armed guards who had been rapidly approaching.
Once she was finished, Rajih turned to pace through the perfumed shadows of the courtyard, his expression impossible to read.
“How badly is he injured?”
“The shot was to his shoulder, but I fear the bullet may still be in the wound and he lost a great deal of blood.”
“Do not fear,” he muttered absently. “The pasha has a number of healers.”
She snorted. “If Josef will let them near.”
Rajih halted, turning to regard her with a warning gaze. “The choice will not be his to make.”
A shiver inched down Emma’s spine. There was an edge in his voice that sharply reminded her that they were in a foreign country with its own laws and traditions. For the moment, Dimitri and Josef were at the complete mercy of the pasha.
“Is Dimitri in danger?”
“I am not entirely certain.” Rajih thankfully knew her well enough to speak the truth. In this moment she could not bear to be treated as if she were a mindless, shrinking violet in need of tender care. “The pasha will not be pleased that a foreigner committed murder on the streets for all to see.”
“But Valik was a slave trader, not to mention he was holding me hostage,” she protested.
“True, but the officials prefer that such matters be dealt with discreetly.” Rajih grimaced. “The pasha possesses a dislike for explaining violent deaths of the foreign consuls.”
Emma possessed a small measure of sympathy for the ruler. His country was too often at the mercy of invaders. He could not risk offending potential allies.
That did not mean, however, she would meekly stand aside and allow Dimitri to become a sacrifice to his political weakness.
She stepped forward and laid a hand on Rajih’s forearm. “Can you speak with the pasha and convince him that Dimitri is innocent?”
The dark eyes lowered to study her fingers that lay against the fine fabric of his jacket, a mysterious smile curving his lip
s.
“I could, but it would hardly be to my benefit,” he murmured.
She frowned. “Rajih?”
“If I am not mistaken, Tipova intends to take you away from Egypt.”
An uncomfortable sensation tugged at her heart. Something that might have been regret.
“With or without Dimitri I intend to return to Russia.”
His eyes lifted to stab her with a relentless gaze. “Why?”
“It is my home.”
With a gentle care, Rajih covered the fingers that rested on his arm, his gaze sweeping over her upturned face.
“No, Emma, Russia is the place you were born,” he corrected. “Your home is where you choose to be.”
A dim, nearly forgotten memory of her parents seated before the fireplace in the cottage rose to mind. There had been nothing special about the evening. At least nothing that she could recall. But the image of her mother and father snuggled closely on the sofa, their hands entwined and their faces soft with love, had created a warmth in her young heart.
That was what created a home.
“I suppose that is true.”
As if sensing her bittersweet memories, Rajih shifted to cup her face in his hands, his expression somber.
“I want you to stay with me.”
“As your concubine?”
“As my wife.”
Wife. She blinked, regarding him with disbelief.
For goodness’ sake, was he touched in the head?
He was, after all, a shockingly handsome man with a ruthless virility that would make any female weak in the knees. She had seen how women fluttered when he stepped onto the streets of Cairo.
And of course, there was the tiny matter of him being a wealthy caliph with a number of estates spread throughout Egypt.
The mere notion he could desire an aging spinster with an evil temper and sharp tongue was…
Without warning, her laughter was spilling through the dark courtyard.
“This is absurd,” she choked.
His brows drew together, his pride obviously offended.
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