“You find my proposal amusing?”
“I find it astonishing. I…” She bit her bottom lip, struggling to regain command of her fragile composure.
He stepped forward, grasping her shoulders in a firm grip. “Emma?”
“For most of my life I have either been the source of pity or amusement,” she confessed, anxious to assure him that she was deeply honored by his proposal. “It is not a simple matter to accept that a gentleman could consider me worthy to be his wife. Certainly not a gentleman who is offered the most beautiful women in the world.”
His expression eased at her words, his hands stroking a warm path down her back.
“You are a woman of rare courage and loyalty,” he said. “These are qualities that I would desire for my sons.”
Her heart missed a beat, and she sharply turned away. She had never allowed herself to consider the possibility of children. Not when she knew she was destined to be an old maid.
It was simply too painful.
“That is why you wish to marry me?”
“You know why I want you as my wife,” he husked, his arms wrapping around her slender waist and his head lowering to bury in the curve of her neck. “The question is what do you want, Emma?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
DIMITRI HAD A VAGUE memory of being surrounded by angry soldiers and roughly carried to the citadel. Thankfully, he had lost consciousness only moments after passing through the great round towers built into the walls guarding the fortress.
He preferred to stay unaware of his humiliation of being hauled to the dungeons as a common criminal.
Unfortunately, there was no means of remaining senseless when his servant was using a large dagger to dig out the bullet that remained in his shoulder. Hell, that sort of pain would have awoken him if he were dead.
Wrenching open eyes that felt as if they were filled with a good measure of desert sand, he glared at the slender man kneeling beside the low divan that Dimitri was stretched across.
“Damn you, Josef,” he said, annoyed when the words came out as a thin whisper. “That is my shoulder you are poking and prying, not a slab of meat from the butcher.”
With a last brutal twist of the dagger, Josef sat back on his heels, a smile touching his scarred face as he held up the bullet he had just removed.
“The pasha did offer one of his numerous females to tend to your injuries.” Setting aside his tools of torture, the servant grabbed his silver flask and poured a generous measure of brandy into Dimitri’s wound. “No doubt they would be gentle enough for your delicate nerves.”
Dimitri ground his teeth against his shout of agony.
Why was it that a bullet always felt worse coming out than it did going in?
Sensing the encroaching darkness that threatened to overwhelm him, Dimitri grimly tried to focus on his surroundings.
Above him the vaulted ceiling was magnificently decorated with blue-and-white tiles, the superior craftsmanship unmistakable. Far too exquisite for the dungeons. Which was an improvement on this rotten day.
With a small movement, he turned his head far enough to sweep a glance over the large room filled with the divans and large pillows that were preferred among the natives, covered in yellow-and-green silk. The walls were covered with finely carved wooden panels, and there was a massive fireplace with a green-marble mantel. At last he shifted his attention to take in the arched windows where the early morning sunlight tumbled through the grilled screens.
He grimaced, realizing he had been unconscious more hours than he initially suspected.
Where was Emma? And most important, was she safe?
“They would certainly be preferable to gaze upon,” he absently muttered.
Packing the wound with clean linen, Josef efficiently wrapped a narrow strip of fabric around his shoulder to hold it in place.
“Do you want one fetched?” he demanded.
With his thoughts still on Emma, Dimitri managed a painful laugh.
“You just dug a bullet out of my flesh, in an unnecessarily painful fashion I might add. I do not relish the thought of having another removed.”
Josef snorted, washing his hands in the ceramic bowl filled with water.
“I doubt any of the females in the pasha’s harem carry loaded pistols.”
“No, but Emma would be eager to put another in my tender backside should she discover I allowed a beautiful female to put her hands on me.”
A completely unexpected fondness flickered over his servant’s narrow countenance.
“She is too honorable to shoot you from behind. She is far more likely to stab you in the heart with a dagger.”
“That is most reassuring.” Bemused, Dimitri struggled to sit upright, relieved to discover that the worst of the fiery pain seemed to be fading from his shoulder. Of course, he did not protest when his servant helped him slip on a pale blue robe and pressed a flask into his hand. “You surprise me, Josef,” he admitted, drinking deep of the fiery spirits.
“Why?” Josef gathered the bloody rags and dagger, dumping them on a silver tray. “I have stitched you back together more times than I can recall.”
“No, I am astonished that I am not forced to endure a lecture on the stupidity of men who fall victim to a female’s snare.”
Josef straightened, carrying the tray to set it on a low table inlaid with bronze.
“You know my opinion.”
“Then why are you not scolding me as if I am a witless idiot?”
“If you must dangle on some female’s leash then you could do much worse than Emma Linley-Kirov.”
Dimitri was genuinely shocked. He had known Josef since they were both scrawny youths, struggling to stay alive in the gutters of St. Petersburg. In all that time the man had never revealed more than a bitter distrust for the opposite sex.
The predictable result of a boy beaten nearly to death by his mother and left in the rubbish to die.
“Good Lord, surely you cannot approve of a mere female?” he teased.
Josef turned to meet Dimitri’s amused gaze. “She is different from most.”
Dimitri’s lips twisted. “True.”
“Did you see her standing in the street as cool as you please, while Valik held a pistol to her head?” Josef smiled. “I could not have done better myself.”
A stab of remembered terror made his heart forget to beat. “It is a vision engraved on my mind, I assure you.”
“Most women would have swooned or at least been sniffling and begging for their life. But not Emma.”
Dimitri nearly rolled his eyes at the admiration in his companion’s voice. It was all very well for Josef to approve of Emma’s impulsive courage. He was not the one who lived in constant fear she would plunge into some disaster he could not save her from.
“No, not Emma. She would spit in the eye of the devil,” he admitted wryly. “Just like my mother.”
“That is surely a good thing?”
“I had convinced myself that I preferred females who understood that it was a man’s responsibility to offer her protection. Not a woman who—”
“A woman who would make a man proud,” Josef finished with a lift of his brows.
Dimitri attempted to appear resigned, even as a smug satisfaction flared through his heart.
Yes, he would always be proud of Emma.
She was utterly unique.
“It is a pity she is destined to put me in an early grave.”
“It is not too late to walk away.”
“It was too late from the moment she arrived in St. Petersburg.” Dimitri lifted the flask to his lips, wincing as the bandages tugged at his injury. “Damn.”
Josef moved back to the divan, scowling down at his employer.
“How does it feel?”
“As if I have a hole in my shoulder, but I will no doubt survive.” Dimitri raised the flask in a toast. “Yet another fine job, old friend.”
Josef grimaced as the faint sound of voices penetr
ated the large double doors at the far side of the room.
“Let us hope that I did not remove the bullet so that the pasha could have your head removed,” he muttered.
Dimitri struggled off the divan, grasping Josef’s arm as a wave of dizziness threatened to buckle his knees. He would meet his fate on his feet.
“We haven’t yet been taken to the dungeon, which means we are still considered guests and not prisoners.”
“Do not be so certain,” Josef muttered. “There are two very large guards on the other side of the doors. It will not be easy to escape.”
“For now I prefer to avoid insulting our host,” he said, a hint of warning in his voice. It would not take long before Josef decided he had wearied of the pasha’s hospitality and took matters into his own hands. “It is quite possible we will be released once I have the opportunity to explain to the pasha why there is a dead Russian in his gutter.”
Josef grunted. “Or he might decide we would make a tasty meal for his pet tiger.”
Dimitri hid his sudden smile, not bothering to correct his servant’s odd belief that Egypt was filled with tigers and lions and any number of other dangerous animals. “Highly doubtful.”
“So you say.”
Dimitri’s hand tightened on Josef’s arm as the doors were pushed open to reveal two slender female servants attired in nearly transparent robes with tiny jewels dangling from their noses. “Patience, Josef.”
SIX HOURS LATER, DIMITRI had managed to forget his decision to behave as a rational, law-abiding gentle man.
It was not that he had been ill-treated. Quite the contrary, in fact.
The females that had led them to the baths had been beautiful and anxious to please. Rather too anxious, he wryly admitted, recalling their shock when he had refused to allow them to wash him with their scented oils. And when they had returned to their room, it was to find a sumptuous feast had been left on trays.
Once he had eaten, Dimitri forced himself to lie back on the pillows and rest. His shoulder was rapidly healing, but it would take some time to regain his strength.
As the hours passed, however, his attempt to calmly await his fate evaporated like wavering mists of a mirage. He might be in luxurious comfort, but he had no assurance that Emma was not in trouble.
She had run into the night alone, traversing the dangerous streets of Cairo with nothing but luck to protect her.
The worry was like an aching thorn in the center of his heart.
Pacing the floor, he at last moved to stand beside the grilled window overlooking the southern enclosure of the citadel, his gaze lingering on the massive green dome of the Hall of Justice. Beyond it was the black-and-yellow marble palace built by An-Nasir Muhammad where the pasha conducted his daily business of ruling his empire.
Surely the pasha had to be near? How difficult could it be to send for him and demand an explanation for the death of Valik?
With a muttered curse he turned on his heel to glare at Josef, who was busy with his own pacing.
“Where the hell is the pasha?” he burst out.
Josef flashed him a jaundiced frown. “You were the one to counsel patience.”
“I need to know that Emma is safe.”
“Do not worry, Dimitri Tipova,” a voice drawled from the door. “Emma is under my protection.”
Dimitri jerked his head to view Caliph Rajih strolling across the delicate carpet. His gaze skimmed over the man’s white robe heavily embroidered with gold trim and the matching turban, a scowl marring his brow as he lingered on the curved sword belted to his waist.
It was more than an ornamental weapon. That was obvious from the well-honed edge and worn leather of the hilt. There was also an ease in the manner Rajih wore the sword that suggested he was familiar with using the lethal tool.
Dimitri, on the other hand, had awoken to discover his pistol and knives had been taken while he slept. And even the dagger that Josef had used to cut the bullet from his shoulder had disappeared.
He did not like feeling vulnerable.
Or perhaps it was the smug smile curving the man’s lips that he did not like.
All he knew was that he had a sudden urge to wrap his hands around the bastard’s throat and squeeze the life from him.
“Where is she?” he snapped.
“She is visiting the pasha’s seraglio.”
Dimitri’s stark relief that Emma was indeed safe warred with his outrage at the thought of her being within the pasha’s harem.
“You brought her to the citadel?”
“Do not hold me accountable.” Rajih shook his head. “She refused to remain at the palace and threatened to come on her own if I did not allow her to accompany me.”
“Ah.” Despite his annoyance, Dimitri smiled at the man’s obvious frustration. “You have my sympathy.”
“I should no doubt have chained her to her bed, but I feared yet another of your enemies might be lurking about to snatch her while I was gone.”
Dimitri refused to react to the deliberate taunt. Soon enough he would be whisking Emma back to St. Petersburg, and his newly constructed town house, where she belonged.
“My supposed enemies will be fleeing Cairo like rats from a sinking ship.”
“Do not be so certain.”
Dimitri tensed, not missing the edge of warning in the man’s voice.
“What do you mean?”
“Despite my preference that you remain conveniently locked behind these walls, Emma was quite insistent I make a personal plea for your release.”
Dimitri grinned. “She must have been quite persuasive.”
“She is aware that I would do whatever necessary to please her.”
“And what pleases her is my release? That must be a painful disappointment for you.”
Rajih waved a dismissive hand. “Emma has a tender heart and she blames herself for your situation. She will eventually see the error of her ways and accept that I offer far more than a Russian criminal can, no matter how great his wealth.”
There was enough truth in the caliph’s accusation to send an unwelcome chill down Dimitri’s spine.
He took pride in what he had accomplished over the years. Why not? How often did a ragged beggar boy actually manage to create his own empire?
But for all his accomplishments, there was no denying that he was the bastard son of a whore and worse, a ruthless criminal who was, for all his fine estates and vast fortune, no better than a common serf.
What woman with the least amount of sense would not prefer a handsome caliph who could not only offer her wealth, but an opportunity to mingle among the finest of society?
Then, squaring his shoulder, he dismissed his unnerving doubt.
Most women would indeed leap at the opportunity to become Rajih’s bride, but not Emma.
She desired many things; a family, a sense of independence, a home, but never wealth and certainly never social standing.
Those were the things that he could offer.
“She will never be yours,” he grated, his hands clenched as he stepped toward the damned intruder.
“Tipova, perhaps you can postpone your urge to challenge the man who is here to plea for our release?” Josef stepped between them, poking Dimitri in the chest. “At least until we are away from this place? There are few prisons I cannot escape from, but this is a fortress.”
Dimitri growled low in his throat, his predatory nature fully aroused. Unfortunately, he could not dismiss Josef’s warning.
For the moment, he had to swallow his pride and accept whatever assistance Rajih was willing to offer.
“Have you spoken with the pasha?” he asked between gritted teeth.
The Egyptian smiled. “I have.”
“You explained that Valik was in this country to auction young girls?”
“Yes.”
Dimitri narrowed his gaze, sensing that Rajih had not come to announce he was at liberty to leave.
“And?”
Rajih mo
ved to the tray on a side table, pouring a drink from the decanter of brandy.
“Unfortunately, I was not the only petitioner to approach the pasha concerning your presence in Cairo.”
“Petitioner?” Dimitri stiffened in shock, wondering if the word had a different meaning in Egyptian politics. “What precisely does that mean?”
Rajih emptied his glass in one swallow. “When I was brought before the pasha to proclaim your innocence another arrived to swear to your guilt.”
So, it was precisely what he feared.
But how could anyone possibly know he was currently being held captive by the pasha? And why would they come as a petitioner to proclaim his guilt?
“Who?”
“Baron Koman.”
“The Russian ambassador?” He frowned, a fury exploding through him. “Damn his black soul.”
Rajih smiled, not bothering to hide his amusement at Dimitri’s frustration.
“I assume the two of you are acquainted?”
“Unfortunately.” Dimitri paced across the floor, brooding on the unexpected complication. “The bastard must have discovered my intention to speak with Alexander Pavlovich to have him removed from his position.”
Rajih made a choked sound of surprise. “You have such influence with Czar Alexander?”
“It is not a matter of influence. The man is an incompetent fool.”
“Not entirely incompetent,” Rajih countered. “He made quite a compelling argument that you are an infamous Russian criminal who had recently decided to take command of the slave trade.”
Dimitri came to a sharp halt, unable to dismiss the sensation that there was far more to his current troubles than an indolent, half-witted Russian nobleman.
“If that were true then why would I have killed Valik and allowed the girls to be released into your care?”
“It was suggested that it was a battle for power.” Rajih shrugged. “You would, after all, need to destroy the current business before establishing your own.”
Dimitri paused, his suspicions becoming certainty. “Koman made this suggestion?”
Rajih set aside his glass, sensing the sudden danger that prickled in the air.
“Why are you so surprised?” he asked. “You admitted the man has reason to wish you harm.”
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