Dimitri prowled forward, his expression hard. “Yes, but he is a lazy, stupid man who is barely capable of summoning the ambition to leave his divan.”
An age-old bitterness flared through Rajih’s dark eyes. “He resembles every other foreign diplomat in Cairo.”
“The crux of the matter is that Koman might pout and complain and even threaten retribution, but he would never summon the initiative or the temerity to approach the pasha,” he growled, fiercely regretting his lack of weapons. “And he most certainly does not possess the intelligence to devise such a clever means of implicating me as a slave trader.”
The dark eyes narrowed. “I assure you that it most certainly was the baron I just witnessed testifying to your guilt.”
“I do not question his presence, only his motive,” Dimitri replied, his voice cold. “There has to be more than revenge that compelled him to the citadel.”
With a glare at Dimitri’s bristling manner, Josef attempted to ease the rising hostility in the room.
“What could be more powerful than the desire for revenge?” he demanded.
Dimitri folded his arms over his chest. “Fear.”
Josef absently stroked a finger over the scar marring his cheek.
“You believe he fears the loss of his position as a diplomat?”
“No,” Dimitri readily denied. Koman was a self-indulgent pig who cared for nothing beyond his own pleasure. “It has to be a greater threat than his career.”
“His wealth?”
Dimitri nodded. “Or his life.”
Rajih made a sound of impatience. “You make no sense, Tipova. What possible gain could be in forcing Koman to testify against you?”
Dimitri’s attention snapped back to the caliph, his suspicions a hard knot in the pit of his stomach.
“Tell me what the pasha has decided.”
“Obviously, he has been put in an awkward situation.” Rajih paused, as if carefully considering his words. “He has long considered me a trusted advisor, but he cannot be seen to ignore the accusations of the Russian ambassador who also happens to be a powerful nobleman.”
A cold, humorless smile curved Dimitri’s lips. His cunning mind was already devising various plans of escape that did not include the pasha or Caliph Rajih.
“I sympathize with his dilemma, but that does not reveal what he intends to do with me.”
“Or me,” Josef muttered.
“He has sent an advisor to St. Petersburg to speak with Czar Alexander before a decision is made.”
Dimitri exchanged a startled glance with Josef. Was his mysterious enemy unaware that Alexander Pavlovich owed him several favors and assumed the czar would be happy to leave Dimitri rotting in a foreign prison? Or was this simply a delaying tactic?
He had first assumed that Koman’s petition to the pasha was an attempt to punish him. It could be an opponent who desired him to be distracted for some nefarious purpose.
And he knew precisely who would desire him to be distracted.
“A tidy means of avoiding responsibility,” he mocked.
Rajih silently studied Dimitri’s forbidding expression, his hand instinctively reaching to curl around the hilt of his sword.
“You should be grateful. It was within his power to have you executed.”
Dimitri was in no mood to be appreciative. “Am I to remain a prisoner while the advisor is in Russia?”
“A guest.”
“A guest who is unable to leave the citadel?” he growled.
Rajih shifted his weight, his fingers tightening on his sword.
“An unfortunate necessity.”
Dimitri refused to be intimidated, regardless of the stupidity of confronting an armed man with nothing more than his bare hands.
“It is also a predictable response.”
Rajih narrowed his gaze. “Predictable?”
“The pasha had little choice but to insist I remain under guard after a prominent ambassador accused me of trafficking and murder.”
Josef cleared his throat, his gaze nervously darting between the two men.
“Who would want you trapped here?”
Dimitri’s gaze moved with a slow deliberation over Rajih’s poised body.
“There is one gentleman who comes to mind.”
With the elegant ease of a trained swordsman, Rajih had the sword pulled from his belt and the tip pressed beneath Dimitri’s chin.
“If I wished to be rid of you, Tipova, I would not bother with such an elaborate scheme,” the Egyptian warned. “The desert is littered with the bones of my enemies.”
Dimitri was vibrantly aware of a faint breeze wafting through the grilled windows, the perfumed oils that clung to his robe and the trickle of blood that ran from his chin down his neck.
One misstep and he would be skewered.
“Perhaps you did not want me dead, but merely unable to return to Russia with Emma,” he snapped. “With me locked in the citadel, you will be at liberty to offer her…” His jaw tightened. “Comfort.”
The sword dug deeper, making Dimitri flinch, but he ignored the pain. Instead, he concentrated on the outrage that smoldered in Rajih’s dark eyes.
That was not the expression of a man attempting to hide his guilt.
No. He was clearly offended.
Dangerously offended.
“You insult both Emma and myself,” Rajih gritted. “I am not so desperate that I need to trick a female into my arms, and Emma is not so weak she must cling to whatever gentleman happens to be at hand.”
With a grudging reluctance, Dimitri accepted that Rajih was not responsible for his current dilemma.
A pity.
He would have enjoyed wreaking vengeance on the arrogant son of a jackal.
“You are right,” he managed to mutter. “I apologize.”
“Are you taunting me?”
“No.” Dimitri grimaced. “My particular business demands that I be able to discern when someone is lying or telling me the truth. You cannot feign wounded pride.”
With obvious annoyance he would not be allowed to remove Dimitri’s head, Rajih lowered his sword and stepped back.
Josef moved to pour a large glass of the brandy, his expression revealing he held Dimitri entirely responsible for the near disastrous encounter. He downed the liquor in a single swallow.
“If it’s not the caliph, then who?”
Rajih shrugged. “There are others who would wish you to be…indisposed.”
Actually, there was an endless list of potential enemies. He had not achieved his position without cunning, treachery, coercion and a vast amount of brute force. But how many of them knew he was in Cairo? Or in the custody of the pasha?
And how many were powerful enough to force Baron Koman to do his bidding?
He gave a frustrated shake of his head. There was still something he was missing.
“Who do you suspect?”
“Valik’s guards bolted the moment he left the brothel,” Rajih offered. “They would be delighted to have you locked away while they attempt to make their escape from Egypt.”
“It is possible.”
“Or perhaps it is an unknown adversary who is manipulating matters from the shadows.” Rajih smiled. “You seem to have a talent for creating enemies.”
Josef set aside his empty glass. “We can discover the identity of the enemy once we are away from this place.”
Dimitri paused before giving a discontented nod. “How long before you can convince the pasha to release us?” he demanded of the caliph.
“There is nothing to be done until Czar Alexander has responded to the pasha’s request for assistance.”
Dimitri’s brows snapped together. “Impossible.”
“There is no choice.”
“Then I will find my own means of disappearing.”
“Do not be a fool, Tipova.” Rajih deliberately lifted his sword, his warning unmistakable. “If your servants are caught attempting to slip into the citadel they wi
ll be put to death immediately. Just as you will be killed if you are caught trying to escape.”
“You cannot expect me to remain trapped here like a rat….”
Dimitri bit off his words as he was struck by a haunting reality.
Trapped.
Yes, that was precisely what he was.
Trapped and all but helpless.
If he were the mysterious enemy why would he want his prey trapped and helpless?
Rajih stepped toward him, regarding him with a suspicious expression.
“What were you saying?”
Dimitri forced a grim smile to his lips. “Very well.”
Josef swore, reaching to grasp Dimitri’s arm in a punishing grip.
“Tipova—”
“Josef, it is obvious we must wait for Alexander Pavlovich to demand our release.” He overrode his servant’s protest.
Josef glared at him with a sour disapproval. “You are assuming he won’t tell the pasha to have us fed to his tiger.”
“Tiger?” the caliph asked in confusion.
“It is of no importance,” Dimitri muttered, swallowing his pride as he contemplated the most pertinent dangers of his situation. “I must demand a favor of you, Rajih.”
Dimitri had to appreciate the manner in which the man hesitated before offering his promise. He might never be friends with Rajih, but he did respect his integrity.
“That depends upon the favor,” he admitted.
“I assure you that it does not include storming the citadel.”
Rajih heaved a resigned sigh. “I am listening.”
“I wish for Emma to be returned to the safety of St. Petersburg.”
The other man stiffened, a stubborn expression settling on his lean face. Not that Dimitri was surprised. Rajih made no secret of his desire to keep Emma for himself.
“That is her decision.”
“No, you must be firm with her,” he insisted. “We both know how stubborn she can be. She will remain so long as she fears I am in danger, regardless of the fact that my enemies might very well use her to punish me.”
“You do not believe me capable of keeping her safe?”
Dimitri crushed his possessive instincts. For now all that mattered was that Emma was whisked far away from Cairo.
“Once she is in St. Petersburg, she will be under the protection of Herrick Gerhardt, the czar’s most trusted advisor. And more important, she will be too far away to be an effective pawn. That is the only true means to keep her safe.”
There was a pause as Rajih considered Dimitri’s request, then with a wry smile, he offered a dip of his head.
“I will do my best, but I do not perform miracles.”
“That is all I ask.”
The caliph turned to walk across the floor, pausing as he reached the heavy doors.
“It has been many years since I visited your country,” he murmured, his voice filled with a blatant anticipation. “It will be delightful to spend a few weeks at the Summer Palace.”
Dimitri clenched his hand, watching as the caliph stepped out of the room and the door closed behind him.
He should have stabbed the bastard with his own sword.
Indifferent to Dimitri’s brooding desire for blood, Josef moved to stand directly before him, his hands planted on his hips.
“Have you gone completely mad?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THE SERAGLIO WAS TRULY a place of wonderment.
Although recently refurbished, it maintained the charm of ages past with a domed ceiling decorated with blue-and-gold tiles to form a night sky slumbering above a large fountain carved into the center of the marble floor. The inner wall was covered by fine tapestries with a doorway that opened to the private gardens, while the arched windows on the opposite wall were covered by golden grills.
The furniture, however, was surprisingly European with several scrolled settees and an applewood writing desk situated beneath a framed mirror.
It was all very beautiful, but Emma was acutely aware of the heavily armed eunuchs patrolling the spiderweb of corridors and private rooms. It would be all but impossible for a person to slip unnoticed out of such a formidable fortress.
A knowledge that weighed heavily on her heart.
Ignoring the various refreshments served to her by veiled servants, Emma anxiously paced the floor, awaiting Rajih’s return.
Not that she was particularly reassured when she was at last led to the lower stables where Rajih hurried her toward the waiting carriage. Not after he revealed that Dimitri was to remain a guest of the pasha until Alexander Pavlovich could be convinced to demand his release.
“No.” With a jerk she freed her arm from Rajih’s grasp, her chin jutted to a stubborn angle. “I am not leaving until I am certain that Dimitri is safe.”
Regaining his grip on her elbow, Rajih steered her around the edge of the black carriage and away from the numerous servants milling about the stable yard.
“I promise that he is at considerably less risk as the guest of Muhammad Ali Pasha than in St. Petersburg where he no doubt possesses any number of enemies,” he said.
“But he is not a guest,” she hissed, “he is a prisoner.”
Rajih grimaced, casting a covert glance toward a passing groom.
“Emma, I beg that you keep your voice down unless you wish both of us to share his fate.”
She bit her lower lip, well aware she owed this man a debt of gratitude that could not be repaid.
Not only had he risked his life to rescue the poor girls from the brothel the previous evening, but he had sacrificed his pride to request Dimitri’s release, even though he would as soon cut out his tongue.
And there was no escaping the knowledge that he had done so for her.
Just as so many others had suffered to assist her.
“Forgive me, Rajih, I never intended to put you in this awkward position,” she said. “I have caused enough trouble for others.”
Rajih frowned, cupping her chin to lift her face so he could study her suddenly subdued expression.
“None of this is your fault, habiba.”
She could only wish that were true. Perhaps then she would not be plagued with a relentless guilt.
“If I had not been so stubbornly determined to chase after Anya, then Dimitri would be enjoying his life in St. Petersburg and you would not be forced to jeopardize your friendship with the pasha to plead for his release.”
“The fault lies with the men who kidnapped the girls to sell like animals, not you.”
“Still—”
He placed a finger across her lips, his gaze sweeping over her face with an odd yearning.
“Emma, the past cannot be altered. We must consider the future.”
She sucked in a deep breath, ignoring the stench of horses and unwashed body that tainted the air. Her regrets would have to wait until she had the time and opportunity to make amends. Instead, she grabbed Rajih’s hand and regarded him with a determined expression.
“You are right, of course, but that does not mean I am willing to abandon Dimitri.”
The dark eyes simmered with something that might have been disappointment before he had smoothed his features to an unreadable expression.
“I am not suggesting that you abandon him, but rather that you use your own influence to ensure that he is found innocent,” he said, his voice smooth.
She stepped back, suddenly wary. “You want me to speak with the pasha?”
His brows lifted at her impetuous words. “No, as charming as our leader would no doubt find you, this is a country that believes a woman should remain silent behind the walls of the seraglio. He would not allow you to testify on Tipova’s behalf.”
“Barbaric.”
“It is the way of my people.”
“Then how can I help?” She twisted her hands together in frustration. She detested the sense that she was helpless to rescue Dimitri. “You just admitted that Baron Koman has proven to be a traitor.”
“Yes.” Rajih’s expression hardened, warning that Koman could expect to be punished for his treachery. “A most unexpected complication.”
“Does Dimitri know why the baron would claim he is guilty?”
Rajih shrugged. “He says he does not.”
“Maybe he is a part of the trafficking and now hopes to deceive others into believing Dimitri is responsible,” she absently mused.
“It would be a convenient means to make another pay for his sins,” he agreed. “But Dimitri is convinced there is another forcing the baron to do his bidding.”
She snorted. “Dimitri is not always so infallible as he wants others to believe.”
His lips twisted. “I will readily agree with Tipova’s bloated arrogance.”
Emma glanced toward the looming citadel, shivering despite the heat of the late-afternoon sunlight and the heavy ivory-colored robe that was richly embroidered with pearls.
“If I am not to approach the pasha or Baron Koman, then who am I supposed to influence?”
“Czar Alexander.”
Emma’s mouth dropped open in disbelief. Had Rajih just suggested that she blithely call upon the emperor of Russia and demand that he have a notorious criminal released from the prisons of Muhammad Ali Pasha?
“Are you jesting?” she breathed.
“Not at all.”
She shook her head, swallowing her urge to laugh. “I fear you have a mistaken notion of my importance, Rajih.”
His expression softened as he lifted a hand to brush a stray curl from her cheek.
“That is not possible.”
“But it is,” she insisted. “You met me in London in the companionship of the Duke and Duchess of Huntley, but that is only because they owed Dimitri some mysterious debt. I am not the lady of society I pretended to be.”
Amusement smoldered in the dark eyes. “For which I am eternally grateful, considering you were posing as Tipova’s wife.”
She ignored his teasing, determined that he would know the truth of her.
“What I mean is that I am not the person I pretended to be.”
“Then who are you?” he asked, his voice soft.
“I am…” With a sharp motion she turned away, hiding her troubled expression. “Nobody.”
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