Amara (Carlton House Cartel Book 2)

by Wendy Soliman

  Having stationed himself outside of Amara’s lodgings since early evening, hoping to catch her unawares if she went out, Claus was now incandescent with rage. Why the devil hadn’t Cora kept to their agreement and informed him of Amara’s plans for the day? She didn’t approve of Amara’s sudden bid for independence and feared for her own future as much as Claus feared for his own if she couldn’t be brought back into line before her father heard of her behaviour.

  Of all the times to go silent on him! Claus threw up his hands and swore volubly in Greek. What in the devil’s name had got into the entire female population? Suddenly, they all seemed to think that they could manage without their menfolk—another misconception that Claus would be happy to expunge.

  He stood up and stamped his feet, wondering why the lights in the first floor front room hadn’t come on all evening.

  ‘Perhaps they’ve been out all day,’ Grigori suggested when Claus expressed his concerns to the hired help. ‘They might be at the prince’s pavilion.’

  ‘They weren’t engaged to perform there tonight.’ That, at least, was something that he did know.

  Grigori shrugged. ‘Don’t mean they ain’t there, enjoying the pleasures I’ve heard so much about. All sorts of stuff goes on. There are tunnels, I hear tell, that allow the fat prince’s hussies access.’

  ‘Are there indeed?’

  Claus took a moment to wonder if that information might be a weakness he could exploit. Most likely not, he decided. Even if he knew how to find the entrance to the tunnels in question—always supposing they existed—he would first have to gain access to the grounds, which were closely guarded. He’d then have to find Amara and spirit her away, probably from a crowded room. She was unlikely to leave of her own volition and would scream the place down, much as she’d done when he tried to take her from the streets and she had pretended to be afraid of him.

  ‘Damn!’ Claus muttered, clenching his fists.

  ‘If they are in the house,’ Grigori said, ‘I ain’t seen them moving about, no one’s called to visit and it’s quiet as the grave.’

  ‘We’re not waiting any longer.’ Claus reached that decision when competing clocks struck the hour of eleven. ‘Let’s get in there and see what’s what.’

  Claus had intended to have Cora leave the back door unlocked to make their life a little easier but since she hadn’t bothered to keep their regular appointment, they’d have to do this the hard way.

  Sighing with a combination of anger and frustration, Claus led the way round to the back of the house. The wall looked a damned sight higher than Grigori had led him to believe, but he would lose face if he admitted that he’d find it a challenge to scale. His days of climbing walls were long past, but needs must.

  With another sigh when he recalled that he was wearing his newest, ruinously expensive coat that was unlikely to come through this escapade unscathed, he had Grigori cup his hands. Claus placed a booted foot in them and his own hands then just about reached the top of the wall. He cursed when he realised that glass was embedded in the top row of bricks as a deterrent. The glass cut through the leather of his gloves and warm blood trickled over his palms.

  He bit back the pain and more colourful curses, pulled himself up and straddled the wall. He heard a ripping sound as he swung his legs over and jumped down into the garden. Damn it, he’d torn the seat out of his breeches. A fine sight he would look when he confronted Amara, but he was too angry now to worry about wounded dignity. Grigori landed, as agile as a cat at his side, with no evident damage to his clothing. He grinned at the state of Claus but wisely refrained from comment.

  They approached the back of the house with caution and peered through the kitchen window. The room was in darkness, but for a single lamp left burning in the hallway beyond. Claus pressed his ear to the door but couldn’t hear anything other than the sound of his own laboured breathing.

  It was now or never.

  He nodded to Grigori, who stepped forward, did something complicated with a flat piece of wood and managed to push the bolt back almost silently. He turned the handle and the door swung open on hinges that squeaked. With a flourishing bow, Grigori invited Claus to enter first. He would have preferred to bring up the rear but didn’t want to lose face in front of a Greek sailor whose discretion was far from assured.

  Claus’s footfalls sounded unnaturally loud on the boarded floor, and he expected someone to challenge them at any moment. There were no regular male servants employed in the household, but one was occasionally engaged if there was heavy work to be undertaken. Claus knew that much from Cora. The way his luck was running, he wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if the man was there that particular evening. Not that it mattered, Grigori would deal with him.

  A quick glance in the ground floor rooms satisfied Claus that they were uninhabited. The ladies had obviously retired early, when it had been too light to require a lantern. Claus crept up the creaking stairs, more confident now, and made directly for the room at the front of the house, hoping to wake Amara from a deep sleep. He would spirit her away whilst she was still disorientated. Grigori would simultaneously nab Mrs Costas and they would be off in the waiting carriage before the ladies had time to gather their wits.

  Claus paused outside Amara’s room, listening to the absolute stillness, wondering why he could hear nothing other than the crash of the sea against the shingle and his own laboured breathing. He glanced at Grigori, standing outside of the room that Cora had told him was occupied by Mrs Costas.

  Where the devil was Cora? Sweat broke out on Claus’s brow as he became increasingly concerned. Cora knew they were planning to take the ladies back to London tonight. She ought to be packed and ready. That was part of their arrangement. It was important to Cora that she showed herself to Kazan in a loyal light, otherwise she would likely be turned away with nothing more than the clothes on her back and would starve to death. Kazan was well known for his ruthlessness if anyone in his employ defied him, distant relation or not.

  There was no time to worry about her, Claus decided. He nodded to Grigori and they threw their doors open simultaneously. Claus’s blood was up. He reminded himself of the merry dance this chit had led him and the indignities he’d been obliged to suffer as a consequence, and was ready for whatever Amara threw at him.

  He was confronted with an empty bed.

  ‘Damn it!’ Claus whispered, running back to the corridor and discovering that Grigori had fared no better. ‘Where are they? Go upstairs and see if Cora’s in the attic rooms.’

  ‘Not a chance. I said I’d get you in and help you remove the ladies, but they ain’t here. I have no intention of getting trapped up there if anyone raises the alarm. You’re on your own now.’

  Claus opened his mouth to put Grigori in his place but the man had slipped away, quiet as you please, leaving Claus to negotiate that damned wall on his own. He found a new level of cursing as he contemplated his dilemma, now regretting having paid the man for his services before he’d completed the assignment. What the hell was he supposed to do now? He walked into Amara’s room, no longer attempting stealth, and opened the closet. As he suspected, it was empty. The ladies had left. It explained why Cora hadn’t kept her appointment. Presumably they were now safely installed at the pavilion, out of Claus’s reach.

  He sat down heavily on Amara’s bed, held his head in his hands and wept tears of frustration and self-pity. He saw all his dreams of a glittering future turning to ashes at the hands of a vindictive father. Damn Amara, the ungrateful slut! He had made her what she was and he could just as easily destroy her. Self-interest quickly pushed aside pity as anger and determination coursed through him in virulent waves.

  Claus let himself out of the house, found a wooden crate to stand on and hauled himself over the wall.

  He had a few more tricks up his sleeve, and wasn’t finished yet.

  Louis fell to his knees beside Amara’s chair, seriously worried by her reaction to Chance’s news. He had
imagined she would shrug it off, given that she was unlikely to appreciate or care about the damage that George’s clumsy if well-meant efforts would do to détente. ‘What is it?’ he asked softly.

  Stupid question, he thought, taking her hand and gently running his fingers down the length of hers, mindless of the fact that they were not alone. She didn’t attempt to snatch her hand away and he hoped she gained some small measure of comfort from his gesture. She hadn’t mentioned that she was engaged to be married, but Louis supposed he ought not to be surprised by such a revelation. He had known all along that there was something she’d been holding back.

  She was clearly not enthusiastic about the match.

  ‘I cannot help but wonder why Estevan and my brother’s right-hand man would be on the same diplomatic mission,’ Mrs Costas said. ‘They cannot abide one another.’

  ‘That much is true,’ Amara agreed.

  ‘Your father would have you marry a man he doesn’t like?’ Louis’s tone reflected his confusion, although perhaps it should not have done. Hers would not be the first marriage arranged with the convenience of a parent rather than the unfortunate participants in mind.

  Amara produced a handkerchief, blew her nose and sat a little straighter, her earlier despair replaced by the look of steely determination he was more accustomed to seeing grace her lovely features when she felt angry or offended. ‘It would not be much of an exaggeration to say that my father and Estevan senior jointly own Athens,’ she said. ‘They are both wealthy and influential in all the areas that matter—including politics—but they are also fierce rivals.’

  ‘And your father wishes to resolve that rivalry by having you marry Estevan’s son,’ Sabine said, tutting. ‘Presumably, if they join forces they will be the undisputed kings of Athens.’

  ‘Estevan has wanted Amara since he first saw her and heard her sing when she turned sixteen,’ Mrs Costas explained. ‘The families are rivals, but they are civilized with it, and mix in the same social circles.’

  ‘Keep your friends close and enemies closer,’ Robert mused.

  ‘Quite. Anyway, leaving aside the fact that Amara didn’t return Estevan’s son’s regard, any alliance between the rival families would have been out of the question at the time. Think Romeo and Juliet. There are similarities in that a desire to marry would have been seen as a betrayal by the patriarchs on both sides and strictly forbidden—even supposing that Amara had been tempted, which I know she was not. She had the good sense to recognise Demetrius for the arrogant, self-serving and over-privileged individual that he is. However, things have changed radically since then.’

  ‘You refer to the political climate in Greece,’ Louis said, ‘and it seems that Kazan and Estevan see profit in presenting a united front, sealed by a marriage contract between the two families, even if one of the participants is less than willing.’

  Eva nodded. ‘That is exactly what we believe. My brother knows how disinclined Amara is for the match, which is why he permitted her a modicum of freedom now, on condition that she agreed to enter into the engagement once this tour is over. He could force her hand, of course, and he knows that she will defer to his authority, but he prefers for her to appear willing, if only to save face. It would imply a weakness on his part if others are left with the impression that he is unable to control his daughter.’

  ‘My knowledge of the area’s strategy is admittedly weak,’ Chance said thoughtfully, ‘but I seem to recollect that the Ottoman military system has fallen behind its European rivals. The Ottomans have suffered several humiliating defeats in recent years, which have prompted the initiation of a process of reform and modernisation.’

  ‘It’s true,’ Robert said. ‘But the Ottoman state understands it is under threat and has become more organised, despite suffering territorial losses in the Balkans, where new states are emerging.’

  ‘They are using you as a bartering tool over territories,’ Sabine said, sending Amara a sympathetic look.

  ‘With Constantinople as its capital and control of lands around the Mediterranean basin, the Ottoman Empire used to be the centre of all interaction between the Eastern and Western worlds,’ Eva said. ‘But all that is changing and my brother and Estevan see opportunities for Greece to become the major power in the area. I am not supposed to know it, but they envisage including all the territories it has regained to form a greatly enlarged single Greek state based on the Byzantine model, with the ultimate prize of Constantinople as its capital. The Ottomans will obviously oppose any such idea and war will be inevitable. Which means…’

  ‘Which means,’ Louis finished for her, ‘that Greece will need to ally herself with Western powers such as England. At the very least, she will need assurances that the English will not intervene in their turf war.’

  ‘They mean to negotiate our cooperation in return for not kicking up a fuss over those stones?’ Sabine asked, frowning. ‘Does this deputation really have that much authority? None of them are actual politicians.’

  ‘No, my love,’ Chance replied, ‘but we have just been told that they have the ear of those who matter.’

  ‘And seeing Miss Kazan singing here for the prince when her father didn’t agree to that arrangement will give them further ammunition to force our government’s hand,’ Robert added, scowling.

  ‘I am more concerned about Miss Kazan having to face Estevan,’ Louis replied with a flinty glower.

  ‘She is in the room, you know,’ Amara replied with asperity, ‘and you will be astounded to learn that she can speak and think for herself.’

  Louis sent her an intimate smile. ‘Sorry,’ he mouthed. Although he found it hard to apologise for the burning desire he felt to keep her safe, and free from manipulation by a politically corrupt and power-hungry alliance.

  ‘We now know that the prince has issued an invitation to the deputation,’ Chance said. ‘We must assume that he mentioned your name, so we must also assume that they will accept.’

  ‘Without doubt,’ Amara said bleakly.

  ‘Demetrius Estevan will not pass up an opportunity to see Amara when she is less strictly chaperoned than she would be in Greece. Besides, I can tell you that he is very possessive and will not like the idea of her being a part of the prince’s liberal court, despite the fact that they are not yet formally engaged. Amara’s father will not permit him to propose until we return to Greece. It would not reflect well upon him if he had allowed an engaged daughter to travel so freely.’

  ‘I am very surprised that Demetrius and my father’s man Drakos are managing to be civil to one another,’ Amara said. ‘Despite my father’s desire to bring the feud to a close, the two of them despise one another. I think there is something in their personal histories that makes it hard for them to be in the same room together.’

  ‘What is the nature of your father’s business, Miss Kazan?’ Chance asked. ‘What market does he and Estevan compete to dominate?’

  Amara shrugged. ‘Anything and everything. Constantinople, as you just pointed out, is central to almost all trade between East and West, and commodities pass through it by the shipload every single day.’

  ‘They smuggle opium from Afghanistan,’ Mrs Costas added starkly. ‘Among other merchandise that they don’t bother to pay duty on.’

  Amara looked vaguely surprised. ‘I didn’t know about the opium,’ she said. ‘You never mentioned it.’

  Mrs Costas lifted one shoulder in a negligent shrug. ‘There seemed little point.’

  ‘What help is that knowledge to us?’ Louis asked.

  ‘Not sure yet,’ Chance replied, rubbing his chin. ‘How attached are you to your family, Miss Kazan?’

  ‘What sort of question is that?’ Louis demanded hotly.

  ‘We find ourselves in a dilemma, gentlemen…’ Chance paused and smiled at Amara. ‘And ladies. On one hand we must try to prevent George from muddying the waters, stirring up unrest and making a fool of himself. That is of course our first priority. But on the other, I for
one would like to save Miss Kazan from being forced to marry a criminal and an opium dealer; a man she does not like and would prefer not to spend the rest of her life with. In my view drugs are a scourge, and cause considerable distress to those who become dependent upon them. I cannot respect a man who exploits the weaknesses of others for financial gain.’

  ‘We are in agreement on that particular point,’ Mrs Costas said with dignity. ‘My own husband, the man my brother bullied me into marrying, was actively involved in drug smuggling, which is how I know so much about it. He died in a skirmish on the Balkan route when their convoy was ambushed. My husband boasted that he was satisfying a need; I contended that he was a murderer.’

  Amara stared at her aunt and Louis suspected it was the first time she had said anything about the unsatisfactory nature of her marriage.

  ‘If we can find a way to expose their illegal activities, Miss Kazan, your father and Estevan will become fugitives.’ Chance paused and fixed her with a steady look. ‘That is why I asked you how much regard you felt for your family.’

  ‘How can you possibly hope to expose them?’ Mrs Costas asked. ‘They are extremely powerful.’

  ‘So, madam, are we,’ Chance replied, a hard edge to his voice.

  Amara mangled her lower lip between her teeth as she considered her response to Chance’s question. ‘You are asking me to choose between my father, who is a criminal and a bully, and my freedom,’ she said eventually. ‘In which case, I opt for the latter. I am conscious of the duty that I owe to my father, but I neither respect nor like him—and the prospect of marriage to Estevan frankly repels me.’

  ‘He is a handsome rogue and he knows it,’ Mrs Costas added. ‘He is accustomed to having whatever takes his fancy, simply by clicking his fingers. But he cannot have Amara and she has rejected all his attempts to charm her, which he clearly finds infuriating and probably accounts for his abiding interest in her. I also know that the moment she is under his control, he will cease to be pleasant and will punish her for making her disregard for him so apparent. His friends must know of it, and he will have lost face as a consequence. Greek men are full of pride and do not react well when their absolute authority is challenged—especially by a woman.’