by Anne Gracie
Shortly afterward Baxter knocked on Omar’s door. He’d looked in on his place of business on the way and called to a thin young man, bent over a pile of documents. “Ben,” he called. “I want you to come with me. Bring paper and pen and ink.”
He had to knock twice on Omar’s door. As they waited Baxter sniffed the air. “Smell that? There is a bakery near here. Get us some fresh bread, Ali. We will make a proper breakfast after this.” He tossed him a coin.
Ali looked at the coin doubtfully. “But it is Laila’s bread,” he said. “You do not need to pay.”
“Laila’s bread? Of course. I’d forgotten she’s a baker.”
“It is very good bread,” Ali told him. “It sells very quickly.”
“Then run and buy some for me before it all runs out,” Baxter told him. “I could do with some very good bread.” Ali shrugged and went around the corner.
The door was finally opened by Omar himself. He was around Baxter’s age, a plump man with thick lips, a paunch, and thinning hair. He peered blearily at the visitors and scratched his stomach. “What is it?” His clothing was rumpled, as if he had slept in it.
Baxter introduced himself, stepped inside, and repeated his offer of employment for Laila. He carefully outlined the conditions of employment.
Omar sniggered when he finished. “That’s what you call it, is it? Keeping a woman in the house? I found out all about you. A widower, aren’t you? Think I don’t know what you want my sister for?”
“You are mistaken,” Baxter said coldly. “It is a fair and honorable offer I make; your sister is a respectable woman.”
“She is,” Omar said. “Which is why I say no. Laila’s duty is to her family.”
“Your family being you?” Baxter asked.
“I am head of the family. I decide what my sister does.”
Omar’s gaze slid over Baxter like oil, taking in the rich fabric of his robes, pausing at the gold signet ring on his finger.
Sizing him up, Baxter thought. He waited for the offer he knew would come.
Omar glanced at Ben, standing meek and silent by the door. “Who is that?”
Baxter shrugged. “Just one of my clerks.”
Omar looked conspiratorially around, leaned forward, and murmured, “For a price, I might reconsider.” His breath stank.
“Let me get this clear,” Baxter said. “For the right price, you will allow me to debauch your sister?”
Omar shrugged. “If the price is right.”
At that moment, Laila came in from the rear of the house. Her eyes flew to Baxter, then to Omar, and then back to Baxter.
“What is going on here?” she asked. As if she didn’t know.
“Outside, woman, this is men’s business,” Omar snapped.
She left with quiet dignity.
“Can you read?” Baxter asked Omar.
“Of course,” Omar said with a certain bravado.
Baxter pulled out a notepad and pencil, sat down cross-legged at the low table in the middle of the room, and swiftly filled the page with fluent Arabic. When he’d finished, he handed the page to his assistant, Ben. “Tidy that up. Two copies,” he said. “And hand me the pouch.”
Ben sat, pulled a leather pouch, ink, and paper from a satchel he’d been carrying, handed the pouch to Baxter, and began to copy rapidly.
As Ben’s pen flew, Baxter began to count out money. He did it slowly, deliberately, watching Omar out of the corner of his eye.
Omar, who’d watched Ben’s swift, neat writing with a bemused air, was instantly distracted. His eyes bulged as the pile grew. He sat, his mouth wet, watching avidly. His hands twitched.
Baxter finished counting and set the pile in the center of the table. “Is that sufficient?”
Omar nodded eagerly. He reached for it, but Baxter’s hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist, so hard Omar winced.
“Not yet,” Baxter said in a hard voice. “You must first sign the agreement that you will give your sister to me in exchange for this sum of money.”
Omar snatched the pen and scribbled his name on it, barely glancing at the paper.
His hand crept toward the money.
“Sign the other copy,” Baxter ordered.
Omar signed. Baxter countersigned each document and handed it to Ben, who also signed, then sealed each document with red sealing wax.
He handed one copy to Baxter and the other to Omar. “Take it.”
Omar seized the money, stuffed it into a shabby cloth bag, and bundled it into his shirt before Baxter had a chance to change his mind.
Baxter rose and went to the back door. “Laila,” he said. “Pack your things, you’re coming with me.”
She didn’t move. “Omar said yes?”
Baxter nodded. “He did.”
She glanced at Omar, standing behind him, and her eyes narrowed. “How much did he ask for?” she asked Baxter in a low voice. “And what did he promise?”
“Not at all what he imagined,” Baxter said softly, and she stared at her brother.
Omar was reading the document, silently, his lips moving slowly. He looked up, a shocked expression on his face. “Bride price? This is a contract for marriage?”
“Marriage?” gasped Laila.
Baxter glanced down at Laila and shrugged. “He was prepared to sell you, but I don’t buy people. A marriage contract, on the other hand, is a legal promise, and an exchange of money is quite acceptable. However, it’s entirely up to you. It’s a practical alternative, that’s all.”
Laila stared back at him, stunned. “But this is not what we agreed. You don’t even know me,” she whispered.
Again he shrugged. “I’ve trusted my instincts all my life. And your message said you would trust me to do what was needed.” He smiled. “Trust begets trust.”
“Beget?” Omar sneered. “She is barren.”
“It is true.” She gave Baxter a long, searching look. “Are you sure of this, sir?”
He smiled. “You can call me Johnny. Or Jamil if you prefer.”
“I like Johnny,” she said. Her eyes were shining.
“It would just be a practical arrangement,” he reminded her carefully. “No hearts and flowers.”
“Hearts and flowers?” She looked puzzled, and he recalled that she probably had no concept of romantic love. Here they understood practical arrangements.
“It’s practical,” he repeated. “A solution to both our needs.”
“Practical.” She nodded. “Yes, I will come.”
“But I did not agree to marriage,” Omar blustered.
“You did, and in writing, signed, witnessed, and sealed.” Baxter patted the inside pocket where his copy rested. “Laila will come with me now. The rest is up to her.”
“Now? But who will make me breakfast?” Omar grumbled.
“Pay someone.” Baxter told him. “And if you ever lay a finger on Laila again, or even come near her without her invitation . . .” He paused to let the message sink in. “I’ll thrash you to within an inch of your life.”
Baxter has taken Laila!” Ali burst in on Ayisha and Rafe.
Ayisha had gone to his house to return the change from her shopping expedition.
“What do you mean, Baxter has taken Laila?” she demanded.
Ali excitedly explained.
Ayisha could not believe her ears. “He has offered her marriage ?”
“Yes, he says it is practical, and I think so, too, for if they are married, Omar cannot touch Laila. But Baxter made him sign a document in writing with a red wax on it, so maybe that will be enough. Laila has taken everything of hers and yours and mine to Baxter’s house.”
“What about my cat?”
“The cat, too. Baxter likes cats. Laila has forgotten nothing. She even took a little bag that clinked from behind a brick in the oven.”
Ayisha was stunned. “We are to live at Baxter’s house now? No more Omar?”
“Yes, it is very good, is it not?” Ali hurried on, “Laila
has gone with Baxter, but she has not yet said she will marry him. I don’t know why. I like Baxter. And he is rich. If she marries Baxter, will that make us rich? It would be nice to be rich. Do you think she will marry Baxter? And if she does, what will that make me? If she is my foster mother, will that make him my foster father? He says we will all live with him. He told Laila to bring everything she wanted, so we packed everything and now we live at Baxter’s—Laila, me, and you. Do you think that means I will sleep inside tonight? In a bed, a real bed?”
Ayisha laughed at the eager torrent of questions. “I don’t know what will happen, but yes, I think tonight you will sleep inside in a real bed. And so will I.”
And, she thought, that was Laila and Ali settled safely. Which meant . . .
“What’s all this?” a deep voice said from the doorway. “I heard Baxter and Laila’s names mentioned.”
Ayisha explained what had happened. The excitement slowly drained from her as the consequence of Laila’s move became clear. In Rafe’s blue, implacable gaze she saw he knew it, too.
She had no more excuses to delay. Her time in Egypt was at an end.
Nine
He has sent Higgins on to Alexandria to book passage on a ship and says we will leave here in two days. Two days, Laila. What will I do?”
Laila hugged her. “You will follow your destiny, child, as I follow mine.” They were sitting cross-legged, facing each other on a low, wide bed in the previous cook’s quarters. Compared to Laila’s house, it was luxury.
“Will you really marry Baxter?” Ayisha asked her. The room smelled of soap and sunshine; Laila had scrubbed the place from top to bottom, washed all the bedclothes, and dried them in the sun.
“Of course.” Laila smiled. “But not just yet”
“Because he is rich?”
Laila shook her head. “Rich is very nice, but a rich woman can be as happy or as unhappy as a poor woman. Money brings comfort, that’s all.” She looked around the room and patted the rich bedcover. “I have comfort here already. And if your Englishman gives me a house—”
“He will,” Ayisha said with certainty.
Laila smiled. “Then I am no longer a poor woman, and I can choose.”
“Why marry Baxter, then? You don’t even know him.”
Laila shrugged. “I married my husband without even meeting him.”
“So is that why you will wait? To know Baxter better?” Laila shook her head and gave a rueful smile. “Marriage is always a gamble. You don’t know until you’re in it what it will bring. You just have to close your eyes, pray, and jump—then do your best to make yourself happy.”
Ayisha sighed. A leap of faith. It was exactly how she felt about going off with a tall, dark stranger with blue, blue eyes. If she wasn’t careful, she would be . . . lost.
“If that is true, why wait?”
A slow, feminine smile grew on Laila’s face. “The waiting is for Baxter, not me,” she said softly.
“I don’t understand. You know he wants you. He asked you.”
“Yes, and he talks of ‘practical arrangements’ and ‘convenience. ’ ” Laila snorted.
“Is it not?”
“Oh yes, but that is not all it is.” She smiled to herself. “A woman knows when a man wants her.”
“How does she know?” Ayisha burst out. “How?”
Laila’s face softened. “Ah, you are thinking of your Englishman, little one. I cannot tell you the answer; it is something every woman must learn for herself.”
“Is it?” Ayisha said in a flat voice.
Laila laughed. “Ah, that is what frightens you, eh? You fear that you will give him your heart, and that he will break it, eh?”
She took Ayisha’s hand. “That is our fate, as women. We cannot help but love, and sometimes it hurts . . . it hurts so much.” Her eyes got that faraway look, and Ayisha knew Laila was thinking of her former husband. How it must have pained Laila, to be divorced by a husband she loved, for something she could not help. Adding salt to the wound of barrenness.
“But,” Laila brightened and said briskly, “just when you think you will live out your life as a dried-up old woman, along comes a man who with one look from his wicked blue eyes causes your heart to beat faster.”
Ayisha couldn’t help but smile at the frank relish in Laila’s voice. “So when will you marry him?”
Laila smiled a deep, womanly smile. “As soon as Mr. Johnny Baxter understands why he asked for me.”
Ayisha frowned. “What if you are wrong? What if it is just for a practical arrangement?”
Laila gave her a woman-to-woman look. “A rich man can have any woman he wants. Or any cook, for that matter. And Johnny knows where I stand. I made it very clear to him on that first day that I am a virtuous woman and will put up with no nonsense.”
Laila pulled a face. “So his only solution is to bring a clerk to my brother’s house? Give Omar a large sum of money and trick him into signing a marriage contract? I don’t think so.” Her eyes gleamed with feminine power.
“That first day, from the moment our eyes met, I felt something. He did, too, I could tell. And when he touched my hand . . . ooooh!” She waved her hand like a fan to cool her face.
“So, when Mr. Johnny Baxter understands why he did what he did, I will marry him. Until then, it will do him no harm to wait. Waiting makes a man more . . . appreciative.” And she smiled in a way that recalled Ayisha’s mind to what she thought of as “the stallion conversation.”
Laila’s words that day and the images they’d conjured up had burned deep into Ayisha’s consciousness.
She hadn’t been able to rid herself of the image of Rafe Ramsey, riding hard between her thighs . . . She could still feel his body lying on top of hers, her hips braced between his hard thighs, smelling the clean, manly smell of him.
And then riding back from the river with him, hot and sweaty and with blood on his hands, her arms around his waist, listening to his heart beat through his shirt.
Ayisha shivered, thinking about it.
Laila smiled and patted her hand. “I know, there’s something about these blue-eyed men.” She was silent for a long moment, then she said, “Do you think my Englishman has tight breeches and long boots like your Englishman has? I would give something to see my Johnny in such clothes.”
The night before their departure, Rafe sought Laila out in her new domain and found her cooking up a storm in preparation for Ayisha’s farewell dinner. A small army of minions meekly minced, pounded, and peeled vegetables under her supervision.
After an exchange of pleasantries and the obligatory coffee and something to eat, he broached the subject on his mind.
“You are to marry Baxter, I believe. Congratulations.”
“Maybe I marry him.” She pursed her lips mischievously. “I have not yet decided.”
Her insouciance surprised him. Baxter was a good catch. Still, it was none of his business. He said, “You will be lonely, I think, without Ayisha.”
“She is the daughter of my heart,” Laila confirmed, “and I will miss her sorely. But it is good she go to her grandmother. That girl need family.” She eyed him sharply. “Her grandmother maybe find her a good man to marry?”
“Quite possibly,” Rafe said repressively. “I have come to tell you the house in Alexandria is now yours.” He gave her the deed. “In your name and in Ali’s.”
She wiped her hands carefully and took the rolled document as though it was something fragile and not quite real. Her eyes were moist. “Thank you, Rameses; you are a man of honor and I will pray for you every day of my life.” She winked and added, “And for your wife, too.”
Rafe’s lips twitched. She never gave up.
He went to tell Baxter they would leave at first light. He paused, then said, “I understand there’s a wedding in the offing?”
Baxter’s mouth twisted in a sardonic smile. “There’s a marriage contract. Laila hasn’t actually accepted me . . . yet.”
&nb
sp; “I’m surprised,” Rafe said frankly. “I would have thought she’d jump at it. Most women would.”
“That’s the interesting part,” Baxter said. “She hasn’t. I think she’s angling for more.”
“More? Good God.”
“Outrageous I know,” Baxter said dryly. “But it’s not about money. I think she’s angling for a courtship.”
For a man who’d made an amazing offer, and been not quite turned down, Baxter was taking it amazingly well, Rafe thought. He seemed almost proud of Laila’s reluctance to accept him.
And so he should be, Rafe suddenly realized; if she married Baxter eventually, he’d know it wasn’t for money or position. And even though Baxter had openly reiterated it was just a practical arrangement, still, it would be pleasant to feel that one was desired for oneself, not just for one’s money.
Or one’s relationship to an earl. And one’s presumed ability to breed an heir, he thought.
He brought his thoughts back to Baxter. “Rather a quick decision on your part, wasn’t it?”
Baxter shrugged. “I’ve made most of the important choices in my life quickly and on instinct. Hasn’t let me down—most of the time.” He grinned at Rafe. “Have to say, Ramsey, I thought you’d be a damned nuisance when you first came here.”
Rafe quirked an eyebrow. “Damn, and I thought I was doing my best to turn your life upside down. Tell me, where did I go wrong?”
Baxter chuckled. “Well, you did bring a certain amount of turmoil, but I like it. When you came here first, this place was like a mausoleum. When my cook left, all his family left, too, his two wives and a horde of children and assorted relatives. I found I missed them. Now, with Laila and Ali—and I have no doubt Laila will drag in more orphans off the street—there’ll be a bit of life in the place again.”
Rafe gave a twisted grin. “You’re a good man, Baxter, and I’m glad to have met you. If you ever visit England again, come and stay. You’ll be most welcome.” He held out his hand and the two men shook hands.