“And if that fails? I do not see the sheikh being eager to part with you.”
“Find another way. I understand I ask no small thing.” Susannah drew back slightly, meeting his gaze with as much dignity as she could summon while naked in his bed. “Nothing matters except that you take me with you. I did not come to you as a tool of the sheikh’s to discover your motives for being here. I have warned you. I might even claim that I’ve saved your life by doing so and that you owe me a life in return.”
“The law of the desert,” Alex murmured, the hot emerald coals of his eyes stoked to life. “A life for a life.”
“And I choose mine as the price for yours.” Susannah answered.
“You shall have it.” Alex whispered, his mouth hovering inches above hers. “When we depart the moussem, you shall come with us. You have my word on it, my very mouth on it.” He sealed his vow with a kiss.
Susannah reached for him, feeling him rise against the contact of her palm. Ah good, his body was in agreement.
Alex made some move to protest, but Susannah hushed him with a gentle finger to his lips and a shake of her head. “I do not want your protestations of honor, Alex. There’s nothing to scourge your conscience over.” She pulled him to her, her body eager to be claimed. She felt him give himself over to the pleasure building between them. For the moment her absolution was enough. Only a fool would keep Paradise waiting, and Alex Grayfield demonstrated that he was a very wise man indeed.
She would remember that kissing vow, Susannah thought later, slipping out to the privacy of her own tent. There were things more binding than words or contracts. Alex was not alone in his desire. It was something of a surprise that the ties bound both ways. In her naïveté, she had not looked ahead to the potential of forming her own attachment. She had thought to lure him with sex—it was, after all, the only currency available to her in the sheikh’s camp. She had not thought to enjoy him in a way that went beyond the sensual. Alex Grayfield had been on display tonight in ways that transcended his naked body. He’d shown her sensitivity where her pleasure was concerned, and he’d shown interest in her thoughts and in her person. He’d asked about her captivity in a way that separated that ordeal from its impact on the political situation. Those lures were, in fact, equally as potent as the temptations offered by his body, and in some ways, more so. In her experience, rare was the man who put others’ needs above his own. That was a powerful lure indeed.
She’d known Alex Grayfield’s presence would change things, but she hadn’t known just how pervasive that change would be. It would be easy to love him. When she’d formulated her plan, such a consequence had been most unlooked for.
Not that it would matter. What man would want a woman who’d danced as she had? She was a suitable companion for a few nights of passion. But a suitable wife? She was realist enough to know those chances were gone. It was a sobering thought.
Soon she’d be free. The desert could be left behind, but the stigma of her captivity could not. She had not allowed herself to think of life beyond the desert. But now she must if freedom was imminent. She could start a new life with the remaining threads of her old one; she had connections, money and her father’s name to trade on, but what Society would receive her? Certainly not England’s. Whatever new life she cobbled together would have to be far from English shores, and she would most likely have to be alone.
Chapter V
“The sheikh does not wish to defeat the French?” Crispin rose from his couch, digesting Alex’s news the following morning while they broke their fast on yoghurt and dates.
Alex relayed what Susannah had told him the night before. “Sheikh Bitar sees the French as an affront to the traditional way of life. But more than that, Bitar sees al Qadir as a tyrant. Those who do not come to his standard willingly will be subjugated. That makes Qadir no better than the French in the sheikh’s eyes.”
“But perhaps more resistible,” Crispin surmised the implications quickly. “It would be easier to undermine the emir’s efforts and take a chance on the French being unable to control what really went on in the desert.”
Alex nodded, that had been his conclusion last night as well. “It would be an incredible feat to join the tribes into a unified force. The emir’s efforts are unlikely to succeed. The tribes have spent their histories fighting each other and now the emir wants them to be friends.”
If the sheikh prevented the English from offering support to the emir, the army he was raising might not defeat the French. There was nothing like defeat to dampen the willingness of men to fight. Without an army, al Qadir was nothing, just a powerless potentate, and Bitar was betting the French would leave the Bedouin alone in the desert.
Crispin sat back down, pushing his hands through his long dark hair. “There’s a good chance the sheikh’s right. The French can claim to own the territory on a map, but in actuality, it will be difficult to impose rule in such a vast and harsh land. He’d rather take his chances with the French than with Abd al Qadir.”
“It’s too bad. If anyone can unite the tribes, it’s the emir. From what I know of the man, he’s a holy man, a decent man. Innovative too. He’s styled his army after the European fashion. He wants his people educated in western ways. The people who have joined him see the merit of these additions.”
“But Muhsin Bitar does not.” Crispin sighed. “It would be best if he doesn’t suspect our real reason for being here, although two Englishmen wandering in the desert is bound to raise questions.” Crispin thought for a moment. “We’ll tell Bitar we’re horse traders. A moussem is perfect for discovering new horses. Perhaps that will give us alibi enough for being here and persuade him we’re not politicking.”
He winked at Alex. “I do hope to make the alibi a fact in truth, however. The sheikh has a prime goer, the black. The blasted horse sleeps in the sheikh’s own tent. Can you imagine that?”
Alex smiled at the look on Crispin’s face. “It’s because of the camels. Horses can’t stand the smell of them, it makes them high-strung, hard to handle.”
“Like a woman,” Crispin commented wryly. Alex chose to let the deliberate hint slide. Beyond political necessity, he wasn’t ready to talk about Susannah and what had transpired last night.
“I must start thinking of a way to charm it out of him, persuade him to make a gift of it.” Crispin mused out loud.
“I think there are better ‘gifts’ to ask for. It goes without saying that she wants to come with us.” Alex interjected.
Crispin fixed him with a knowing stare. “I was wondering when we’d get around to this. Can we trust her?”
Alex shrugged. “Does it matter? She’s an English captive being held against her will. But yes, there’s little reason not to trust her.”
Crispin gave a cynical laugh. “She’s a woman, Alex, you can’t really trust any of them. But let’s hope you’ve found the rare gem. After all, she knows now that we’re here to discover where allegiances lie. All she has to do is tell the sheikh and we’re on the run. And she’ll have whatever it is the sheikh has promised her. Her freedom perhaps?”
Alex bristled at Crispin’s implication. “We can trust her. She only knew about our mission because it was her father’s mission before it was ours. She needs us alive.”
Crispin nodded, content to accept Alex’s analysis. “Assuming you’re right, how are we going to get her out of here?”
Alex grinned. “There’re only two options, really, Cris. Either we convince Bitar to give her to us as a gift or we steal her and ride like hell.”
“I was afraid you were going to say that. I guess we might as well take the horse while we’re at it. In for a penny, in for a pound. Do you think the Crown will ever forgive us for this one? Stealing women, stealing horses. Our skills grow illustrious, dear friend.”
Alex chuckled. “Your brother’s an earl, they’ll forgive you anything. It’s me I’m worried about.”
“Ha, you’ll be the prince charming in all this,
riding out of the desert with the missing diplomat’s daughter riding pillion behind you. It’s the stuff of ballads. I can see it now, ‘The Lay of Alex and Susannah’ sung in all of London’s finest pubs.”
“Leave it, Cris, she’s a diplomat’s daughter.”
“Being a diplomat’s daughter doesn’t make her a nun.” Crispin countered.
“She is not a houri. She is Susannah Sutcliffe, Lord Sutcliffe’s daughter, and I’ll thank you to speak about her with respect.” Alex bristled.
Crispin looked at him sharply and raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you so on edge about a woman. It rather sounds like there’s more to you and Miss Susannah than meets the eye.”
Alex rose, blithely ignoring Crispin’s comment. “I need to take care of some things. I’ll see you shortly at the sheikh’s tent. I think he has some competitions lined up for today.” Crispin and he had worked together for two years. His friend was eminently trustworthy and quite the finest man he’d ever partnered with, but for some reason Alex did not want such crass witticisms slandering his encounter with Susannah.
Alex wandered the moussem’s souk, pausing every so often to admire the merchant’s booths and their goods on display at the fair. He stopped at a booth selling creams and purchased a small pot. The rose scent reminded him of Susannah.
Ah, Susannah. She’d occupied a fair share of his thoughts since last night. Their interlude had been entirely other-worldly, but increasingly it was hard to keep the real-world implications from intruding.
He was on difficult ground. Alex had lain awake long after Susannah had left. He’d meant to spend the night thinking over diplomatic issues, but his thoughts had continuously drifted back to her. When it had been a game of desire, of bodies speaking to one another in the timeless language of seduction, who she was had not been a consideration. She’d simply been a woman, passionate and bold. He’d been a man, answering the lure of her body. It had been simple and primal in the darkness of the tent.
Then he’d asked her name and reality had struck. She was an Englishman’s daughter. Not just any Englishman’s daughter. There were Englishmen and then there were Englishmen. Her father had been of the latter category.
Lord Sutcliffe was no meager player in British affairs. He’d been considered a top-notch diplomat when it came to the Empire in North Africa. Alex’s father had met with him on occasion over Egyptian affairs. Alex had admired him as a hero during his years growing up in Cairo. No other man in the Empire had possessed Sutcliffe’s depth of knowledge concerning the varied peoples of North Africa.
To be set upon by the mercenaries of Sheikh Bitar was an ignoble death for anyone, particularly one so decorated in life. For Sutcliffe’s daughter to be made a captive and subjugated to who-knew-what atrocities was an intolerable slap in the face to the Empire’s pride, but Alex’s body burned for a personal vengeance against Bitar and Bassam. What had they subjected Susannah to during her captivity? A woman did not have to be bedded to be debased and there’d been a moment of fear in her eyes last night when he’d grabbed her.
Seldom had a woman’s attentions claimed him so completely. Alex was struck anew with the power of his desire, his desire not only to possess her but to be the first and only one to do so. That desire brought him full circle in his thoughts.
She was Sutcliffe’s daughter and he was an Englishman bound by certain codes of conduct. In the throes of pleasure, he’d taken her virginity. By the nature of her birth and status in society, she could not be like his other casual encounters, enjoyed and cast aside when the excitement ebbed. She would surely demand from him a level of commitment he’d given no other woman. The strange thing was that, for the first time in his life, making that commitment didn’t sound like such a ridiculous idea.
A horn blew in the souk announcing the beginning of the games. Alex turned his direction towards the big tents of the sheikh, where men were gathering for the traditional competitions. He could see Crispin’s tall frame among them. It was time to act. Before he could think of what the future might hold with Susannah, he had to win her first.
Chapter VI
The activities of the moussem suited Alex and Crispin’s purposes admirably. Games of skills and other competitions gave them a chance to build a masculine camaraderie with the other men present. They did not hesitate to participate. He and Crispin showed off their talents at knife-throwing. They looked over the horses other sheikhs had brought in hopes of races or trading, bolstering their cover as horse traders.
As night fell and the traditional hookah pipe came out to be passed and smoked in Bitar’s tent, Alex felt they’d made good progress in gaining a place of acceptance. Last night, they’d been invited out of courtesy, but tonight they were part of the group, having proven their prowess and their worthiness to be accepted. Alex’s mastery of Arabic had made that acceptance easier. That they were dressed in Bedouin robes and speaking the common language of the desert made it harder for Bitar to remember they did not belong. It had been a strategy that had worked well for Alex over the years and he had used it liberally today to gain acceptance for him and Crispin.
Tonight would be the test. Alex knew what the men should talk about in the tent. They should talk politics and the business of their tribes. If they didn’t then Alex would know his acceptance was not complete. He reached for a date, using the action as an opportunity to search the tent for Susannah. He had not seen her all day. While that had been disappointing, it had not been unexpected. Her place was in the night. His body quickened in anticipation. He popped the date into his mouth, aware of Bassam’s eyes on him. The man had watched him all day.
“The Emir of Mascara has invited us to join him,” A man close to Alex said, addressing his comment to Bitar. “Will you journey on from here to Mascara?”
Bitar shook his head and spat, his tone derisive. “No, I will not go to join that infidel dog. He calls this a holy war, but it is nothing more than a ruse to subdue us to his will. He wishes to be more than the emir of a city. He wishes to be a king over all of us.”
“Are you not worried about the French? They have taken Algiers,” another asked.
Bitar raised his arms wide to encompass the room and the world outside the expansive tent. “What is there to worry about in the desert? The French have no way to impose their law and order out here. Here, we are law and I mean to keep it that way.”
Alex nodded along with the other men in the room in a show of solidarity for the sheikh’s opinion. He shot a quick glance at Crispin, his nod conveying something entirely different. Crispin nodded back. Susannah had not lied. More than that, she had proven to be resourceful, making the most of her captivity. Her command of Arabic must be better than Alex had originally thought if she’d used her lowly position as a dancing girl to complete her father’s mission. His admiration for her increased even further. She’d demonstrated beyond doubt she was definitely her father’s daughter.
The pipe came his way and he drew deeply on it, exhaling with fervor. He did not care for the sweet smoke of the pipe but sharing the pipe was a sign of friendship, to refuse would be damning in the extreme. He passed the pipe to Crispin and the drums started. Shouts of approval rose from the men further back by the entrance and clapping began in rhythm with the drums as the dancers entered the tent.
Alex saw Susannah immediately at the head of the line. Tonight she was dressed sumptuously in red and gold, a belt of coins tinkling provocatively at her hips, tiny brass cymbals in her hands clinking out the beat of the dance.
She was enchanting. Men stared after her hungrily as she passed until she reached the space in front of Bitar. Her hands were mesmerizing, their gestures guiding the men’s gazes to her breasts beneath the red top she wore, leaving her splendid stomach uncovered to the collective gaze of the audience. Tonight, her costume left her much more exposed. The gauzy pantaloons rode seductively low on her hips, the delicate bones of her pelvis rising above the coin belt.
&nb
sp; She danced as if she were oblivious to the eroticism of her costume, to the fact that her body was on display before men. Before him.
Desire throbbed in Alex. She might be oblivious to the gazes of other men, but he did not want her to be oblivious to him. Primal possession surged. He wanted her to acknowledge him. It was a foolish and dangerous wish with Bassam watching, but he wanted it all the same.
Then she did. She moved slightly to her left and put herself directly in front of him, her hips swaying, her eyes promising. She would keep those promises with him tonight, Alex vowed silently.
There were cards after dancing. For all of his protestations against the inventions of Europe, Bitar had a fondness for cards. Low tables were set up among the groupings of pillows in the tent and the men settled in for a night of cards and wine, some of the dancers staying behind to enliven the games. Alex saw Crispin claim a seat at the table with Bassam and Bitar, and he took his cue to slip out. Crispin would keep the men at the table all night.
Alex slid into the night, covertly grabbing up a wineskin and an errant plate of fruit that had gone untouched. The camp was busy. Other entertainments were taking place in other tents, people eager to impress one another and to make deals while the moussem lasted.
He found his own tent and waited. This was the only kink his plan. He did not know where Susannah was lodged, and he could not go poking about without risk of discovery. But she’d come to him. If she could. The very thought of another commanding her to his bed rankled. More than rankled. That was too tame a word. The thought boiled his blood. Of course she’d come. The sheikh was at cards. He would not seek his bed until dawn.
His fears were unfounded. Moments later, Susannah pulled aside the tent flap and stepped inside, her eyes searching for him. She found him and smiled, the hood of her all-concealing robe falling back to reveal her glorious hair. “I can only stay a minute. Did you see today that I was right?” Her words were all business, but she was breathless.
Arabian Nights with a Rake Page 3