Desert Hostage

by Diane Dunaway

  A knock on the door interrupted his planning, and when the sheik acknowledged it with a meaningless syllable, the door opened tentatively to reveal Rashid offering a letter from his tray.

  Karim took it, immediately recognizing it as a letter from his investigator, William Sleth. What had the man found out? He asked himself, tearing away the seals. His attention lately had been so consumed by Juliette that he had given few thoughts to revenge.

  Now, pulling out the paper and unfolding it, Karim nodded to dismiss Rashid as he read the letter once, and then again, doubting his eyesight for the first time in his life.

  Monsieur Phillips,

  This is to inform you concerning one Juliette Clayton and his wife, Elizabeth Thorpe Clayton, a woman

  Miss Clayton was born in England to Captain Clayton and his wife Elizabeth Thorpe Clayton, a woman of the highest birth and connections who died while giving birth.

  Juliette was orphaned eight years ago, at the age of eleven, when her father succumbed to wounds received during his assignment in hostile Arab territory.

  Most recently, Juliette Clayton attended Miss Fayton's Girls' School. She changed her name after graduation to Juliette Clayton Thorpe as a stipulation for receiving her inheritance. At present, Miss Clayton Thorpe is touring Spain.

  Forward any further instructions.

  William Sleth

  For an instant Karim reeled before standing perfectly still, like a man shot and waiting to fall. Then his teeth clenched. Only two words stood out from the ink-scrawled page like a curse, "Juliette Clayton."

  Juliette? George Clayton's daughter? Was it possible? Violently Karim threw the cheroot onto the rug, heedless as it burned. And now, suddenly, everything seemed clear. Of course! Clayton had been sent home after he was wounded, and Clayton had known the name of the young Arab who, gave him that mortal wound. Yes, Clayton had known his name, Karim al-Sharif, and he must have told his daughter Juliette!

  Now everything fell into place-their meeting everything had been planned. It had all been a game Juliette's own form of revenge. But what else should he expect from the daughter of George Clayton!

  Karim's face blackened with rage as he walked to a carved antique table and, picking up a decanter, poured himself a generous Scotch. Yes, it was obvious now. It was too much of a coincidence that he should have met Juliette by mere accident. She had known all the time who he was and that he had killed her father.

  He thought she was resourceful. But he had never conceived her capable of such duplicity. All along she had tricked him-mocked him. Even that day they had lunched in the orange grove. How naive he had been not to understand when she had so cunningly asked, "Have you a lot to forgive, monsieur? Is that why you detest the English?" And, "I am an exception, are there others who aren't exempted? Some special English enemy list perhaps?"

  Then he had concluded her questions could only be offhand, or, at best, insightful. How wrong he had been! And now, suddenly there was a growing scandal about his true identity as an Arab. He had blamed Lucille, but had it been she?

  Karim's pride writhed under the realization. And I played along. How she must be laughing at me, a foolish Arab who she could have dancing to her tune and then expose and reject!

  He gripped the table's polished wooden edge. He had been so gullible, so charmed by her feigned innocence. Of course she and Rodney had been accomplices in the scheme, and lovers too, no doubt. While Juliette had played him like a puppet on a string, Rodney had also been spinning his own schemes, dangerous schemes that only recently had come to his attention.

  He paused, picturing her in his mind-Juliette riding horseback at his side-Juliette laughing as the wind tossed her hair-Juliette in his arms, her lips warm and open and moist. And every image of her lacerated his exposed nerves. There was a long silence. Then blindly he picked up the table and threw it crashing into the wall, shattering its legs, and jarring loose a picture that fell on top of it.

  He laughed then, a short, hoarse laugh, and, lighting a match, set the letter afire, watching it flare and crumble into brown ashes which he flicked from his fingers. His smile was cruel and twisted. Of course, Juliette had gambled that he would never know her true identity. But this time-this time she had underestimated him!

  Chapter 39

  "Isn't it positively exciting?" Millie asked as she sat with Juliette in her large London house. "Look at all these, invitations you've received and you have been home less than a week," she continued, her accent decidedly more English and less American since her recent marriage to Lord Robert Clintridge.

  Juliette tried to look excited though she felt absolutely no enthusiasm for any of the balls or suppers being given almost nightly now since May had arrived. Still she dared not beg off. Lady Linley had just returned from Las Flores and with her came the story-of Brandon's Arab blood.

  Gossip like that would soon make the rounds and now it was more important than ever that she give the appearance of not giving even two pins for the man. Everything depended upon it. So for the next week, Juliette threw herself into the round of suppers and dances where many times she was guest of honor. But she could not stop her thoughts from turning to Brandon Phillips.

  She had tried to be rational by reminding herself he was not only a detestable Arab, a fact that was unacceptable both to her personally and to her society at large, but that he was also undoubtedly Muslim. And then there was the relatively trivial matter of Lucille. Of course it was better it had ended this way, she told herself. She had been shocked, yes, stunned. But it would make everything easier in the long run.

  Now at least she was cured of him and nothing could ever bring them together again. Now if she could only stop reliving the same astonishment and fury that, even now, could quicken her pulse. They had been like animals that last time together and, worst of all, Lucille had seen it all! Inwardly Juliette twisted with the agony of it. It was all Brandon's fault. Why had he shown love to her when from the beginning he knew nothing could ever be between them? Why had he made her feel things that he had no right to make her feel? He had led her on.

  She had suspected he could be cruel but had never wanted to believe it. Silently then she cursed him even as the pain redoubled in her heart. Yet she must not let anyone even suspect what had really happened-not even Millie. And what would happen when William Bond heard? Unfortunately his reaction was as harsh as she'd feared:

  Dear Miss Thorpe,

  Recently your relationship with a certain Monsieur Brandon Phillips has reached my attention and, as your legal guardian, I am writing to warn you against any further relationship with this man. Not only is his reputation with women unsavory but recently his background has been called into question.

  It is imperative that your name no longer be linked with his and that no scandal cloud your name and thereby mine. I trust you recall our agreement on this matter. If a scandal should occur and you are still unmarried I will be forced to revoke your privilege of independence. I trust however this option will not be necessary and that you will untangle yourself from this man so that his reputation no longer affects yours.

  Sincerely,

  M. William Bond

  Revoke her independence, Juliette repeated with silent horror. He couldn't ... not over this when it was for her freedom that she had refused Brandon in the first place. Oh, what a mess!

  And so with the sense of doom hanging over her head, Juliette now became doubly careful never to mention Brandon's name and to be completely casual when others brought him up in conversation. She made sure to have many partners at the balls, to smile and to chat a lot and make everyone believe she didn't have a care in the world.

  It was an act that became more automatic with practice, and she discovered that when she laughed, only she heard the hollow note. And when she danced, only she knew that her movements and smiles were mechanical as a metal doll's. And tonight as she waltzed and polkaed, and danced the quadrilles and schottische in a haze of champagne, Juliette silent
ly blessed Miss Fayton's for training her to perform so well without thought or attention.

  "Haven't you heard? It's all over London tonight."

  "I haven't heard a word," the Countess Landry said. "What about Monsieur Phillips? Surely no one has been ridiculous enough to condemn him for his mistresses. At least he has always been reasonably discreet."

  "Not that certainly, Countess. It is much worse than that. So horrible in fact that I only am telling you because I know you had considered him for your niece Anne. Now of course, you must put any such ideas out of your mind. You wouldn't want her involved in a scandal and just think of poor Juliette Thorpe. Her dear mother must be turning over in her grave."

  "Well, what is it, Elizabeth?" the countess asked, now thoroughly curious.

  "So you haven't heard." There was a note of elation in Elizabeth Wolsey's voice that belied her serious countenance. "I'm so afraid for the girl. All alone in the world and now faced with such a ruinous scandal!"

  "What scandal? What are you talking about, Elizabeth?" the countess demanded. "Nothing you say makes any sense."

  "Well, there is no gentle way to put this," Elizabeth answered. "All I can tell you is that people are saying he is an Arab, a half-breed. Everyone is talking about it. I thought because of your niece you should know."

  At the word "Arab" the countess's ostrich-plume fan stopped in mid-swish.

  "But that is ridiculous. An Arab! And what has Juliette Thorpe to do with all this?"

  "Well, no one knows for certain the . . . ah, extent of their relationship," Elizabeth whispered glancing across the room to where Juliette was dancing. "But I can tell you that she blushes whenever the man's name is mentioned, and they were seen together so often in Las Flores del Mar that now the poor girl's name is linked with his. I always thought something like this might happen to her. It is simply not right for a young woman to be so independent. And with a scandal like this behind her, many of the matches she might have made will automatically be closed to her. I wonder what her guardian William Bond has to say about this. He should have been more responsible in his duties. I think I'm going to write him so myself."

  As the party continued, Juliette became aware of the controversy surrounding her. Several women had mentioned Brandon's name in conversation and watched her sharply as she claimed no knowledge of his whereabouts with what she hoped seemed a lack of interest. It was a horrible night.

  Several times she entered a group only to cause an embarrassed silence, and often women let their fans shield their words when she was near. And where was Rodney? She had heard someone whisper that he was gambling tonight, but she had never known him to play and dismissed the remark as idle chatter. It would have been some comfort to have had him with her.

  He had been so kind these past weeks, never mentioning Brandon or anything that might embarrass her. Perhaps all the parties had exhausted him, she thought, recalling he had difficulty dancing two nights in a row. Well, she told herself, you will just have to do this alone.

  Hours dragged by until midnight came and she could gracefully excuse herself. She felt stiff all over-even her mouth felt sore from the forced smiles. Bidding her good-byes she had her coach called and drove home through the streets of London feeling hardly able to hold herself upright in the seat. Oh, how long would this last? She had never been the subject of such a furor, not even when she had first started seeing Rodney and already William Bond was threatening to take away her freedom. Oh, he couldn't, he must not! She would not be confined again.

  Inside her carriage Juliette felt chilled to the bone and, though she wrapped herself more tightly in the fox lap robe, when she finally entered her house on Windbury Street

  , her teeth were chattering.

  Immediately she ordered a fire built and a cup of hot tea sent to her room. Then with a heavy hand on the banister, she walked up the stairs. From the window of her suite on the third floor she could see a large section of London, the street lamps marking the skeleton of its streets.

  Leaning against the window she wanted to cry. There was such a strain, a horrible digging pain within her. But the cramped fullness in her throat refused to give way to tears. The champagne she'd had made her dizzy and the dimness of the house depressed her further.

  She had intended to redecorate the Thorpe mansion herself when she returned from traveling. But she never imagined that would be this soon or that she would have to live in such a cold atmosphere of darkness and heavy furniture and portraits of stiff, cold-eyed relatives long dead. But now there was no help for it. She had to stay here, at least until this scandal died down. To flee now would be tantamount to an admission of guilt.

  She sat down heavily in a large winged chair. Of course later in the year she would go traveling again. But now even this respect seemed uninteresting. Life, which had for a short time been so enchantingly wonderful, had suddenly become difficult and sad again, just as it had been after her father's death.

  At last a maid, a temporary one hired until more permanent staff could be found, came in bringing a pot of tea on a tray. Rose was around forty, with a thin, sharp face that gave her a harsh appearance. She did not smile, but only dropped a curtsy in greeting and helped Juliette out of her gown before undoing her long blond hair.

  When it was done, Juliette smiled weakly. "That will be all, Rose, thank you," she said.

  And when the maid had gone she gratefully crawled into bed. It was then that she struck something stiff just under the covers, something that crackled like paper when she felt it. How odd, she thought, pulling it out even as her heart quickened. And laying the paper above the quilts and taking a candle she held it so the glow washed over the note, illuminating the firm, masculine handwriting that sprang out at her like a slap.

  WE WILL MEET AGAIN JIJLIETTE CLAYTON AND THIS TIME I WILL HAVE MY REVENGE!

  Juliette read it again, and a third time, as all the horror of this night surrounded her like a net. Instantly she was hot and perspiring, her heart taking leaps. What did he mean? How did he know her name had been Clayton? And why did he call her that now? She swallowed and steeled herself. Was he still here?

  With shaking fingers, Juliette lit the two lamps flanking her bed and looked around.

  The shadows reflecting against the opposite wall seemed distorted and sinister, but there was no sign of anyone. Juliette jerked the cord by her bed. Instantly Rose appeared as if anticipating the call. "Yes, miss?"

  "Call my carriage at once," Juliette commanded. "I want to leave immediately."

  "Yes, miss."

  For the second time that night, Juliette found herself riding through the streets of London. She had given the driver no specific instructions and rode aimlessly for twenty minutes, sitting rigidly erect, her mind racing, and her hand still clenching the note.

  Her servants had been bribed. That was certain. How else could the note have gotten in her bed? She couldn't trust any of them. And what kind of revenge did Brandon mean? He was unpredictable. Even a public scene would probably not be enough to salve his wounds although it would ensure her ruin. William Bond would waste no time in taking her independence and this she must avoid at all costs. But how? She asked herself. How? And it was then she suddenly thought of Rodney. Yes, Rodney! He would understand and she could trust him. And banging on the front wall of the carriage, Juliette gained the driver's attention.

  "To Eaton Square

  ," she shouted. "With all haste!"

  Daverson, the Keiths' family butler, was stunned to see Miss Juliette standing on the porch of the Keiths's ancestral home. But after a moment's confusion, and blessing the fact Lady Keiths would not return this evening and witness her most inappropriate conduct, Daverson showed Juliette to a sitting room and bade her wait while he roused the young master.

  It was ten minutes before Rodney rushed into the room and immediately took her two cold hands in his. At a glance he could see she was deadly white with a dreadful pinched look about her. "But what has happened
?" he asked.

  Wordlessly, she handed him the crumpled note.

  Curious, Rodney took it, his eyes widening as he read.

  "What is he talking about? How does he dare threaten you?" he said at last.

  Rodney had known the business at Las Flores had upset Juliette, but recently she had seemed so recovered that he had rejected the idea that there had been anything serious between that half-breed and Juliette. But now...

  Juliette's face was tight and she clasped her hands together to steady herself. "I . . . I promised to marry him," she blurted out. "I …'

  "You what?" Rodney looked askance at her.

  "I . . . promised to marry him. But I never meant it. It was all a mistake; you see. I . . . well, rather he . . . I never intended to agree."

  "You mean he forced you to agree?"

  "Well, not exactly forced. But yes ... he was ... well . . . I thought I had no choice."