Her intensity matched his and passion swiftly unfurled between them, building higher and higher until it drowned out all thought and reason. In a few stumbling steps, they came down on the bed together, kissing and caressing as frantically as if the world would end in the next hour. This was not the wondering exploration of the previous night, but the white heat of lovers who were born to be together.
Yet even in the middle of their mutual madness, they did not take the final, irrevocable step that might destroy her.
It was the only thing he could do to protect her.
Chapter 22
Rory had already left, and Constance didn’t expect her back any time soon. She’d learned the watches and the ship’s bells and knew what time Jason Landers went off watch, so she waited about half an hour after to give him time to return to his cabin.
She was a tangled skein of nerves. Rory was the adventurous one, and it had taken her cousin to point out that as long as they were on this ship, they enjoyed some degree of self-determination. Since she wanted very much to spend time with Jason, she must take advantage of this limited, furtive freedom. The days were running out, and in another week or so, they’d be in Constantinople.
Wanting to act before she lost her nerve, she silently opened the cabin door and peered out. The passage was empty. There were areas of the ship that were always busy, but this wasn’t one of them. She closed and locked the door with only a tiny click that couldn’t be heard more than a yard away.
Then she soundlessly glided down the passage to Jason’s door and scratched on it. He opened the door immediately, a wide, slightly nervous smile on his handsome face as he stepped back so she could enter. The cabin was even smaller than what she shared with Rory, and Jason took up a lot more space.
He closed the door, saying, “Visitors to my humble abode never have to wait long to be admitted because I can open the door from anywhere in my cabin.”
Which wasn’t quite true, but close enough. She smiled and began to relax. “May I sit on the bunk?”
“You’ll have to since there are no chairs,” he said wryly.
She perched on one end of the bunk and studied her surroundings. She’d had only a quick glance earlier, but the tiny room was neat, every inch of space was used, and the only personal item was a sketch of a family. His family, she saw, because he was in the middle of the smiling group. “Your family looks happy.”
“Mostly we are,” he agreed. “That picture was drawn by a cousin who is almost as good an artist as you. You’d like Nancy. And my family would love you.”
She smiled a little sadly, knowing they would never have the chance to form an opinion of her. Changing the subject, she said, “I brought you a small present. From a bazaar in India. I don’t have many things, but I wanted to give you something to remember me by. Like I have the scarf from you.”
“A token from my lady!” He sat down on the other end of the bunk, a yard away. “Thank you.”
She handed him the small, fabric-wrapped object. “It’s just a little trinket.”
“But it’s from you.” He unwrapped the scrap of calico cloth to reveal a small carved stone hippopotamus. It was painted red with little designs drawn on the exaggerated shape, and it had a happy expression.
She wanted to apologize because it was so silly, no more than two inches long, and . . . silly. But Jason smiled with delight. “What a charming fellow! Or maybe it’s a female hippo. Should I call it Constance?”
Relieved, she smiled back. “I’d like to think I’m not shaped like a hippo! How about calling her Harriet?”
“Harriet it is.” Jason looked like he wanted to kiss her, but he refrained. Tucking the carving in his pocket, he said, “I’m not able to provide much in the way of refreshments for a visiting lady, but I do have some good brandy. Would you like a glass? Suitably watered.”
“That would be lovely,” she said. “Definitely watered!” Having a drink would give her something to do with her hands.
He took two glasses and a bottle of brandy from the storage cabinet overhead, then poured a small measure for each of them and stirred in water, more for her than for him. He handed her the drink and raised his glass in a toast. “To friendship!”
“To friendship,” she echoed. “And unexpected meetings.”
Holding his gaze with hers, she sipped at her brandy. Even watered, it had a kick, but the flavor was very nice.
“Tell me your story about the goat,” he suggested. “The one in which I play furniture.”
She smiled, liking how he eased the awkwardness of this meeting. “It’s just a short story for small children. Blackie, the little goat, is an orphan who was raised with calves. They thought he was small and useless and didn’t know what to make of him, so they ignored him. Because he’s so lonely, he finally runs away from the cow pasture to seek his own kind.”
Looking thoughtful, Jason asked, “Does he succeed?”
“Oh, yes, but not before he meets with donkeys and ostriches and hippos and has a dangerous encounter with a lion. He thinks there is no one in the world like him. . . .” She stopped suddenly as her throat choked. Looking down at her brandy, she said, “I’m exposing myself, aren’t I?”
He closed the space between them and wrapped a warm arm around her shoulders. “Everyone wants a home. A place to be with their own kind.”
“I’ve found that with Rory.” She wiped at her eyes. “I hope we’re not separated in Constantinople. Without her, I will have no one.”
His arm tightened. “A heart as warm as yours will create a family wherever you end up.”
“I hope so,” she whispered.
He brushed a kiss on her temple. She looked up into his strong, honest face, loving the auburn hair and the spattering of freckles across his cheekbones. He was both dear and desirable, an irresistible combination. “I didn’t come here just to talk.”
His face became serious. “What did you come for?”
Recklessly, she swallowed the rest of the brandy, hoping for courage. “I’m a widow, and widows traditionally have a certain amount of freedom.”
She swallowed hard, horrified by her brazenness but wanting him so much that she was willing to risk utter humiliation. “My husband was old and clumsy and not very interested in me as a wife. I was grateful for that lack of interest. Now I face a future as a slave. For once in my life, I . . . I’d like to lie with a man I desire.”
He caught his breath, his eyes widening. “If you are choosing me, it’s the greatest honor I’ve ever known.”
“I choose you,” she said firmly, feeling more confident. “Only you of all the men I’ve ever known.”
“An honor beyond any I deserve.” He took the empty brandy glass from her hand, set it in the bowl of the tiny built-in washbasin, and set his own glass next to it. Then he cupped her face in both hands and studied her, as if trying to memorize her image forever. “You are so lovely,” he murmured. “And so brave.”
“Not brave at all. But I want you so much.” He kissed her gently, then with increasing intensity. It was all she’d hoped and dreamed of. A virile young man she desired, and who desired her.
Already, her heart wept that she could have him for only a handful of days at best. But she would never regret seizing this last chance.
As his hands moved over her, caressing, she said in an almost inaudible voice, “There is just one thing.” She needed to speak before she became lost in sensation. “I don’t want to have a child. I couldn’t bear to have one born into slavery.”
He winced. “A child of mine born into slavery. No, that won’t happen, I swear.” He brushed her hair back. “Now let us take advantage of this night, and a bunk so small that we’ll have to be ingenious to make it work!”
As he drew her into his arms, she laughed the way he’d intended. He was right about the size of the bunk and the care and ingenuity required for them to come together. But that didn’t mean that lying with him wasn’t as wonderful as she’d dreamed and more. In this n
arrow bunk, she discovered passion, and love.
No one could take these memories away from her for as long as she lived.
Chapter 23
The Zephyr sailed into Constantinople at dawn, and most of the ship’s complement was on deck watching as they entered the city’s vast harbor. Byzantium, Constantinople, Istanbul, a city of legend and many names. Veils of mist floated above the water and the first rays of sunshine gilded towers and minarets to gold.
Rory and Constance were both at the bow, modestly dressed and swathed in their head scarves. Rory was painfully aware that the relative freedom of being on a British ship was almost at an end. She and Gabriel had spent their secret nights in talk and sensuality and sometimes sleeping in each other’s arms. She felt so close to him that it was hard to imagine how actual intercourse could draw them closer. Though she would love to find out.
She cast a glance to her left, where Gabriel was looking at the crowded harbor. His controlled face was unreadable, but when he felt her gaze and returned it, she saw despair in his eyes.
But there could be no emotional displays in public. He said calmly, “We’ve left the Strait of Bosphorus and are entering the Golden Horn, the harbor of Constantinople. It’s a drowned river valley and one of the finest harbors in the world.” He gestured at the endless stretch of ships and piers and warehouses ahead. “All the treasures of the east and west flow through here.”
“I thought once it would be interesting to visit the city. I never expected to do so under these conditions.” She tried to keep her voice cool, as a brave, indomitable British lady should, but didn’t think she was very successful. In a matter of hours, she might be dragged away from the world she knew and the man she had come to love.
Not that she had said those words to him. Her freedom might end here, but his didn’t. Perhaps someday he’d meet another woman he could love, and he shouldn’t be cursed with guilt because Rory had loved him and he had been unable to save her.
Constance was in a similar state. She stood to Rory’s right, her tension palpable despite the swaddling head scarf. On her right was Jason Landers, his expression grim. Like Gabriel, he was very carefully not touching his lady.
Malek stood apart from the Britons, his gaze bleak. He had to know how long the odds were of retrieving his wife and children, but he would carry through on his determination even if it destroyed them all.
The number of his men who also watched their approach to the city was a reminder of the power Malek held. The city around them magnified that power. It was the Zephyr and her crew and passengers who were the foreigners here, with only the limited safety that Constantinople was willing to grant them.
Such bleak thoughts. Rory returned her focus to the brilliant, ancient city. It had seen civilizations come and go and been the capital of two great empires. When she’d first sailed into Bombay and Athens, she’d been almost jumping up and down with excitement. Now mostly she felt fear and regret.
Maybe she and Constance daren’t touch their men, but surely they could touch each other. She laid her hand over her cousin’s. Constance’s fingers were ice cold. Rory’s were much the same.
Her cousin squeezed Rory’s hand back. Whatever was ahead of them, Constance would probably deal with it better than Rory. Constance had already survived so much with grace and resilience. Rory prayed the two of them would end up in the same harem, because she was going to need her cousin’s strength.
A pilot boat brought customs and health officials, then guided the ship to a berth. As soon as the Zephyr was docked and cleared, Malek pushed himself away from the railing and turned to Gabriel.
“I assume that, like me, you are in a hurry to get started. My lieutenant, Mülazım Boran, is a native of this city. He will hire a carriage and guide you to the British embassy. I will take two of my men to Gürkan’s palace and beg the favor of an audience.” Face like granite, Malek offered his hand. “You have been a good friend, Hawkins. For an unbeliever. May Allah favor your endeavors.”
After a hard handshake, he turned and walked toward the gangway that led down to the pier. Gabriel watched him leave, and knew that Malek was not optimistic about how his meeting with his cousin would go.
Malek was likely a fool—and perhaps the bravest man Gabriel had ever met.
* * *
Gürkan’s palace was as lavish and grand as Malek remembered. A fortress built long ago to defy all enemies, it had been expanded in more recent generations and furnished lavishly to flaunt the wealth and power of its owners.
Malek’s grandfather had grown up here, a lesser son who had joined the army, done well, and settled in Algiers. Now Gürkan ruled in the family palace, exercising the deadly power and caprice of a sultan with less power, but more cruelty.
Malek had thought this visit might be only paying his respects and asking for a future meeting, but instead Gürkan said he would grant an audience today. He must be keen to play the last moves in the game they’d engaged in for half their lives.
Not unexpectedly, Malek and his two soldiers were disarmed and left to cool their heels in the least grand of the reception rooms. They were not offered refreshments despite the increasing heat of the day. Malek bore the insults stoically. They were mere pinpricks, scarcely worth noticing.
Finally, Malek was called for his audience. His men were not allowed to accompany him. That was not a good sign, but again, not unexpected.
The reception hall had ceilings four times a man’s height and was richly decorated with polished marble and towering columns. Gürkan greeted his visitor from a carved, gilded chair intended to mimic a throne. His layered robes of velvet and gold-threaded fabrics screamed that this was a rich, arrogant man.
Malek had heard that his cousin aspired to join the powerful council of advisors called the Divan. For the sake of the empire, he hoped the viziers would reject him.
A beautiful serving girl, probably a concubine, wielded a great plumed fan of ostrich feathers to waft cooler air over her master. Less alluring were the ten heavily armed guards watching the visitor with bloodthirsty eyes.
Though a few years older than Malek, who was not quite forty, Gürkan looked regrettably healthy. Malek bowed deeply. “I rejoice to see you again, cousin, and in such good health.” He’d rehearsed the courteous lies beforehand so that he could speak with a straight face.
Gürkan inclined his head sardonically. “I cannot say the same of you, cousin. The years weigh heavily on you.”
It was an opening. Malek said, “I grieve for the absence of my wife and children, cousin. I know you enjoy the company of beautiful women and children and understand why you are loath to relinquish them, but they are needed in my home. So I have brought many gifts to console you for the sadness you will feel when they are gone.”
Gürkan perked up. “You have brought me the ransom I requested? I am impressed. I thought the amount far beyond your means.”
“It was not easy, but my greatest desire is to please you.” So many lies when Malek’s real desire was to hack Gürkan into small pieces and feed him to Ghazi, the young lion.
Instead, he bowed again. “Though I was not able to raise quite the sum you requested, I have brought other rare gifts to compensate for that lack.”
He sank to one knee in front of Gürkan and, with a flourish, produced his first gift from the velvet bag he carried. “First a priceless antique clock from France that plays music so the gilded figures can dance.” He reached under the clock for a quick wind of the mechanism, then offered it with both hands.
Made of precious metals and gorgeous enamels, it was an exquisite piece of craftsmanship that would bring a high price in any European market. Malek had acquired the clock in the first phase of his piracy and kept it because of its beauty. He’d given it to Damla on the first anniversary of their marriage because she loved the music and dancing figures. When she came home again, she’d scold him for giving it away. He looked forward to that.
Gürkan took the clock in
both hands because it was heavy. The lord and lady, dressed in the rich style of the French court, danced to the bright tune. Then Gürkan hurled the clock to the marble floor. It shattered, pieces of the enameled figures and glass clock face skittering across the floor. Eerily, the music continued to play until it reached the end of its cycle. “Heathen trash! It is forbidden to use the human figure in Muslim art. You insult me by offering such a gift.”
Malek’s rage almost overwhelmed him, but he called on every shred of control because losing his temper would certainly be fatal. He bowed deeply. “My apologies. I had hoped such a trinket would please your wives.”
“How much money did you bring?”
Malek told him. He’d hidden the vast treasure in Hawkins’ ship and would not hand over a single gold coin until he was sure Damla and the children would be freed.
He continued, “I’ve also brought rare and valuable creatures for your menagerie. A pair of pigmy hippopotami, perhaps the only ones in the empire. A magnificent young lion, a matched team of silver gray miniature horses and a special chariot, perfect for your sons. And also . . .”
Gürkan cut him off with sudden fury. “That is all? An insufficient ransom and a few beasts? Hardly enough to compensate for the loss of my favorite new concubine. Your Damla lacks beauty, but after I trained her, she has proved adept at all amatory arts. She has begged me not to allow you to take her away should you come seeking her. She says she cannot bear the thought of lying with any man but me.”
Though he knew that was a lie, Malek almost gave in to his annihilating rage at the words. That was what Gürkan wanted.
It was time to play his last cards. I’m sorry, Hawkins. “I have heard tales of your masculine prowess, Gürkan. That is why I chose my last gifts so carefully.”
He lowered his voice dramatically. “I have brought you two British women of high birth. One is a stunning golden-haired maiden who is daughter to a great lord. Her beauty is beyond description, and she is a virgin.” And you damned well better not have changed that by having her in your bed, Hawkins!
Once a Scoundrel (Rogues Redeemed #3) Page 17