by Anna Randol
She slapped his hand away. “No, you’re not.” An ache lodged in her throat. “It was a tactic you employed to gain my acquiescence. An effective one, I might add.” She trembled, whether from his touch or his apology she did not know. “I will sketch Vourth.”
“Good.” Yet Bennett couldn’t stand the stricken look he’d put on her face. Had he really gloried that she’d awakened his soul? Now he longed for the return to its former numb, deadened state. “I do regret having frightened you.”
“So you say, but not enough to keep you from coercing me.” Fury still simmered in her gaze.
He’d been ordered to gain her compliance with the project, and he had done so in the most effective manner open to him. Every word he’d told her was the truth, no half-truths or lies. That didn’t mean it was kind or gentle. But then again, neither was picking off French officers one at a time from the bushes to demoralize their troops. He’d become accustomed to handling unpleasantness in the line of duty. Why did it suddenly become as critical as breathing that she know he didn’t enjoy frightening her?
“I have my orders.”
Her jaw set in a mutinous line. “Ah, so that is supposed to make me excuse your actions? I’m to forgive you because someone told you to do it?”
“I follow my orders to serve a greater good.”
“But what of the good of those directly involved? Do we count for nothing?”
Her disdain goaded him, its sentiment far too similar to his own thoughts. “I don’t make that determination.”
“What do you determine?” Her lips quirked in a contemptuous manner.
Frustration spurred him to action. “This.” He caught her around the waist, unable to stop his yearning to reclaim the ease she’d felt with him earlier.
She stiffened, as always, some of her curls escaping her attempt to constrain them. “I fail to see how this is for the greater good.”
He freed the rest of her curls with a few quick tugs. The pins clicked as they hit the wood floor. Her hair spilled over his hands and down her back. He caught a tendril in his fingers. “You don’t have to fight to keep it arranged. And I can determine if it’s truly as soft as I remember.” But this time her face wasn’t flushed with innocence and desire.
“My hair has nothing to do with this.”
He buried his hands in the strands, marveling at the way they twisted and coiled like living silk. “Wrong. I have every intention of keeping it safe.”
“Safe would be far away from Vourth.”
He couldn’t deny her words. “You will have all the protection I can provide.”
She snorted in response.
“I do what I must,” he bit off, tiring of her disbelief that he would protect her.
“Do you ever do what you want?”
Not in a long, long time. Duty always came first. A sudden spurt of anger surprised him. Anger at her for making him prove he was the monster he’d always feared himself to be. Her eyes widened slightly as she realized his intent, but before she could protest he tucked his finger under her chin and set his mouth on hers.
Her lips were motionless beneath his. Damnation, what had he proved other than that he was the brute she thought him? But as he straightened, her hands fisted in his shirt, denying his retreat. Her lips fought his, refusing him the forgiveness he sought. But she hadn’t pushed him away, and that simple fact was a ray of hope he didn’t deserve. She suckled his bottom lip into her mouth, her teeth scraping over the sensitive skin. He growled, tightening his arm around her waist, unable to resist claiming more. Her lithe body pressed against him, her body arching. Hell, he hadn’t known how much he’d needed this until this very moment. He tried to tell himself that any woman would have inflamed him like this, but even in his addled state he couldn’t believe the lie.
Bennett slipped his hand down the delicate curve of her spine, ensuring every inch of her molded to him. Yet that wasn’t enough. He needed to be inside her, to have her fire enveloping him, burning him. His hands swept down to the curve of her buttocks, lifting her against him so her hips ground against his.
Bennett was an expert at control. Once an observation point he’d selected turned out to be lamentably close to an anthill. He’d spent four excruciating hours tracking the movement of French troops while thousands of insects swarmed over his unmoving form.
So why couldn’t he remove his hands from this woman?
Mari refused to give him time to ponder the answers. She unbuttoned his waistcoat, her hand sweeping over his linen-covered chest and down his side. When she fumbled at the waistband of his trousers, pulling loose his shirt so her hands could slip inside to touch him, any claim he’d had on control shattered.
His hand tangled in her hair as his lips advanced from her mouth to her cheeks to the supple line of her throat. Her distinctive scent intoxicated him, vanilla and nutmeg. Innocence and seduction.
His hand lowered to her stomach, starting at the swell right below her breast and sweeping his fingers along the lithe curve of her waist.
Something crackled.
He jerked back. As he traced the folded paper tucked in her stays, his breath grated in his ears. “The drawing?”
She swallowed several times and groped for words. “Yes. I didn’t want to risk leaving it.”
He stepped back. What the devil was he doing? She had been angry at him. Well, she had every reason to be. He had no right to seduce her out of her reaction. He should have accepted her taunts as the price of his success.
Mari surveyed him wide-eyed, her lips delectably swollen. Her cheeks still flushed with fury and passion. Her bosom heaving against the confines of her dress until his hands itched to ignore the paper, undo the line of buttons down her back, and explore the contours of her breasts.
Bennett jerked his gaze to the cold, unforgiving line of weapons on the table behind her. “There won’t be a repeat of this.”
“What if I want a repeat?”
He grabbed the edge of the table to keep from tossing her on the bed. “It will not happen.” Lust still commanded a stranglehold on his thought so he peered out the window into the night till his thoughts cooled. Anyone might have entered the inn while his attention had been centered on Mari. He’d been certain no one had followed them from Constantinople this morning, but that did not preclude new complications from developing. He picked up a knife and tucked it back into the hidden sheath in his boot while she stepped back from him, adjusting the neckline of her dress with a quick tug.
“I’m leaving Constantinople after this assignment,” he tried to explain, as much for his benefit as for her own.
Mari eyed the other knife with a little too much interest. “Good. I am more than eager for this to end.”
Her words were unaccountably painful. Hadn’t she felt anything more than lust today? He didn’t count himself an emotional man, yet he couldn’t deny something deeper had been sparked within him. “You could have fooled me.” Damn it to hell. Ignore the taunts and send her back to her room.
She had the audacity to shrug. “It was nothing more than a kiss.”
If it wasn’t for the paper, they would have done a whole lot more than that.
He hated that paper. Hated the distance he had to put between them, and also the scornful pretense he’d forced her to assume when they both knew they desired each other. “I’ll escort you to your room.”
Her hand shook as she reached for the door handle. “It’s not necessary.”
The hell it wasn’t. He’d nearly ravished her. The least he could do was see her safely to her room. “It isn’t open for debate. You may not value my protection but that does not mean I will cease to give it.”
She gestured ahead, her face neutral. “Fine.”
He preceded her into the corridor, scanning left and right before leaving the room. “Come.”
She ignored his proffered arm. “It’s really not far. I can manage to walk ten feet without—”
Something thumped behind
the wooden wall to Mari’s room. He held up a finger to his lips.
“It really is possible for a woman—”
He clamped his hand over her mouth and pulled her against him to quiet any protest.
She stilled.
“Is your maid packing?” he whispered.
She pried his hand off her mouth and shook her head.
Another scrape sounded inside the room.
She pressed her back tighter against him. “No, she was going to the kitchen in hopes we’d—” She ducked her head. “No. Although it is possible she returned.”
“Stay here.” Bennett slid Mari to the wall beside him. His footfalls landed silently on the wooden floor as he approached the door. He drew the knife from his boot.
Resting his free hand on the doorknob, he lowered to a slight crouch.
One. Two. Three. He slammed open the door.
Inside, a thick-set man with a coal-black mustache sprang to his feet. A jar of Mari’s ink tumbled from his hand and shattered on the floor.
Mari gasped behind him.
Damn it. Couldn’t she follow simple directions?
During his split second of inattention, the thief leaped into motion, dashing toward an open window.
Bennett dove for the man but missed him by a breath. Without pausing, he threw his knife into the thief’s calf before the man could lift his leg over the sill.
The intruder shrieked and fell to the floor, blood darkening the leg of his trousers. With a panicked moan, he yanked the short blade out. The whites of his eyes gleamed as he tried to locate Bennett, but too late.
Bennett slammed into his side. The knife clattered across the wood floor to Mari’s feet. Bennett punched him once in the jaw. “Who are you!”
The man struggled against Bennett’s weight. A torrent of words Bennett couldn’t understand poured from the man’s mouth. He kept repeating the same phrase over and over.
“Who do you work for?”
A woman screamed.
Mari.
Bennett locked his hand around the man’s throat. His heart hammered as he whipped his head around.
“Achilla, silence.”
Not Mari. Her maid. Achilla surveyed the scene with horror, a sickly green color coating her pale cheeks. Mari stood next to her, her face white as well, but she held his knife in a firm grip.
Good girl.
The man choked under his hand and Bennett released him. He gasped for breath. “Who sent—”
But it was too late. Achilla’s scream had roused the innkeeper. The stout, gray-haired man stumbled into the doorway.
Mari dropped the knife and promptly burst into tears. “A thief. We’ve been robbed.”
The innkeeper, to his credit, patted her on the shoulder while bellowing for his servants. Two burly individuals hurried into the room and pulled the intruder to his feet.
A third man, slightly better dressed, entered on their heels. His straight posture and intelligent eyes marked him as a town official, most likely a magistrate, and the hastily donned appearance of his clothing explained his presence in the ramshackle inn. He exchanged words in Turkish with the innkeeper, then bowed to Bennett.
The innkeeper translated for the magistrate as he spoke. “We apologize for your trouble. This man is a well-known thief. I trust you are uninjured?”
Bennett nodded.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
Bennett informed them he’d found the thief in the room upon returning. The innkeeper once again translated. Mari sobbed even more hysterically from the chair where she’d seated herself.
The magistrate edged away from the noise. “He will trouble you no more.” He motioned, and the servants escorted the whimpering intruder from the room after him.
The innkeeper bowed and after assuring them their stay would be free of charge, backed from the room.
Bennett shut the door behind them. Confound it. He’d lost his answers. He had no excuse to demand to speak with the man. He was supposed to be a gadabout nobleman. He pounded the door frame once with his fist.
Achilla jumped and watched him with frightened eyes. She wasn’t just upset by the situation, she was terrified—of him.
Bennett forced himself to look away from her ashen face. Violence was who he was. It was part of the reason he’d been selected for this mission. He could mete out death and pain without flinching. Any hesitation that existed at some point in his career had been drowned out in blood.
Mari’s sobs quieted.
He kept his gaze trained on his bruised hand resting by the door. Mari had more than just cause to be frightened of him now. But he couldn’t stand to see it on her face. His chest ached with cold.
“Curse it. Now we won’t know who sent him,” Mari said, voice suspiciously calm.
He turned slowly toward her. She was glaring at the door, her eyes free of both tears and alarm.
The cold thawed a touch.
“Achilla,” Mari stood and lowered her maid into her chair. “Rest before you collapse.”
Achilla shook her head slightly from side to side as if clearing it. She whispered something to Mari that Bennett couldn’t hear.
Mari colored at her words. “Hardly. He is definitely not.” She walked over to Bennett and drew him toward the window. “Are you all right?” She lifted his hand and examined his scuffed knuckles.
“I am uninjured.”
She traced his hand below the reddened skin.
Bennett savored the gentle movement. With blood still pounding in his veins, he gave thanks the maid was there so he didn’t have to put his promise not to kiss her again to the test. He cleared his throat. “Did the thief say anything of use?”
Mari lowered her voice. “Nothing substantive.”
“What did he say?”
Mari frowned. “He just kept repeating he hadn’t taken anything. He couldn’t find it.”
The man must have known about the drawing. “Damnation.”
“My thoughts precisely.” She let go of his hand and closed the window next to her. “Someone knows my identity.”
Bennett stared at her. Hell. “Nothing has changed.”
“Of course it has. It is one thing for someone to be following me because they’re suspicious. It is quite different for them to know where I am and what I am doing.”
Bennett had long suspected his soul teetered on the brink of hellfire, but what he was about to say would push him over the edge. His only hope was that Caruthers would be there alongside him. “You’ll still draw Vourth.”
Her mouth dropped open in shock before it snapped shut. “You must be joking.”
If only it were that simple. “No, the British government must have that information.”
She stepped back, her eyebrows drawn together. “If someone knew I’d be here, what makes you think they won’t expect me at Vourth?”
“We will be careful.”
“So they might be waiting for me?” Her hands were planted on her hips, but a touch of fear had reentered her eyes.
“I—”
She spoke the truth, but some small bit of self-preservation warned him to hold his tongue. He knew once he admitted the danger, yet still refused to let her quit, his damnation would be complete.
Yet despite that knowledge, he could not lie to her. Not even to save his own soul. “Yes, it is possible.”
“So you will take me into Vourth, even though they already know who I am.” Her eyes burned into his. “You will gamble with my life because you were ordered to do so.”
And to save the lives of his men and get him home to help his sister. Bennett ignored the vicious thrust of guilt and met her gaze. “Yes.”
Chapter Nine
Mari stretched as the coach clattered to a stop in front of her home. She rubbed an aching spot on her neck. Ottoman roads were not known for smooth travel.
Achilla shot one final glare at Bennett. The last in a near constant stream.
At first, her maid’s show of so
lidarity had buoyed her. But after a while, the whole thing had seemed rather pointless and her own anger had lessened to a dull pain.
She had thought the charming man on the hillside was the real Bennett that he’d hidden away. Now she had to conclude that this stern, unbending side of him was just as real. And she wasn’t sure what to do with the fact. She grudgingly understood his dedication to his duty, but it was her life that hung in the balance. Couldn’t she expect him to give more weight to her safety?
Perhaps not, but confound it all, she could wish.
“You are no longer a gladiator or a Greek god in my estimation,” Achilla announced with vindictive relish.
Mari’s eyes met Bennett’s, and for a moment, humor flashed in his gaze. The silent, shared amusement was oddly intimate after their mutual distance this morning. Her breath refused to obey her, and she teetered between amusement and embarrassment.
She broke their gaze. She now knew what to do with her understanding of Bennett—keep herself separate and uncaring.
“Are you going to be able to keep up the pretense of the courtship?” he asked.
“Why do you ask me when I have no choice?”
The door clicked open. Selim offered her his hand to help her descend, but his attention was already riveted on the passenger behind her. As he helped the maid down, his hand lingered on Achilla’s for a second longer than necessary.
Selim turned to Mari as Bennett climbed out. “Esad Pasha has requested you and Major Bennett visit him at two this afternoon, and Fatima Ayse Hanim is awaiting you inside by the Grand Fountain.”
Mari clenched her hands at her sides, uncertain which of those two things was worse.
Selim bowed. “I am sorry. I tried to convince her I was unsure when you would return, but she insisted on remaining.”
“I know how she is.” Mari closed her eyes. Perhaps she could send Bennett away?
Strong fingers stroked her arm. “Are you all right?” Bennett asked.
She nodded, glaring at her travel-stained dress. “Yes, I am well. It appears I have a visitor.”
“I will accompany you.” Bennett stepped slightly in front of her, placing himself between her and the door. He’d been ordered to protect her and he would bullheadedly try to do just that, no matter the situation.