by Anna Randol
Mari squared her shoulders and walked toward the door. She was being a fool. Bennett would meet Fatima at some point regardless. Fatima made it a point to conquer all attractive men, and the fact that she thought Bennett belonged to Mari would make the conquest seem all the more irresistible.
She tried to keep her voice light. “Fatima will try to convince you to call her by her first name, but do not fall for her ploy or she will undoubtedly find some excuse to reveal that detail to her husband. He will make a fierce enemy.”
Bennett frowned and offered his arm. “What should I call her?”
“Hanimefendi would be proper, or Fatima Ayse Hanim.”
A crease appeared between Bennett’s brows so she explained further. “The first is similar to Your Grace and the second to Lady Fatima. The title follows the first name.”
He nodded. “And her husband?”
“Talat Bey.”
His lips thinned and she knew he’d recognized the bey’s name. “I have heard—” The words died on his lips as they rounded the corner into the courtyard.
Fatima had displayed herself on the edge of the fountain. Leaning back slightly with her arms braced behind her, she gently arched her back to draw attention to her full bosom. The neckline of her caftan had been maneuvered to offer up a generous sampling of cleavage. Even the color of clothes, silver and sky blue, perfectly complemented the darker gray tones of the marble fountain.
Bennett straightened. His arm dropped away from Mari’s hand as they reached Fatima’s side.
Fatima’s smile widened beneath the white translucent veil, and her eyes met Mari’s with a gleam of triumph.
Mari lowered her hand to her dusty, wrinkled skirt. It wasn’t his fault. She had yet to meet a man immune to Fatima’s charms.
Pit viper.
Fatima rose to her feet with an elegant motion that caused the bracelets at her wrists and ankles to tinkle. She gave a surprised gasp and stumbled back. Even though she was in no danger of tumbling into the fountain behind her, Bennett reached out and grasped both her shoulders to steady her. Fatima gave an exaggerated shudder. Her veil tumbled off and puddled on the floor near her feet, revealing her flawless olive complexion, full pouting lips, and a face so exquisite men literally stumbled over their feet upon seeing her.
Fatima really needed to ensure her maid arranged her veils more securely. They always slithered off at the most opportune times.
Bennett retrieved it for her, and Fatima’s fingers slid down his hand as she drew it from him. His chest jerked at the contact.
Well, confound him anyway. Mari swallowed to dislodge the lump of pain in her throat. He wasn’t really her beau, but they did have a false courtship to maintain. She stepped closer to Bennett, hoping to jar him back to his senses.
Fatima batted her long eyelashes at him. “I hope you don’t mind if I do not put this back on. We are all friendly here, are we not?” Her tongue ran slowly over her bottom lip. “Or at least we will be once I know your name.” She glanced expectantly at Mari.
Mari had to unlock her jaw so she could speak. The urge to remain silent to spite the other woman was a childish one, and Fatima would view her silence as a victory. “Fatima, this is Major Bennett Prestwood of the Ninety-fifth Rifles. Bennett, this is Fatima Ayse Hanim.”
Fatima offered her hand and he bowed over it, his lips lightly brushing her knuckles. His arm trembled as he straightened.
Fatima smiled. “Mari and I have known each other for a dozen years, you may call me Fatima.”
Bennett shook his head. “I would never dream of such intimacy.”
He was flirting, confound him! She didn’t even know the man knew the word existed.
He continued, “I cannot believe you have been friends for that long. You look far too young.”
Fatima giggled and swept an appreciative gaze over him. “Oh, but it has been a few years. Her father is friends with my uncle Esad, so we knew each other as girls.”
At least she didn’t have the gall to name herself as Mari’s friend.
“I have heard of your husband, the bey, as well.” Bennett’s voice was hoarse with emotion.
“Ah, yes. He is an important man, but so often gone—”
Enough! She would not let Fatima proposition her supposed suitor right in front of her. There was only so much her pride could take, after all. “Why have you come, Fatima?” She barely disguised the impatience in her voice.
Fatima cast a sympathetic glance at Bennett, then turned back to Mari. “I had thought to hire you—pardon me, ask you if you would assist with the night of henna for my niece’s wedding next week.”
The slip had been an intentional slur, of course. But Fatima’s niece was a friend, if a tad young for marriage. Mari still hadn’t accustomed herself to that tradition. “How old is Ceyda now?”
“Fourteen. We wouldn’t want her to languish as a spinster.” Her pointed look displayed disdain for Mari’s single state. She changed tactics when Mari didn’t respond. “You are the best, as you well know. Your henna designs always bring luck.” Her tone begrudged the small compliment.
Mari sighed. Ceyda would be hurt if she refused. She didn’t want to wound the sweet girl just to spite Fatima. “I will come.”
Fatima nodded. “Good.” She replaced the veil over her hair and face. She rested her hand on Bennett’s arm. “I look forward to seeing you again.”
“Will you be at the ambassador’s soiree this evening then?” Bennett asked.
Fatima’s lips puckered sourly for a moment before the expression melted into a rueful smile. “Alas, an Ottoman woman is not granted such luxury. I would only be able to entertain you in private.”
The hussy. Mari estimated how hard she would have to push for the woman to land in the fountain.
Bennett nodded. “Until then.”
Fatima smiled and glided from the room.
Bennett stared after her retreating form. He continued to pine until not even the scuff of her slippers could be heard. The odious man had not even glanced at Mari once since setting eyes on Fatima.
He turned to Mari. “I must ask you something about her.”
Mari wanted to pound him with her fists until the dazed look fled his expression. He could at least pretend not to be so interested; he had kissed her senseless last night.“How long had she been married before she made her husband a cuckold?”
It took three full seconds for his words to register. She gasped.
Bennett grinned, then coughed, then finally threw his head back and laughed.
Mari stared at him. Strangely pleased, yet concerned for his sanity at the same time.
“My sisters used to pull stunts like that whenever my brother and I would bring friends home on holiday. Took us forever to figure out why our friends suddenly turned into gibbering idiots.”
She understood his words, yet they didn’t make sense. He hadn’t been taken in by Fatima’s act?
“My sisters claimed they needed to practice for their coming out. Although I do have to credit them with a touch more subtlety.”
The warmth in his voice when he spoke of his sisters might have been the most disconcerting thing of all.
Bennett rubbed his eyes. “It took everything I had to keep my composure. I couldn’t even risk looking at you for fear of losing control. Does that act work on anyone?”
Mari could have kissed him. In fact, the idea held definite appeal. Until she remembered why she’d determined to keep her distance. Her smile faded.
Bennett drew in a deep breath. “Our pretense could use some work, however.”
“Pardon?”
“At the soiree this evening, we must appear to be at ease in each other’s company. You were so uncomfortable holding my arm as we entered, I feared you’d give us away.”
Perhaps she was the one who had gone mad. She clarified, “So you drew away because—”
“You were so stiff I was afraid your friend would suspect something was amiss.” He pau
sed. His brows drew together. “What did you assume?”
Her face heated to the point she worried she resembled a pomegranate. There was no way she’d admit her earlier thoughts.
The humor left his face. “You thought she had me so beguiled I’d abandon you without a second thought.”
Mari studied the scuff marks on the toe of her slipper.
He tucked his finger under her chin and raised her face until she met his gaze. Something dark lurked in his eyes. “My orders tell me to protect you. You may think that means you matter to me less, but you are wrong. It means you are mine.”
“I am no man’s.”
“You are until the mission is complete.”
Achilla bustled into the room, saving her from having to formulate a response. “Esad Pasha has sent a messenger to confirm your visit this afternoon. What shall I have Selim tell him?”
Bennett dropped his hand from Mari’s chin. “Were you expecting this?”
She shook her head. “But it is not unexpected, either. He will want to meet the man courting me.”
“We will go then.”
Achilla crowded next to Mari, forcing Bennett to step back. “You need to go change before the meeting, Major.” Her words continued overly bright and cheerful.
She must have overheard Bennett’s comment about missions.
Mari grasped her maid’s excuse. “Yes, I must dress as well.”
A slight frown pulled at Bennett’s mouth, but he nodded. “I will return at two and accompany you to the pasha’s. That should allow us to return in time to prepare for the ambassador’s soiree.”
She nodded. “I will see you then.”
Bennett had hardly taken his leave before Achilla erupted. “Orders, indeed! I was prepared to think slightly better of him if he groveled. Did the man learn romance from a dead goat?”
Ah, his blessed orders again. “He’s simply my protector.” A protector willing to risk her life.
Achilla snorted. “Then he’d better work on protecting your hair because it was much more tousled when you returned to the room last night.”
Mari sighed. “Just let it go. Neither Bennett nor I want anything more to come of this.” She bit her lip.
“You want nothing else from him?” Achilla asked. Her eyes narrowed. “Truly?”
What did she want?
For him to value her more than his orders.
But that wasn’t possible. Would she settle for less? Perhaps she should listen to Achilla. What if instead of ignoring the lust simmering between her and Bennett, she took advantage of it?
The thought jarred her back to her senses. Was she truly so pathetic that she was willing to forgive his threats in exchange for a few small moments of affection?
She changed her English dress for her Turkish clothing. Esad wanted to meet Bennett. By the time the pasha had finished his interrogations of several of her previous would-be suitors, the men had fled. Well, except for the man who was so overwrought he had to be carried away on a litter.
Perhaps she should warn Bennett.
She remembered his comment about orders and smiled.
Perhaps not.
An enormous man approached. His scarlet caftan was trimmed in lemon. His turban was twice the size of any Bennett had yet seen in Constantinople and appeared to be at least three shades of green.
“Esad!” Mari left Bennett’s side and ran to the man.
This was the man who caused Daller to quake with fear and envy? Other than his size, how could he make anyone but a valet tremble in terror?
The man looked up from Mari. As the man’s gimlet gaze bored through him, Bennett discarded his earlier assessment.
Bloody hell. The man was a tiger plumed in a peacock’s feathers.
He met the pasha’s gaze without flinching, yet a small part of him couldn’t help wondering what the other man saw.
“So Mari, this is Major Prestwood?”
She nodded and made the introductions.
The pasha’s hand crushed his in a bruising grip. “I look forward to furthering our acquaintance. Mari, Beria requested to see you when you arrived.” He shrugged to Bennett. “Women’s talk, no doubt. We shall find other ways to entertain ourselves.”
Mari hesitated for only a moment before surrendering to the none-too-subtle maneuvering and left the courtyard.
The pasha placed a hand on Bennett’s shoulder. “Come, let us retire to my office.”
The man’s heavy hand remained on him. “I won’t flee if you remove your hand,” Bennett said.
The pasha’s eyes widened, then he chuckled. “There is some precedent for my precaution.”
The main entry hall of the pasha’s home was immense, easily outstripping most London ballrooms. Ornate script decorated archways and window frames. Gold shimmered in the intricate filigree, intermixed with the red and blue tile work on the walls. A thick Persian rug shielded the white marble floor.
In contrast, the pasha’s office was organized and spartan. A Western-style English desk dominated the space. The pasha offered him a chair and then sat across from him.
“How are you enjoying my city?” He pulled a pipe from his desk.
Bennett refused the one offered to him. “It is indeed incredible, unlike any I have seen before.”
“Have you seen Topkapi Palace and the Golden Gate?”
Bennett nodded. “Fascinating, but that is hardly what you wish to discuss, is it?”
Smiling, the pasha tamped tobacco into the bowl of his pipe. “I thought to disguise the interrogation. It keeps men’s hearts beating longer.”
“You need not fear for me.”
The pasha stroked his thick, graying beard. “If you prefer plain speaking, it is not you I am concerned for.”
“I expected as much. Ask what you will.”
“You kissed her.”
He had said he preferred to be direct. “Yes.”
The pasha’s eyes narrowed when Bennett did not elaborate or offer excuses. “You could not have known her more than a day.”
“Less than that.”
The pasha lit his pipe and drew in a deep breath of the smoke. “Do you intend to be this difficult the entire time?”
Bennett shrugged. “Not if you ask me questions I can answer. That kiss”—and all the others for that matter—“is between Mari and myself alone.”
The pasha blew a stream of smoke into the air. “I could have you executed and no one would protest.”
Bennett respected the man across from him, but he refused to be cowed. “I definitely would.”
The pasha leaned back in his chair. “Yes, I suspect you would. Why are you not married?”
Bennett answered truthfully. “The war with Napoleon has just ended. Before that I refused to leave any woman a widow.”
“And Mari just happened to be what you dreamed of on the battlefield?”
Bennett hesitated.
“Come now, Major. I have been in battle most of my life as well. When death looms, thoughts turn to more pleasant things. Is she the wife you wanted?”
“No.” He hadn’t thought much about what his future wife would be like. Imagining a woman while in the midst of battle had always seemed wrong, like he’d dragged some unfortunate there with him. And he had no desire for a wife, imaginary or no, to see what he was capable of.
As Mari had yesterday.
Yet she hadn’t flinched away from his violence. She’d picked up his knife and, Bennett suspected, would have used it if needed. “No, she is much more.”
“Indeed? There isn’t much about her that would cause a man to stop and beg an introduction. Her father has sufficient funds, but is by no means wealthy. She isn’t exceptionally beautiful. She’s brash and impulsive and far too bright.”
The words were a tactic to goad him into confessing more than he’d planned. Yet Bennett couldn’t keep his back from straightening at the slurs. “She—”
“If you are going to mention her eyes, do not waste your
breath. They would inspire a passing compliment, not a courtship. Why do you pursue her?”
Bennett stared at the man and again found refuge in the truth. “Mari has more . . . vitality in her than any woman I have ever known.”
The pasha puffed on his pipe. “You are either a wise man or a very clever one. I cannot yet decide which.”
“Perhaps I am both.”
“Yes, that is what concerns me.” The pasha paused. “Most other men I would suspect of using Mari to get to me, but you do not plan to remain here, do you?”
“No. After visiting with my cousin and seeing the treasures of Constantinople, I plan to return home.”
“Does Mari know of your plans?”
Bennett nodded. “I have made it quite clear I am eager to return there after my visit.”
“Has she agreed to return with you?” The man’s gaze sharpened.
“No, but I have not yet asked her.”
“Then what are your intentions? I won’t let her be hurt.” The words weren’t spoken as a threat but rather with the calm assurance of a man who did not question his power.
Bennett shifted in the chair. “I will keep her safe.”
The pasha placed his elbows on the desk. “Even from yourself?”
Selim opened the door as Mari and Achilla approached home.
He nodded to them as they entered. “The major isn’t joining you?”
Mari shook her head. “No, but he will return in a few hours to fetch me and my father to the ambassador’s soiree.”
“He is trustworthy?” Selim asked.
“Yes.” She had answered without thinking about it. She hadn’t even been trying to protect the illusion of their courtship. Why had that been her instinctive answer? Yet she couldn’t bring herself to qualify it. He’d proven himself to be extremely trustworthy—to the British army.
Even Esad had apparently found nothing amiss with him, judging from their laughter and banter as they’d left his house.
Achilla crossed her arms and stepped directly in front of Selim. “I tried to tell you about him yesterday.”
Color stained Selim’s cheeks, and he stared past her shoulder. “I do not gossip about my employer. To do such a thing would lose their trust and earn my dismissal.” He bowed and walked away.