by Anna Randol
She felt more than heard the rumble in his chest and couldn’t discern if it was a growl or a laugh.
As she drew back, she frowned. How had she missed the smooth white scar that ran from his shoulder to his navel? She pulled back and examined him more closely. A star-shaped scar marred the left side of his ribs. Half a dozen small lines dotted the section of his abdomen that she could see over the water. His body matched his hands.
And both belonged to a warrior.
She reached out a finger and touched the scar on his ribs. None of his poems had talked about his own pain, but sweet heavens, how could he have endured this? No wonder he thought the medals worthless ribbons, he bore the marks of his pigheaded loyalty on his skin. “What happened?”
He pushed her hand away. “War.” He didn’t explain or share any details.
But despite his terse tone or perhaps because of it, she couldn’t help leaning forward and pressing her lips to the tip of the scar at his shoulder. “I’m sorry.”
“It is part of being a soldier.” But he rubbed his eyes and for the first time since Esad’s, he didn’t appear to be contemplating strangling her. He stepped away from her with a sigh and ducked under the water. He swam with long, graceful strokes to the stairs, then walked to the bench where the towels rested.
Long deep lines crisscrossed his back. She gasped. He’d been whipped. She’d seen enough former slaves to recognize the pattern. That wasn’t a result of a battle. It had been deliberate. A bone-deep fury filled her. “Who did that to your back?”
“The French.”
“But you are an officer.”
“One who wouldn’t tell them the information they needed.”
“Surely, nothing could have been worth that,” she whispered.
“It wasn’t my information to give up.”
They had come full circle then, and she’d never felt more alien from him.
He dried himself with brisk efficiency, then looped the fabric around his waist. “If we were in England, you’d likely hang for your actions tonight.” When he faced her, his face was shuttered. “I would have felt honor bound to turn you in myself.”
The water now chilled her. “Would you have done it?”
He stared at her, then turned his back and began to dress.
Mari exited the pool as well. She retrieved the other towel and dried off her shift as much as she could.
“I should go to the ambassador and inform him what you have done.”
She froze. Water dripped from her hair down her arms and her back. Her heart pounded in her chest. For all her claims to have thought things through, she hadn’t considered that option. “Will you?”
He pulled his trousers on over his wet drawers. “I’ve been ordered to protect you.”
What did that mean? That he was going to protect her from herself and go to the ambassador or that he was going to keep silent? “My actions didn’t endanger the lives of anyone. Talat’s men will just be too late. I didn’t endanger them. I wouldn’t have.”
He regarded her with a weary expression. “Truly? Not even to protect your pasha?” He picked up his shirt.
It was her turn to fall silent.
“I will not inform the ambassador. I was also ordered to ensure you draw Vourth. Labeling you a traitor would not allow that.” The gaze that swept her was distant and reserved.
Should she thank him? Mari wrung water from her hair until her scalp hurt, then stepped into her night rail. Her wet shift clung to her but it would dry soon enough. She fumbled with the buttons on the front of the garment. Her body still felt foreign and awkward from the pleasure she’d experienced. But she wouldn’t think of that now. She pulled her nightclothes more securely against her.
She preferred Bennett angry. Now there was nothing between them but emptiness. It seemed as if she’d been tossed into a room with a stranger. No, it was worse than that. Distance from a stranger she could have tolerated. This felt as if she’d been stripped of something precious. “I’m going to bed.”
He nodded.
He followed her to her room, but didn’t try to enter. “I’ll keep watch.”
Exhaustion made it impossible to even summon an argument. “Fine.” She turned back to him. “You will get some sleep as well, won’t you?”
“After I have ensured you’re safe.”
Mari shut her door and curled on her bed in a tight ball. If she did not regret her actions this evening, why did she still feel so horrible?
Chapter Fourteen
Despite what he’d promised, Bennett was unable to sleep.
Why the hell hadn’t someone told him about her deal with his cousin? No wonder she’d seemed so reluctant to speak with Daller at the soiree. And why she’d been so angry after his explanation at the inn. She must have thought he was forcing her all over again.
Which he had been.
He rubbed his temples. He was long overdue a conversation with his cousin, it seemed.
Daller should have let her stop. You did not, his conscience mocked.
Bennett paced the length of the room, trying to organize his thoughts.
Unsuccessful, he finally scavenged a few scraps of paper and some ink from a table in the corner. Staying in the home of an artist had some advantages.
He settled on one of the low-slung couches with a good vantage of Mari’s door and dipped quill in the ink. Yet the blank page refused to offer any solace.
Her actions were criminal. She’d taken classified information and shared it with someone other than its intended recipient. Ink splattered on the table.
But it wasn’t that simple. Was the information vital English intelligence or was it a worthless tidbit fueling an internal power struggle? Should it matter?
As his father often pointed out, armies blew people apart, alliances brought them together.
If duty bound him as tightly as he claimed, why didn’t he warn his cousin the information had been betrayed?
He pinched the bridge of his nose. Despite his lofty goals, he’d lost his objectivity. The line between his mission and Mari herself had blurred. Hell, an hour ago she’d cried out in his arms as he’d driven her to ecstasy.
His body painfully reminded him he hadn’t found his own release. Yet he embraced the hard-won discomfort. At least he’d held on to that slim wisp of control.
Bennett tapped the quill on the side of the jar. A bracing ode to duty and country would be in order.
Ten minutes and twelve crossed-out lines later, Bennett growled and crumpled up the paper. Worthless, all of it. Why did he think writing would prove beneficial to his peace of mind? The mocking laughter plagued him as it always did, echoing loud and clear.
Colonel Smollet-Green had been correct. Military men shouldn’t dabble in poetical nonsense. It was a disgraceful embarrassment.
He rubbed his eyes and stared up at the ceiling. He tracked the movement of a particularly well-wrought nightingale across Mari’s paintings above him. Despite the abundance of birds, each had a distinct personality that made them easy to follow as they vied for their goal. In the case of the nightingale, it was a small puddle of water collected in a broad leaf. To the little fellow’s dismay, his weight on the branch caused the branch to bend and the water to spill before he could reach it. The creature’s plumage puffed out in avian indignation only to settle when he peered hopefully from his branch at the real gurgling fountain in the center of the room.
Bennett frowned at Mari’s whimsy. He wouldn’t have pegged her as an optimist. Pragmatist, definitely. Had it been beaten out of her by disappointment or just kept well hidden during her current circumstances?
He drew his focus back down to the page in front of him. Why the hell didn’t he try to write about her? Maybe it would finally purge her from his thoughts. This time his quill scratched across the parchment with rapid strokes.
A knot in his neck made him straighten. He replaced the quill and read what he had written. A water sprite? A tingle of awareness s
pread over his skin. This was actually good.
But after a moment, Bennett stuffed the offending poem in his coat. He knew he was no judge of poetry. The imagery wasn’t complete doggerel, but it had failed in its main purpose—to get Mari out of his head. He closed his eyes and massaged the base of his skull.
In the morning, he’d leave a note for Abington. The man who’d tried to rob them yesterday must know something. Abington would have the best chance of getting that information. His connections to the criminal world might prove of assistance. Bennett also needed to form a solid plan for flushing out whoever was following—
A tap sounded on the main door to the women’s quarters.
“Mari?” It was her maid, Achilla.
Bennett found the key in its resting spot and opened the door.
Mari’s maid peered past him suspiciously.
“Yes?”
“Mari’s father is home.”
“This couldn’t wait until morning?”
Achilla glared at him. “No.”
“She’s still in one piece, if that’s what worries you.”
Achilla’s frown softened. “Only partially. She insists on helping her father herself when he’s in this condition.”
“Opium?”
She nodded.
He understood Mari’s shame but the servants already knew the truth. There could be no hiding it from them. “Doesn’t she trust the servants to help?”
The maid studied him for a moment, then gave a slight shrug. “A few months ago, Selim went to fetch Sir Reginald from one of his dissipations. Sir Reginald was in a belligerent mood and ordered him thrown in jail as a kidnapper. It took two days for Sir Reginald to stagger home and confess his actions. Mari, of course, paid to have Selim released immediately. But now she refuses to risk anyone but herself.”
That sounded like Mari. Protective and loyal to the point to foolishness. He drummed his fingers on his leg. Sir Reginald had caused Selim to be imprisoned. Another awkwardness explained.
Mari claimed only three people were aware of her actions, but was it possible Selim knew? The man seemed canny enough to keep a close eye on what happened in the house, and her father had given him a powerful motive to harbor enmity toward the family. An interesting angle to explore.
He glanced at Mari’s door. She’d so looked forward to this evening free from her father’s addiction. She needed her rest. “I’ll see to him.”
Achilla remained in the doorway. “You have your orders, Major, and I have mine.”
He had to appreciate her gumption. “Well, then proceed.”
She shot him a slanted look as she strode past. “I have to admit, I expected to have to knock a bit harder.”
He raised an eyebrow.
“It would have been hard to hear me if you were in her bedroom.”
Heat filled his cheeks, and he cleared his throat. He wasn’t a schoolboy.
He placed the key in his pocket.
Achilla snapped her fingers at him. “Don’t lose that key. It’s the only one we have.”
He returned the key to the jar on the table.
The maid knocked softly on Mari’s door, then entered, shutting the door behind her. A few moments later, Mari emerged with sleep-tousled hair. Hugging an emerald dressing gown tightly around her, she stumbled a bit as she saw him. “Please wait here.”
He hated the slump in her shoulders. “I’ll help you with him.”
She walked past him without glancing up. “Suit yourself.”
Sir Reginald slouched on a sofa in the entryway, a line of spittle dribbled down his chin. He waved his arms as if swatting at insects. With an ease that bespoke far too much familiarity with the action, she dodged his hands, tucked herself under her father’s arm, and pulled him to his feet.
“Damned demon. Leave me in peace.”
“It’s me, Father.”
“Oh, Mari. Can’t say you’re much better. Least the demons leave a man in peace occasionally.”
Bennett took up position none too gently on the man’s other side before Mari could protest. Even in his emaciated state, Sir Reginald would be heavy to maneuver; and if he was belligerent, too, she shouldn’t have to handle him on her own.
Sir Reginald turned his bleary-eyed stare on Bennett. “Bloody giants are here, too, now.”
Together they moved the poppy-eaten man. A few doors down the corridor, they paused.
Mari met his gaze for the first time. “Please. I need to get him to bed. He’ll need to change . . . use the chamber pot. Please, leave me to it. Please.” Her eyes glinted too brightly in the dim corridor.
Her repeated plea dug in his heart. Her father had much to answer for. “I’ll wait here.” He released Sir Reginald.
She sagged under the increased weight. “Thank you.”
He opened the door for her and she pulled her father inside. She dragged him to the bed in the center of the room, then closed the door.
Bennett paced outside as Sir Reginald muttered and cursed within.
“Damn you, witch, get away from me!” Sir Reginald’s voice exploded in fury.
Mari gasped in pain.
Bennett slammed through the door.
Mari huddled on the floor of the dark room, cupping her cheek.
Rage blurred his vision. He grabbed Sir Reginald by the lapels of his coat and threw him against the wall. His fingers wrapped around the man’s scrawny neck.
Mari’s scream echoed distant and distorted.
“Does it make you feel like a man to hit her?”
Sir Reginald’s terrified eyes rolled in his head. He gasped and sputtered, slapping weakly at Bennett’s hand.
Feminine claws gouged at his grip as well. “Bennett, stop! He didn’t hit me. I fell. Bennett, listen to me. Let him go!”
How could she defend him? How could Sophia? How had he missed the signs again?
Well, this time the bastard wouldn’t go free. His cruelty ended here. “I protect you whether you want it or not. You and Sophia are blind if you think a man like this will change. He won’t. He’ll hit you again and again.”
An elbow jabbed into his ribs. He grunted, and his grasp on Sir Reginald’s throat loosened. Mari stepped under his arm and shoved against his chest. His hold broke and Sir Reginald slid to the ground, gasping for air.
Mari’s hand branded Bennett’s face with a resounding crack. “You almost killed him.” A shuddering sob convulsed her slender body. “He was having night horrors again. He stumbled and knocked me off balance. I fell into the table. He never hurt me. He never has, ever.”
Bennett slowly flexed his hand as her words registered.
“Get out of my house.” Mari’s eyes looked like Achilla’s from the previous night. Horrified. Terrified. “Now.”
His breath pumped in and out of his chest as his rage faded. Nausea settled in its place.
Normal color was returning to Sir Reginald’s face, but dark finger marks encircled his neck.
Her father hadn’t hurt her, not purposely anyway.
If Mari hadn’t stepped in, he might have killed Sir Reginald. Bennett fisted his hands at his side to hide their trembling.
“Leave now. Whatever point you wanted to make about protecting me, you have made.”
“Mari, I—” But he couldn’t tell her the truth. He couldn’t explain because it would mean breaking his word to Sophia. He had to swallow twice against the bile welling in his throat. “Don’t leave this house. I will return shortly.”
He passed Selim running up the corridor. “Everyone is still alive.” Barely.
Bennett made it to the street before casting up his accounts. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
Mari had betrayed his trust earlier this evening. Well, he had just repaid her in full.
“Damned giants. Knew they’d be worse than the demons. Not as bad as the deer though.”
Mari sighed and pulled her father toward the bed. Her arms shook with exertion and shock.
&nbs
p; Selim stepped to her side. “I will assist.”
Mari shook her head. “No, you of all people have earned your freedom from this.”
Selim bent next to her. “I’ve forgiven any anger I might have harbored.” He drew in a deep breath. “I regret it.”
Mari refused to release her burden, but neither did she protest as Selim lifted her father’s legs while she hefted him onto the bed. “Then you are a better person than I.”
He helped as she rotated her father onto his side so he didn’t choke while he slept. She didn’t have the energy to see to his boots this evening. She motioned for Selim to leave the room with her.
He eased the door closed behind them.
Her legs began to shake, and she sat on the tile before they gave out.
Selim crouched in front of her, concern written on his face. “Are you all right?”
“Yes. Major Prestwood mistook a situation and overreacted.” She pressed her trembling hands to her cheeks.
Selim stood. He turned slightly to peer down the corridor. “People will do horrible things to protect someone they love. Things they would not normally do.” He sighed. “Things they regret later.”
She pressed the palms of her hands onto the cool tile. Bennett was assigned to protect her and even if he felt some small measure of affection for her—she did not fool herself that it was love—that didn’t explain the ferocity of his attack.
His eyes had been distant, as if her father felt the brunt of rage directed at someone else. Who was this Sophia he’d mentioned? A family member? A former lover? Whom had he seen under his hands as he strangled her father?
“So Major Bennett is not the man we thought him to be.” Selim’s lips pursed tightly together. “Shall I deny him entrance to the house?”
Mari drew in an aching breath. Forbidding him entrance would not stop him. Not when he had his blasted duty to fulfill. “No. I will speak with him tomorrow.”
And she intended to have her explanation.
Chapter Fifteen
Bennett had no need to place his note in the shutter. Candlelight flickered through the slats and striped the dark alley.