by Anna Randol
“True, but—”
“She wasn’t in the room, Daller.”
The man deflated at Bennett’s proclamation. “Well, good, good.” His smooth smile slid back into place. “We wouldn’t want to lose one of our best agents.”
“So I’m an agent now?” Mari asked.
The ambassador chuckled. “You must forgive me. My concern for England is a passion that is hard to contain.”
More like his concern for political advancement.
Bennett spoke before she could respond. “We still have much planning to do. If we’ve addressed all your concerns, Daller?”
“Yes. I beg your pardon for interrupting.” Yet the carefully banked suspicion still smoldered in the ambassador’s eyes.
Bennett was silent after Daller left. Mari tried to focus on the map next to her but a strange warm haze clouded her thoughts.
He hadn’t betrayed her.
She didn’t know whether to kiss him or slap him for his interference. She could take care of herself, but for once, it was nice not to have to.
Mari grimaced, curtailing the pleasant thought. There was no point in getting used to it. She wouldn’t trust him without an explanation of his actions last night, and he’d refused to give her one. She couldn’t let herself forget that.
Still, she was grateful. “Thank you.”
His face could’ve been carved from stone. His attention dropped back to the map. He hadn’t betrayed her to his cousin but neither had he forgiven her.
It was good she was no longer trusting him.
Especially not with her heart.
Chapter Eighteen
Mari swore silently under her breath. She rubbed the henna paste covering her upper arm. As she feared, the plant had dyed her skin an unlucky dark brown, rather than the orange that would bring luck and prosperity to Ceyda’s marriage.
She peered at the door that led to the rest of the house. It was nearly impossible to practice her henna designs knowing Bennett rested on the other side. Although it would have been ten times worse to practice with him on this side of the door, staring at her with cold eyes.
Not that her bare skin should bother him. He’d seen practically all of it two days ago. Caressed it, too.
She closed her eyes at the remembered sensations. How wanton did it make her if, even after all they’d gone through, she wanted him to make her feel that way again?
She growled and mashed the paste through a sieve. Unfortunately, no two batches of the dye ever turned out the same. She stirred the thick, honey-colored substance. She had to practice on her skin to get the timing of the henna just right for tonight’s bridal party.
The bride was supposed to be the first one decorated. So she had to leave her own her hands clear and use her upper arms as a canvas. But now, intricate dark brown stains covered most of the usable space.
On to her next option.
Mari lifted the hem of her robe and rolled up the leg of her trousers. The paste was cool and sticky on her calf as she applied a simple pattern of vines and flowers. She’d better get this right or before long, she’d be working in the nude.
Perhaps she’d invite Bennett in for that.
Male voices rumbled outside the room. Mari set the rolled paper tube of henna beside her. Who was out there? Her father was visiting a new acquaintance he’d met at the soiree.
The door opened, and Nathan strolled in dressed in the prosperous clothing of a shopkeeper. “Some people have guard dogs. Are you trying to inspire a new trend of guard suitors?” He looked pointedly at her bare leg. Mari scrambled to her feet and pulled down the hem of her trousers as Bennett entered.
“Did you discover anything?” Bennett asked, closing the door behind him.
Abington’s amusement faded. “Your thief wasn’t there.”
“What?” Mari asked.
Bennett eyed her collection of henna-making supplies. “I asked him to gather more information on our thief from the other night.”
Mari crossed her arms in front of her chest. “And when did you think you’d inform me of this?” The man had a head like the Rock of Gibraltar. Did it simply not occur to him that if her life was the one in danger, perhaps he should inform her of new developments?
Nathan raised an eyebrow. “A lovers’ spat already?”
Bennett glared at both of them. “What do you mean he wasn’t there? Had he been executed?”
Images of the poor slain Greek patriot resurfaced in her mind. Mari shuddered.
Nathan placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. “There was no record of him ever being there. Not that a place like that keeps records per se. But he was known in those parts, and no one recalled seeing him. He never made it to the jail.”
“Did he escape then?” Mari asked.
Bennett’s gaze was locked on where Nathan’s hand rested on her. She moved a step closer to him just to irk Bennett.
Nathan’s lips twitched in recognition of her tactic. “No, there was no record of that, either. The local magistrate assured me he delivered the thief to the jail.”
“So what happened to him?”
Nathan and Bennett shared a look that made her swallow.
“You think someone killed him?”
Nathan shrugged noncommittally. “I suppose he could’ve escaped from the jail.”
“But you don’t think so,” she confirmed.
Bennett shook his head. “Dead men can’t talk.”
Mari sat heavily on the couch.
Nathan sat next to her. “It’s not your fault. He’s the one who decided to break into your room.”
“Yes, but the man wouldn’t have tried to rob me if I hadn’t had something worth robbing.”
Bennett remained unmoved by her distress. “He was a criminal destined for the gallows.”
Nathan’s lips thinned. “Is that how you normally comfort a woman? Bludgeon them with a blunt object, Prestwood?”
“Did anyone have leads on who hired him?” Bennett asked.
“One of the thief’s trustworthy acquaintances reported seeing him speaking to a man with a white turban and brown laborer’s clothes.”
She forgot her guilt for a moment. “Did he have anything distinctive about him?”
“His left hand was withered.”
She sprang to her feet, her hands reaching excitedly for Bennett. “The man who followed me from before!”
“Most likely.” His voice implied that the conclusion was obvious.
She dropped her hands to her sides. “So we were followed.” Her servants hadn’t betrayed her. Or perhaps she was too hasty in her relief. A new thought occurred to her and her spirits sank. “Or perhaps the same person who hired him to follow me knew where we were going and employed him for this job as well.”
“Anything on that, by the way?” Nathan asked.
Mari shook her head. “Not that we agree on.”
Nathan leaned back against the cushions. “I expected you to have solved that by now, Prestwood.”
She might be annoyed with Bennett at the moment, but Mari couldn’t let him bear the fault for that. “He’s been protecting me.”
“Surely, he’s not doing so every hour of the day.”
Silence echoed in the room.
Nathan cleared his throat. “How long has this been going on?”
Mari rearranged the henna supplies sitting on the table next to her. “Two days.”
“Ah, that explains why you’re at each other’s throats. Well then, once again I’ll come to the rescue. Take yourself off, Prestwood. I shall defend this fair maiden for the next few hours. Use the time to seek your enemy rather than waiting for them to attack you.”
When Bennett hesitated, Nathan continued, “Or amuse yourself some other way. Hit things. Plan battles.” Nathan’s eyes grew serious. “I’ll protect her. How long until you strangle each other if you remain?”
Bennett’s face shuttered at Nathan’s choice of words. “She has a bridal party she must attend to in
a few hours.”
Nathan looked at her askance.
“Fatima’s niece has her Kina Gecesi tonight.”
“I’ll see Mari safely there and then home again. You can take over at that point. I must get my rest if I’m to remain this beautiful.”
Bennett’s eyes narrowed. “Be as obvious as possible when you leave this evening.”
His gaze was far too intent on her.
“What are you planning?” Mari asked.
“Appear as though you might be involved in something interesting.”
“You plan to try to capture the man following me, don’t you?” As angry as she still might be, she didn’t like him putting himself at risk for her sake.
“Yes.” Bennett turned to Nathan. “If I do capture him, Abington, I will likely need someone to translate. I’ll send a servant with word tonight if I am successful.”
Mari frowned. “I could translate.”
“No.” Both men answered at the same time.
She stiffened, but Nathan put his hand on her shoulder. “We will tell you what he says, but you may not want to be in that room.”
Unease prickled over her skin. “I am involved in this too, you recall.” Her gaze pleaded with Bennett as she spoke.
Bennett cast her a dismissive glance. “Yes, but your role is limited to bait.” He strode from the room.
“You can’t truly burn holes in his back,” Nathan said.
Mari turned her glare from the door Bennett had just exited. “Pity.” Had she truly worried over his safety for a moment?
“Doesn’t burn holes in me, either, I’m afraid.”
Mari turned her glare to the floor.
“What happened between the two of you? From what I heard from the rumors after the soiree, I was practically picking out wedding presents.”
Mari explained what had transpired at the ambassador’s and everything that happened afterward.
Almost everything, as she left out the interlude in the bath.
Nathan whistled low. “And he didn’t have you flogged?”
A fresh wave of misery overwhelmed her annoyance. She blinked rapidly and retrieved a cup of turnip juice for each of them.
She sipped it absently. Of the entire week she’d known Bennett, they’d only been anything close to friends for two days. It was foolish to mourn the loss of an anomaly.
Nathan swore in Arabic and Turkish. “Did you sleep with him yet?”
Mari choked. “What? No!”
“But something happened?”
A blush seared Mari to the roots of her hair. “Nothing that— We didn’t—”
“Shall I shoot him?”
“No.”
“Beat him just a trifle senseless?”
The idea held some appeal. But she grimaced. “No. Everything we did was my idea.”
“Then this misery is because he’s angry with you?”
She placed her cup on the table. That wasn’t quite it. His anger stung, but she understood his reaction. She’d anticipated it.
“Did he fail to live up to your impossible expectations?”
“I don’t have high expectations of people.” At least no more than anyone else.
Nathan took a sip from his cup, grimaced, and returned it to the table as well. “I know. Your expectations are exceedingly low. You never trust anyone. You pretend you do, but in truth you’re only giving them time to fail you. Then you grasp hold of any flaw as proof that you were right not to trust them.”
“Trust is fragile.” She reeled under the unexpected attack. She paced to ease her agitation.
“Yes, but it isn’t a Ming vase. The slightest nudge shouldn’t send it shattering on the floor, and leave it fit only for the rubbish bin.” He winced. “Bad metaphors aside, Prestwood has always been something of a dull stick, but he’s a good man.”
She frowned at his description of Bennett. “So, I’m supposed to give people infinite chances? Let them take advantage of me and then smile and ask them to do it again and again?” Oh heavens. Why hadn’t she chosen her words with more care?
Nathan, for once, chose to overlook the more ribald implication of her words. “You said yourself that you thought he had a reason behind his actions.”
“But what does that matter if he won’t tell me what they are?”
“That is the reason for trust, I believe.” Nathan pointed at her. “Bennett’s not your father.”
Mari exhaled through clenched teeth. “Why am I even discussing this with you? I— Confound it!” She sat and rolled up the leg of her trousers. She scrubbed the dry, flaking henna off her leg. Drat, muddy brown. “I’m not discussing Bennett with you.” She was right not to trust Bennett anymore.
Nathan shrugged, then stood and picked up his glass. “Do you have anything other than this vile liquid? I’m afraid I haven’t adapted to native life as entirely as you yet.”
She pointed to the table where the remains of her afternoon tea were laid out. “There’s tea, but it’s cold.” She picked up the tube of henna and put a small dot on her leg.
He helped himself to a cup. “Still preferable.” He added a spoonful of sugar and stirred. The spoon clicked against the side in soft rhythm. When he looked at her across the room, a serious expression weighed his features. “You don’t have to draw Vourth.”
“I know.”
He added another spoonful of sugar. “It won’t help the Greeks.”
“I know.”
“And it’s dangerous. Not just dangerous like what you’ve faced here. It’s a stronghold for thieves and murderers. The only way the sultan could have his fort built there was to first fortify the road in. Every shipment of supplies is given an escort of dozens of soldiers and they’ve still lost some. There is a reason the Russians haven’t tried to gain any influence in the area before. The place is a death trap.”
Mari lowered her face so he wouldn’t see the fear trembling in her gaze. Even with all the danger, she still had to go. “The British need an accurate sketch.”
“Since when did you care about the British? Prestwood can sketch it himself.”
“He can’t draw.” Unease slipped over her skin. “Besides what if he’s caught? He’ll have an undisguised drawing on him and they’ll kill him for certain.”
Nathan’s spoon clattered on the tray. “You aren’t doing this to help the Greeks. You’re going to protect Prestwood.”
“No. I agreed to draw the fort.”
Nathan flung two more scoops of sugar in his tea. “It may have escaped your attention, but he is a rather large man, capable of protecting himself.”
“But he doesn’t even speak Turkish, what if—”
Nathan’s crow of vindication interrupted her. “Are you sure you didn’t sleep with him?” He suddenly stabbed the sugar bowl with his spoon. “Hell, it’s worse. You love him.”
She opened her mouth to deny the accusation, but no words emerged.
She didn’t love him. He was leaving within a matter of days and he’d made his lack of feelings for her clear. Besides, while she knew firsthand love could exist without trust, it made life a hellish experience. She wouldn’t condemn herself to that. Not again. Not like with her father. “That would be foolish.”
He sipped his tea, then spat it out and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He put the lid back on the sugar and poured himself a fresh cup. “This from the woman who insists on following a trained, battle-hardened soldier into certain death to watch over him.”
Chapter Nineteen
Bennett hugged the dark shadow of the building, motionless. His vantage point allowed him to see far too clearly the way Abington’s hand caressed Mari’s lower back as he escorted her to the waiting carriage. Bennett pressed himself so tightly against the wall that the bricks dug into his shoulder blades. Every base male instinct ordered him to stride over to the coach and rip Mari away from Abington. But thankfully, his control held.
He’d thought escaping her presence would help. Surely,
he could find something to else to occupy his thoughts, something that didn’t involve watching her until he’d memorized the intriguing curve of her cheek. Or straining to hear her murmuring voice on the other side of the door.
But he couldn’t. Desire for her still consumed him.
He forced himself to focus. This was his best chance to capture the man following her. And he’d given his word he would do that. After tonight, he intended to have the answers he needed to find the person who knew of Mari’s work. Then at the end of the week, once she sketched Vourth, he’d be free to return home.
As the coachman cracked his whip and shouted a sharp command to the horses, Bennett tensed, readying his still muscles.
After a long moment, a white-turbaned figure emerged from a nearby gate and hurried after the lumbering coach. Bennett emerged from his hiding spot.
Time for answers.
Bennett tackled the man to the ground.
The man grunted as they rolled on the cobbles. He twisted roughly from side to side, but Bennett’s greater size and weight gave him the advantage. Bennett pinned the man’s face onto the dirt and removed the coarse length of rope he’d brought from his pocket. Taking quick note of the disfigured left hand, he bound the hands of Mari’s pursuer and knotted it tightly.
He hauled the man to his feet. “Who sent you?”
The man erupted in a string of Turkish words. Most of which, Bennett suspected, weren’t polite.
“Do you speak English?”
The man continued his diatribe. Spittle flew from his mouth in his rage.
Bennett shoved the man into a walk. Daller should be able to assist him until Abington arrived.
The man fought all the way to the embassy, but Bennett had dealt with recalcitrant prisoners many times before. At the door of the ambassador’s home, the man suddenly wrenched himself to the right, but Bennett had anticipated a final escape attempt. His boot caught the prisoner’s ankles and the man went sprawling. His turban tumbled off, revealing sparse, unkempt hair.
Bennett pulled the man upright and shoved him past a very astonished butler.
Inside the study, Bennett stood watch over the man as he awaited the ambassador. The door to the study flung open, and Daller strode in.