by Anna Randol
Yes, but he hated the weary lines that bracketed her mouth. “I’m used to less sleep with far less appealing companions.”
She opened her mouth to argue.
He interrupted. “Never fear, I intend for you to take your turn.” As much as he disliked the necessity, he was still more soldier than gentleman. He needed sleep if he was going to be of use tomorrow.
“Good.” She eyed the ground to her right and then her left.
“Come here. I make quite an effective pillow.”
She scooted closer and after a brief hesitation, laid her head on his lap. He smoothed the hair from her forehead. She sighed and relaxed.
He reached down to straighten the blanket around her.
She trapped his hand against her shoulder. “Ha, I knew it. You want the blanket.”
No, just who was in it.
He had to convince her to return to England. He didn’t want her in danger, but more than that, he finally admitted to himself, he wanted her with him.
She kissed the inside of his wrist, the light contact sending pleasure shooting up his arm. His tired body leaped back to life.
Bandits could appear at any moment.
That thought alone kept him from hauling her into his lap and making love to her.
But it didn’t keep his hand from sliding down to cup one of her breasts. The weight of it was heavy in his palm. “I’m afraid I was woefully neglectful of these the other night.”
Her ribs expanded with a quick breath. “I didn’t notice at the time, but if you feel the need to rectify the situation—” She gasped as he gently pinched her nipple.
“I remember you asking for this at the soiree.” To be more honest, her words haunted him until he could barely think of anything else.
Her head tilted back on his knee until her gaze met his, a teasing smile sparked in her eyes. “No, I think I asked you to kiss my breasts.”
He slowly unbuttoned her shirt and moved his hand down to the warm silk of her breast. He kneaded the soft mound, causing her hips to squirm under the blanket. “Kissing will have to wait, I’m afraid. I am standing watch after all. And if I taste these delightful bosoms, I won’t be able to focus on anything else.” As a matter of fact, he was having difficulty focusing as it was. An entire army of bandits could be surrounding them with trumpet and tambourines and he wouldn’t have noticed.
Regretfully, he withdrew his hand from her shirt. “You need sleep.”
She bit her bottom lip and dipped her chin into the folds of the blanket.
“Damnation, if you think I am stopping for any other reason. You are mad,” he said.
“Truly?”
A harsh groan rasped in his throat. “If you doubt me, turn your head a bit. You’ll see what you do to me.”
A flush stained her face as she studied the bulge in his trousers. She reached out and traced a finger down his straining shaft.
He caught her hand before he lost control like a green recruit.
Her face flushed brilliant red. “I’m sorry.”
He brought her fingers to his lips. “Don’t be. I enjoyed it far too much.”
When her gaze met his, it teemed filled with sensual curiosity that nearly broke his resolve.
“Really?” she asked.
“Hell, yes, woman. Now go to sleep.”
She complied with a sleepy sigh, rubbing her cheek on his thigh as she settled. But after a moment, she peeped up at him. “How angry are you about what I did for Esad?”
His heart ached at the uncertainty in her expression. He stroked her cheek as he considered her question. “You shouldn’t have betrayed that information to the pasha, but I understand why you did.” He pulled the remaining pins from her curls. “What I don’t understand is why you forgave him for owning your mother but refuse to forgive England.”
She frowned at his less than seamless change in topic. “It took my father, too. He couldn’t stand to be there without my mother, so we fled. Once here, my father discovered opium and I lost him completely.”
“Don’t you ever want to go back? Surely, you left friends and family behind.”
Her head twisted on his leg. “When my mother was sick, my aunt convinced my father that I shouldn’t be there. They dragged me away from her bed kicking and screaming. Literally, I’m afraid. When I tried to run away, they found me and brought me back. She beat me with her cane until I couldn’t walk.”
“Is she alive?”
Mari paused. “No, I don’t think so.”
Good. Because if he ever saw her, he would no longer be able to claim to be a gentleman. He smoothed his hand over Mari’s cheek, the growing twilight cool on her skin.
“Then there was nothing for me to do but wait in that horrible house, with that horrible woman who hated my mother for sullying the family name. When the news came that my mother had”—Mari shuddered—“had died, she smiled. She was happy that— I have no regrets about what I left in England.”
Bennett pulled her closer. “Not everyone in England is like that woman.”
“I know, but things were . . . bad for a while after we arrived here. We’d be out in the field and my father would forget to buy food or pack water, or he’d wander off without telling me when he’d return.” She shook her head slightly. “I wrote some of my father’s relatives to ask them to take me in. Even my aunt. I was that desperate. They were all sorry and regretful but unable to help the daughter of a slave.”
“Mari—”
She rolled away so he could see only her profile. “Don’t worry, I had Esad. He found out about the situation and arranged for a house and for my father’s funds to be made accessible to me.”
Bennett sifted through her soft, springy curls with his fingers. “What could convince you to return?”
She moved so she faced him again, her gaze solemn and intent. “Nothing.”
He had a trump he’d not yet played. “What if I asked you to come with me?”
Her gaze didn’t waver. “My answer would still be no.”
Chapter Twenty-five
Mari balanced her sketchbook on her knees. She missed her easel. Peering down, she studied where Vourth perched over a sheer ocean bluff. Scaffolding clung to an entire segment of the inner wall of the fortification. Deep trenches connected the old Byzantine fortress to what would soon be the foundations of a new perimeter wall, but construction had yet to begin. She’d expected them to be a lot further along.
She frowned as she drew what she could. If they made any changes as they finished building, the information she provided would be worthless.
Mari paused and flexed her hand, relieving the aching stiffness for the fifth time.
“Are you all right?” Bennett asked. He approached from his vantage point on a pile of boulders a few feet away.
“Rapidity and miniature work aren’t pleasant bedfellows.” She opened and closed her fist, then dipped her quill and added a few more lines. “That’s all the information I can provide from what’s here. Why didn’t they have us wait a few more weeks?” She blew on the wet ink. “Completion is a month or two away at least. Why were you in such a hurry?”
He looked into the surrounding rocks and pines. “I have family matters to attend to in England. But in this case, the timing wasn’t my idea. We received word that the fort was almost finished. Apparently, that intelligence was incorrect.”
She closed the sketchbook. “Apparently. Who gave you the information?”
“Daller. I intend to question him on the source when we return.”
She nodded and tucked the book under her arm. “Then let’s go before we tempt fate past her enduring.”
The pace Bennett set leaving was only slightly less exhausting than the one they’d used to arrive. Her heart hammered, but now it was with simple exertion, not terror. Relief slid over her. They’d done it.
She walked into Bennett’s back.
“Get down,” he ordered, his voice low. “Bandits.”
Terror
resumed its familiar tempo in her chest. She dropped to the ground behind a large rock. The gritty sand dug into her cheek.
Next to her, Bennett opened her box of art supplies, unstoppered a jar of ink, and splattered a small amount over his thumb and index finger. “I drew everything in there. Understood?”
She nodded.
He pulled the sketchbook from her limp fingers.
“What would they be doing so close to the fort?” she asked.
“Most likely the same thing we are, gathering information.”
A few moments later, a small group of bandits came into view. One of the men was the greasy-shirted man from the previous afternoon, but the others she didn’t recognize.
The group of men continued to grow. There were at least fifty or sixty men. What was going on?
Each of the bandits bristled with multiple guns and swords.
Bennett swore under his breath. “They must be attacking the fort before it’s completed.”
A shot rent the air. A red circle blotted out the grease stain on the bandit’s shirt, and he slumped to the ground.
Soldiers erupted from around nearby rocks. The bandits panicked, firing their guns and flailing with their swords.
In the chaos, Bennett shifted so his body covered Mari’s. His weight crushed her into the sand and she had to work to inhale. The sketchbook he’d sandwiched between them burrowed into her back.
Now she could only hear the fight. Boots crunched into the sand. Metal clanged as sword met sword. Canisters rattled as balls loaded into guns and rifles. Men cursed in Turkish, Armenian, and Greek, and screamed in pain in no language at all. Bodies fell with muted thuds.
The sounds stopped. Only the cries of the wounded punctuated the sudden silence.
She tried to raise her head to see, but she doubted Bennett even felt her attempt against his chest.
“Search the area. Kill any still alive.”
She flinched at the cold satisfaction in the speaker’s voice. Someone shrieked with rage or terror. A gun fired and the noise ceased.
She inhaled sharply. Dust clogged her nose and coated her throat. “They’re going to—”
“I know.”
“But how—?”
“The soldiers can’t risk the other bandits trying to rescue their friends, not with the fort unfinished. I would’ve given the same order.” He stiffened above her. “We go. Now.” He wrapped his arm around her waist and pulled her to her feet alongside him. “The bandits in the clearing will only buy us a brief moment.”
She whipped her head around at a gurgling cry. A few dozen feet away, a soldier slid his bayonet from a man’s throat. Bennett’s hand clamped over her mouth, smothering her gasp. His arm still encircling her, he lifted her off her feet and carried her with him.
He led them into the deeper brush. “Can you walk?”
She nodded and he set her down.
Footsteps sounded behind them and the cold voice spoke again. “Fan out into the surrounding area.”
They would be captured. She scanned the area around them. There had to be something— There. “Follow me.” She grabbed Bennett’s hand and tugged him after her. He offered only a brief moment of resistance before following her.
She picked her way to the chosen spot in the copse of firebloom and knelt down. “If you value your skin, don’t let the leaves touch you.”
The small alcove she’d found barely fit the two of them. As Bennett lowered himself beside her, she leaned to the left to give him space. Her cheek brushed one of the furry green leaves and fire seared the left side of her face. She blinked back tears. She’d stumbled into a patch of firebloom once as a girl; the pain was as shocking in its intensity now as it was then.
A pair of soldiers circled some nearby trees. When she trembled, Bennett tucked his hand in hers. As she’d hoped, the men skirted widely around the patch of living hell.
Bennett leaned over and kissed the base of her neck. Pleasure deluged her senses. She tightened her lips. How did he have such power over her? They huddled in the middle of poisonous plants, surrounded by enemy soldiers, and still a single kiss robbed her of reason.
Click.
It was the sound of a hammer being drawn back on a pistol. “Get to your feet.”
The voice came from behind. Bennett turned his head but made no move to follow the demand.
It wasn’t until the soldier repeated the order that she realized he was speaking Turkish. “He wants us to stand,” she translated.
The soldier issued another order.
“Slowly,” Mari repeated.
They pivoted around. The soldier was young and lanky. In a fight, Bennett could—
The man shouted for his group. Four other men converged on their spot.
Even Bennett couldn’t take five armed men.
“What have you found? I ordered you to kill all survivors.” A sixth man appeared. A thick, bristled mustache underlined the hooked nose that dominated his face. His uniform marked him as the captain. The void in his eyes matched the ice in his voice.
“But, sir, I think they’re English.”
The captain’s eyes narrowed. “Indeed?” His lips stretched into a serpentine smile. He switched to English. “You’re British?”
Mari nodded, as the captain advanced on her and ripped the hat from her head.
After a slow survey of her body, he snapped his fingers and the soldiers rushed to detain them, cursing as they encountered the firebloom. “Let me be the first to welcome you to Vourth.”
Chapter Twenty-six
The guard stepped between Bennett and the pine chair as if daring him to try to sit. He needn’t have worried. The chair appeared as harsh and unappealing as the rest of the captain’s office.
Bennett tossed the sketchbook carelessly onto the captain’s desk. Mari proved her merit and didn’t flinch.
“Why have you detained us, Captain?” Bennett asked.
The captain smiled the same superior smile as earlier. “I think we both know the answer to that.” He picked up the sketchbook, then dropped it back on the desk with an annoyed sigh. “You’re here on behalf of the English, are you not?”
Bennett lifted a brow. “We are here so I can draw insects. There are several specimens unique to this region.”
The captain picked up the sketchbook again and flipped through it. “Yes, I’m sure that’s the story you worked out, but I’d like the truth.”
“You have it.”
“I see.” He looked back and forth between Bennett and Mari. “Why did you bring this woman with you? Is she your lover? Or your accomplice?”
The captain didn’t know. Bennett relished the small moment of relief. The captain didn’t know Mari was the agent or that she hid information in her art.
“I most certainly am neither. I’m a naturalist.” Mari’s indignation was unfeigned.
The captain slapped Mari across the face, snapping her head back.
Bennett surged forward, only to be stopped by a sword pressing against his neck.
“You don’t address me unless spoken to, whore.” The captain’s demeanor remained cordial, a slight smile pulling at his lips as he eyed the reddened skin on Mari’s cheek.
“She’s a skilled naturalist, you bastard. She finds the insects for me to draw.”
“Ah, so that explains her clothing?”
Mari spoke. “It makes it easier—”
The crack of the captain’s hand interrupted her explanation. “I wasn’t speaking to you.”
Bennett knocked away the sword at his neck with a quick blow to the flat of the blade, but the other two soldiers in the room drew their swords. “Damn you,” he growled. “The British government won’t stand for this type of treatment.”
“But they won’t know what happened to their spies. You’ll both disappear and they’ll concoct some story to cover your untimely disappearance.”
The blade he’d batted away returned angrily against his side. “We’re naturalists and
there will be questions if we don’t return. My cousin is the ambassador in Constantinople.”
“If you think I’m going to invite him here and allow you to pass on information, you’re sadly mistaken. If he’s your cousin, then he’ll mourn your disappearance like all the rest.”
“We’re innocent.”
The captain lined Bennett’s knives and pistol on his desk. “Naturalists normally travel armed?”
“If they’re going into dangerous territory.”
“I was so hoping we could be pleasant about this.” The captain laughed suddenly, eyeing the welt on Mari’s cheek. “No, actually, I wasn’t. I’ll see to them personally in the morning.”
He faced Mari and undid the top two buttons of her shirt, then trailed a finger down her cheek to the cleft between her breasts.
Bennett tensed. To hell with this. If the captain didn’t stop touching her, he’d die.
“You see,” the captain said, “the fear of violence is far more effective than violence itself. The uncertainty is the worst. Not knowing what I’ll do to you.” He drew back to study Mari. “Or have my men do to you. But don’t worry. The pain will come. Pain is a scalpel for extracting truth. And I wield that scalpel well.”
Mari met the captain’s gaze, but Bennett could see the fear in her eyes and knew the captain could also. The man practically glowed with triumph.
Bennett reached for the desk while the captain focused on Mari. The sword dug into his side, but when he grabbed the sketchbook rather than the knives, the soldier didn’t bother to stop him, and turned his hungry gaze back to Mari. Bennett tucked the book in his coat.
“Lock them up.” The captain nodded, and his men grabbed Bennett’s arms.
One of them asked something in Turkish Bennett didn’t understand.
“Well, then you’ll have to clear a space for them, won’t you?” the captain answered.
Another question from the soldier.
The captain tapped his chin and answered in English, no doubt for their benefit. “Just clear out one. We’ll give him one night to try to convince her things will be all right. It will make it all the more poignant when we cut the flesh from her weeping body while he watches.”