by Anna Randol
Esad rapped the sketchbook against his hand. “The Greeks are a disordered, shiftless people. They can’t stop fighting each other long enough to fight us.”
“The Ottomans shouldn’t oppress them.”
Esad snorted. “The British are no better. Look at their stranglehold on Ireland.”
“They’re the only ones strong enough to help the Greeks.”
“So the English are actively helping the Greeks. The Russians were correct. And if you are in contact with the rebels, that means they have an active cell in Constantinople.”
Mari paled. What had she just said? “You cannot tell anyone.”
Esad slammed the book against the bench. “Don’t mistake my coming to your aid for weakness. My loyalty is to the sultan. I won’t withhold this information.”
The warmth of Bennett’s hand resting on her knee kept her steady as her head swam. She had to warn Achilla and Nathan and the others. A fleeting image of a lifeless body hung at the city gates sickened her. “Please, Esad—”
“You’ve lost the right to address me so informally. Don’t you see—” His voice cracked. “I should have you both executed.” A hardened ferocity returned to his gaze and Mari realized this was the ruthless commander she’d never seen. “Leave the empire at once. You as well, Major. The only reason you live is because of Mari. If I see you again, you will hang.”
Bennett nodded once.
The coach rumbled to a halt in a dirty village. “I will wait for my coach to return for me. I can no longer stand to look at you.” Esad picked up the sketchbook and climbed to the street. For a moment, grief seeped into his expression. “This will kill Beria. It would be better if you were dead.” He gave a curt order to the coachman, and the coach sprang into motion. Mari pressed her face against the glass, desperate for a final glimpse of him, a part of her praying that he’d suddenly change his mind and call her back. The dust obscured the pasha from view.
Bennett pulled her into his arms. She rubbed her cheek on the rough linen of his shirt. She wanted nothing more than to stay there and forget the sorrow she’d just inflicted on Esad.
“You shouldn’t have given him the sketchbook.” Yet Bennett’s voice was gentle. His fingers stroked her back, sending remembered tremors through her.
She drew in deep breaths until she could speak. “I had to.”
He kissed her temple. “I know.”
“Is that why you didn’t try to stop me?”
“Yes.”
Despite her pain, her heart warmed. She meant more to him than the mission. She wrapped her arms around him and pressed her lips to his neck.
He cleared his throat. “And I removed the sketch from the book on our way to Esad’s coach.”
“What?” She’d deceived Esad yet again. True, it had been without her knowledge, but she’d done it all the same. The warmth evaporated, leaving an aching void in her chest.
“I couldn’t risk the sketch being found and connected with you if Esad changed his mind or passed the sketchbook on. I won’t risk you.” He traced her cheek.
But her battered heart refused to soften. “You wanted to protect me or you wanted to complete your mission?”
His hand dropped from her face. “Does one preclude the other?”
No, but it did remind her of his priorities. She slid off his lap. When they reached Constantinople, they’d both have to leave. He to England and she to . . . She rested her forehead against the smooth glass window. To where?
Bennett belonged in England. She could hear his love for it when he spoke, and more importantly, his love for his family. She couldn’t ask him to leave that. After all, what did she have to offer him? In the cell last night, she’d considered asking him to return after he helped his sister, but now, she didn’t have anywhere to ask him to return to.
She closed her eyes, hoping exhaustion would claim her. But it didn’t.
She’d betrayed Nathan and Achilla, and all the Greek rebels in Constantinople. Esad would begin hunting them, and he excelled at the hunt. They would need to flee before they were discovered.
She lifted her head. Bennett had his duties and she had hers. She’d hurt the Greek fight for independence today. She’d go to Greece and join with the patriots there to make amends. Nathan would know how to contact them. She wouldn’t just gather information for them, she’d fight alongside them.
She glanced over at Bennett. A tear escaped and she hurriedly wiped it away. She’d never intended for anything to develop between them and neither had he.
If she’d fallen in love, it was her own foolish fault.
Fighting for the independence of Greece had been her mother’s dream and now it was hers.
The decision sat awkwardly in her mind.
She forced herself to look away from Bennett. It was her dream now. It had to be.
Chapter Twenty-nine
Achilla yanked Mari from Bennett’s side as they approached the front door of her house. He resisted the urge to tug her right back.
In the coach, she’d seemed to be drawing away from him although she remained by his side. He had tried to speak to her but she’d remained mostly silent. He understood her grief about Esad and had tried to give her time to accustom herself to it, but it hurt that she hadn’t turned to him for comfort. Just the opposite, she seemed to tuck it deeper into herself, sharing nothing of her thoughts with him.
“Whatever were you thinking going off without me? Then you leave me with that poor excuse for a note that doesn’t tell me a thing. Selim’s been searching for you for the past two days. We couldn’t discover anything other than that the major had been trying to hire a coach,” Achilla accused.
She rounded on Bennett. Her finger jabbed painfully in his bruised chest. “This was your doing, wasn’t it? Mari would’ve told me otherwise.” She grimaced and unbent slightly. “At least you brought her back.”
He almost hadn’t. His knees weakened as he thought about what would have been their fate if not for her brilliance. He wanted to yank Mari to him and kiss her until neither of them could breathe, first for the miracle of being alive, then second for the pure joy of having a chance at a life with her.
Mari hugged her maid. “Yes, he returned me in one piece. One filthy piece. Would you please draw me a bath?”
A bath sounded wonderful.
Achilla surveyed Bennett through narrowed eyes. “A bath for one or two?”
A chance to see Mari in the nude again sounded even better. But uncertainty crept into his thoughts. Perhaps despite her heady words, last night had been an aberration, her actions driven by desperation.
But that’s not what it had been for him. It had been his salvation.
Mari flushed. “Achilla!”
Achilla smiled unrepentantly.
Mari studied him. A look of anguish flashed across her face, only to be wiped away by a sudden, seductive smile. “Why not two?”
Bennett found himself grinning like a fool. Perhaps he’d imagined the pain in her expression. Even if he hadn’t, surely, this would give him a chance to convince her how essential she was to him, to convince her to confide in him again.
Achilla hugged Mari again. “I knew it! And the sex was as wonderful as I said, wasn’t it?”
Bennett cleared his throat.
The maid winked at him. “Yes, I know you’re standing there. Aren’t you curious about the answer?”
Actually, he was. He and Achilla both turned to Mari.
She glared at them both, then pointed to Achilla. “It’s none of your concern.” She pointed at him next. “And you.” She shrugged, casting him a pert glance. “You should know.”
Achilla laughed and shouted into the house, “Selim!”
The man appeared in the doorway, his step faltering as he saw them. “You have returned!”
Bennett studied Selim, but could find nothing but pleasure in his reaction.
Achilla would’ve placed her hand on the butler’s arm, but he stepped back. Her moue
of disappointment was quickly hidden. “They’re well. You can call a halt to the search.”
Selim nodded. “I have several people looking for you. I’ll go inform them you’ve been found.”
Achilla shook her head. “I wouldn’t let the poor man rest until he searched for you. He was in favor of trusting you to come back on your own. It was almost as if he didn’t want to know where you had gone.” She grinned, her expression clearing. “Or perhaps he didn’t want to know what you had been doing.”
“The bath,” Mari reminded her. “Oh, and food.”
Achilla chuckled as she walked off. “He didn’t give you time to eat?”
Mari and Bennett quickly consumed the large tray of food Achilla provided. Mari licked plum juice from her fingers with slow, happy sighs that made Bennett yearn to assist her. By the time they finished eating, Achilla had drawn the bath and left the room with a poorly hidden grin.
Mari shed her clothes as she walked toward the steamy room, the bits of cloth strewn behind her like bread crumbs. The bold sway of her hips and the quirk of her eyebrow dared him to come closer.
She stopped at a bench in the bathing room and lifted a stockinged foot to the marble bench. As she peeled off her the silk, new henna designs were revealed on her calves.
With two quick steps he was at her side, hands locked around her waist, the feel of her bare flesh at once exotic yet familiar. “You didn’t tell me there were more of these.”
She switched to the other leg. “There are.”
He skimmed over the art with his fingers, examining each one. “These are amazing.”
The golden light reflecting off the water clung to the delectable curve of her leg, turning the skin under the designs to molten bronze. If he ever needed proof that she was a wild, erotic creature sent to tempt man beyond his bearing, this was it.
She darted away from him with a sultry laugh and descended into the bath. Although eager to follow her, Bennett froze with his shirt half unbuttoned as she dove beneath the surface. Her pale flesh gleamed through the ripples. He stood entranced as she emerged with a spray of water on the other side. Sprite.
He stripped off the rest of his filthy clothing and followed her into the bath. He removed a smooth white bar of soap from her fingers, rubbing it between his hands until they were slick with lather. “This is why you always smell of vanilla and nutmeg.”
She moaned as he traced the bubbles over her skin, starting at her shoulders, then working his way down, his hands gliding over her satiny skin. He refused to let a single inch of her go unaddressed, determined to wipe the memories of the prison from her mind as well as her body. When his hand slipped to the folds between her legs, she arched against him, moaning. Her breathing grew ragged, and her eyelids lowered.
“Open your eyes.” He ached to see the acceptance and passion in her gaze as much as his body ached for release.
Her eyelashes slowly lifted, the ribbons of green and gold almost obliterated by the dark passion dilating her eyes. A gasp of pleasure whispered past her lips, but the distance between them was still there. It flayed him. He wanted to be inside her, joined until each of her thoughts was his to claim.
Never looking away from those eyes, determined to breach whatever wall she had erected between them, he continued the rhythm between her legs. He would never tire of looking at her. Even if they lived to be old and gray, he couldn’t imagine anything more crucial than having her in his arms, his to protect and cherish.
She cried out suddenly, head thrown back, lips parted. He waited for her trembling to stop, then gently removed his hand. When she remained silent, he took the soap and massaged thick, frothy foam into her hair, burying his fingers in her soft, heavy curls. “Your hair has always entranced me.”
Her eyes closed again. She inhaled and dipped beneath the surface to rinse clean. As she rose from the water, her hands trailed over his thighs and she reclaimed the soap.
She covered him in bubbles, taking extra care around his bruises. The layers of grime lifting from his body felt delicious, but not nearly as good as the feel of her slender hands roaming his body again. As if when she touched him, all the darkness inside him had burned away.
He couldn’t give her up. How could he convince her that he was worthy of her?
By the time they were both clean, their breathing echoed loudly in the chamber.
Mari rubbed her body against his, but he held her away before she drove him over the edge. It was suddenly essential that he do things the right way this time. “No. I want to treasure you first.”
As she placed the soap on the wall of the bath, he lifted her into his arms. After wrapping her in a towel, he carried her into her bedroom. Dark crimson fabric curtained an immense low bed, the type a sultan would have used to entertain his harem women, but the bed was dressed in crisp white linens embroidered with yellow flowers. It wasn’t an English bedroom or a Turkish one; like its owner, it was an intoxicating blend of both. He set Mari in the center of it, intent on knowing each inch of her skin as well by sight as he did by touch.
But Mari pulled him down on top of her. Her hands ravaged his wet body and her lips battled with his, threatening his restraint. “We have time,” he assured her.
If anything, her wild, sensuous movements increased, and she spoke for the first time since entering the bath. “I need you now. Please.”
Her plea broke him and he thrust into her. Her soft hands moved over him as if memorizing every inch of his body. He controlled his tempo, pushing her to the brink time and time again. Her head thrashed from side to side as he pleasured her, until finally he cradled her face in his hand, joining their gazes. With a shuddered sigh, she finally opened her soul, moaning his name, her eyes offering more than he’d dared hope for. He thrust hard and deep, relishing the flush that spread over her breasts and her soft gasping cries as she climaxed under him. Only then did he free himself to the ecstasy that exploded through him.
His heart hammered in his ears as his breathing returned to normal. If he needed passion to inspire his poetry, he should be able to write the rest of his life. He pressed a lingering kiss to the top of Mari’s hair.
She flinched away and rolled out of bed.
Leaning on one elbow, he frowned as she scrambled into her clothing. “Is something wrong?”
She kept her eyes on the floor. “I need to contact Nathan and get the other rebels out of Constantinople.”
His relaxed haze dissipated. With a grimace, he retrieved his clothing from the bath and dressed. She was correct. While he didn’t expect the pasha to throw them out of the city for a day or two, he still had tasks remaining. “I’ll take care of it after I deliver the sketch to the ambassador and arrange for our passage to England.”
The stocking she held slipped to the floor. “I’m not going to England.”
Surely, they were past this now. “I don’t know who attacked you at Chorlu or who knows your identity. It’s not safe for you here.” And he intended to marry her, but now no longer seemed the most opportune moment to bring that up. “Even if it were, you cannot stay. The pasha has ordered us gone.”
She collected her stocking and sat on the edge of the bed, yanking it on with an agitated tug. “I know you must help your sister. I understand.”
She obviously didn’t. “I won’t leave you in danger, either.”
“I don’t intend to stay here.”
He paced to the fountain. “Where are you going?”
She picked up a piece of paper from the table next to her bed. “To Greece to join the rebels there.”
And risk her life every moment of every day? Not while he had a breath in his body. “Like hell you are. I’m trying to keep you safe. If you think your life is in danger here, you’re throwing it away by joining them. The pasha was correct. From what I hear, they’re an unorganized lot.”
“They’re fighting for what they believe in.”
He held up his hands. That wasn’t his point, he wasn’t argui
ng on behalf of the Turks. “Perhaps in another dozen years they’ll be ready to mount solid opposition to the Ottomans, but now it’s suicide.”
“If no one joins them, how will they ever be ready?”
He placed his hands on her shoulders, searching for the emotions she’d revealed while they were making love. “They need to sway their own populace and the rest of Europe first.” He let his fingers trail down her arms. “Come with me. There’s nothing for you here now.”
“There’s nothing for me in England, either.”
How could she not see it? He needed her there with him. She was his passion. She was the poetry his soul needed.
“Marry me, Mari.”
Mari stared at Bennett, wishing he’d never spoken those three words. She would never free her heart from their temptation. She drew a shuddering breath. “I cannot.”
She couldn’t risk giving control of her life to anyone but herself. Not even to the man she loved. He had to understand that. He’d seen her father. She’d told him what life had been like when they had first returned to Constantinople.
His face shuttered.
She crumpled the paper in her hand. “I’m going to help the Greeks.”
“Are you fighting your cause, or your mother’s?”
She couldn’t look him in the face, didn’t dare meet his searching gaze for fear of what she might reveal. “Mine.” But despite her second attempt to embrace her plan, it still felt foreign. “I’ll fetch Achilla and speak to Nathan about leaving.”
Bennett’s face was emotionless. “You will not.”
Her decisions were her own to make. “I will. We’ll leave this afternoon, after I say good-bye to my father.”
“You’re leaving with me. I won’t let you continue to risk your neck.”
She stepped back at the steel in his voice. He was serious. She retreated another step. He had no right to try to force her to go. She’d made herself quite clear on several occasions. Panic edged into her thoughts. But she drew a deep breath. She was no longer a little girl with legs so battered she couldn’t walk.
Bennett frowned. “My orders are to protect you.”