The Promise of a Kiss

by K. C. Bateman

  “You’ll be fine,” Hester snorted. “I’ve never met a man as lucky as you. You always manage to come out of scrapes without so much as a scratch.”

  He sent her a cocky smile and gave her bottom a playful swat. “Off you go, sweetheart.”

  Nobody paid Hester any attention as she pushed her way into the kitchens, hiding behind her tray. The entire staff was in a state of mild panic as they scurried to accommodate the demands of their unexpected guest and his huge retinue. Hester exchanged the tray for a pile of clean, folded linens and made her way up the back stairs, looking for any signs that would indicate which room belonged to Napoleon. She passed one set of guards lounging at the foot of the stairs, but they ignored her. Would he have guards standing outside his chamber too? How on earth was she supposed to gain access?

  She followed a couple of giggling maids along a corridor and stopped with a hushed curse as she caught sight of a huge figure standing guard outside the room at the far end. She turned towards the wall and pretended to be fumbling with a set of keys, then sneaked another glance at the bulky silhouette.

  She frowned. It was hard to see against the sunlight, but the man didn’t seem to be wearing a uniform, nor carrying a weapon. He had his arms folded across his chest and he looked . . . oddly familiar. Broad shoulders, baggy pantaloons. Carefully wrapped turban.

  Hester turned with a gasp.

  “Suleiman!”

  Chapter 16

  Her uncle’s loyal retainer turned at the sound of her voice.

  “Suleiman!” Hester gasped again. “What on earth are you doing here?”

  A broad smile of welcome spread across the Mameluke’s face. “Lady Morden!” he croaked, then cast a brief, fearful glance down the corridor. “Quick! Come!”

  Hester rushed forward. Suleiman caught the knob of the door behind him, opened it, and bustled her inside.

  As soon as they were alone, he opened his arms wide and pulled her into a crushing bear hug that almost swept her off her feet, then he held her at arm’s length and beamed down at her in evident delight. “Praise Allah! Little dove, how is it you are here?”

  Hester laughed incredulously. “How are you here? I thought you’d been bitten by a snake or fallen into a burial shaft back at Fayium.”

  Suleiman’s black mustache quivered in outrage. “That son of a donkey Drovetti! May eagles peck out his liver. May crocodiles eat his heart! His men attacked me when you climbed into the well. They asked for you, but I say you are up in the hills, making maps. They beat me and bring me to a ship, and we sail here. To France! Drovetti has presented me as a gift to the French emperor.”

  “That beast! I’m so glad you’re all right.”

  Suleiman’s expression darkened. “When I get my hands on him, the snake. . .”

  “Is he still here?” Hester asked urgently. “Drovetti, I mean.”

  “I have seen him, fawning near Bonaparte, but he keeps far away from me,” Suleiman said darkly.

  “He’s the reason I’m here, too. He stole a necklace I found in the sand near the tombs.”

  Suleiman’s bushy eyebrows rose, and Hester made a waving gesture in the air. “Napoleon is convinced the thing has magical powers.”

  His expression became intent. “What does this necklace look like?”

  “It’s rather lovely, actually. A chain with a pendant shaped like a scorpion, set with rubies. I showed it to the healer, and he said it had something to do with an ancient Egyptian goddess named Serqet.”

  Suleiman’s eyes grew wide. “The scorned goddess!” he breathed reverently. “I know of this legend. Madam, he speaks true. It is cursed! Great evil comes to those who possess it. We cannot allow this French dog to have it.”

  “I quite agree. I was hoping he’d left it in here.” Hester cast a quick look around the chamber. “Is this where Napoleon sleeps?”

  “It is, but I do not think he would leave something of such value here.”

  “That’s what I told Harry,” Hester groused.

  “Who is this Harry person?”

  “Oh. Ah. Harry Tremayne.” She paused, trying to think of an adequate descriptor for the irritating, irresistible brute. “He’s an acquaintance from England. A friend of the family. He came out to Fayium to find me.”

  Suleiman beamed. “I am pleased you have a man to keep you safe. With your esteemed uncle gone, I feared for you, my friend.”

  Hester laid a hand on his meaty arm. “Thank you.”

  She crossed to the window and peered out. Judging from the crowds gathered outside, Napoleon was still holding court downstairs. She raked the throng for a handsome black horse and its equally handsome rider but couldn’t spy them anywhere. She turned back to Suleiman. “We don’t have much time. Can you help us get the necklace back?”

  “Of course.” Suleiman interlinked his fingers and flexed his arms. His knuckles cracked menacingly. “It will be my pleasure.”

  “We have a ship waiting at Cannes. We can take you back to Egypt as soon as we retrieve the necklace.”

  “I do not think Bonaparte is wearing it around his neck, but he is always putting his hand inside the breast of his jacket, as if to check on something. Perhaps he has hidden Serqet’s treasure there?”

  Hester’s heart leapt. “You could be right. We can’t get close to him while he is awake, but surely he doesn’t sleep with his coat on?”

  “The man barely sleeps at all. He stays awake all hours of the night, dictating letters to his poor secretaries.” Suleiman indicated a small metal-bound casket on a side table. “He has a box for his hats and another for his pocket watch and other jewels, but I do not think he will store the necklace in there. He will not want anyone to see it. He will keep in his coat. I will try to get it when he bathes tonight.”

  “Thank you,” Hester breathed. “I’ll stay close by.”

  When she slipped back into the darkened stables to find Harry, her heart almost stopped as the tall figure of a uniformed French soldier loomed out of the darkness. She reared back in alarm, her hand on her throat, until she recognized Harry’s disarming grin.

  “Thought I’d get a better disguise,” he whispered. “Vive l’Empereur.”

  They spent the next few hours waiting for Napoleon to retire. Hester fell asleep against a large pile of hay at the back of the stables and only woke when Harry shook her gently. She blinked sleepily up at him in the half-light. She’d been dreaming of his lips on hers, his fingers stroking her skin. Her body still shimmered with desire.

  Harry’s face was close to hers. His fingers brushed her cheek, and everything inside her stilled as he leaned closer. His wonderful scent wrapped around her. Still half asleep, she parted her lips in expectation of a kiss, but he merely tugged a wisp of straw from her hair and flicked it aside.

  Her spirits plummeted.

  “Time to go, sleepy-head,” he murmured. His voice was a deep growl that made her whole body vibrate.

  Hester rolled away and tidied herself briskly. She had to stop imagining things that weren’t there.

  When she slipped back into the kitchens, she almost tripped over a young lad who was sleeping on the floor in front of the stove for warmth, but he barely roused enough to grumble at her in annoyance. She filled a pewter tankard with hot water; if anyone questioned her, she would say she was delivering a late-night cup of cocoa to a guest.

  When she neared Napoleon’s chamber, she slowed her steps and was relieved to see Suleiman still standing guard. He beckoned her forward.

  “I have not had a chance to search his coat yet, but he sleeps now. I can hear him snoring. I will keep watch while you go inside.”

  Hester nodded. She held her breath as she slipped inside the chamber and glanced toward the bed for a peek at the man who had brought such strife to Europe.

  Napoleon Bonaparte lay huddled in the bed, a rounded lump, and Hester quelled a wave of disappointment. She’d expected so great a tyrant to be physically larger, but he was a rotund, dumpy little fi
gure. She could just make out his face in the faint moonlight; his skin was pale and his cheeks jowled. He mumbled something, and she ducked down, crawling to the chair where his grey-blue overcoat had been draped across the back.

  Her heart thudding in her throat, she slid her hand inside the fabric and felt around for the telltale weight of the scorpion necklace.

  There! Her fingers slipped inside a pocket, and she breathed a faint sigh as the necklace slithered into her palm. It glittered in the faint moonbeams that shone through the window when she held it up. She almost placed it around her neck, but then she recalled the uneasy sensation she’d felt last time she’d done that and stuffed it down the front of her bodice instead.

  With one last glance at the shrouded figure in the bed, she crawled back towards the door and slipped outside. Whatever Napoleon did now, at least he would not have the power of the necklace behind him.

  Suleiman helped her to stand. “You have it?”

  “Yes. Let’s get out of here.”

  They reached the stables without mishap and discovered that Harry had saddled not only Makeen but had also managed to find two further mounts from somewhere. Hester decided she didn’t want to hear about his methods. She made brief introductions, Suleiman and Harry each gave a brisk nod of acknowledgment, and then they were off through the town.

  Hester had no idea what time it was, certainly long after midnight, but the streets were still busy with people staggering out of taverns, brawling, and generally celebrating the emperor’s return. A few patriotic songs echoed down the alleyways.

  On the outskirts of town, they came across a huge encampment of soldiers, but with Harry’s tattered uniform and Suleiman’s menacing demeanor, they managed to pass by unchallenged.

  Hester tamped down a wild urge to shout at the top of her lungs as they kicked the horses to a gallop, using the moon to light the way. The necklace was a reassuring weight in her bodice. A great surge of joy filled her, an inexplicable sense that disaster had been averted.

  After a few miles they slowed the horses to a walk, and Suleiman drew alongside her. He tilted his chin toward Harry’s back.

  “I am satisfied with your Harry Tremayne,” he said softly.

  “The man’s a scoundrel,” Hester breathed back.

  Suleiman chuckled. “Scoundrel he may be, but the man knows good horseflesh when he sees it. And he rides like a Bedouin.”

  Hester narrowed her eyes at the broad shoulders and slim hips in front of her and tamped down an irrational wave of longing. “Don’t tell him that, for goodness sake! He’s already insufferably conceited.”

  Suleiman laughed, and Harry turned in the saddle.

  “What are you two whispering about?”

  “Just discussing Makeen,” Hester said quickly. “Suleiman was admiring him.”

  “That is indeed a magnificent animal,” Suleiman added.

  Harry gave the horse’s neck a proud pat. “Isn’t he, though?”

  “I have heard,” Suleiman said, “that Arabians are hard to tame. Their nature is wild and unpredictable. They relish their freedom.”

  Harry sent Hester a slow smile, and for no reason at all, she felt heat rise in her face.

  “He is occasionally headstrong, that is true,” he said easily, his eyes still on her. “And he sometimes requires a firm hand, but I wouldn’t have it any other way. His spirit and stubbornness only add to his allure.”

  He and Suleiman shared a smile, and Hester frowned. Why did she have the suspicion they were talking about her instead of the horse?

  “An animal like that is hard work, certainly, but worth the extra effort,” Harry added. “I will be the envy of every man in London.”

  Suleiman nodded. “It is a precious thing indeed. Take care you do not mistreat it.”

  Harry’s expression sobered. “I would never do that. Such a gift has my undying respect and devotion.”

  Suleiman regarded him for a long moment and then nodded as if satisfied. “That is good, Englishman.”

  Hester rolled her eyes at the strange, indecipherable ways of men, and they pressed on towards the coast.

  Chapter 17

  Hester had never been so glad to see anything as she was to spy Captain Cavalli’s ship still moored at the dockside in Cannes. She, Harry, and Suleiman had barely stopped to eat or sleep for the past two days. They’d slept in barns and in ditches. Meals had consisted of a loaf of bread or hunk of cheese eaten on horseback. The sight of the ship almost brought tears to her eyes. She couldn’t wait for a hot cup of tea with milk. And a bath.

  Signor Cavalli greeted them like long-lost cousins. Hester staggered up the gangplank and sank wearily onto a barrel on the deck, wanting only to fall into her cabin and sleep for a week.

  Suleiman and Harry led the exhausted horses aboard. The ship’s crew began to prepare for departure, and someone was sent into the town to round up those who were still ashore.

  Hester reached into the pocket of her tattered skirts and withdrew the scorpion necklace. The red gems and reticulated silver glittered malevolently between her fingers. What on earth should they do with it now?

  She barely glanced at the figure coming up the gangplank, assuming it was a returning member of the crew, until she realized the familiar features belonged to Drovetti.

  For a stunned moment she could barely think. Had he followed them all the way from Villefranche? How on earth—?

  Drovetti gained the top of the gangplank, and his mouth stretched into an ugly smile as he spied the necklace in Hester’s lap. He leapt forward and wrenched it from her grasp.

  “No!” Hester screamed. “Harry!”

  Drovetti turned just as Harry launched himself across the deck and caught the Italian around the waist. They both went crashing to the deck, a tangle of flailing limbs.

  Drovetti landed a punch on Harry’s ear. With a curse, Harry reared up onto his knees and punched him hard in the face. Hester shrieked, and the Italian howled and fell back onto the boards. Harry straddled his prone form. Drovetti tried to kick his way free, but Harry gave him another quick cuff to the side of the head and reclaimed the necklace with a grunt of satisfaction. It glinted in the sunlight, the scorpion shivering almost as if it were alive.

  “Thief!” Drovetti howled. “Give it back! It must go to the emperor!”

  Harry stood and stepped back with his prize, his chest heaving with exertion. “Sorry, old man. It belongs to the lady.”

  Drovetti rose and staggered back a few paces. His nose was bleeding, but a smile stretched his lips as he pointed the muzzle of a small pistol at Harry’s chest. He must have had the thing hidden in his boot. Blood dripped off his chin.

  “I repeat, Englishman. Give me the necklace.”

  Harry shook his head. “You don’t have the cods to shoot me, Drovetti.”

  With a sickly smile of malice, Drovetti turned the barrel of the pistol towards Hester. Harry stilled as she sucked in a gasp.

  “Now, perhaps, you will do as I say,” Drovetti sneered. “The necklace or the lady? Which will it be?”

  With a sound of fury, Harry tossed the necklace at Drovetti’s feet. It slithered to a stop against the Italian’s boot, the red stones shining like the spots of blood which dripped from his nose onto the deck. Drovetti grinned and bent to retrieve his prize, the gun still trained on Hester to ensure Harry made no move to regain it.

  And then everything seemed to happen at once.

  Suleiman burst out of the cabin behind Drovetti. Hester heard a loud crack and saw a puff of smoke rise from Drovetti’s gun. She braced herself for a bullet in the chest, but Harry’s muscular body crashed into hers as he shouldered her out of the way. She fell to her hands and knees, and Harry went sprawling onto the boards beside her with a grunt of pain.

  Drovetti hurled his spent pistol at Suleiman, but the Mameluke swatted it away as if it were no more than an annoying fly. The Italian made a dive for the necklace and managed to grab it, but with a great roar, Suleiman char
ged at him. He caught Drovetti’s wrist in one of his enormous fists and squeezed mercilessly until Drovetti screamed and dropped the necklace.

  Suleiman bent, scooped it up, and flung it over the ship’s rail. The silver sparkled as it turned over and over in a wide arc then hit the water with a satisfying splash.

  “Nooo!” Drovetti screamed. He shot an enraged glance at Suleiman, leaped onto the ship’s rail, and threw himself over the side after the prize.

  Hester gazed after him in astonishment. She turned back to Harry to see what he thought of the Italian’s foolhardy behavior but her heart caught in her throat as she realized he was still lying flat on his back, clutching his chest and gasping with the effort to draw a breath.

  “Harry!” she gasped. “Oh, God. He shot you!”

  With frantic hands she shoved his hands aside to see where the bullet had wounded him. There was a hole in his shirt directly above his heart. Panic seized her.

  “No! Harry, don’t die! You can’t leave me. I need you. I love you, damn it!”

  She slapped her hand over the wound and pressed down hard to staunch the flow of blood, then frowned. There was no flow of blood. It wasn’t Harry’s chest she could feel beneath his shirt, there was something else there: something hard and rectangular.

  Harry jerked and let out an agonized gasp. “Ouch! Bloody hell, that really hurt!”

  Hester sat back on her heels, beyond astonished as he sat up with a wince. He reached into his shirt and withdrew a silver metal object. The side of it was crumpled inwards, and the round lead shot from Drovetti’s pistol was embedded in the center.

  “Your hip flask!”

  Hester shook her head, unable to comprehend the lightning shift from Harry being dead to Harry sitting hale and hearty right in front of her. “It’s supposed to go in your coat pocket,” she said stupidly.

  Harry sent her one of his heart-melting smiles. “It goes,” he said, “next to my heart.”

  She frowned. Because she’d given it to him? Her heart hammered wildly, but she cautioned herself not to read too much into his words. He was always saying enigmatic things like that.