Delectably Undone! (22 page)

Chapter Four

A
pessimist would say she had been carried away. An optimist would argue her plan had succeeded, Susannah mused. Rational thought made a slow return to the dim confines of the tent. Now that she had Alex’s attention she scarcely knew what to do with it. Her plan had been based on solid assumptions; he wanted her. But she’d had no idea how far his wanting would take things. Or for that matter, how far
her
wanting would leave her vulnerable to him. Her own responses had been utterly surprising. Alex dozed lightly beside her. Soon, she’d have to wake him. She did not yet have what she’d come to the tent for.

But for now, she wanted to enjoy watching her lover sleep.
Lover.
The term implied that the encounter was more than a physical mating. In addition to his prowess, she recognized in retrospect there’d been an underlying care present in his lovemaking. He’d been sensitive to her needs, wanting her to find her own pleasure, wanting to alleviate her brush with pain. She had not expected that to be the case. Her encounters with the sheikh and with Bassam had suggested the act of sex was solely a male exercise in physical fulfillment at the female’s expense. Perhaps that explained why she’d managed to thwart physical consummation for months, and yet had capitulated within moments to Alex.

Alex stirred and woke, taking her in with his eyes, a slow smile on his lips. He traced a lazy line over the curve of her hip and kissed her on the forehead before giving a sigh. “It seems we’ve done everything but what you came here to do.” He sounded regretful to be pulling them back into reality. “Perhaps now would be a good time to talk.”

Talk.
The word struck a chord of trepidation within her.

It occurred to her that she had not told her story to anyone before. The tragedy in the desert had been a grief she’d borne silently these past months. How to unearth all that now and share it with this man who, in spite of their intimacy, was a virtual stranger?

Alex offered a gentle prompt. “Why don’t we start with your name. You know mine, but I feel woefully disadvantaged.”

Her name would change everything. Clearly, he hadn’t known beforehand. He had not come here to save her or to look for her, confirming her suspicion that the British Consul believed her entire party to be dead. It was too much to hope for that anyone had come looking for her. She’d given up on that particular fantasy months ago. It was expensive and risky to send search parties into the desert. Besides, the chances of anyone knowing she was alive were minimal; the sands left no clues, no trails.

There was no escaping recognition. He would know her father’s name. On one hand, it would help her cause. The Blond Bedouin would not leave Sutcliffe’s daughter in the desert. But it would potentially alter their passion. Would he feel obligated to her? She understood what she’d become in the desert. This interlude, although not of her making, had put her outside English Society. She wanted no man’s pity. That was what her logical mind feared. Her heart feared something else: Would he decline to make love to her again out of a retroactive display of old-fashioned honor? Already, her body wanted him again. Once with Alex Grayfield simply wasn’t enough.

Susannah swallowed hard and took her chances. “My name is Susannah. Susannah Sutcliffe.”

“Ah,” came the reply. A small word to carry such import. In that
ah
was the recognition she’d predicted and the dawning realization of what they’d done, of what
he’d
done. He might have been raised in the desert lands, but she could see the English wheels of his mind working in reaction to this latest revelation.

“I know a little of your circumstance,” he began. “Sutcliffe’s entourage set out from Algiers shortly after the battle in November but no correspondence ever came verifying Sutcliffe’s arrival in Mascara. The plan had been to journey from Algiers to Mascara, calling on the tribes that lay between the two cities.”

“Is that your mission as well?” Susannah’s gaze shot upward to meet Alex’s eyes.

Alex shrugged noncommittally. Even now, he did not entirely confide in her. “You will need to trust me before this is over,” she said abruptly, picking up the story where Alex had left it. “Perhaps this part of the story will help with that. My father’s entourage was ambushed by the sheikh’s raiders. You will be killed too if he learns you’re here to see if the tribes will join with the emir.”

Alex gave no outward acknowledgment of her warning.

“And you? What happens to you in all this drama?” He traced slow, tantalizing circles on her skin. This was her chance. She would never get a more perfect opening.

She leaned forward boldly and kissed him on the mouth. “Take me with you when you go. I am a slave to the sheikh. Ask for me as a gift,” she whispered.

“And if that fails? I do not see the sheikh being eager to part with you.”

“Find another way. I understand I ask no small thing.” Susannah drew back slightly, meeting his gaze with as much dignity as she could summon while naked in his bed. “Nothing matters except that you take me with you. I did not come to you as a tool of the sheikh’s to discover your motives for being here. I have warned you. I might even claim that I’ve saved your life by doing so and that you owe me a life in return.”

“The law of the desert,” Alex murmured, the hot emerald coals of his eyes stoked to life. “A life for a life.”

“And I choose mine as the price for yours,” Susannah answered.

“You shall have it,” Alex whispered, his mouth hovering inches above hers. “When we depart the
moussem
, you shall come with us. You have my word on it, my very mouth on it.” He sealed his vow with a kiss.

Susannah reached for him, feeling him rise against the contact of her palm. Ah good, his body was in agreement.

Alex made some move to protest, but Susannah hushed him with a gentle finger to his lips and a shake of her head. “I do not want your protestations of honor, Alex. There’s nothing to scourge your conscience over.” She pulled him to her, her body eager to be claimed. She felt him give himself over to the pleasure building between them. For the moment her absolution was enough. Only a fool would keep Paradise waiting, and Alex Grayfield demonstrated that he was a very wise man indeed.

She would remember that kissing vow, Susannah thought later, slipping out to the privacy of her own tent. There were things more binding than words or contracts. Alex was not alone in his desire. It was something of a surprise that the ties bound both ways. In her naïveté, she had not looked ahead to the potential of forming her own attachment. She had thought to lure him with sex—it was, after all, the only currency available to her in the sheikh’s camp. She had not thought to enjoy him in a way that went beyond the sensual. Alex Grayfield had been on display tonight in ways that transcended his naked body. He’d shown her sensitivity where her pleasure was concerned, and he’d shown interest in her thoughts and in her person. He’d asked about her captivity in a way that separated that ordeal from its impact on the political situation. Those lures were, in fact, equally as potent as the temptations offered by his body, and in some ways, more so. In her experience, rare was the man who put others’ needs above his own. That was a powerful lure indeed.

She’d known Alex Grayfield’s presence would change things, but she hadn’t known just how pervasive that change would be. It would be easy to love him. When she’d formulated her plan, such a consequence had been most unlooked for.

Not that it would matter. What man would want a woman who’d danced as she had? She was a suitable companion for a few nights of passion. But a suitable wife? She was realist enough to know those chances were gone. It was a sobering thought.

Soon she’d be free. The desert could be left behind, but the stigma of her captivity could not. She had not allowed herself to think of life beyond the desert. But now she must if freedom was imminent. She could start a new life with the remaining threads of her old one; she had connections, money and her father’s name to trade on, but what Society would receive her? Certainly not England’s. Whatever new life she cobbled together would have to be far from English shores, and she would most likely have to be alone.

Chapter Five

“T
he sheikh does not wish to defeat the French?” Crispin rose from his couch, digesting Alex’s news the following morning while they broke their fast on yoghurt and dates.

Alex relayed what Susannah had told him the night before. “Sheikh Bitar sees the French as an affront to the traditional way of life. But more than that, Bitar sees al Qadir as a tyrant. Those who do not come to his standard willingly will be subjugated. That makes Qadir no better than the French in the sheikh’s eyes.”

“But perhaps more resistible,” Crispin surmised the implications quickly. “It would be easier to undermine the emir’s efforts and take a chance on the French being unable to control what really went on in the desert.”

Alex nodded, that had been his conclusion last night as well. “It would be an incredible feat to join the tribes into a unified force. The emir’s efforts are unlikely to succeed. The tribes have spent their histories fighting each other and now the emir wants them to be friends.”

If the sheikh prevented the English from offering support to the emir, the army he was raising might not defeat the French. There was nothing like defeat to dampen the willingness of men to fight. Without an army, al Qadir was nothing, just a powerless potentate, and Bitar was betting the French would leave the Bedouin alone in the desert.

Crispin sat back down, pushing his hands through his long dark hair. “There’s a good chance the sheikh’s right. The French can claim to own the territory on a map, but in actuality, it will be difficult to impose rule in such a vast and harsh land. He’d rather take his chances with the French than with Abd al Qadir.”

“It’s too bad. If anyone can unite the tribes, it’s the emir. From what I know of the man, he’s a holy man, a decent man. Innovative, too. He’s styled his army after the European fashion. He wants his people educated in Western ways. The people who have joined him see the merit of these additions.”

“But Muhsin Bitar does not.” Crispin sighed. “It would be best if he doesn’t suspect our real reason for being here, although two Englishmen wandering in the desert is bound to raise questions.” Crispin thought for a moment. “We’ll tell Bitar we’re horse traders. A
moussem
is perfect for discovering new horses. Perhaps that will give us alibi enough for being here and persuade him we’re not politicking.”

He winked at Alex. “I do hope to make the alibi a fact in truth, however. The sheikh has a prime goer, the black. The blasted horse sleeps in the sheikh’s own tent. Can you imagine that?”

Alex smiled at the look on Crispin’s face. “It’s because of the camels. Horses can’t stand the smell of them, it makes them high-strung, hard to handle.”

“Like a woman,” Crispin commented wryly. Alex chose to let the deliberate hint slide. Beyond political necessity, he wasn’t ready to talk about Susannah and what had transpired last night.

“I must start thinking of a way to charm it out of him, persuade him to make a gift of it,” Crispin mused out loud.

“I think there are better ‘gifts’ to ask for. It goes without saying that she wants to come with us,” Alex interjected.

Crispin fixed him with a knowing stare. “I was wondering when we’d get around to this. Can we trust her?”

Alex shrugged. “Does it matter? She’s an English captive being held against her will. But yes, there’s little reason not to trust her.”

Crispin gave a cynical laugh. “She’s a woman, Alex, you can’t really trust any of them. But let’s hope you’ve found the rare gem. After all, she knows now that we’re here to discover where allegiances lie. All she has to do is tell the sheikh and we’re on the run.
And
she’ll have whatever it is the sheikh has promised her. Her freedom perhaps?”

Alex bristled at Crispin’s implication. “We
can
trust her. She only knew about our mission because it was her father’s mission before it was ours. She needs us alive.”

Crispin nodded, content to accept Alex’s analysis. “Assuming you’re right, how are we going to get her out of here?”

Alex grinned. “There’re only two options, really, Cris. Either we convince Bitar to give her to us as a gift or we steal her and ride like hell.”

“I was afraid you were going to say that. I guess we might as well take the horse while we’re at it. In for a penny, in for a pound. Do you think the Crown will ever forgive us for this one? Stealing women, stealing horses. Our skills grow illustrious, dear friend.”

Alex chuckled. “Your brother’s an earl, they’ll forgive you anything. It’s me I’m worried about.”

“Ha, you’ll be the Prince Charming in all this, riding out of the desert with the missing diplomat’s daughter riding pillion behind you. It’s the stuff of ballads. I can see it now, ‘The Lay of Alex and Susannah’ sung in all of London’s finest pubs.”

“Leave it, Cris, she’s a diplomat’s daughter.”

“Being a diplomat’s daughter doesn’t make her a nun,” Crispin countered.

“She is not a houri. She is Susannah Sutcliffe, Lord Sutcliffe’s daughter, and I’ll thank you to speak about her with respect.” Alex bristled.

Crispin looked at him sharply and raised an eyebrow. “Hmm. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you so on edge about a woman. It rather sounds like there’s more to you and Miss Susannah than meets the eye.”

Alex rose, blithely ignoring Crispin’s comment. “I need to take care of some things. I’ll see you shortly at the sheikh’s tent. I think he has some competitions lined up for today.” Crispin and he had worked together for two years. His friend was eminently trustworthy and quite the finest man he’d ever partnered with, but for some reason Alex did not want such crass witticisms slandering his encounter with Susannah.

Alex wandered the
moussem’
s
souk,
pausing every so often to admire the merchant’s booths and their goods on display at the fair. He stopped at a booth selling creams and purchased a small pot. The rose scent reminded him of Susannah.

Ah, Susannah. She’d occupied a fair share of his thoughts since last night. Their interlude had been entirely otherworldly, but increasingly it was hard to keep the real-world implications from intruding.

He was on difficult ground. Alex had lain awake long after Susannah had left. He’d meant to spend the night thinking over diplomatic issues, but his thoughts had continuously drifted back to her. When it had been a game of desire, of bodies speaking to one another in the timeless language of seduction, who she was had not been a consideration. She’d simply been a woman, passionate and bold. He’d been a man, answering the lure of her body. It had been simple and primal in the darkness of the tent.

Then he’d asked her name and reality had struck. She was an Englishman’s daughter. Not just any Englishman’s daughter. There were Englishmen and then there were
Englishmen
. Her father had been of the latter category.

Lord Sutcliffe was no meager player in British affairs. He’d been considered a top-notch diplomat when it came to the Empire in North Africa. Alex’s father had met with him on occasion over Egyptian affairs. Alex had admired him as a hero during his years growing up in Cairo. No other man in the Empire had possessed Sutcliffe’s depth of knowledge concerning the varied peoples of North Africa.

To be set upon by the mercenaries of Sheikh Bitar was an ignoble death for anyone, particularly one so decorated in life. For Sutcliffe’s daughter to be made a captive and subjugated to who-knew-what atrocities was an intolerable slap in the face to the Empire’s pride, but Alex’s body burned for a personal vengeance against Bitar and Bassam. What had they subjected Susannah to during her captivity? A woman did not have to be bedded to be debased and there’d been a moment of fear in her eyes last night when he’d grabbed her.

Seldom had a woman’s attentions claimed him so completely. Alex was struck anew with the power of his desire, his desire not only to possess her but to be the first and only one to do so. That desire brought him full circle in his thoughts.

She was Sutcliffe’s daughter and he was an Englishman bound by certain codes of conduct. In the throes of pleasure, he’d taken her virginity. By the nature of her birth and status in society, she could not be like his other casual encounters, enjoyed and cast aside when the excitement ebbed. She would surely demand from him a level of commitment he’d given no other woman. The strange thing was that, for the first time in his life, making that commitment didn’t sound like such a ridiculous idea.

A horn blew in the
souk
announcing the beginning of the games. Alex turned his direction toward the big tents of the sheikh, where men were gathering for the traditional competitions. He could see Crispin’s tall frame among them. It was time to act. Before he could think of what the future might hold with Susannah, he had to win her first.