Lord of the Desert (24 page)

She grinned at them as they got the joke and started to laugh. Behind them, Kurt Brauer was cursing himself, and his friends. They were taken quickly away to jail. Gretchen was just glad that it was finally over. She reached up and kissed her husband's lean cheek before she slid her lips against his throat and tightened her arms.

“Did I do good?”

“You did good.” He kissed her softly. “How did you manage it?”

She hesitated. It was good to have things to hold over men. You never knew when a nice threat would get you something you needed badly. She pursed her lips. “Do you know, I don't remember a lot of it. But Hassan and your disgraced guard saved the day. They surprised Brauer in my rooms and Leila and I pointed our guns at his henchmen. That was all it took.”

“Dutch and the others cornered the rest of his men outside. Two were wounded, but the rest are all right. And fortunately for us, nobody was seriously hurt in the bombing. I'm sure Brauer meant it to kill us. It didn't succeed, so he had to do his own dirty work.”

“He's not very good at it,” she murmured. “Maybe he can learn a useful trade while he's in prison.”

“Our prisons have no such facilities,” he said without thinking.

She looked up at him with a wicked little smile. “Now, speaking of prison reform…”

His groan could be heard by Leila and his father, who were watching the byplay with broad smiles. But they didn't say a thing.

I
t seemed like forever until Philippe came back to their suite. She'd long since removed her beautiful wedding robes and replaced them with the caftan she liked to wear in her suite.

Philippe smiled as he closed the door and opened his arms. She ran into them, holding on as if she was afraid someone might try to tear him away from her.

“Everything's all right,” he said softly, hugging her close. “Brauer and most of his men are in custody and they will be tried. It's all over.”

She held on tighter. “We can't ever let him get out!”

He kissed her forehead. “Come. I want you to meet some people.”

“Wait,” she said, and found her
aba.
She drew it over her before she joined him, grinning at his faint surprise.

He caught her by the arm and tugged her along with him to the door. When he opened it, she recognized Brianne Hutton at once, but the big dark man beside her was unfamiliar, like the young blond and the very dark gentleman beside her.

“You've met Brianne,” Philippe said, with his arm tight around her waist. “This is her husband, Pierce, and this is Cecily and Tate Winthrop.”

“I'm very glad to meet you,” Gretchen said in her soft drawl and smiled.

“Well,” Pierce Hutton mused. “There is a resemblance.”

“Yes, there is a slight one,” Philippe said with an indulgent smile at his wife.

“Slight, indeed,” Pierce continued, holding Brianne close at his side. “You look well, despite all the excitement this morning,” he told Gretchen. “You're none the worse for wear, I hope?”

She leaned close against Philippe's chest and smiled sleepily. “No. I'm just tired, but that's natural.”

“Very natural, for a mother-to-be,” Philippe said with breathless tenderness.

Brianne's gasp was full of shocked delight. Her green eyes shimmered with glee. “Oh, my, my, my!”

Philippe chuckled and a ruddy color came along his high cheekbones. “As you once said, miracles still happen in the world. Gretchen has made me believe in them again.”

“Obviously,” Pierce Hutton said with a low whistle. He gave his wife a curious look and she made a face at him. It was as if she were daring him to have any more suspicions about her friend Philippe Sabon. And it was equally clear that he didn't.

“I believe in miracles myself,” Cecily Winthrop said softly, and with a smile at her handsome husband. “Tate and I are expecting our second child. Our firstborn is with his grandparents at the hotel. Thank God we didn't bring him or Brianne's little boy along for the ceremony!”

“The Holdens, Matt and Leta, stayed at the hotel to baby-sit for us,” Pierce offered with a smile.

“It was scary,” Gretchen admitted, looking up at Philippe with a grin. “But nothing we couldn't handle!”

 

The guests stayed for a late supper before they went back to their hotel. They were going to fly out the next morning. Marc wished his sister happiness, took back his pistol with a wry grin, and shook hands with his new brother-in-law heartily. Gretchen and Philippe went back to their own suite soon afterward, both tired and ready for bed.

But on the way, they encountered Philippe's father, who was looking darkly concerned and broody.

“What's wrong?” Philippe asked him.

He shrugged. “It is nothing. Well,” he amended with a glance toward them, “it is nothing much.”

“Father,” Philippe prodded.

The old man shifted and shrugged. “Father Felipe has just given me the most intimidating lecture of my life.”

“For what?” Philippe asked.

“You knew that your wife insulted your bodyguard. He is the youngest son of the leader of one of the Beduoin tribes, who is very pleased that you have reinstated him and at a higher rank,” he said slowly.

“Yes, he was instrumental in saving Gretchen's life,” he agreed. “It was the least I could do.”

“Well, she said a great many things to him that your other guard overheard and repeated gleefully. Since her American heritage is well-known, along with her newness to Arabic speech, the source of her language was traced to me.” He cleared his throat, avoiding the howling amusement in Gretchen's and Philippe's faces. “I have been given penance for the next two weeks and advised to take more care in my choice of suitable epithets.” He cleared his throat again. “But besides that, I have recently been listening to my daughter-in-law in an attempt to learn some curses which are more acceptable.” He grinned suddenly and let loose a barrage of Spanish ranch slang that had Gretchen gasping for breath.

“If you say that in front of Father Felipe, he'll wash your mouth out with lye soap!” she exclaimed, red-faced.

“I did!” he groaned. “That is why Father Felipe has given me two weeks' penance!”

She burst out laughing. Her father-in-law's eyes bulged and he glowered at her. “You said this language was American slang!” he accused.

“It is,” she confessed in a squeaky tone, “but I learned it from my brother. And there is nobody in south Texas who can hold a candle to him when he loses his temper!”

“There is no cause for concern,” Philippe said, holding up a hand. “As a matter of fact, I have been studying old American movies for inspiration in this respect, and I have a curse which will even be appropriate to teach my heir when he is able to speak.”

“Have you now?” Gretchen asked, still catching her breath. “Okay. What is it?”

Philippe grinned from ear to ear. “Horsefeathers.”

She and his father exchanged a long stare and suddenly burst out laughing.

 

Later, as she lay in her husband's strong arms, Gretchen thought over the past few months and felt a warm glow under her heart as she savored the delight of her new life.

“We have so much,” she murmured sleepily. “I never dreamed of being this happy.”

His arms contracted. “Nor I. You have made miracles all around me.”

“We made them together.” She pulled one of his hands to her belly and held it there tenderly. “I hope we can have a palace full of children, but even one is more than I ever dared wish for.”

“And I.” He sighed as his lips found hers in the darkness. “I must remember to teach you some very intimate French, when I have the time.”

She grinned. “I'm sorry I got your father in trouble. I didn't mean to.”

“Yes, you did,” he accused softly.

“Well, he did get me in a lot of trouble first with those Arabic curses.”

“And you did know that Father Felipe spoke Spanish fluently.”

“I only taught him just a few little bitty words,” she defended herself. “It did help clean up his language.”

“And yours,” he added mockingly.

“I'm reformed.”

“Ha!”

She curled her legs into his. “Really. I'm turning over a new leaf.”

His own leg curled lazily against hers. He was no longer self-conscious with her, or inhibited about lying with her in the light. She'd made him realize that his scars were far worse in his own mind than in reality. She'd made him realize a lot of things.

He smoothed her cheek against his hair-roughened chest with a sigh. “My pearl of great price,” he whispered.

“Hmm?”

He smiled. “Do you remember the story of the poor man who found a pearl of great price and sold everything he had to buy it? I would give my kingdom for you.”

“Would you, really?”

“Everything I own.”

She'd thought he was teasing. But that didn't sound like teasing. Her hand stilled against his chest. “I love you,” she said softly.

His lips brushed against her eyelids, closing them. “I loved you the first time I saw you, standing so worriedly in front of the concierge and trying to look confident. It was like looking into my own soul. I could never have given you up, even then. How odd that it took so long for me to realize it.”

She could barely get her breath. “You never said that you loved me.”

He chuckled softly and held her closer. “And of course it never occurred to you that I, a man whose body was his worst nightmare, would willingly take off my clothes in front of a woman out of anger?”

Her whole body stilled. That had never even dawned on her. She caught her breath audibly.

“I knew,” he said huskily, “I
knew
that you would never ridicule it or berate me when you saw the scars. I trusted you enough to share my disfigurement with you. It was an act of love, even if I didn't quite realize it at the time.”

“Neither did I.” She felt tears slipping down her cheek, onto his chest.

“Why are you crying?”

“Because I love you more than my life,” she whispered.

“I love you more than mine!” he replied at once, with gruff fervor. “More than anything in the world!” He rolled over and his mouth found hers, cherished it, traced it in a silence warm with tenderness. “I will love you until I die. Forever. Forever, my darling!” he groaned against her lips.

She held him close. “You mustn't ever leave me,” she managed in a choked voice.

“As if I could!” He wrapped her up tight and kissed her hungrily.

She kissed him back. When the fierce ardor eased a little, she curled closer, feeling loved and cherished and happier than she ever dreamed of being. “Philippe?” she murmured.

“Hmm?” he asked, his lips teasing just at her collarbone.

“That had better not be a line you hand out to all the women in your life,” she teased, punching him in the ribs.

He laughed deeply as he caught her hand. “Woman, you insult me!” he said in mock horror.

“Horsefeathers!”

He chuckled as he moved slowly over her welcoming body. “Now, now,” he murmured as his mouth settled against hers. “You'll get in trouble if you don't watch your language. I'll tell Father Felipe.”

“Is this the sort of trouble I'll get in?” she asked against his hungry mouth.

“Mmm-hmm,” he murmured, smiling.

“In that case,” she whispered, “I'll see if I can't learn a whole lot of new words!”

It was the last thing she said for a very long time.

 

Seven months later, Ahmed Rashid Philippe Mustafa was born to the reigning sheikh of Qawi and his wife the Lady Gretchen. Two prominent medical specialists were overheard at the christening discussing an upcoming joint paper about anomalies of fertilization and misdiagnosis of sexual function based on long-standing injury.

The baby's parents had no comment.