The Cobra & the Concubine (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) (14 page)

He glanced away, a tic in his jaw muscle as if he fought some deep emotion. "Yes, of course. Come to tea tomorrow. English tea is served at four."

No emotion colored his voice. The cool, polite English duke overwhelmed the hot-blooded warrior beneath. Badra sighed and, remembering a gesture of Western civility, stuck out a palm.

"Thank you. I do not want tensions between us. Friends?" she inquired softly.

Kenneth silently studied her hand. Slowly he reached out and clasped her palm. She stared back at him. Then he tugged her hand and, quickly as a snake striking, yanked her toward him. His arms locked like steel bars around her. She gasped, panicked, feeling like prey in the coils of a giant anaconda she had read about in one of Lord Smithfield’s books.

A slow smile stole over his face. Badra became alarmed as his hard male body pressed against her. She had forgotten how very strong he was. She had forgotten his persistence in pursuing something he wanted. She had forgotten a lot of things.

He bent his head toward her. Her insides turned to warm jelly. Fear battled with desire. His scent enveloped her in a warm cloud. A foreign spicy scent clinging to his smooth-shaven cheeks mixed with sandalwood soap. The latter reminded her that this was Khepri, her warrior protector. Once, his zealous devotion had eagerly assured obedience. If she’d asked him to walk off the cliffs of Amarna, he would.

No longer. Determination shone in his blue eyes. His relentless, warm grip warned her she was no longer in control. The knowledge flooded her with fresh panic.

He eased her fears as he lowered his mouth to hers in a gentle, reverent kiss. His lips feathered over hers. To her surprise, she found herself accepting the invitation. Daringly she tasted him back, intrigued by the warmth surging through her, by the new sensations pooling in her like a low, steadily burning fire.

He cupped the back of her head and angled his mouth more securely over hers, then he deepened their chaste kiss into something more. The intensity made her heart beat wildly. Badra opened her mouth wider as he tasted her, probing its inside with expert licks. His teeth nipped her lower lip. A small whimper of pleasure rose from her throat.

Then, just as suddenly, he released her. She staggered back, nearly losing her balance.

"Friends, Badra? Are you really quite so confident you want that?" he asked huskily.

She was still trembling as he stalked off. Her hand shook visibly as she twisted the brass knob and went back inside. She dashed upstairs. She needed to check on Rashid—and to tell him of Kenneth’s enigmatic warning.

Badra started to rap on his door. Sounds of distress came from inside. Alarmed, she went in, turning on a lamp.

Rashid lay on his bedroll, tossing and turning, moaning in his sleep. Pitying him, Badra brushed a hand against his brow. "Rashid, wake up. You’re dreaming."

He sat up with a start. Sweat trickled down his temples. His gaze met hers and he drew back. "You should not be in here, Badra."

"I must talk with you. Khepri warned me to avoid you and said there might be trouble. Why would he say such a thing?"

A long sigh escaped Rashid’s lips. "It is as I thought. He found it and thinks I am the thief."

Badra went very still with panic. "Thief?"

"Someone examined my bag. The marker I placed over it was disturbed." He snorted derisively. "Khepri is not the warrior he once was. He has forgotten much."

"What is it? What does he hold over you?"

Her falcon guard reached down into his bedroll, withdrew his woven bag and dug inside. He held up the item. "This," he said soberly.

It was the gold necklace of Princess Meret.

The necklace mocked her as she rubbed her eyes in disbelief. It kept returning to her, sticking like tiny granules of evil sand she could not brush away.

So, Rashid knew she’d sold the pectoral. His dark gaze met hers.

"Why, Badra?" he asked, his words harsh in the quiet room. "Why did you steal from Khepri? Money?"

She offered a helpless shrug. "How did you get that?"

He heaved a long sigh, swinging the necklace from his fingers. "I saw you selling it. When the shop closed, I went back and broke in and took it." His face grew stern. "You will return the necklace to the tomb."

Her stomach gave a sharp twist. She remained silent.

"You will, or I will hand it over to Khepri and confess I am the thief. And take whatever punishment awaits me."

Panic welled inside her. "Please, Rashid, you must not!"

"I must. I am your falcon guard, sworn to protect you. If you do not return it, I will. Why did you take it?" His dark eyes looked troubled.

The words spilled from her lips. "In exchange for the freedom of a slave at the brothel in Cairo. They would not take money."

It was a glimmer of the truth—the heart of it, really.

He sighed heavily. ‘Trading one wrong for another will not settle the weight upon your
leb
, Badra."

"Please, Rashid. Do not question my heart on this."

"You are the most stubborn woman I know. But I will not see you punished as a thief."

Rashid arrested, publicly humiliated? The hurtful image haunted her: her falcon guard dragged off in chains by a grim-faced Khepri. How could she allow this?

"I will hide it in Khepri’s house, then it will no longer be stolen. I asked to see his home," Badra reasoned.

As Rashid nodded, the necklace burned coldly in her hand like her past burned in her mind, enslaving her as she had once been enslaved to a man’s lust. Never again.

The gold pectoral, sewn to the inside of her skirts, weighed Badra down like heavy shackles. She shivered, her superstitious soul hating to touch the artifact.

She and Rashid had come in Lord Smithfield’s shiny black carriage for tea at Kenneth’s house. She looked around with avid curiosity. Two stiff-spined men stood at rapt attention, their green-and-gold finery sparkling like the gilded hallway chairs. The mansion radiated quiet dignity, shimmered with polish and elegance. But it felt as welcoming as a cold stone tomb. Where best to place the necklace in this immense museum?

Rashid’s face tightened as a footman escorted them to a formal drawing room. She shot her guard a warning glance:
Behave.

Dressed in an elegant, crisp gray suit and a silk tie, Kenneth greeted them courteously. No reflection of their kiss shone in his eyes. A tiny hurt pinched Badra.

He escorted them throughout the immense house, explaining the history of how the Tristan family had become titled more than two hundred years ago. Sweat dripped down Rashid’s temples. His face became a harsh mask, as if he couldn’t bear the opulence. Badra’s heart sank as they toured the rooms. She could not see the right hiding place.

When they returned to the drawing room, she took a seat on the large striped settee. Kenneth sat on one side of her, Rashid on the other, flanking her like two grim-faced bookends. Egypt and England. Khepri was gone, hidden by layers of stiff gray broadcloth, his black silk tie knotted neatly at his throat; the duke had absorbed her friend as sand dunes swallow skeletal remains. Her chest tightened with sadness.

An odd jangling noise sounded. A footman appeared.

‘Telephone, Your Grace. It’s the steward at your country estate, a matter of the accounts this month," he stated.

Kenneth sighed. He turned to Badra. "I’m afraid I must take this in private. Please, remain here. I’ll be with you momentarily."

She watched him go. Now was the time.

"I’m going to look around," she whispered to Rashid.

His eyes closed and he nodded. Poor Rashid. He looked miserable at even being in the duke’s house.

A hiding place, she mused, slipping into the hallway. A place where Kenneth would not immediately find the necklace. The dining room? Badra headed there and slipped inside, eyeing the imposing polished table and matching sideboards, the expensive silk-paneled walls. A polished silver tea service sat on a sideboard. Badra lifted its gleaming silver cover.

"May I help you?"

She jumped at the pompous voice behind her. Badra whirled. "Er, no thank you. I was ... looking for the duke."

"In the teapot?"

She peered into the pot’s depths and offered a smile. "You’re correct. I do believe this is too tight a fit for him."

The footman stared impassively at her. Not a hint of a smile cracked his face. She sighed and walked off. These English, did they not know how to laugh? Perhaps it was prohibited among servants.

Badra hurried and returned to the drawing room, sitting just as Kenneth walked back into the room.

"Well? Shall we have tea?" he asked.

Servants set up the tea service in the drawing room, complete with lacy doilies and stiff linen napkins. There were paper-thin sandwiches with leafy greens, sugared scones and squares of dark brown cakes Kenneth explained were gingerbread.

His mouth turned downward. "My brother, Graham, loved gingerbread. Grandfather told me he used to eat it at Christmas until he got sick."

She had forgotten all his prior losses. His grandfather’s recent death had probably reminded him of the tragedy of losing his other family members. "Were you close?" she asked gently, moved by the sadness in his eyes.

"I was only four. I don’t remember much, except Graham was bigger." His mouth twisted in a crooked smile. "I do remember one thing. Graham used to call me ‘Runt.’ I called him ‘Canary’ because he whistled all the time, like our pet bird."

She wondered how he felt, all alone in this enormous house, only servants for company, ghosts of the past haunting his thoughts. Upset by his melancholy look, she tried to steer him toward more cheerful conversation; she asked about the house’s history. The haunted look fled his face, replaced with quiet pride as he relayed how generations of Tristan nobility had entertained kings and queens inside the mansion. Badra felt the tightness inside her ease. She hated seeing Kenneth forlorn and lost. She pressed further, asking about his new life in England, desiring to coax him out of the sadness of his past.

It worked, for his charm and wit sprang to the surface as he dutifully regaled her and Rashid with stories of balls and society teas. A new sadness pulled at her; she could not see a trace of the Khamsin warrior who had protected her, who had sworn his eternal love. That man seemed to have vanished.

She reached for another scone and nibbled its edges. Rashid drank more tea and ate another gingerbread cake. Soon the sweets vanished. Conversation ground to a halt. Rashid looked ready to bolt. Badra shot him a pleading look, which Kenneth, to her dismay, intercepted.

"I’ll have my man drive you back to Lord Smithfield’s. Badra, you will remain here. I have something to show you. I can have my man return you a bit later."

She wondered at this new Kenneth, his seeming ease at commanding servants, the implacable set of his lips. She felt drawn to his mouth, the sensual full lower curve of his lip. His air of arrogance mixed with courteous regard intrigued her, despite her inner trembling at her continued deception.

She set her teacup down with a shaky clink. Rashid left. Kenneth leaned forward, hands on his knees.

"I did not show you the entire house. There is something rather special I think you’ll like."

He stood. Badra gathered her courage and smiled. How could she plant the pendant with him hovering over her?

Lacing his hands behind his back, the duke strolled with her up the curving main staircase. Scents of lemon and beeswax hung in the air, mixing with the faint smell of his cologne. She stole a glance at him. Polished as the staircase. His black signet ring winked in the light.

How could she fool this man?

Kenneth caught her looking and raised an inquiring brow. "Are you nervous being all alone with me, Badra?"

A speculative light glimmered in his eyes. Startled by his scrutiny, she stumbled and pitched forward. Kenneth reached out. She caught hold of his steadying arms. Her fingers curled tightly around the hard muscles, and he looked down at her solemnly as she grasped him.