The Cobra & the Concubine (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) (15 page)

"Are you hurt?"

Yes
, she wanted to say.
I’m hurt that there is this cold distance between us, that I’ve done something despicable in order to achieve another end. I’m hurt that our worlds are too different to bridge the canyon between us.

"No," she said automatically. "I’m fine."

He grasped her elbow as they cleared the last step and headed down the hallway. Her cheeks grew flushed at his continued touch, the warmth searing through her wool sleeve. He steered her toward a massive set of paneled wood doors and twisted a brass knob, ushering her formally inside.

A delighted gasp fled her lips.

He stood with a quiet air of pride, his hand gesturing to the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, forest-green carpet and carved mahogany fireplace. Tall brass lamps flanked oversized leather armchairs. The effect was quietly masculine and yet, as she breathed in the scent of leather-bound learning, Badra had never felt more at home.

"Oh, Khepri!" She caught herself, flushed and added, "I mean, Kenneth." She turned, her eyes shining, burning with excitement and wonder. "May I?"

"But of course." He strolled over to one wood case and thumbed through the selections. He chose one and handed it over with reverence. She fingered the tome and read aloud the gold lettering on the jacket.

"David Copperfield by Charles Dickens. What type of book is this?"

"Some call it popular," he said, peering over her shoulder.

Badra clutched the book to her chest like a child holding a treasured toy. "May I borrow it?"

Kenneth smiled. "Of course."

Her mouth worked up and down as she stroked the calf-leather binding. No one had ever given her such a treasure.

"I never told you, Badra, but do you know how proud I was when you learned to read?"

A flush of pleasure at his compliment lit her cheeks. "Thank you," she said shyly.

The loud ringing of the telephone was followed by a soft knock at the door, breaking the tension between them. "Yes," he called out impatiently.

A white-gloved footman stepped inside. "Beg your pardon, Your Grace, but there is another telephone call."

"Very well." He glanced at her. "I’m afraid I have some pressing business I must finish. Please, enjoy yourself. I’ll be back in a few minutes. If you see anything else you like, feel free to borrow it."

She thanked him, setting down Mr. Dickens. Like a starving man eyeing a banquet, Badra combed through the books, hungry for each one. Between the stacks, she would hide the pendant.

After a few minutes, something nagged her about Kenneth’s collection. The books all seemed too new. None had a well-worn feeling, pages thumbed and bindings creased from frequent use as the cherished books sent by Lord Smithfield to the Khamsin camp did. Were all the titles Kenneth stocked merely for show, as one would display rare Egyptian artifacts?

She did not think him a shallow man, yet he had changed...

Badra wandered over to another shelf and examined the titles. The books were all in Arabic. She chose one and thumbed the pages. It was well worn, much used. A few others showed the same signs.

She doubted any of his English friends read Arabic books. Clearly Kenneth read these. Why not the English?

She pursed her lips over this mystery. Perhaps the Arabic was a link to a life he seemed determined to leave behind, yet could not. Badra shrugged. A wooden ladder rested nearby. Lifting her skirts, she released the necklace from the threads holding it captive. Prize in hand, she climbed the ladder, carefully slid the pectoral between two volumes, and peered between them. Excellent. It was well-hidden.

A volume with an interesting title caught her attention. Badra retrieved it. "
The Kama Sutra of Vatsyayana
," she said aloud slowly. "Translated by Sir Richard Burton."

She skimmed the pages and nearly fell off the ladder. Her eyes widened. Oh my. A book of instruction on sexual pleasure!

Badra replaced it, selected another book with illustrations. She peered at them in shocked fascination.

Could a man and a woman really do that?

It looked difficult, like one of the daring moves Ramses made with his scimitar while performing the Dance of the Swords.

Climbing down the ladder with the book, she set it upon a small polished table and leafed through the illustrations. A blush flamed her cheeks as she encountered one in particular. The erotic image before her brought an odd surge of heat low in her belly. Did Kenneth do these things?

Badra moved on, lingering over another drawing she found particularly interesting: a nude man and woman. The woman’s face was contorted not with pain, but pleasure.

Did her former falcon guard do this with English women? Did their white limbs drape over his hips, pulling him closer? Did their faces show the emotions the woman in the drawing did?

Did they cover Kenneth with their heavy scent of cloying perfume, and the musky smell of their sex?

Badra trembled. She could not digest such ideas. Still, the drawings held a fascination for her. She turned another page and stared at an illustration of a naked woman with eyes closed in apparent pleasure. The man had his face ... Oh my. Oh my!

She had heard whispers of the pleasures a woman received from the Khamsin warrior’s secret of one hundred kisses. Yet she could not imagine such a thing for herself. Her fear ran too deeply.

Still, she earmarked the page to consider the possibility and continued leafing through the book.

Footsteps sounded in the hallway. In desperation, Badra closed the book with a snap and looked around. No place to return it among the tightly packed books on the lower shelves. No time to climb the ladder and replace it.

Kenneth was returning. What would he think if he caught her with this private, very revealing book?

Panic rushed through her, but she was trapped.

She had to hide the book. Badra glanced down at her thick skirts. She just managed. Just as the door opened, they fell back into place with a swish.

Kenneth came forward. "Did you find anything you like?"

"Oh yes, indeed, I have Mr. Dickens and I am quite looking forward to indulging myself," she babbled.

He nodded. "Excellent. Why don’t you read it to me?"

"Read to you?"

"I miss the sound of your voice." His warm gaze locked with hers. "When you speak, it’s like hearing Egypt. Hearing you read a book in English would please me."

This simple admission moved her. The duke gestured toward the large, overstuffed striped chairs. Badra burned with embarrassment. Making herself comfortable with a heavy, leather-bound book sandwiched between her thighs? She could barely walk.

But neither could she remain standing here wearing a silly smile. Badra swallowed, shifted her calves in an awkward walk.

Kenneth’s brow wrinkled. "Are you still having trouble with those shoes? Lord Smithfield can find you another pair more comfortable."

"These are fine," she answered, taking another awkward step. She felt the leather begin to slide downward.

Badra halted.

Kenneth frowned. "You’re walking as if you’re in tremendous pain. Let me assist you."

She held up a hand. "No, please, I am quite ..."

Thunk! The volume fell from between her clenched thighs with a heavy thud on the carpet.

Kenneth raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"Did you drop something?" he asked politely. Her cheeks burned as he pointedly looked at her hem.

Badra stepped back, revealing the forbidden book concealed by her skirts. Kenneth bent down, picked it up, and flipped it over, and it fell open to the page that had fascinated her—a man pressing his face deep between a woman’s plump thighs.

"Interesting," he murmured, his blue eyes twinkling. "Badra, if you wish to learn more about this, I advise reading the book, not using it to ape the illustration." The teasing light in his eyes grew as he set the book down on the table.

Heat filled her cheeks. "I ... I wanted to know your tastes." Then she blushed deeper, realizing her words.

The duke simply looked at her. Hunger filled his rich blue eyes, which shone like jewels. He reached forward.

His forefinger gently brushed her bottom lip. "My tastes have always been constant."

Badra closed her eyes, trembling at the warmth of his touch. A shard of deep yearning pierced her.

"You are so beautiful." His voice evoked shudders of need within her.

Why could she not have mustered the courage to tell him yes when he’d proposed? Would Kenneth have hurt her as her former captor had? She had no courage. She could never do the things the woman in that book did. Not willingly. Never. She had to remind herself: Kenneth deserved a woman with passion to equal his own.

If only she could dare feel a little of the desire flaring in his intense eyes. Could she? Badra yearned to try.

He moved closer, his thumb resting at her bottom lip, teasing it back and forth in a feather-light caress. His gaze locked with hers. So different. Yet so familiar. Her hand touched the firmness of his chiseled jaw, as she stared into the deep, intriguing mix of green flecks in his blue eyes, which were fringed by a sweep of long, dark lashes.

Thick, dark hair fell across his forehead. With a trembling hand, she reached up and brushed it aside. Once it had swept past his shoulders; now, it was close-cropped. She grasped for her Khepri, the man who would have given life and limb to protect her.

Kenneth took her hand, brought her finger to his lips. His eyes closed as he gently pressed a kiss there. His lips were moist and warm; then he rubbed her hand against his cheek. The intriguing brush of that masculine, clean-shaven skin unleashed a torrent of wild uncertainty in her. Badra wanted to pull back, torn with yearning and deep-seated fear at the raw hunger evident in his expression. Where would this lead?

Once, he’d sworn an oath to shed every last drop of his blood to defend her virtue. Would he now strip that very same virtue away? No longer Khamsin, he was now a powerful English duke. He was no longer governed by the same rules.

She laughed to cover her nervousness and let her hands rest upon his shoulders, feeling the hard muscle beneath the texture of his jacket. That lean, tensile steel of a warrior still existed beneath his tailored finery.

"You look so different. Yet this suits you. Like your cobra totem, you have shed your Khamsin skin for an English one and blended in perfectly."

A flicker of sadness shone in his eyes. "I am a cobra, maybe, but one uncomfortable in his new coat," he admitted. "Stuffed and shoved into a skin totally unfamiliar."

His honesty startled her. "But you have adapted well."

"I have no choice. I have obligations and duties of a vastly different sort now, Badra. Duties I must take as seriously as any I did when I was a simple warrior."

Newfound respect for him emerged. "You are one of the most honorable warriors our people have ever known, Khepri. I am certain you make an equally honorable duke."

A distant look came into his eyes. His hand cupped her cheek, his thumb drifted across it in a feathering touch.

"Am I still Khepri to you, Badra? I’m a duke with a small touch of longing for Egypt and his past. Oh, you smell like Egypt—desert flowers, sunshine, heat and hot sand," he said in a husky voice. "No matter how many layers of English clothing you wear, you will always be the desert. It’s within you."

"It’s within you as well. You cannot leave it behind. You are still Khepri, here, in your
leb
." She took his hands and clasped them together, pressing them to his heart.

He leaned closer, hunger sparking in his eyes. "Give me back my desert, Badra. Another kiss, one small memory of the home I left behind. Kiss me, Badra, and let me taste Egypt once more," he begged, his voice low and husky.

Deep within the fathomless pools of his sea-blue eyes, she glimpsed the real Kenneth: adrift and alone on an ocean of uncertainty, flooded with new duties and a new life, yet longing for the familiar, torrid heat of Egypt.

How could she deny him a kiss, a memory of the land they both loved and that he had forsaken?

Giddy with daring, Badra tilted her head up, summoning her courage. So tall. She arched up on her toes, reaching for him like a budding flower for the sun, hoping it will touch her petals and give her life.

His lips burned like the promise of passion. They reminded her of the black tents of Egypt, the subtle rubbings of flesh against flesh, the quiet cries echoing in the still desert night. They made Badra think of women pleasured by their warriors.

Oh, she wanted more.

A tiny sigh escaped her throat. Kenneth cupped her nape in one strong palm and held her still as his mouth angled more securely over hers. His touch was gentle, considerate, undemanding. Then his tongue lightly traced the seam of her closed lips, flicking as if in invitation. Intrigued, she parted her lips.

His tongue darted inside, flicking and exploring as he swept into her mouth, claiming her. Badra opened her mouth, willing him to explore.

Willing to let him claim her.