The Elusive Bride

folly.

The sound I just made cannot be translated into words.

But what now?

After due consideration, I believe I should continue to view his insistence on distance as nobly driven. He is-and I know this beyond a shadow of doubt-so honest and true that if he were not attracted to me as a woman, and had no inclination to a deeper connection, I do not believe incidents such as last night would occur no matter how much I pressed my case. He is, after all, significantly physically stronger than I, and on no plane could he be described as a weak man. Nevertheless, after having my unvoiced invitation declined last night, it is only natural that I should seek some sign in confirmation of what I believe is the underlying nature of his regard for me. If he truly is my “one,” that shouldn’t be impossible, as by all rights I should then be his. His “one.”

But once I have seen that sign, that confirmation, and gained the confidence it will bring, I swear that nothing will prevent me from forging the relationship I desire with him.

I remain unsweringly determined.

E.

That afternoon, the entire party sat about the low table in the main salon, slouched among the cushions, confident that the guards stationed outside would alert them to any incursion, and celebrated Gareth’s and Bister’s success in hunting down the captain Laboule had recommended, and securing passage on his xebec to Marseilles.

They would leave the next day on the mid-morning tide.

They’d just drunk a toast in orange juice to the next leg of their journey, when a rap sounded on the courtyard gate.

A distinctly official-sounding rap.

Gareth rose, Mooktu beside him, as the gate opened to reveal the familiar figure of the captain of the guard. They’d learned he was the captain for this district, one that rarely saw dignitaries or palace-worthy residents. He was, he had assured them, grateful for the imposition of their presence-and its ramifications.

He smiled as he spotted Gareth in the open doorway of the salon.

Stepping into the courtyard, Gareth returned the smile, but his instincts were pricking.

“Major Hamilton.” The captain bowed. “I bring another invitation to you and your lady to dine at the palace this evening.”

“Thank you.” Gareth glanced around and saw that Emily had followed him to the doorway.

The captain had spoken loud enough for her to hear. Stepping out into the sunshine, she came to join them. As she neared, he read the question in her eyes, saw the slight shrug as she realized he could give only one answer.

Returning his attention to the captain, Gareth inclined his head. “We are honored.”

The captain beamed. “I will come for you as before, at the same time.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Emily smiled graciously. “We’ll be waiting.”

The captain bowed low and retreated. Once the gate had closed behind him, Gareth took Emily’s arm and turned her back to the house. “Any ideas?”

She grimaced. “All I can imagine is that the bey wants to take advantage of our presence to rehearse his courtiers and the begum in their European roles some more.”

Passing into the salon, she looked at Dorcas. “We’re to dine at the palace again-we’ll need to delve into my trunks for another gown.”

The captain led them to a different entrance again. Smaller, less grand, the doorway was tucked away down one side of the palace, and was reached through a heavily screened courtyard. The man waiting to receive them was larger, oddly flabby, his robes much less gaudy and gilded than the bey’s butler.

The man didn’t speak, merely bowed low and, after taking Emily’s cloak and handing it to an underling, gestured for them to follow him. As they were led down a series of corridors, Gareth noted that the decor was less ornate, less grand. Perhaps they were to dine with the bey en famille?

That notion strengthened when their guide halted and waved them into a relatively small but richly appointed salon giving onto a private courtyard. Following Emily in, Gareth saw the begum reclining amid the cushions set about a traditional low table, one just big enough for four.

Seeing them, the begum smiled. She inclined her head in response to Emily’s curtsy, but her eyes skated over his companion to fix on him. “Major and Majoress Hamilton, I am very glad you honor me with your presence.”

The purring tone, combined with the way the begum’s gaze rested so heavily, almost hungrily, on him, raised the hairs on Gareth’s nape.

Emily boldly walked forward, cutting off the begum’s view of Gareth. “I take it the bey will be joining us?”

She’d already noted that the table was set for three.

The begum fiddled with her rings. “My husband was called away unexpectedly-some problem to the south. I thought to surprise him by learning more of your ways.” She craned her neck to look around Emily, smiled and gestured to the places to either side of her. “Major, Majoress-please sit.”

The previous night’s dinner had been served at a European-style table with proper chairs. Emily regarded the piled cushions. She suspected the begum wasn’t interested in learning more about table manners. When Gareth’s hand touched her back, a subtle prompt, she stepped forward and sank down to the begum’s left.

Perching on the cushions in any manner that combined modesty and grace wasn’t easy. It took a few moments to rearrange her legs and skirts. She glanced at the begum to see if there was any trick to it, and very nearly gawped.

The bey’s wife had wriggled straighter, lithely sitting cross-legged amid the silk cushions, and had let the old gold silk shawl that had been draped over her shoulders fall, leaving her clad primarily in shimmering, translucent amber-bronze gauze.

Shocked, Emily looked-and detected a few inches of impenetrable bronze silk in strategic places. But really! The woman was all but bare!

The begum hadn’t noticed her reaction. She was smiling widely at Gareth, her gaze, her whole attention locked on him.

Emily half expected her to lick her lips.

She looked at Gareth. Once again in his uniform, he’d taken the third place at the table, on the begum’s right, settling cross-legged on the cushions. He was wearing one of his blandest expressions, but after all they’d been through, she’d grown adept at reading him. Tension sang in the line of his shoulders; every muscle was taut, ready to react. He was watching the begum much as he might a potentially dangerous animal he had to sit beside.

He was watching the begum’s eyes, apparently neither attracted nor interested in all else that was on show.

Emily felt a soupcon of relief. The begum was very beautiful, albeit in a sultry, rather predatory way.

Sensing her gaze, Gareth glanced fleetingly at Emily. Through the brief contact she sensed his unease. He was uncomfortable and wanted to be anywhere but there.

Recalling the purpose for which they’d ostensibly been invited, she cleared her throat, smiled somewhat condescendingly when the begum glanced her way, then leaned closer and confided, “I feel I should warn you, my dear begum, that the attire in which you are honoring us tonight would not do at any European court.”

The begum frowned, and glanced down at her translucent blouse. “These garments are considered entirely appropriate for a lady to wear to dine with guests in her husband’s house.”

“I daresy they are-here. But in Europe, appearing anywhere in such attire would cause a scandal, I do assure you. And, you will pardon me if I have this incorrect, but I assumed the bey’s reason for asking us to coach you and the others in European ways was to avoid any unnecessary incidents.”

The begum’s attention was now all Emily’s, but after a moment of frowning thought, the bey’s wife turned and