The Elusive Bride

appealed to Gareth. “Is it as your majoress says? That if I go clad like this”-she spread her diaphanously draped arms-“I will create a bad impression?”

Tight lipped, his eyes commendably locked on the begum’s face, Gareth nodded. “It would not be well received by society. People would disapprove, and the grandes dames would most likely”-he paused, then amended-“would absolutely not invite you to their select soirees.”

“Oh.” Arms lowering, the begum deflated. She looked back at Emily. “So.” Her eyes scanned Emily’s evening gown. “I must cover up like you?”

Emily glanced down at her pale amber silk gown with its scooped neckline and raised waist, both lightly trimmed with lace. The skirt sported a single lace flounce above the hem and a row of amber and silver buttons ran down the center front from neckline to hem. “In style, yes, but your gowns could have richer decoration.” She reached out and touched the fine gold-thread embroidery on the begum’s sleeve. “Like this. In Europe, status is denoted by quality of materials and richness of ornamentation, rather than by different styles.”

“I see.” The begum looked not so much thoughtful as calculating, but then the large butlerlike man appeared in the doorway. She glanced at him, then turned to smile at Gareth. “Our meal is now ready, so we will eat.” She looked back at the butler and issued a command in Arabic. With a deep bow, he withdrew.

A smile played about the begum’s lips. She turned to Gareth. “And then you may instruct me in what I most wish to know.”

Gareth exchanged a glance with Emily, and fervently prayed that gowns, bonnets, and social manners were all that was on the begum’s mind, and that the impression he was receiving from the woman’s glances and smiles was being scrambled in translation.

Unfortunately, he didn’t think that was the case, but while the begum continued to believe he and Emily-his majoress-were married, he-they-should be safe.

The meal placed before them on intricately carved brass dishes owed nothing to European sensibilities. Luckily, he and Emily had been eating Arab fare for some time. They partook of the various dishes and numerous side dishes without hesitation. Unlike most English misses he’d encountered, Emily did not eat like a bird, and her tastes, he’d noted, were distinctly adventurous.

Soon after the meal began, Emily complimented the begum on her chef’s efforts, and from there neatly turned the conversation to the comments it was considered good taste to make over a hostess’s table.

The topic carried them through the many courses until the begum’s eunuch-Gareth had finally placed the oddness about the butlerlike individual-placed sweetmeats and jellied fruits on the table, poured thimblefuls of thick, rich coffee, then, leaving the ornate coffeepot on the table, bowed low and, at a word from the begum, withdrew.

Immediately the begum turned to Gareth, an anticipatory gleam lighting her eyes. “And now, Major, if you please, you will teach me all about dalliance. I have heard that the pastime is much indulged in at all the European courts.”

She leaned closer. Gareth had to fight not to lean back.

Her eyes locked on his, her voice once more lowering to a decadently sultry purr, the begum declared, “You will instruct me in how it is done.” Her gaze fell to his lips. The tip of her tongue appeared and slid slowly, languorously, over her lower lip. “You will demonstrate every little detail.”

She already had a good grasp of the basics. Gareth stopped the thought from converting into speech, but how was he to refuse without offending the begum-without landing him, and even more Emily, in hot Tunisian water?

Exceedingly hot given he couldn’t afford to risk asking any British official for help.

Eyes locked on the begum as she shifted still nearer, he wracked his brains for some way out. He didn’t dare look at Emily, look away from the danger.

The begum started to stretch upward, to tip her face invitingly to his.

He wanted to leap to his feet and walk away, but didn’t. Couldn’t. The offense would be too great. Desperately battling his instincts, he felt as if he’d been turned to stone.

“No!” The outraged injunction burst from Emily’s lips.

She’d been watching the begum in a sort of stupor, unable to credit that the woman would actually try to kiss Gareth in front of her-his majoress. Once the spell had been broken, she had no difficulty in continuing, “No, no, no!”

Reaching out, she caught the begum’s arm and bodily hauled the woman upright-away from Gareth and his lips.

At least his lips had been edging back, away from the begum’s, but what the devil was he thinking, to let her get so close?

Emily glared into the begum’s shocked face. “That is not the way it is done-not anywhere in Europe.”

The begum frowned-a frown that rapidly converted to a scowl. “I have heard it is common that married ladies indulge with gentlemen not their husbands. And that the gentlemen may be married or not-that for them marriage says nothing. Is this not true?”

The words were a challenge, one Emily knew well enough to meet head-on. “Yes, but as in all things, as a foreigner you’ve missed the subtleties, the nuances.” She drew breath, shot a sharp glance at Gareth hoping he’d have the sense to remain silent, then locked her gaze once more with the begum’s. “Not all married ladies indulge with gentlemen not their husbands, and not all married gentlemen indulge with ladies not their wives. Only a percentage, in some circles a very small percentage, of married people seek…er, entertainment with others not their spouses.”

The begum’s expression darkened, tending moody. She glanced at Gareth. “This is true?”

Before he could answer, Emily stated, “Yes, it’s true.” The instant the begum looked back at her, she continued, “And in your case, when attending a European court as the bey’s wife, you will need to maintain the strictest level of decorum, if on no other count than self-defense.”

Confusion, and a touch of concern, flared in the begum’s eyes.

Aha! Emily thought, and plowed on, “You will need to be on guard against any would-be seducers, for the only European gentlemen, married or not, who would approach the wife of a visiting potentate with a view to dalliance would have only one thing on their minds-either to discredit your husband by creating a scandal-you know how men are-or to learn more about your husband’s business through you.” Frowning, she tilted her head. “Or perhaps to blackmail you.”

She refocused on the begum. “Well, that’s more than one thing, but you can see the danger.”

Abruptly realizing her approach had been less than complimentary, she hurriedly added, “It would be totally different if you were there unofficially, not linked to your husband but just as yourself.” Pausing to draw breath, she added sincerely, “You are a very lovely woman, after all, and I’m sure you would find many gentlemen willing to dally with you, but”-she shook her head-“not this time. Not while you are traveling as the bey’s wife.”

The begum’s expression had grown increasingly despondent as Emily’s lecture had progressed. The silence lengthened as she stared at Emily, then she glanced at Gareth. “You-”

“Neither the major nor I dally with others.” Emily made the statement definite, definitive-it was true enough over recent times. She didn’t look at Gareth, but caught the begum’s eyes as she turned back to her. “I should perhaps add that in European cultures it is customary for the gentleman to make the first approach.”

“But…” The begum looked thoroughly disgusted. “What use is that? One might be waiting forever.”

“Indeed.” Emily managed not to glare at Gareth as she said it. “However, now we’ve told you-warned you- about dalliance in our societies, I believe it’s getting late, and we should thank you for your hospitality and return to our guesthouse.” She shifted to unwind her legs from their cramped position.

The begum made a distinctly unladylike sound. “So,” she grumped, “although I will walk in your ballrooms and drawing rooms, I will still be as cloistered as I am here at home.” She looked up as Emily managed to get to her feet. The begum narrowed her eyes, then pointed at Emily. “Aha! Now I understand the reason for your gowns-why you dress so, all covered up, when you go into your society. Why outside your home, you dress like a nun, rather than a wife.”

Emily bit back the information that they dressed in the same manner in the home as out of it.

With fluid grace, the begum rose in all her barely clad beauty. She waved her hands. “Let me see this gown. I