Must Have Been The Moonlight (21 page)

The captain’s spine notched. “Can you prove where you were last night at eleven?”

Michael was growing increasingly annoyed, and when he set his fists on his hips, he looked intimately deadly to anyone who knew him. He hadn’t gotten to his apartment until nearly midnight.

“It’s a legitimate question, Fallon,” Donally said.

“I wasn’t alone,” Michael finally replied.

“No one assumed you were,” Donally said.

The man didn’t know the half of it.

Shit!

He squeezed his eyes shut and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Movement behind Donally lifted his gaze. Brianna stood in the doorway to his bedroom. She’d found the turban and had managed to wrap her hair. But there was no mistaking the curves on her body, no mistaking that she was a woman. Long, sooty lashes, clearly a Donally trademark, framed her huge eyes. They’d frozen him with their intensity.

After today, every bloody person in Cairo would know she’d spent the night.

The captain turned abruptly, as did Halid, who had sat down at the table.

The captain, clearly startled, moved forward. Donally’s arm slapped out. “No,” he rasped.

“Major Fallon was here all night,” she said, chin high.

“Jaysus, Brianna,” Donally whispered.

“I got here before eleven.” Her chest rose on a sudden inhalation, and the constriction in Michael’s gut tightened. “I would have preferred that you didn’t find out this way, Christopher. I’m sorry.”

“You are Donally Pasha’s sister?” the captain asked. Even he had the intelligence to back down a step.

Her eyes touched his. “I couldn’t let them take you away.”

Then, before Michael could think of something relevant to say, Donally turned with a growl, “You son of a bitch!” A fist swung directly into Michael’s jaw—a glancing blow because Michael had seen the move coming and reacted instinctively. Christ, the man hit like a bloody rock. Michael figured he owed the brother one requisite, lucky, son of a bitch hit. After all, it was no less than what he’d have done had the circumstances been reversed. But Donally wasn’t finished.

“Stop it!” Brianna shouted as Michael’s legs hit the back of a chair and he stumbled flat on his ass, legs spread. Brianna knelt down beside him. “That’s enough, Christopher,” she furiously admonished. “I wasn’t dragged here. I came of my own free will. On my own. Uninvited.”

“Spare me the details, Brea.”

“He’s not going to fight you. Are you, Michael?”

Rising to his elbow, Michael pressed the heel of his hand against his bloodied lip. He could barely see straight. “You hit like a bloody Irish crag, Donally.” For a man who spent too much time behind a desk, he wasn’t the least bit soft.

“Welcome to the family, Fallon.” Donally stood braced,
feet spread like some avenging archangel. “And I don’t care who you think you are.”

“Oh bother, Christopher.” Brianna got to her feet. “Spare me your masculine indignity. We’ve already discussed the matter. I’ll tell you the same as I told him. I’ll make my own decisions about my life.”

“You have no focking idea about your life, Brea—”

“You have no room to preach morality to me,” she said, wagging a violent finger at her brother. “No room at all! I’m past the age of majority. You cannot tell me what to do. I will be the
only
one who says whether I shall wed. As of right now, both of you can go to the devil.”

Peering through one eye, Michael rested an elbow on a knee and dabbed at his lip. Fireworks still danced behind his eyelids. He was resilient, but the better part of valor was prudence, and he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

Donally turned to the unfortunate captain, who had yet to move. “Do you have any more bloody questions for my sister?”

“No, Donally Pasha.”

Donally swung open the door, fully expecting his sister to precede his exit. “I expect that I’ll see you sometime today, Fallon?”

Casually, Michael saluted in affirmation. “I expect I’ll be meeting your solicitor?”

Brianna glared fire at her brother, then turned her head, her expression direct. “I won’t be there,” she said flatly.

He let his gaze travel over her slim form. Michael knew her well enough to know that she’d meant what she said. Hell, he could almost believe she’d added murder to her list of his sins.

“I think you have made a most wise choice, effendi.” The captain chuckled as if he alone were responsible for laying Michael on his backside. If the bastard were two steps nearer, Michael would have kicked his feet out from under him. “She is preferable to a cold cot in detention, yes?”

“Do you have any other suspects in Omar’s death?”

“He is no longer your problem, yes?”

Hell, the look in Brianna’s eyes told him differently. “Why don’t you let me decide that?”

The captain moved to the door. “The man who killed him knew the private quarters of the palace. I suspect now that it was one of his own, which would account for your knife. Omar dealt only one way with those who failed him. The attack on you failed. Perhaps someone did not wish to die so easily this time. They did our khedive a favor, I think. And thanks to the beautiful houri in your bed, you are no longer suspected of the crime.” The door shut behind him.

In the silence, Halid walked over and handed Michael a handkerchief for his mouth. “That went very well, do you not think, Englishman? She is a woman in love if I have ever seen one.”

Michael snatched the cloth. “Do you think?” He remained on the floor, testing the injury on his tongue. “What was Donally doing in the office this morning?”

“His men found two abandoned camps in the desert. Omar’s death suggests the possibility that perhaps we are witnessing a fight from within. He was an evil man, effendi. It is over for you now.”

Michael didn’t answer, and only looked up as Halid opened the door and chuckled. “If I were to ever ask an Englishman for counsel about women, it would not be thee, effendi.”

Michael didn’t waste his breath on a caustic response, merely threw away the handkerchief in disgust, welcoming the silence that followed Halid’s facetious departure.

Without changing, Michael washed his face and poured a glass of bourbon. He stood in the doorway of his room and looked at the bed. Omar’s murder afforded him no sense of triumph, and he felt muddled by the turn of circumstances. It seemed that, without even knowing how it happened, one part of his life had abruptly ended just as the other was about to begin. Halid was correct on both accounts.

His job was over.

And he didn’t know a hill of beans about women—except he wanted this one. Whether he’d planned it this way or not, he only knew that Brianna’s days of climbing out of balcony windows were over.

B
rianna’s life as she’d known it was over.

Her character lay in tatters, the pall like a shadow weighing down her shoulders. Hearing raised voices outside, she slipped into a wrapper and, still damp from her bath, she walked to the open doors to her balcony. The argument was coming from Christopher and Alexandra’s bedroom across the terrace.

“Maybe I should go down there,” she said.

“And maybe you best be stayin’ out of sight, mum.” Gracie waddled about the bedroom, picking up Brianna’s clothes. “The whole household went into hiding since your brother brought ye home. ’Tis a shame, it is.”

Brianna tied the wrapper at her waist. “I can take care of us, Gracie.”

“And maybe I’m not thinking about myself, mum. Even if I won’t be receivin’ another invitation to the consulate.”

Brianna turned back into her room, walked to her dresser and found a comb.

“You’ve a kind heart, mum. Most of the time. When you’re not on one of your tangents.” Gracie wagged the sandal in her hand. “But there’s no accountin’ for the truth that
you’re young and have a lot to learn in life. No one is going to be forgiving of you this time.”

“Don’t you think I’m aware of that?”

She was to blame for the discord between Alex and Christopher, having publicly embarrassed her brother and Lady Alexandra. Brianna knew enough about the machinations of society to recognize that she was in trouble.

“Oh, my poor wee dove.” Gracie seemed to sense her distress, and took Brianna into her arms. “What a fix you’ve gotten yourself into now. Major Fallon will do the right deed by ye, mum. He’ll not leave you to be picked clean by the vultures. Your brother will see to that.”

“Really, Gracie,” Brianna attempted to dissuade her faithful servant from killing her with such an optimistic outlook of her future. “I swear, I’m going to perish just considering his goodwill.”

It had taken an insufferably long time to get from Michael’s apartment to the house this morning. The silence between her and Christopher had been the worst to endure. He’d barely spoken, except to confirm that Omar was truly dead, stabbed through the heart with Michael’s knife. He’d not questioned whether she lied about being Michael’s alibi, and Brianna had not divulged it. When they got to the house, Christopher had sent for his solicitor. Brianna didn’t have to ask him why.

She knew she hadn’t been thinking rationally that morning when she stepped forward and gave Michael an alibi. Terrified for his safety, she’d acted impulsively, the thought that he might be guilty never occurring to her. Christopher hadn’t seen what Omar had done to Colonel Baker. Hadn’t seen the devastation to the caravan or listened to the screams of people dying. She only knew that Michael was not like Omar.

By now, Michael had no doubt rethought his proposal to her. If it could be called that. Wisdom would force him to see that he was a peer of the realm, for goodness sakes. What
could she ever bring to a marriage like that? It seemed that fate surely had a haughty laugh at her expense.

Brianna padded up a set of narrow stairs that led to her darkroom. This was her sanctuary, her livelihood, and she breathed in the familiar scent of collodion and silver nitrate that clung to the air. No photographs hung from the string draped laterally across the room. But she would change that. She needed to replenish her plates and magnesium flares. She wasn’t helpless or dependent on anyone to make her happy. She could take responsibility for her own actions.

She’d been the one to compromise herself, completely and utterly without Michael’s help. Had she not arrived at his quarters in the first place, she would not be in this position. Nor would he.

Yet, had she not been with him last night, Michael would most likely have been arrested. It was strange how fate always seemed to play out between them. Her own conduct showed that she trusted him.

Brianna’s gaze fell on Stephan’s picture. She lifted the frame off the shelf and sat in the chair that backed against the only table in the room.

It hurt just to breathe. She’d once been captivated by the fairy tale of romance and happy endings. She’d believed in forever, believed that someone could love her quirks and her dreams. Could love her.

Perhaps she’d been too absorbed in her own life, her own mission to save the world because she’d been so inept at managing hers. Maybe she’d just wanted to make her path the same way her brothers had. At one time, she’d been content with her goals and her dreams. Content with the erroneous belief that she had the wisdom to manage her own destiny.

At least until she’d met Michael.

Major Michael Fallon, who didn’t know the meaning of playing fair, who was as domineering as any of her arrogant brothers.

Indignant, she thought of Michael’s own scapegrace tribute to morality. Why would a woman ever consider marrying? She would take a man’s name and, in return, he would control her life, forever. He could take her children, have a mistress, and vote—all in one day if he chose. If she behaved properly, he would toss her that rare bone on which she could blissfully gnaw.

Brianna knew she held very little that was truly hers, but her heart was hers alone to give away.

A noise in the doorway turned her head.

Carrying his pith helmet, Michael had stopped on the threshold of her personal, private sanctuary. “May I come in?” he asked.

Longing and uncertainty twisted itself into a tight knot in her stomach as he gazed at her. Wearing his uniform, he looked too bloody desirable, when she had knotty hair and swollen eyes. “How did you find me?”

He dipped beneath the doorway. “Your maid directed me.”

“If Christopher discovers that you’re—”

Michael shut the door and clicked the lock. “I’m not interested in anything your family has to say. Will you let me talk to you?”

“I’m surprised that you feel the need to ask, Major.”

He scraped a chair around the table and sat down in front of her, his knees spread, his elbows resting on his thighs. “I thought it a prudent way to begin, after this morning.” Amusement touched the words, but only as far as his opening salvo. “I didn’t kill Omar.”

Brianna’s gaze moved to his face. “It doesn’t matter—”

“It does to me.” Michael tried to gauge her thoughts and could not. Brianna put weight into words. He knew that whatever he said now would be taken as his measure forever. “I’ve been a bloody proficient soldier for twelve years, Brianna.” He studied his hands. “As you can see, I’ve not shown myself to be as fine a diplomat, not in any area of my life. But I didn’t kill Omar. It’s important to me that you believe that.”

For an instant Brianna held him with the force of her gaze, her eyes wide. “I believe you, Michael,” she said.

He was suddenly aware that he’d needed her belief in him. That he’d come here today with every intention of forcing her hand any way he could. He was not a gentle person, but as he sat in front of her, he felt only an urgency to grapple with her fear. Without a doubt, a future with her had completely seized his thoughts, and the knowledge that she possessed the ability to tear him up inside offered no measure of relief to his state of mind. It was a novelty to his enormous psyche, for the man that he had become since leaving England did not suffer incertitude.

Aside from the fact that he knew damn well the reasons for her discontent with matrimony, in this arena he was resolved that she would lose. Brianna was bright, independent, and adept at keeping men in their places. She was also as beautiful as moonlight, generous to those she loved, and passionate. The glimpses of that passion proved more powerful than her sweetly curving body. She’d given him herself. And instilled in him a belief that there could be something more inside him than what he had. He didn’t want to force her hand. He didn’t want a martyr in his bed. He needed a responsive woman willing to stand at his side.

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

She answered him with a nod. Already she was recovering from that morning.

“You know why I’m here,” he said. “I’m asking that you not come to me by force, Brianna.”

She didn’t reply. But neither was she ignoring him. His gaze dropped to the small portraiture in her hand, which she made no effort to conceal. Michael slipped it from her hands.

The subject of the photograph was a man he’d not seen before. Instinctively, he knew who it was.

“Why did you leave England?” she asked.

Michael drew in his breath, sat back in the chair, and knew he probably looked as disgusted as he felt. Brianna
had a right to know. But how did one tell his future wife the filthy details of life? When the past was gone and irrelevant? When it didn’t matter to him anymore?

He was not one to allow himself to feel vulnerable, and after today he would never discuss the matter again, but he felt safe in doing so now. Her presence was a powerful compulsion to bear his soul.

“My father disinherited me,” he said flatly.

Sitting forward, he turned his hands over. A white scar ran the length of his knuckle to his wrist. His father who made sure that he would never return to England. “I was twenty, and a fool in love with a woman I couldn’t have. At least that was part of the problem.” He looked at Brianna. “I caused one of the biggest scandals in history. If your family had been part of the ton twelve years ago, your brother would not be so eager to see you married off to me.”

“Because you were in love and behaved foolishly?”

“Yes.”

“Who was she?”

The pale light made her blue eyes nearly liquid. Being the obvious romantic that she was, she clearly empathized, and he might have played on that sympathy if he’d been innocent. He wasn’t. He’d deserved some if not all the blame that had been leveled against him.

“Caroline and I grew up together. Her properties bordered my family’s. She followed me everywhere, and eventually she became part of the coterie, so to speak—the gang, being my brothers and hers. I fell in love with her when I was twelve. When I was eighteen, I’d decided I was going to marry her. Unfortunately, my brother had his own plans. Two years later, while I was at Eton, Caroline’s father, the Duke of Bedford, announced her betrothal to Edward. I went to my father, never realizing how cold-blooded he was until he’d twisted my dreams to his own political advantage. He wanted Caroline’s dowry for the family coffers and Bedford’s powerful alliance in parliament. It was as simple as
that. She was to marry Edward. I was to accept the decision for the good of all.”

“But you didn’t.”

“I never forgave my brother for going behind my back to have her. A week before the wedding, I met Caroline at the summerhouse on my property. When my brother discovered us, he called me out. I nearly killed him. Afterward, my father disinherited me, and I left England to join Gordon in China. That is my sordid past.”

“Are you still in love with her?”

He set the photograph in his hands on the table. “Are you still in love with Stephan Williams?”

She shook her head, finally turning the photograph facedown on the table. “No,” she whispered, and dragged in her breath. “Is the investigation over?”

“It is for me.” He pulled her into his lap, holding her close as he smoothed the damp hair off her face. “My career would have ended anyway. You were the one real thing to come out of all of this, Brianna.”

She turned her head away. “What do you know about me, Michael?”

His long fingers came alongside her jaw and turned her face to his, and his gaze seized hers with a reality of all they had yet to share, yet knew intimately. “I know that you like the sunrise and the way the air smells in the morning. You love roses, and miss the rain.” He’d repeated the same words she once told him, long ago in the desert, before he kissed her for the first time. Before he’d taken her to the
dahabeeyah
, and everything about that day changed the center in his life. “You’ve marched with ladies of suffrage. Most recently, you’ve had a publication banned in England and found yourself exiled to Egypt. And you think that I have the most beautiful eyes you’ve ever seen.” He finished by saying. “They’re not quite blue. They’re—”

“Gray, ashen, stormy?” she whispered. “At least you still have all of your teeth.” She gently touched where her brother
had smashed him in the jaw that morning. Her chest rose in an exhalation.

“What about love, Michael?”

Tilting her face, he pulled back to look into the deep blue of her troubled eyes, and knew without a doubt that what they’d shared was better than love. “You could be carrying my child, Brianna. I’d be gone before you knew for sure.”

“What if I’m not?”

“Then there’s the matter of your innocence to consider.”

“Please don’t, Michael.”

“You’re still compromised beyond all hope.” He said the words against her lips, only the amusement in his eyes betraying his tone. “You have proven beyond a doubt that no good deed goes unpunished.”

“Oh!” She tried to sit, but he held her easily. “I
should
have kept silent today and let them cart you off in chains for all the reward my nobility has bequeathed me.”

“And there’s this, Brianna.” His mouth covered hers.

He sensed hesitation in her response, parted her lips under his and let his hands slide over the sumptuous silk of her robe, molding her softness to his harder frame. Their tongues tangled, and he drank in the unraveling sigh that touched his lips as her fingers sank into his hair.