Scoundrel's Honor (27 page)

Dimitri gritted his teeth, and Josef muttered his vile opinion of females who were too stubborn for their own good. Neither, however, were foolish enough to risk drawing the approaching soldiers' attention toward the fleeing woman.

Instead, they exchanged a resigned glance and prepared to be arrested by Muhammad Ali Pasha.

 

E
MMA RAN THROUGH THE
streets of Cairo like a mad woman, utterly indifferent to the drunken men and roaming packs of dogs that threatened her. All she could think
of was finding help before Dimitri could be taken by the approaching guards.

A futile hope, she discovered as she at last reached Rajih's palace only to be told he had not yet returned.

Not knowing where else to turn, Emma allowed herself to be escorted into the harem to await his arrival.

It was not as if she could approach the pasha and demand that his soldiers release Dimitri.

Could she?

Pacing the tiled floor, she impatiently counted the passing minutes. For once the soft tinkle of the fountain and the faint scent of incense did nothing to soothe her frayed nerves. Nor did the expensive wine that was left near the baths on a silver tray.

It seemed like an eternity before she at last heard the sound of voices in the inner courtyard. With a small cry of relief she darted from her private rooms, only to be forced to halt as she realized Rajih was not alone.

Standing behind one of the carved-marble columns, she watched as Rajih directed his servants to care for the five young girls huddling together in obvious fear.

She was briefly distracted as she studied the pale, dirty faces of the poor females who were dressed in gauzy trousers and tiny vests that revealed more of their shivering bodies than they concealed.

They looked so terrified. As if they could not allow themselves to believe they were actually safe in Rajih's care.

And who could blame them? They had spent weeks being held hostage, forced from one place to another with the constant threat of being raped, or worse, hanging over their heads. It might very well be they would never again be able to trust in others.

Her heart constricted with unbearable pity, fiercely glad
that Dimitri had managed to put a dagger in Valik's black heart.

It was only a pity that the other men involved in the hideous business were not destined for a similar fate.

She waited until the robed servants had led the wary girls toward the back of the harem before she stepped from behind the column.

Sensing her presence, Rajih spun on his heel, his eyes widening in surprise as she launched herself forward, straight into his welcoming arms.

“Emma.”

“Oh, Rajih, thank God,” she husked.

He brushed his lips over the top of her head before pulling back to study her with a searching gaze.

“Should I be delighted by such a fervent greeting or alarmed?”

“Are those the girls from the brothel?”

His dark eyes shimmered with regret. “They are.”

“What will happen to them now?”

“Tipova implied that the current Russian ambassador is not to be fully trusted with young, vulnerable girls, so I will have my personal servants return them to St. Petersburg.”

She managed a small smile. If not for Dimitri Tipova, she was quite certain she would have lost her heart to this man.

“That is very generous,” she said. “You are a good man, Caliph Rajih.”

He shook his head, his fingers tucking her tangled curls behind her ear.

“You might wish to withhold your kind opinion,” he warned. “I fear I have unfortunate news.”

She pulled back, belatedly recalling he had put himself in danger to rescue the girls. Who knew how many guards Valik had left behind at the brothel?

“You were not hurt, were you?”

His dark features softened at her impulsive concern. “No, I am fine.”

“Then what has happened?”

He paused, clearly reluctant to reveal what was upon his mind.

“Emma, your sister was not among the girls I rescued from the brothel,” he at last disclosed. “I questioned the females but they claimed that Anya has been kept separate from them since they left England and they have no knowledge of where she is.” His arms tightened around her, as if fearing she might suddenly bolt into the night. “I have servants searching for her, but for the moment it seems that she has simply disappeared. I am sorry, I should have been quicker to send in my guards.”

Emma grimaced, regretting that Rajih was torturing himself with guilt at having failed her.

“No, Rajih, Anya fled before you were able to enter the brothel,” she swiftly reassured him. “All that matters is that you managed to rescue the other girls.”

“She fled?” Rajih frowned in confusion. “Alone?”

Emma shook her head, hunching her shoulders against the tide of sick betrayal.

“She was with one of the guards,” she said. “They are supposedly on their way to Austria.”

Rajih stilled, clearly sensing her distress. “Do you want me to send my guards after them?”

“No, she had made her choice.”

“Emma—”

Swallowing the lump in her throat, Emma pulled out of his comforting arms and tilted her chin. Now was no time to fret over her sister's astounding selfishness. Not when Dimitri was depending upon her.

“Please, Rajih, I do need your assistance, but not for Anya,” she pleaded softly.

“What do you need?”

“Dimitri has been taken captive by Muhammad Ali Pasha's guards. We must free him.”

A thick silence filled the courtyard as Rajih considered her confession, then slowly he folded his arms over his chest.

“Tell me what happened.”

As concisely as possible she revealed their carriage ride from the brothel to the mosque and Valik's refusal to release her. She briefly faltered as she described Dimitri's attack on the horrid man. There would not be a night when she was not haunted by the vivid image of Dimitri being shot, not knowing for an agonizing moment whether he was alive or dead.

With effort she gathered her composure and finished explaining Dimitri's dire situation, emphasizing the very large and heavily armed guards who had been rapidly approaching.

Once she was finished, Rajih turned to pace through the perfumed shadows of the courtyard, his expression impossible to read.

“How badly is he injured?”

“The shot was to his shoulder, but I fear the bullet may still be in the wound and he lost a great deal of blood.”

“Do not fear,” he muttered absently. “The pasha has a number of healers.”

She snorted. “If Josef will let them near.”

Rajih halted, turning to regard her with a warning gaze. “The choice will not be his to make.”

A shiver inched down Emma's spine. There was an edge in his voice that sharply reminded her that they were in a foreign country with its own laws and traditions. For the moment, Dimitri and Josef were at the complete mercy of the pasha.

“Is Dimitri in danger?”

“I am not entirely certain.” Rajih thankfully knew her well enough to speak the truth. In this moment she could not bear to be treated as if she were a mindless, shrinking violet in need of tender care. “The pasha will not be pleased that a foreigner committed murder on the streets for all to see.”

“But Valik was a slave trader, not to mention he was holding me hostage,” she protested.

“True, but the officials prefer that such matters be dealt with discreetly.” Rajih grimaced. “The pasha possesses a dislike for explaining violent deaths of the foreign consuls.”

Emma possessed a small measure of sympathy for the ruler. His country was too often at the mercy of invaders. He could not risk offending potential allies.

That did not mean, however, she would meekly stand aside and allow Dimitri to become a sacrifice to his political weakness.

She stepped forward and laid a hand on Rajih's forearm. “Can you speak with the pasha and convince him that Dimitri is innocent?”

The dark eyes lowered to study her fingers that lay against the fine fabric of his jacket, a mysterious smile curving his lips.

“I could, but it would hardly be to my benefit,” he murmured.

She frowned. “Rajih?”

“If I am not mistaken, Tipova intends to take you away from Egypt.”

An uncomfortable sensation tugged at her heart. Something that might have been regret.

“With or without Dimitri I intend to return to Russia.”

His eyes lifted to stab her with a relentless gaze. “Why?”

“It is my home.”

With a gentle care, Rajih covered the fingers that rested on his arm, his gaze sweeping over her upturned face.

“No, Emma, Russia is the place you were born,” he corrected. “Your home is where you choose to be.”

A dim, nearly forgotten memory of her parents seated before the fireplace in the cottage rose to mind. There had been nothing special about the evening. At least nothing that she could recall. But the image of her mother and father snuggled closely on the sofa, their hands entwined and their faces soft with love, had created a warmth in her young heart.

That was what created a home.

“I suppose that is true.”

As if sensing her bittersweet memories, Rajih shifted to cup her face in his hands, his expression somber.

“I want you to stay with me.”

“As your concubine?”

“As my wife.”

Wife.
She blinked, regarding him with disbelief.

For goodness' sake, was he touched in the head?

He was, after all, a shockingly handsome man with a ruthless virility that would make any female weak in the knees. She had seen how women fluttered when he stepped onto the streets of Cairo.

And of course, there was the tiny matter of him being a wealthy caliph with a number of estates spread throughout Egypt.

The mere notion he could desire an aging spinster with an evil temper and sharp tongue was…

Without warning, her laughter was spilling through the dark courtyard.

“This is absurd,” she choked.

His brows drew together, his pride obviously offended.

“You find my proposal amusing?”

“I find it astonishing. I…” She bit her bottom lip, struggling to regain command of her fragile composure.

He stepped forward, grasping her shoulders in a firm grip. “Emma?”

“For most of my life I have either been the source of pity or amusement,” she confessed, anxious to assure him that she was deeply honored by his proposal. “It is not a simple matter to accept that a gentleman could consider me worthy to be his wife. Certainly not a gentleman who is offered the most beautiful women in the world.”

His expression eased at her words, his hands stroking a warm path down her back.

“You are a woman of rare courage and loyalty,” he said. “These are qualities that I would desire for my sons.”

Her heart missed a beat, and she sharply turned away. She had never allowed herself to consider the possibility of children. Not when she knew she was destined to be an old maid.

It was simply too painful.

“That is why you wish to marry me?”

“You know why I want you as my wife,” he husked, his arms wrapping around her slender waist and his head lowering to bury in the curve of her neck. “The question is what do you want, Emma?”

D
IMITRI HAD A VAGUE
memory of being surrounded by angry soldiers and roughly carried to the citadel. Thankfully, he had lost consciousness only moments after passing through the great round towers built into the walls guarding the fortress.

He preferred to stay unaware of his humiliation of being hauled to the dungeons as a common criminal.

Unfortunately, there was no means of remaining senseless when his servant was using a large dagger to dig out the bullet that remained in his shoulder. Hell, that sort of pain would have awoken him if he were dead.

Wrenching open eyes that felt as if they were filled with a good measure of desert sand, he glared at the slender man kneeling beside the low divan that Dimitri was stretched across.

“Damn you, Josef,” he said, annoyed when the words came out as a thin whisper. “That is my shoulder you are poking and prying, not a slab of meat from the butcher.”

With a last brutal twist of the dagger, Josef sat back on his heels, a smile touching his scarred face as he held up the bullet he had just removed.

“The pasha did offer one of his numerous females to tend to your injuries.” Setting aside his tools of torture, the servant grabbed his silver flask and poured a generous measure of brandy into Dimitri's wound. “No doubt they would be gentle enough for your delicate nerves.”

Dimitri ground his teeth against his shout of agony.

Why was it that a bullet always felt worse coming out than it did going in?

Sensing the encroaching darkness that threatened to overwhelm him, Dimitri grimly tried to focus on his surroundings.

Above him the vaulted ceiling was magnificently decorated with blue-and-white tiles, the superior craftsmanship unmistakable. Far too exquisite for the dungeons. Which was an improvement on this rotten day.

With a small movement, he turned his head far enough to sweep a glance over the large room filled with the divans and large pillows that were preferred among the natives, covered in yellow-and-green silk. The walls were covered with finely carved wooden panels, and there was a massive fireplace with a green-marble mantel. At last he shifted his attention to take in the arched windows where the early morning sunlight tumbled through the grilled screens.

He grimaced, realizing he had been unconscious more hours than he initially suspected.

Where was Emma? And most important, was she safe?

“They would certainly be preferable to gaze upon,” he absently muttered.

Packing the wound with clean linen, Josef efficiently wrapped a narrow strip of fabric around his shoulder to hold it in place.

“Do you want one fetched?” he demanded.

With his thoughts still on Emma, Dimitri managed a painful laugh.

“You just dug a bullet out of my flesh, in an unnecessarily painful fashion I might add. I do not relish the thought of having another removed.”

Josef snorted, washing his hands in the ceramic bowl filled with water.

“I doubt any of the females in the pasha's harem carry loaded pistols.”

“No, but Emma would be eager to put another in my tender backside should she discover I allowed a beautiful female to put her hands on me.”

A completely unexpected fondness flickered over his servant's narrow countenance.

“She is too honorable to shoot you from behind. She is far more likely to stab you in the heart with a dagger.”

“That is most reassuring.” Bemused, Dimitri struggled to sit upright, relieved to discover that the worst of the fiery pain seemed to be fading from his shoulder. Of course, he did not protest when his servant helped him slip on a pale blue robe and pressed a flask into his hand. “You surprise me, Josef,” he admitted, drinking deep of the fiery spirits.

“Why?” Josef gathered the bloody rags and dagger, dumping them on a silver tray. “I have stitched you back together more times than I can recall.”

“No, I am astonished that I am not forced to endure a lecture on the stupidity of men who fall victim to a female's snare.”

Josef straightened, carrying the tray to set it on a low table inlaid with bronze.

“You know my opinion.”

“Then why are you not scolding me as if I am a witless idiot?”

“If you must dangle on some female's leash then you could do much worse than Emma Linley-Kirov.”

Dimitri was genuinely shocked. He had known Josef since they were both scrawny youths, struggling to stay alive in the gutters of St. Petersburg. In all that time the man had never revealed more than a bitter distrust for the opposite sex.

The predictable result of a boy beaten nearly to death by his mother and left in the rubbish to die.

“Good Lord, surely you cannot approve of a mere female?” he teased.

Josef turned to meet Dimitri's amused gaze. “She is different from most.”

Dimitri's lips twisted. “True.”

“Did you see her standing in the street as cool as you please, while Valik held a pistol to her head?” Josef smiled. “I could not have done better myself.”

A stab of remembered terror made his heart forget to beat. “It is a vision engraved on my mind, I assure you.”

“Most women would have swooned or at least been sniffling and begging for their life. But not Emma.”

Dimitri nearly rolled his eyes at the admiration in his companion's voice. It was all very well for Josef to approve of Emma's impulsive courage. He was not the one who lived in constant fear she would plunge into some disaster he could not save her from.

“No, not Emma. She would spit in the eye of the devil,” he admitted wryly. “Just like my mother.”

“That is surely a good thing?”

“I had convinced myself that I preferred females who understood that it was a man's responsibility to offer her protection. Not a woman who—”

“A woman who would make a man proud,” Josef finished with a lift of his brows.

Dimitri attempted to appear resigned, even as a smug satisfaction flared through his heart.

Yes, he would always be proud of Emma.

She was utterly unique.

“It is a pity she is destined to put me in an early grave.”

“It is not too late to walk away.”

“It was too late from the moment she arrived in St.
Petersburg.” Dimitri lifted the flask to his lips, wincing as the bandages tugged at his injury. “Damn.”

Josef moved back to the divan, scowling down at his employer.

“How does it feel?”

“As if I have a hole in my shoulder, but I will no doubt survive.” Dimitri raised the flask in a toast. “Yet another fine job, old friend.”

Josef grimaced as the faint sound of voices penetrated the large double doors at the far side of the room.

“Let us hope that I did not remove the bullet so that the pasha could have your head removed,” he muttered.

Dimitri struggled off the divan, grasping Josef's arm as a wave of dizziness threatened to buckle his knees. He would meet his fate on his feet.

“We haven't yet been taken to the dungeon, which means we are still considered guests and not prisoners.”

“Do not be so certain,” Josef muttered. “There are two very large guards on the other side of the doors. It will not be easy to escape.”

“For now I prefer to avoid insulting our host,” he said, a hint of warning in his voice. It would not take long before Josef decided he had wearied of the pasha's hospitality and took matters into his own hands. “It is quite possible we will be released once I have the opportunity to explain to the pasha why there is a dead Russian in his gutter.”

Josef grunted. “Or he might decide we would make a tasty meal for his pet tiger.”

Dimitri hid his sudden smile, not bothering to correct his servant's odd belief that Egypt was filled with tigers and lions and any number of other dangerous animals. “Highly doubtful.”

“So you say.”

Dimitri's hand tightened on Josef's arm as the doors were pushed open to reveal two slender female servants
attired in nearly transparent robes with tiny jewels dangling from their noses. “Patience, Josef.”

 

S
IX HOURS LATER
, D
IMITRI
had managed to forget his decision to behave as a rational, law-abiding gentle man.

It was not that he had been ill-treated. Quite the contrary, in fact.

The females that had led them to the baths had been beautiful and anxious to please. Rather too anxious, he wryly admitted, recalling their shock when he had refused to allow them to wash him with their scented oils. And when they had returned to their room, it was to find a sumptuous feast had been left on trays.

Once he had eaten, Dimitri forced himself to lie back on the pillows and rest. His shoulder was rapidly healing, but it would take some time to regain his strength.

As the hours passed, however, his attempt to calmly await his fate evaporated like wavering mists of a mirage. He might be in luxurious comfort, but he had no assurance that Emma was not in trouble.

She had run into the night alone, traversing the dangerous streets of Cairo with nothing but luck to protect her.

The worry was like an aching thorn in the center of his heart.

Pacing the floor, he at last moved to stand beside the grilled window overlooking the southern enclosure of the citadel, his gaze lingering on the massive green dome of the Hall of Justice. Beyond it was the black-and-yellow marble palace built by An-Nasir Muhammad where the pasha conducted his daily business of ruling his empire.

Surely the pasha had to be near? How difficult could it be to send for him and demand an explanation for the death of Valik?

With a muttered curse he turned on his heel to glare at Josef, who was busy with his own pacing.

“Where the hell is the pasha?” he burst out.

Josef flashed him a jaundiced frown. “You were the one to counsel patience.”

“I need to know that Emma is safe.”

“Do not worry, Dimitri Tipova,” a voice drawled from the door. “Emma is under my protection.”

Dimitri jerked his head to view Caliph Rajih strolling across the delicate carpet. His gaze skimmed over the man's white robe heavily embroidered with gold trim and the matching turban, a scowl marring his brow as he lingered on the curved sword belted to his waist.

It was more than an ornamental weapon. That was obvious from the well-honed edge and worn leather of the hilt. There was also an ease in the manner Rajih wore the sword that suggested he was familiar with using the lethal tool.

Dimitri, on the other hand, had awoken to discover his pistol and knives had been taken while he slept. And even the dagger that Josef had used to cut the bullet from his shoulder had disappeared.

He did not like feeling vulnerable.

Or perhaps it was the smug smile curving the man's lips that he did not like.

All he knew was that he had a sudden urge to wrap his hands around the bastard's throat and squeeze the life from him.

“Where is she?” he snapped.

“She is visiting the pasha's seraglio.”

Dimitri's stark relief that Emma was indeed safe warred with his outrage at the thought of her being within the pasha's harem.

“You brought her to the citadel?”

“Do not hold me accountable.” Rajih shook his head.
“She refused to remain at the palace and threatened to come on her own if I did not allow her to accompany me.”

“Ah.” Despite his annoyance, Dimitri smiled at the man's obvious frustration. “You have my sympathy.”

“I should no doubt have chained her to her bed, but I feared yet another of your enemies might be lurking about to snatch her while I was gone.”

Dimitri refused to react to the deliberate taunt. Soon enough he would be whisking Emma back to St. Petersburg, and his newly constructed town house, where she belonged.

“My supposed enemies will be fleeing Cairo like rats from a sinking ship.”

“Do not be so certain.”

Dimitri tensed, not missing the edge of warning in the man's voice.

“What do you mean?”

“Despite my preference that you remain conveniently locked behind these walls, Emma was quite insistent I make a personal plea for your release.”

Dimitri grinned. “She must have been quite persuasive.”

“She is aware that I would do whatever necessary to please her.”

“And what pleases her is my release? That must be a painful disappointment for you.”

Rajih waved a dismissive hand. “Emma has a tender heart and she blames herself for your situation. She will eventually see the error of her ways and accept that I offer far more than a Russian criminal can, no matter how great his wealth.”

There was enough truth in the caliph's accusation to send an unwelcome chill down Dimitri's spine.

He took pride in what he had accomplished over the
years. Why not? How often did a ragged beggar boy actually manage to create his own empire?

But for all his accomplishments, there was no denying that he was the bastard son of a whore and worse, a ruthless criminal who was, for all his fine estates and vast fortune, no better than a common serf.

What woman with the least amount of sense would not prefer a handsome caliph who could not only offer her wealth, but an opportunity to mingle among the finest of society?

Then, squaring his shoulder, he dismissed his unnerving doubt.

Most women would indeed leap at the opportunity to become Rajih's bride, but not Emma.

She desired many things; a family, a sense of independence, a home, but never wealth and certainly never social standing.

Those were the things that he could offer.

“She will never be yours,” he grated, his hands clenched as he stepped toward the damned intruder.

“Tipova, perhaps you can postpone your urge to challenge the man who is here to plea for our release?” Josef stepped between them, poking Dimitri in the chest. “At least until we are away from this place? There are few prisons I cannot escape from, but this is a fortress.”