Sweet Revenge

by Nora Roberts

  “I’m sorry. I can’t.” It would have been easier if she hadn’t discovered how simple it could be to love. She tucked away a box that held a wide double bracelet of hammered gold, a gift from Rahman. He wanted to be an engineer—for the glory of Allah. Was it odd, or was it fate, that he shared the goal of her childhood? Adrianne took the box out again, then slipped the bracelet onto her arm. On the lapel of her suit she fastened the jeweled panther. “Philip has business. He’s already stayed away too long.” And so had she if she had time to regret. She closed the top of the case. It would have given her great pleasure to throw it and its contents of long, concealing skirts and high-necked blouses out of the plane and into the sea. “When you’re allowed to come to America, you will stay with me.”

  “To see the place you told me of—Radio City?”

  Adrianne had to laugh even as she cloaked herself in the abaaya. “That and more.”

  “Bloomerdale’s.”

  “Bloomingdale’s.” Adrianne covered her hair with the scarf.

  “It’s truly bigger than the suq?”

  It hadn’t taken much time to know where Yasmin’s heart lay. “All the clothes you can imagine in one place, under one roof. Counters and counters of perfumes and creams.”

  “And I can have whatever I like if I have the plastic card.”

  With a shake of her head Adrianne picked up her veil. “The salesforce is going to love you.” It would happen one day. She needed to believe it.

  “I want very much to come and see these places like the subway and the Trump Tower.”

  “The Trumps will be delighted to see you too.”

  “It’s good to have it to think about while you are gone. But you’ll come back to Jaquir.”

  She could have lied. She’d learned to smoothly enough. Turning, she looked at her sister sitting among the mounded cushions on a chaise. “No, Yasmin, I won’t come back to Jacquir.”

  “Your husband will not permit it?”

  “Philip would, if it was what I wanted.”

  Yasmin pushed away from the cushions. “You don’t wish to see me again.”

  Weary, Adrianne sat, drawing Yasmin down beside her. “When I came to Jaquir, I didn’t know you, or Rahman; Fahid was still a little boy in my memories. I didn’t think it would matter that I could stay only a short time. Now it breaks my heart to leave you.”

  “Then why don’t you stay? I’ve heard America is an evil place, with godless men and women without honor.” She conveniently forgot Bloomingdale’s and Radio City. “Better that you stay here, where my father is wise and generous.”

  May he always be with you, Adrianne thought. “America is no more evil and perhaps no more good than other places. The people there are like people everywhere, some good, some bad. But it’s my home, as Jaquir is yours. My heart’s there, Yasmin, but I leave a little piece of it here with you.” She took off a ring, a simple aquamarine, square cut and set in thin gold. “This belonged to my mother’s mother. Now it’s a gift to you, so you’ll remember me.”

  Yasmin turned the stone so that it caught the light. Her experienced eye told her it had little real value. But she found it pretty and was woman enough to be sentimental. On impulse she pulled off the thick gold hoops in her ears. “So you’ll remember me. You will write?”

  “Yes.” The letters might be seized, but she thought she could count on her grandmother to get them through. To please them both, Adrianne took out her pearl studs and replaced them with the hoops. “One day I’ll show you all the places I’ll write to you about.”

  Yasmin accepted the embrace. She was still a child and “one days” were only as far away as her imagination. “You were right about the dress,” she said. “It made me look special.”

  Adrianne kissed her again. She wondered if Yasmin’s life would always be as simple as the right dress. Chances were she wouldn’t see her sister again until Yasmin was a grown woman with daughters of her own. “I’ll remember how you looked in it. Come, I must say good-bye to Jiddah.”

  She didn’t want to cry. She didn’t want to feel this wrenching sense of loss. But as she knelt at her grandmother’s feet, the tears came. This was a part of her childhood that had been returned to her briefly, and after today would be gone forever.

  “A new bride should shed no tears.”

  “I shall miss you, Grandmother, but I shall never forget you.”

  Jiddah curled her fingers into Adrianne’s palms as she kissed her cheeks. She knew her son as well as she knew herself. His heart would never open wide enough to include Adrianne. “I love you as I love all the children of my children. I will see you again. Not in this life, but there is another.”

  “If I have children, I will tell them all the stories you told me.”

  “You will have children. Inshallah. Go to your husband.”

  There were other good-byes to be said before she stepped through the garden door. More than one woman envied her the freedom to go. More than one woman pitied her for losing the protection of the harem. She kissed Leiha, then Sara. Both of them carried lives that tied her to Jaquir. She would never see them again, nor the children they would bear. As Adrianne turned her back on them, she wondered if she would ever feel that fierce kind of unity again.

  Then the harem, with all its scents, all its symbols, was behind her. She heard the waters of the fountains ringing as she walked through the garden and beyond. The palace, and the memories it held, were behind her.

  The car was already waiting. Beside it she saw Philip, and both of her brothers.

  “I wish you happiness.” Fahid kissed her cheeks. “And a long, fruitful life. I have always loved you.”

  “I know.” She laid a palm against his face. “If you come to America, my home is open to you. To both of you.” She stepped quickly into the car.

  She didn’t speak on the way to the airport. Philip left her to her thoughts, knowing they weren’t on the necklace in the box strapped in the cargo hold of a plane already heading west, but of the people she was leaving behind. She looked neither right nor left as they drove through the city, nor did she turn even once to look back at the palace as it shrunk with distance.

  “Are you all right?”

  She continued to stare straight ahead, but laid a hand on his. “I will be.”

  At the airport he managed to discourage the wild-tongued Turkish porters who grabbed at bags to carry them to cabs or gates whether the owners wished it or not. With threats and gestures he held them back so that between himself and the driver they carried the bags to the waiting plane. The pilot stood ready, his hand out to assist Adrianne up the ramp.

  “Afternoon, sir, ma’am. Hope you had a nice trip.” Philip had an urge to kiss the pilot hard on the mouth for no other reason than his cheerful British voice. “How’s the weather in London, Harry?”

  “Miserable, sir, plain miserable.”

  “Thank God.”

  “Your room’s booked in Paris, sir. And may I congratulate you on your marriage.”

  “Thanks.” He took a last look over his shoulder at Jaquir. “Get us out of here, will you?”

  Adrianne had already shed her abaaya when Philip boarded. Under it she wore a tailored suit the color of raspberries. Her hair, uncovered now, was in a sleek French twist. He wondered if she knew the style made her seem more exotic than ever.

  “Feel better now?”

  She glanced as he did at the symbols she’d shed, the abaaya, the scarf, and the veil. “Some. How soon before we takeoff?”

  “As soon as we get clearance. Would you like a drink?”

  Because she’d already seen the bucket of champagne, she managed to smile. “I’d love one.” She started to sit, then knowing she was too restless, paced the small cabin. “Why should I be more nervous now than when we arrived?”

  “Natural enough, Addy.”

  “Is it?” She fiddled with the pin on her lapel. “You’re not.”

  “I’m not leaving anything behind.”
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  She dropped her hand, then linked her fingers. It was difficult to say whether she appreciated or resented the feet that he read her so well. “We’ve got a lot to work out, Philip, not the least of which is what we’re going to do with those truckloads of wedding gifts.”

  If she didn’t want to think about the real reason for her emotional turmoil, he could wait. He eased the cork out with a muffled pop. Champagne raced toward the lip, then retreated. “I thought they were being shipped to New York as camouflage for the necklace.”

  “They are. We can’t keep them.”

  He sent her a mild look as he poured the wine. “For a thief, you have an unusual conscience.”

  “Stealing’s entirely different from accepting gifts under false pretenses.” She took the glass. He touched his rim to hers, watching her carefully.

  “Wasn’t the ceremony legal?”

  “Yes, I suppose it would be considered so, but it’s more a matter of intent, isn’t it?”

  He knew exactly what his intent was, so he smiled. “I’d say we’d do better to concentrate on The Sun and the Moon than on a few sets of sheets and towels.” He watched her brows lift at his dismissal of a small fortune in gifts. “One step at a time, Addy.”

  “All right. The secret drawer in the puzzle box will hold the necklace safely enough.”

  “Particularly since it’s lined with lead.”

  “Not as satisfying as strolling out with it around my neck, but more practical.” She managed a smile. “It’s highly unlikely customs will dig too deeply into Princess Adrianne’s wedding gifts. Since I put the alarm back in operating order, it might be weeks before Abdu notes the loss.”

  “Does that bother you?”

  “What?” She fought to shake off the past. “No. No, I might have preferred having a showdown with him then and there, but it would be remarkably stupid to incite an altercation on his ground.” The focus now was on the future. “He’ll come to me.”

  “Then we’ll worry about that when it happens.”

  The intercom clicked. “We’ve been cleared for takeoff, sir. Please be seated and fasten your safety belts.”

  The little plane sped down the runway. Adrianne felt the moment the wheels left ground. Left Jaquir. The tilt of the plane pushed her back in the seat where she closed her eyes. She thought of her mother and another time.

  “The last time I left Jaquir it was for Paris too. I was so excited, so nervous. It was the first time I’d been out of the country. I kept thinking of the new dresses my mother promised I’d have and being allowed to eat in a restaurant.” Because that made her think of Yasmin, she shook her head. “Mama had already decided to escape and must have been terrified. But she laughed as we flew over the sea and showed me a book with pictures of the Eiffel Tower and Notre Dame. We never got to the top of the Eiffel Tower.”

  “We’ll go if you like.”

  “Yes, I would.” Weary, she rubbed her hands over her eyes. With them closed she could see the necklace as it had looked when she had secreted it away at dawn. Sunlight had struck it. Ice had warred with fire in a combat that had never, would never be resolved. “She left it behind. She left everything behind but me. It wasn’t until we were safe in New York that I realized she’d risked her life to get me away.”

  “Then I’m in her debt as much as you are.” He took both her hands and brought them to his lips. He felt the pulse and the power that stirred inside her. “She was an extraordinary woman,” he said. “As extraordinary as her daughter and the necklace you’ve taken back for her. I won’t forget the way you looked when you held it in your hands. You were wrong, you know. It is for you.”

  She remembered the weight. She remembered the glory. And she felt the grief. “Make love with me, Philip.”

  He unhooked his belt, then hers. Taking her hand, he drew her to her feet. As they stood in the narrow aisle he slipped her jacket from her shoulders and let it fall. When he lowered his mouth to hers he felt the nerves she’d been steadily battling back. Her lips were soft, and parted, and vulnerable. Her fingers, always so sure, fumbled with the buttons of his shirt.

  “Silly,” she said, and let her hands fall away. “It feels like the first time.”

  “In a way it is. There are all kinds of turning points in life, Addy.” He slipped the blouse from her, then let her skirt slide from her hips. She wore only a filmy chemise and the rings he’d given her.

  Slowly, needing to prolong the moment, he unpinned her hair so that it flowed over her breasts. She stepped closer, fitting her body against his.

  He took his time, as much for himself as for her. Slow kisses, soft caresses. A murmur. A sigh. As the plane cruised over the sea they lowered to the narrow sofa, wrapped around each other.

  There was such strength in him, a strength she had discovered layer by layer. He was much more than a man who offered a woman roses and sparkling wine in the moonlight. More than a thief who climbed through windows in the dark. He was a man who would keep his word, who would stand by her if only she allowed it. A man who would offer both surprises and, oddly, stability.

  She couldn’t have said when she’d gone beyond her own borders and fallen in love with him. She couldn’t have said why it had happened despite her determination to prevent it. Perhaps it had been that very first night when they’d been strangers passing in the fog. But she did know the moment when she finally admitted it to herself. Now.

  He felt the change but couldn’t describe it. Her body seemed warmer, softer, so that her skin flowed like wine under his hands. Her heart beat like thunder. She pulled him closer, her mouth open on his. The flavor of passion was there, but spiked with something darker, deeper. Her skin was damp, heating degree by degree as he stroked a hand down her—breast, waist, thigh. Yet she trembled. When he lifted his head, he saw her eyes, too, were damp.

  “Addy—”

  “No.” She touched her fingers to his lips. “Just love me. I need you.”

  His eyes darkened at that, went to smoke in a warning of either temper or desire. But his mouth came to hers gently as he restrained the urge to savage what was offered. “Tell me again.”

  Before she could speak, he drove her up so that her fingers clutched at his shoulders, then slid off, damp flesh against damp flesh. Her passion poured, a flood into his hand, leaving her gasping but far from empty. He watched her eyes widen and glaze over as her body contracted then went lax under his. Her breath caught as she began the next rise. Now her thoughts were only of him, and her body was like water, flowing, undulating, cresting. Light washed the cabin and beat against her closed lids in a red haze.

  She shifted, desperate to give him the same mindless pleasures. His body was a delight, hard and lean, his skin shades and shades paler than her own. She cruised over it now, leaving moist kisses and lines of heat. Through her lips she felt the beat of his heart; with fingertips she sent it racing faster. Some was instinct, some he had taught her. Combined, her knowledge was everything he could have asked for.

  She felt his fingers trail down her arms, glide. Their palms met. Opening her eyes, she saw he was watching her. Their fingers laced, gripped firm, like a promise.

  She shuddered when he filled her. Then moved to him, moved with him, beat to beat.

  The plane rocked through clouds. Locked together, they felt only the turbulence of one to one. Paris was a haze in the distance. It was his name she called out, telling him everything he wanted to know.

  “We’re leaving for New York tomorrow.” Philip carried the phone to the window and looked out at Paris. The city was slick with sleet, the sky gray as pewter. Not for the first time he wished that Adrianne weren’t out alone.

  “It’s big of you to check in.”

  Philip let Spencer’s sarcasm roll over him. “A man’s entitled to privacy during his honeymoon.”

  “As to that …” Spencer grumbled and bit down on the stem of his pipe. “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You mig
ht have let me know.”

  “It was—ah—a whirlwind romance. That doesn’t mean you can slip out of sending a present, old boy. Something tastefully expensive.”

  “Not putting a reprimand in your file’s present enough. Bypassing channels for clearance then sneaking off behind my back to some godforsaken country while we’re hip-deep in a case.”

  “Love does strange things to a man, Stuart, I’m sure you remember. As to the case,” he added while Spencer harrumphed. “I haven’t neglected it completely. Word from my former associates is that our man has retired. Dropped off the continent for the moment.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “Yes, exactly. I may be able to make it up to you.”

  “How?”

  “You recall a Rubens that was stolen from the Van Wyes collection about four years ago.”

  “Three and a half—there was a Rubens along with two Corots, a Wyeth, and a Beardsley pen and ink.”