“You are tempting me with that look of yours,” said Strathmore. “Not to mention tempting me with how fetching you appear in that gown, although”—he raised his dark brows roguishly—“you would look even more fetching without it altogether. Can’t understand the fascination with all the ruffles and furbelows when the natural form is so much more beautiful.”
“As you learned amongst the primitives, no doubt.”
“We have much to learn together as it turns out,” Strathmore said smoothly while Julia slid the copper plate from its mooring, ready to place it in the fuming box for development. “As you will soon see when we leave for north Africa in a fortnight.”
Julia’s smile was brighter than the sun bathing the room in its glow. “I’ve never experienced such feelings of anticipation. I can’t wait. By the way, you may move now.” He rose from the chair, his broadly naked shoulders gleaming like a Roman sculpture. She could still not fathom that Alexander Francis Strathmore was hers.
“I trust this series of daguerreotypes will remain in our private collection?” he asked. He moved to the divan where his discarded trousers lay, pulling them on lazily, his eyes never leaving Julia’s face.
“I can’t believe the man responsible for translating one of the most erotic texts in the world can afford to feign modesty.” She slid the plate into the fuming box and waved a finger in admonishment. “Nonetheless, I am the one disinclined to share you—your daguerreotype or your person—with anyone. Just to make that clear, Lord Strathmore.” Julia sauntered to the divan, her movements languid and sensual with a newfound confidence. His warm hand pulled them both down to the cushions, his skin burning through the thin fabric of her tea gown.
“I have the most beautiful, intelligent, talented woman as my wife,” he growled into her ear. Already Julia shook with the need coursing through her body like silken heat. They had languished for what seemed like days in bed, talked until they were hoarse, pushing away the ghosts of the past to make way for their future together. Theirs was a fierce intimacy that had left them forever changed.
“A wife who is grateful to you for everything,” she turned toward him, bringing her lips close to his.
He smiled at her, a slow, sweet smile that was for her alone. “I only wish I had been able to do more. Sooner.”
Julia still found it difficult to think about Rowena but knew her sister would never wish for her to live under the suffocating shadow of grief and vengefulness.
“You had another dream, didn’t you,” Strathmore murmured into the silkiness of her hair.
Julia’s lips tightened. “I see her rising from the riverbank, beautiful and whole, the sunlight shimmering around her. I know it’s just a dream, stemming from my sorrow and inability to let go but I have this feeling she’s still alive. Somewhere.”
“She lives on in your heart and memory.”
“Lately, since the fire at Eccles House, I have this feeling…” she said haltingly.
“Do not concern yourself unduly, Julia. Our journey will prove the best medicine in helping you leave all this behind.”
Meredith remained safely at Montfort, the threat of Montagu Faron only a haunting memory. With a strength and determination to forever confront the truth without flinching, Julia had insisted on dispatching Meredith’s secretaries to Eccles House to confirm the death of the Frenchman. That they found only simmering ashes was something she did not wish to contemplate. “He is truly dead, isn’t he.” It was both a question and a statement.
Strathmore paused a moment longer than necessary. “Forget the past, Julia. We have our entire lives ahead of us.”
“When did you know Faron was your father?” she asked softly, leaning against Strathmore’s shoulder.
The cadence of his breathing didn’t change when he said, “Not long after I was first contacted by Lowther regarding the Ptolemy maps. The world of cartography and exploration is surprisingly small. I’d long known of a Frenchman who had twenty years earlier attempted an expedition to the Mountains of the Moon and failed. My research revealed the man was inordinately wealthy, and endowed with an inquiring mind and extraordinary courage.” Strathmore paused to capture her hand in his hard one. “He had also spent some time at Dunedin, I soon discovered. And he was the source of the trust I received when I reached my majority.” He did not elaborate, and Julia once again saw the visage of Lady Strathmore, vain, intemperate, and faithless, censuring her son on a London morning not long ago.
“He knew you were his son. I believe he was strangely proud of you,” Julia murmured, and then in a barely audible voice said, “I hope you forgive me.”
He tightened his arms around her, loving her more than he should. “Nothing to forgive. Faron met a fitting end.”
Rowena’s beautiful face shimmered briefly before Julia’s eyes. Upon their return from north Africa, Julia had promised Meredith a long visit, hoping that living without fear would allow her aunt to reveal what had transpired so many years ago to inextricably link their fate with Montagu Faron.
Strathmore pressed a soft kiss to the side of her neck. “What are you thinking, Julia? Talk to me. Always, talk to me.”
“About Meredith and Rowena. How when I left for Eccles House that first time, I already knew that I would confront Faron, although I didn’t have the courage to admit it to myself. It was the least I could do for Meredith when she had taken on so much for us. For me.”
She turned in his arms. “And I am also thinking how wrong I was to ever doubt you when all you wanted to do was help.”
“You can spend the rest of your life making it up to me,” he said, beginning to unbutton the infuriatingly small row of fastenings on the front of her bodice. “Beginning with accompanying me to Africa, brandishing that camera of yours,” he said, separating the lace at her collarbone with annoying efficiency, exposing the soft skin between her breasts. “Of course, if there are other ways you can think of…”
Strathmore’s fingers were cool and hard against her heated flesh, causing Julia’s head to sink into the upholstery with a sensual lassitude. His lips began playing with her mouth. His image burned against her closed eyes, the intense gray gaze seeing her and loving her for the woman she had become.
“Are you happy?” she murmured against his mouth.
“Let me show you just how much,” he said, his lazy smile dazzling. And he did.
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For the first time since arriving at the Sympa-Med compound, Tanya’s heart raced at the idea of entering the dining hut. And it wasn’t the prospect of eating that was doing it either, but the man she would see.
She hadn’t been able to get Roman out of her head since he’d left her earlier. Despite plentiful evidence to the contrary, the idea that he might share the attraction would not leave her alone.
No doubt it was just wishful thinking, but what a wish.
He and Ben were standing beside a table near the one she and Fleur sat at during mealtimes, and talking to the other men in the security detail.
Despite the fact that he was in active conversation with the soldier who had introduced himself as Neil, Roman’s gaze caught hers the minute she entered the hut.
She did her best to give him a casual nod of acknowledgment, but ruined the effect with a blush he no doubt took for some misplaced shyness or embarrassment. It wasn’t though; the heat climbing her neck and into her cheeks was pure, unadulterated arousal.
Was she going through her midlife crisis early, or something? She was only twenty-eight, but something had to explain the way her nipples tightened to hard points every time she saw the man.
And that wasn’t even taking into consideration the heat between her legs. She’d never had such a physically visceral reaction before. Not to anything. Not fear. Not joy. Definitely not passion.
It was just a little terrifying.
Forci
ng her eyes away from him, she heard Fleur invite Ben to join them at their table for dinner. Roman didn’t wait for an invitation to sit beside Tanya on the bench at the long table. The other men all sat at the table they’d been standing by, seemingly unaffected by their colleague’s desertion.
Okay, if looking at him affected her, sitting next to him was a stimulation overload. Not only could she smell his subtle masculine scent, but his heat reached out and touched her like a caress to every nerve ending along the side facing him.
She found herself inhaling deeply to more firmly imprint his scent into her olfactory memory. It was such a primal reaction and she couldn’t help it any more than she could the need to breathe.
“Are you okay?” he asked, sounding like he knew exactly what was wrong with her.
She was not a mare in heat, controlled by her body’s urges, no matter how much she might secretly want to be.
Taking a deep breath, she then let it out slowly, concentrating on getting her voice under control before she spoke. “Of course.”
Are you settling in all right?”
He certainly didn’t look like he was suffering jet lag, or culture shock as so many newbies did when arriving in Africa for the first time.
“No problem.”
One of the kitchen helpers delivered food to their table.
Tanya waited until everyone had been served before asking him, “Is this your first trip to Africa?”
“No.”
He took a bite of food, showing neither pleasure nor distaste for the traditional local fare.
It had taken her a while to get used to the lack of spices, or the different spices in most African cooking when she’d first arrived with the Peace Corps.
When he didn’t clarify his one-word response, she asked, “To Zimbabwe?”
“Yes.”
“It’s an amazing country.”
“If you say so.”
“Don’t you think so?” No matter the drawbacks to life on the original continent, Tanya loved so much about the different African cultures she had experienced. And the ability to experience nature at its most pristine was unparalled. “There is so much unspoiled beauty here, both in the people and the land they inhabit.”
“And a human-trafficking industry that rivals any other location on earth.”
She couldn’t deny that, but it was only part of the picture. “The U.S. has its own severe problems with gang-related crime and violent crime overall, not to mention its own human-trafficking issues.”
“True.”
“No country is perfect, but the people here are resilient. They live and persist in hoping for the future, despite their troubled political past and present, and a terribly debilitating near eighty percent unemployment rate.”
“And Victoria Falls is supposed to be one of the most beautiful spots in the world.” The words were right, but the subtle sarcasm lacing them belied his sincerity.
She shot him a disgruntled frown. “It is, in fact.”
“You’ve been?”
“Naturally.” Did he seriously believe she would have lived here for nearly two years and never made the trek? She couldn’t imagine that level of indifference to the beauty the world had to offer.
It would be one thing if she had no way to travel, but she had both sufficient time and money.
“I thought you were too busy providing medical help to the needy.” Again the sarcasm.
She would have been offended if she didn’t suspect he wasn’t trying to annoy her, but simply reacting as per usual for him. “Even relief workers get personal time.”
“And you use yours to visit Zimbabwe’s top tourist spots instead of going home to family?” he asked, not sounding condemning, just curious.
“I do both.”
“How much longer do you plan to stay in Africa?”
“My contract with Sympa-Med is up in six months.” She’d thought about taking a year to travel, then going home for an extended visit. “I haven’t decided if I will renew it.”
“You know I hope you will,” Fleur inserted from across the table.
Tanya smiled and nodded. “I want to stay in Africa, keep doing what we do, but I think a sabbatical is in order.”
“Sabbatical?” Roman asked.
“We can never help everyone who needs us. The AIDS epidemic has a huge hold on the African continent. Children die daily from it, and from malnutrition and malaria, just to name a few of the big diseases. If you have any kind of heart at all, it gets to you. It has to. I want a break, not to leave permanently. But if I don’t take that break, I’ll probably burn out. I’ve seen it before. So, yes, a sabbatical.”
“I’m surprised you haven’t taken one before,” Ben said, his voice warm with admiration and understanding.
Roman stiffened beside her and gave Ben an impenetrable look. “She spent almost two years Stateside training for her EMT certification.”
“That was hardly a sabbatical,” Ben said.
Tanya found herself laughing. “If you knew how much I dislike formal education and sitting in a classroom, you’d realize it was more a test of my endurance.”
“You passed the test,” Fleur said with approval and a little humor.
“I did.” Tanya turned to Roman. “Considering the fact you chose a career path that took you out of the lab and into the field,” she said, for lack of a better description, “you probably have more in common with me than either of us knew.”
He looked down at her, his steel-gray eyes trapping her gaze until everyone around them fell away. “We definitely have a few things in common.”
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The first howl off in the distance barely registered to the bride, since she was so filled with joy and flushed anticipation as the sleigh sailed forth over the light dusting of snow.
The second mournful cry was closer, causing a small pause in the laughter of the six people crammed in together among the furs and robes.
The third voice, a response to the first two, was more feral than sorrowful, more aggressive than beautiful, and the bride reached for the arm of her new husband as the horses threw back their heads nervously and pranced, disrupting the sleigh’s rhythm.
Uneasiness crept over the party as the driver whipped the horses, and the sleigh leapt forward, the crisp wind tossing the ribbons in the bride’s hair and sending an unpleasant shiver through her. The groom squeezed her hand in reassurance but the group had quieted as the sound reached all of their ears, the unmistakable bounding footsteps of the wolves falling into line behind them in pursuit.
Her fingers dug into the lace of her wedding dress beneath the fur laid so tenderly across her lap by the groom, as the faces in front of her reflected unease, fear. They all knew how fierce the wolves were, they all knew the stories of those who traveled these woods and disappeared, their sleighs overturned, bodies mutilated beyond recognition. She pressed her eyes closed and swallowed hard, trying to gauge how far the pack was from them.
Close. So close that she could hear the snarls and snaps of at least three wolves, maybe more, and she opened her eyes again in panic, head whirling around.
She wished she hadn’t.
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Griff’s train of thought was abruptly broken by a loud yelp coming from somewhere in the rear of the small shop, followed by a ringing crash of what sounded like metal on metal.
He gritted his teeth against the renewed ringing inside his own head, even as he called out in the ensuing silence. “Hullo? Are you in need of so
me assistance?”
What followed was a stream of very…colorful language that surprised a quick smile from him. He’d found Americans, at least the ones of his immediate acquaintance, to be a bit obsessed with political correctness, always worrying what others might think. So it was somewhat refreshing, to hear such an…uncensored reaction. He assumed the string of epithets wasn’t a response to his query, but then he’d never met the proprietor.
He debated heading around the counter to see if, in fact, she might need help, then checked the action. “No need to engage an angry female unless absolutely required,” he murmured, then tipped up onto his toes and looked behind the counter, on the off chance he might spy the pot of coffee. “Ah,” he said, upon seing a double burner positioned beside an empty, tiered glass case.
He fished out his wallet and put a ten note on the counter, more than enough to cover the cost of a single cup, then ducked under the counter and scanned the surface for a stack of insulated cups. Oversized, sky blue mugs with the shop’s white and pink cupcake logo printed on one side and the name on the other, were lined up next to the machine. He didn’t think she’d take too kindly to his leaving with one of those.
“Making an angry female even angrier…never a good thing.” His mouth quirked again as a few more rather unique invectives floated from the back of the shop. “Points for creativity, however.”
He glanced at his watch, saw he still had some time, and took a moment to roll his neck, shake out his shoulders, and relax his jaw. He could feel the tension tightening him up, which, if he were honest, was a fairly common state of late. But then, he’d never been so close to realizing his every dream. And he’d certainly never thought it would come about like this. He fished out the small airline-sized tube of pain relievers he’d bought when he’d landed, but upon popping it open, discovered there was only one tablet left. He shrugged and dry swallowed it. Couldn’t hurt.
He crouched down to look under the counter and had just opened a pair of cupboard doors when he felt a presence behind him.
The Deadliest Sin Page 29
