Only You

by Cheryl Holt

  She took stock of her condition, wondering what to do, and she studied the crowd, anxious to see someone who looked as if he might speak English. Before too much time had passed, a local man approached. He was short and cleanly barbered, attired in a suit much like those worn by the employees at the hotel. He halted in front of her and bowed.

  “If this one may be so bold as to inquire,” he began in heavily accented English, “is the young lady lost?”

  “Yes.” Theo flashed a wan smile. “I was separated from my cousin, and I can’t find the main entrance. I have porters waiting for me.”

  “The entrance is there.” He gestured vaguely. “May this one show you the way?”

  “I would appreciate it very much.”

  “Which hotel is your staying?”

  Initially, the convoluted wordage threw her, but she figured it out quickly enough. “The Hotel Cairo.”

  “Very good, very good. If you will please to follow me?”

  “Yes, certainly.”

  He started off, and she hastened after him, remaining very close so they weren’t separated. Yet rapidly it became clear that—despite his claiming the entrance was nearby—it was much more of a distance than she’d predicted.

  They twisted and turned deeper into the bazaar. The alleys were loud and crammed with people, animals, and merchandise. After so many weeks at sea, the frantic activity made her dizzy.

  She reached for his coat, having to tug several times before he glanced back.

  “How much farther?” she asked.

  “Not far, not far.”

  “I’m very hot.”

  “Soon there.”

  He continued on, and she hesitated, then marched after him. The crowd thinned, the booths ending, and an exit appeared, but the stone arches were nowhere in sight.

  They were deposited onto a deserted street, another alley really. The hoards were left behind, and it was eerily quiet. He motioned for her to walk to the right, but off in the other direction, she saw the stone arches.

  She stopped, and he stopped too.

  “You’re heading the wrong way,” she told him.

  “No, no, I know this place.”

  “My cousin and porters are back there.”

  “No,” he said more sternly. “You must come with me.”

  “I’m sorry, but I can’t. Thank you for your assistance, but I can get there on my own.”

  Suddenly, he wasn’t quite so cordial or accommodating. He smiled a smile that made her skin crawl.

  “You must be doing as I bid you.”

  “I don’t think so,” she firmly stated.

  “And I am thinking you will.”

  He clasped her arm and dashed off. For the first few strides, she was so shocked at being manhandled that she went with him, but swiftly she regrouped and pulled away. He grabbed her again and whipped her around.

  “I am happy to be taking you where you must be,” he said.

  “I don’t wish to go with you.”

  “This Hotel Cairo, we leave for it now.”

  “We most certainly don’t.”

  He tightened his grip, and this time there was no pretense that he was escorting her. He clamped a palm over her mouth and dragged her farther into the warren of deserted streets.

  She struggled to escape, but to no avail. He wasn’t much bigger than she was, but he was thin and wiry. She bit him very hard, and he yelped in pain and released her just long enough for her to lurch away. But she tripped and fell to the cobbles, skidding on her hands and knees, hearing a tear in the fabric of her skirt.

  Before he could grab her yet again, she managed a blood-curdling scream and had just scrambled to her feet when, from behind her, a very British male said, “Having a problem, Akbar?”

  “No, no, Sahib. I am helping the mistress to her hotel.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Yes, yes. Ask her. She will tell all.”

  “I’m sure she will,” the man retorted, “but why am I betting her version will be a tad different than yours?”

  Theo’s bonnet had vanished, and her blond hair had tumbled down. She pushed it out of her eyes and whirled to gape at her rescuer.

  His shoulders were broad, his waist narrow, his legs very, very long. He was tall, six feet at least, and his virile presence seemed to fill the entire alley.

  He was dressed causally, in a flowing white shirt, tan trousers, and knee-high black boots. He wore a hat with a wide brim that shaded his face, but she could see that his hair was black, his eyes very blue. His skin was bronzed from the sun as if he’d been in Egypt for a lengthy period, but he was definitely British. There was no mistaking that accent.

  To her great delight, he was heavily armed, a large pistol dangling from a holster on one hip, and a leather whip dangling from the other.

  “Are you all right, Miss?” he asked without glancing at her.

  “Yes, I’m fine. A bit banged up, but I’m fine.”

  “Yes, Sahib,” her tormentor said in a fawning tone, “the young lady is very fine. So I’ll just be going.”

  The slimy cur moved as if he’d scoot by them, but quick as a snake, her savior seized him by the neck, lifted him, and pinned him to the side of a building.

  “If I cross paths with you again today, Akbar,” he hissed, “I’ll kill you.”

  “Sahib! You cannot be meaning to—”

  “I will kill you, Akbar. I’ve warned you before, and next time I won’t waste my breath. Next time, I’ll simply slit your throat, and the world will be rid of you.”

  He released his grip, and Akbar slid to the ground. He was kicked in the ribs, hard jabs that had him gasping in agony. A few brisk lashes of the whip added insult to injury, then he was allowed to slink off like the dog he was.

  Theo gawked at her brave champion, and she’d never been more stunned. She’d grown up in a place where etiquette and decorum were practiced in every situation. People never quarreled because there was never an issue worth quarreling about. She’d never previously witnessed a physical altercation, had never seen one man hit another, had never seen a whip applied in such a punishing manner.

  She was fascinated and extremely glad that—whoever he was—he’d appeared at just the right moment.

  “Thank you,” she said.

  She’d expected a courteous you’re welcome, but he glowered and snapped, “What the hell were you thinking?”

  “Ah…ah…what?” she stammered.

  “Akbar is a criminal and a slaver.”

  “He’s what?”

  “A criminal. A slaver. You must have heard the words before.”

  “Of course I have.”

  “He preys on unsuspecting tourists. Why on earth would you trot off with him?”

  “I didn’t trot off!” she huffed. “I was lost, and he claimed he’d guide me to my porters.”

  “I’ll just bet he did.”

  “He did!” she insisted.

  With the excitement ended, she felt as if she might burst into tears, but with him being so horrid, she refused to prove herself weak and weepy. She was eager to locate the stone arches, retrieve Fenton, and head to the hotel so no other calamity could occur.

  “Thank you again, sir,” she said, mustering her dignity. “I believe I can find my way on my own.”

  “You’re not walking back alone.”

  “Well, I don’t want to walk with you.” She was very rude for what had to be the first time ever.

  “With how your luck is running, some other miscreant will snatch you, and you’ll vanish into thin air. A few weeks from now, we’ll discover your body floating in the Nile.”

  “I’ll try not to let it happen,” she said through clenched teeth.

  “You won’t be able to stop it.” He nodded toward the entrance to the bazaar. “Come. I’ll show you to your porters.”

  “There’s no need. Really.”

  “Be silent, and allow me to escort you.”

  He started off, and she we
nt with him. She didn’t like him, but she wasn’t about to lag behind. She’d been in Cairo for all of three days, and she’d already had more adventure than she hoped to experience for the remainder of her life.

  “What’s your name?” he asked.

  “Theodosia Postlewaite. What’s yours?”

  “Soloman Grey.”

  Soloman Grey…

  A bell rang somewhere in her distant memory, as if she’d heard of him before, but she couldn’t imagine where or when it would have been. She peeked up at him, deciding he was older than she was, probably thirty or so, and he looked older than that, as if he’d suffered some painful blows over the years.

  “Have we met, Mr. Grey?”

  “No.”

  “I thought I recognized your name.”

  “I suppose so. Most people know it.”

  He didn’t expound, and she asked, “Who is your family? Are you from London?”

  “An eternity ago, I lived in London, but my past is of no consequence to you or anyone.”

  Well, he’d told her, hadn’t he?

  If he was trying to pique her curiosity so she’d query him further, he was vastly mistaken. She had no intention of being cordial.

  He was magnificent and dashing, and he was definitely tough and brave, like a character out of a romantic novel, which meant she had no desire to chat.

  After the debacle with Lord Trent, after she’d learned how dangerous a handsome man could truly be, she had no reason to pretend any interest. She’d traveled to Egypt with her Aunt Edna to escape the gossip, to restore her tattered reputation, and she would exhibit pristine behavior at all times.

  Mr. Soloman Grey could jump in the Nile for all she cared.

  “How did you end up lost?” he asked, just when she wished he’d be quiet.

  “I was shopping with my cousin, and we were…separated.”

  She could have waxed on about Fenton, about his personal problems, about his dire need for attention, but she wasn’t about to air any dirty laundry in front of a stranger.

  “How were you separated?” he inquired.

  “I’m not sure. I simply turned around and he was gone.”

  “How old is your cousin?”

  “Ten. Why?”

  “Where was your maid?”

  “I don’t have one.”

  “You were in the bazaar with your ten-year-old cousin? That’s it?”

  “Yes.”

  He halted and glared. “Are you a dunce? Are you a fool?”

  “No.”

  “Then are you deliberately trying to get yourself killed?”

  “Killed! Honestly, Mr. Grey.”

  “This isn’t London, Miss Postlewaite.”

  “I realize that.” She could have added, and it’s Lady Theodosia to you, but why bother? She didn’t intend to ever see him again.

  “The city is filled with cut-throats and pick pockets, with murderers and thieves. You’re lucky I came along when I did.”

  “Yes, I am, and I’ve thanked you, so you can cease lecturing me. I’m feeling plenty wretched and I don’t need you making me feel worse.”

  Very much against her will, tears surged into her eyes and dripped down her cheeks. The prior few months had been a lengthy slog of misfortune: her naïve encounter with Lord Trent, Hedley immediately severing their engagement, her father’s rage, his demand that she sail to Egypt with Edna to let the rumors die down.

  Despite Theo insisting nothing had happened with Lord Trent, no one would listen to her. She’d believed an abrupt departure from England would simply exacerbate the impression that she was guilty of misconduct, but her pleas had fallen on deaf ears.

  It was typical that her initial foray onto the streets of Cairo would end in disaster, and she was beginning to suspect she was cursed.

  More tears flowed, and as she swiped at them, he scowled ferociously. “Are you crying?”

  “Yes.”

  “I can’t abide a maudlin woman. Stop it.”

  “You’re a veritable fount of compassion, aren’t you?” She didn’t want to cry anymore than he wanted her too. She took several deep breaths, calming herself sufficiently that she could carry on a conversation.

  “The brigand who accosted me? Mr. Akbar?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’re acquainted with him?”

  “I am. This isn’t the first time I’ve caught him harassing a Brit.”

  “He was adamant about absconding with me.”

  “He definitely was.”

  “What might he have done? Have you any idea what he was planning?”

  “I wouldn’t presume to explain. The possibilities are too shocking to describe to a young lady.”

  “Oh.”

  She fought off a shudder of dread, not keen to be apprised of any details.

  Throughout the voyage from England, Aunt Edna had expounded about foreign lands and the perils a traveler could face, how quickly a female could land herself in a jam without even noticing she had.

  Theo hadn’t paid attention to the warnings, had rolled her eyes and ignored her aunt’s preaching. Edna had spent decades in India, and she had very staunch opinions about the lower classes. Clearly, Edna had experience and knowledge that Theo needed to heed.

  She wouldn’t venture out again on her own, wouldn’t be stupid or reckless. Most especially, she wouldn’t join any excursion suggested by Fenton, and she had to quit being such an easy target for his pranks.

  Her palms were stinging, were cut and bleeding from when she’d fallen to the cobbles. Her skirt was torn too, a few stitches at the waist having ripped loose. There were dirt stains at her knees, and the toes of her shoes were scuffed.

  It dawned on her that she’d left her bonnet behind, and momentarily she wondered if she should request they go back for it, but she didn’t. She couldn’t imagine he’d oblige her.

  He saw her scraped palms, and he frowned and clucked his tongue. Like the gallant she wouldn’t have supposed he could be, he produced a white kerchief and handed it over. She pressed it to her skin, wincing over the fact that she was hurt.

  “Is that your only injury?” he asked.

  “Except to my pride.”

  At her reply, he barked out a laugh, and it didn’t sound as if he laughed very often. “Then I expect you’ll survive.”

  “I expect I will too.”

  They were approaching the stone arches, and Fenton dawdled in the crowd, looking into the bazaar and watching for her to follow him out. He was grinning, appearing cocky and proud of himself for having sneaked off without her.

  Suddenly, she felt very tired as she was forced to admit how awful the trip would constantly be.

  She was trapped with Fenton and Edna. With Edna’s daughter, Susan, too. Susan was twenty and had grown up under the same conditions as Fenton, with Edna away in India, and Susan enrolled in boarding school in England.

  The three of them were practically strangers. Edna didn’t know how to parent her two children, and Susan and Fenton didn’t know how to act around her or how to accept her rules and regulations. The whole situation was fraught with stress and misunderstanding, and as they sailed down the Nile to the isolated, desert archeological digs, it would only get worse.

  She wished the past year had never happened. She wished she’d never gone to London to stay with her father. She wished she’d never let him arrange her engagement to Hedley. She wished she’d never been dim-witted enough to dawdle with Lord Trent in that dark parlor on Christmas Eve. She wished…wished…

  Oh, what was the point? She’d been banished to Egypt with her aunt and cousins, and she couldn’t return home until Aunt Edna decided sufficient time had passed for the scandal to have waned.

  Theo simply had to buck up and cope with the consequences. There was no use complaining or feeling sorry for herself.

  “Could I ask you a favor?” she said.

  “Yes, but I likely won’t grant it.”

  “Could we claim I fel
l back there? I don’t care to have anyone learn of the episode with Mr. Akbar.”

  “Why?”

  “Why do you think? If I confess that my cousin and I were separated and that I was accosted by a lecher, I’ll never hear the end of it. I’d rather pretend none of it happened.”

  “Fine by me.”

  He shrugged, and she exhaled a sigh of relief.

  If he’d demanded Edna be told, Theo would have died from mortification. And he’d competently dealt with the problem, hadn’t he? He’d given Akbar a thrashing, so there was no reason to raise a huge stink.

  Fenton glanced over and saw her, and his smug grin immediately became solicitous and concerned.

  “Theo! Where have you been? I’ve been searching everywhere.”

  “Have you?” she groused.

  “I turned around, and I couldn’t find you.”

  “I couldn’t find you either.”

  “You didn’t buy a scarf for Mother.”

  “No, I didn’t.”

  “Would you like to? I’m certain she’d be happier if we brought her a gift.”

  The little cur! He actually assumed she’d agree to being tricked a second time! Well, Theo was completely gullible and his mischief always worked, so why wouldn’t he try again? He thought his shenanigans were funny.

  “No, I don’t want to get a scarf,” she said. “I’m very hot, and I want to go to the hotel.”

  “Have you suffered a mishap? Where’s your bonnet?”

  “I…lost it. I fell.”

  “My goodness,” he ingenuously commiserated. “Were you hurt?”

  “No.” She stared across the busy courtyard to the spot where their porters had sworn they’d wait, but she couldn’t locate them. “Where are the porters, Fenton?”

  He oozed innocence. “Aren’t they over in the shade?”

  She wouldn’t be surprised if he’d sent them away in the hopes that he could annoy her further. Nor would she be surprised if they’d simply grown bored and left.

  She blew out a heavy breath. Why, oh, why was she in Egypt? Why, oh, why had she let herself be roped into a lengthy holiday with her relatives? She barely knew them and didn’t like them very much, and the close proximity was quickly wearing thin.