Heart's Demand

by Cheryl Holt

  “Every woman I’ve ever met has yearned to be kissed by me. And they all had that opinion even before I became tough and dangerous.”

  His boasts had her laughing. “Each and every one of them yearned to be kissed?”

  “Yes, and you’re not so very different from all the rest.”

  “You’re wrong about that. I’m totally different from anyone you’ve ever encountered.”

  “I plan to eventually discover exactly what that means.”

  He kissed her again, his chest crushed to hers, his body pressing her into the bench. His lips were soft and warm, and he felt so good and smelled so good. She was overwhelmed by him, by the night, by the reckless energy that had been surging through her all evening.

  There was no predicting what she might have allowed, but apparently he had better sense than she did. He stroked his palms up her arms, over her shoulders and neck, then he wrenched away, almost as if he had to force himself to stop.

  “Let’s get you inside so you can speak with Valois.”

  “I’m scheduled to talk with him, aren’t I?” But she didn’t move, didn’t ease him away. “My head is spinning, Bryce. You have me completely discombobulated.”

  “Of course I have. I just kissed you twice. It’s difficult to proceed rationally after such an exciting event has occurred.”

  She laughed again, which seemed to be her regular condition when she was in his presence. He was vain and funny and charming, and she was so lucky to have met him. Her angels had definitely been guiding her when she’d been tossed into his path.

  Her fondness couldn’t lead anywhere though. Yet must it lead somewhere? Couldn’t she simply welcome his friendship? Couldn’t she lean on him during this period when she was so weary and troubled? Where was the harm in that? It wasn’t as if a room of Parthenian chaperones was watching her every second.

  She was a twenty-five-year-old independent female who’d recently lived through the most trying of times. Why shouldn’t she seize a bit of joy? Why shouldn’t Bryce Blair grow as close as he liked? She knew all the appropriate boundaries and would never permit him to cross them.

  He stood and helped her to her feet, and she was stunned to find that she was sad at having their amorous rendezvous conclude. If he hadn’t insisted they return to the villa, she’d have been happy to dawdle all evening.

  She’d been kissed in the moonlight! By a handsome, dynamic hero and champion. By an actor! She’d understood that strange incidents would be possible in Egypt, but clearly she’d had no idea.

  He bent down and whispered, “I’m going to kiss you again before the night is over.”

  “Only if I let you,” she saucily retorted. My goodness, but she was flirting! She hadn’t thought she knew how.

  “You’ll let me. You won’t be able to resist.”

  She clutched the front of his shirt and rose on tiptoe to place her own kiss on his lovely lips. “You might be correct, Mr. Blair. Perhaps I shall never be the same.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “Hello, Mr. Hubbard.”

  Pippa smiled at Chase Hubbard, and as he smiled back, she decided he was the handsomest fellow to stroll down her road in ages.

  He was tall, broad-shouldered, tan and fit. His hair was dark, his eyes blue, and his face was clean shaven, which delighted her. In Parthenia, most men wore beards, partly for fashion and partly to ward off the cold weather. But she always appreciated a man who regularly used his razor.

  They were out on Valois’s verandah, with the other guests inside chatting, playing cards, or listening to a trio of musicians in the music room.

  She’d come out to see where Kat had gone and had arrived to observe her walking into the garden with Mr. Blair. To Pippa’s amazement, they shared an attraction that had been so evident it had been blatantly noticeable.

  She’d been Kat’s best friend for twenty years, and in all that time, Kat had never been smitten. In light of her rank, dalliances weren’t possible, so she likely had no idea that she and Mr. Blair were so compatible, and Pippa wouldn’t inform her either.

  Kat needed to loosen up, to stop being such a prude and a shrew. She was no longer a princess, and she had to climb down off her high horse. Maybe if Mr. Blair flirted with her, she’d start to focus on someone other than herself.

  “Pippa is an unusual name,” Mr. Hubbard said. “What does it stand for?”

  “Phillippa, but I could never pronounce it when I was little. I could only say Pippa, so it stuck. Please don’t ever call me Phillippa. It sounds much too old and stuffy.”

  “Well, I would have called you Miss Clementi, but if you insist, I’m sure I can make it Pippa instead.”

  “My, my, but aren’t you bold. Why would you think I’ll let you act so familiarly?”

  “I can tell by looking that you’re the sort of female who refuses to be trapped by convention.”

  “You might be wrong about that. I’m certain I’m the most conventional woman who ever lived.”

  “Shall we bet on it?”

  “Are you a gambler, Mr. Hubbard?”

  “Yes. I wager on everything.”

  “Why would you?”

  “Because I generally win, so why wouldn’t I?” He grinned a cocky grin. “Why are you in Egypt? Bryce mentioned a visit to Miss Webster’s uncle.”

  “Yes, he’s a fanatic about all these ancient ruins. He’s been here for decades.”

  “What spurred your journey? You’re from America? That’s quite a voyage merely to speak with a relative.”

  “Kat recently had a spot of trouble. She’s determined to seek his advice.”

  “She must want it very badly if she’d come all this way.”

  “She’s a bit mad on the subject actually. I tried to talk her out of it, but she wouldn’t listen.” Pippa frowned. “Forget I said that. She’s always been stubborn. When she gets a wild idea, there’s no dissuading her. It won’t help matters to have me complaining and second-guessing.”

  “My lips are sealed.”

  He leaned against the balustrade and gazed out at the Nile. The moon was up, full and round and glowing an eerie shade of orange. The color, the tropical foliage, the sultry temperature all made her eager to misbehave, and she was no better than she had to be.

  She’d nearly wed when she was eighteen. Her dashing, foreign swain had burst into court and swept her off her feet. Unfortunately he’d thought she was a royal cousin, had thought she had a huge dowry.

  For the most part, Kat’s father had been kind and generous. Pippa had become his ward when she was five and her parents had died of the influenza. Her own father had been a minor Italian composer, not revered or renowned, so there had been no assets when he’d passed on.

  Her father and Kat’s had been friends when they were boys, with the King not even realizing he’d been appointed her guardian until she’d shown up at court. He’d taken her in and, in many ways, treated her as a daughter.

  Yet he’d been obtuse too. It had never occurred to him that she could have used a dowry or that he should supply one. If Kat’s mother had survived, she might have pushed him into it, and Pippa hadn’t known how to suggest it herself.

  Once her elegant beau had learned of her low status, he’d sneaked away in the middle of the night and she’d never seen him again. Of course by then, she’d been good and truly ruined, and she’d been lucky no babe had caught in her womb.

  But she’d enjoyed the physical aspect of romance, so she’d conferred with a local midwife who’d taught her how to avoid a babe. Then she was able to dally occasionally. She picked visitors who were traveling through Parthenia, who would stay a short while, then move on.

  She’d participated in many unsavory affairs, and she had no illusions about her character. She was easy and loose, her head always turned by a pretty face. Mr. Hubbard was just her cup of tea, and she was already figuring out how she could trifle with him before Kat dragged her off to the desert.

  “Your last name is Clemen
ti,” Mr. Hubbard said. “Are you of Italian heritage?”

  “Yes.”

  “How did you get to America? Were you born there?”

  Clearly he was about to launch into a lengthy diatribe of questions about the journey, about life on the other side of the sea, and Pippa bristled with frustration. She’d told Kat not to claim they were from Boston. If they’d simply pretended to be from a small village in Italy, no one would have cared about the details, and she wasn’t about to tiptoe into Kat’s idiotic web of lies.

  “It’s a long story, Mr. Hubbard. I might tell it to you someday if you’re very, very nice to me.”

  She’d imbued her tone with a hint of the flirtation she hoped to eventually have with him. His brows shot up, his curiosity piqued.

  “I can be very nice,” he said.

  “You’ve brazenly decided to call me Pippa—even though I haven’t given you permission.”

  “I never ask women for their permission on any topic. I typically find females to be too silly to think for themselves.”

  “You must be acquainted with some annoying specimens of the feminine gender.”

  “I am.”

  “I intend to call you Chase.”

  “Oh, you absolutely may. In fact, I insist on it.”

  “Even in company? Could I waltz into the parlor and call you Chase in front of the other guests?”

  “Why not? I don’t usually stand on ceremony.”

  “I’m delighted to hear it,” she said.

  “How about you? Do you like to stand on ceremony?”

  “If the situation demands it, but I’m guessing our relationship wouldn’t be one of those times.”

  He was growing more intrigued by the second. “How long are you and Miss Webster planning to remain in Cairo?”

  “Not long.”

  Any minute now, she was expecting to receive a message from Kristof that she’d completed her assigned task and could return to Parthenia. Kat thought she was being discreet and furtive, but from the first moment she’d mentioned fleeing with Nicholas and Isabelle, Pippa had gone straight to Kristof and warned him.

  He’d been eager to know where she went, who she saw, and what arrangements she made. He didn’t want her contacting supporters who might stir trouble over Nicholas’s being deposed.

  Pippa was sending him regular reports, and as a reward for keeping him apprised of Kat’s location and activities, he’d offered Pippa her own apartment in the palace, an allowance, and an honored place at the king’s table during meals. He’d also promised to dower her so she could wed if she wished.

  In a few short months, he’d showered her with more boons than Kat’s father had in twenty years. The instant Pippa had fulfilled her role, she’d depart for home, but until then she had to tread cautiously.

  Kat claimed Kristof was insane, but she was insane to have left Parthenia, to have hauled the children with her. She was on a sinking ship, and Pippa wasn’t about to sink with her.

  She liked Kat well enough, but Kat forgot herself around Pippa. Yes, Kat was royal and Pippa wasn’t, but they’d been raised as sisters, and Kat always ignored that pesky detail. She treated Pippa like a servant, and Pippa was tired of bowing and scraping to Kat, especially now when Kat had been stripped of her title and was no one of import.

  The day Pippa was recalled to Parthenia, where she’d be lauded and compensated for her service to Kristof, would be the greatest day of her life.

  “Since I won’t be here for an extended stay,” she said, “maybe we should hurry our association.”

  “I was thinking the same thing. Would you like to walk down by the river?”

  “Normally I’d say yes, but Kat and Mr. Blair are down there.”

  “Are they?” He looked vastly humored by the notion.

  “I wouldn’t like to bump into Kat. She’s a tad fussier than I am about how we should comport ourselves.”

  “Isn’t she at the river with Bryce?”

  “Yes, but she’d never misbehave.” Pippa sidled nearer, approaching so close that her dress brushed his trousers. “I, on the other hand, have no qualms at all about a little misbehavior.”

  He grinned and clasped her wrist. “Follow me, Miss Pippa. There’s another spot that is exactly what we require.”

  * * * *

  “May I be frank, Miss Webster?”

  “Yes, please.”

  André Valois stared across his desk at the young woman who’d sought his help. They were in his private office, and though Bryce Blair had tried to accompany her for the discussion, André had chased him away. He and Miss Webster were alone.

  “I know who you really are,” he said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m honored that you’ve graced my home, Your Highness.”

  Princess Morovsky gasped. “You must have me confused with someone else.”

  “Your father was a friend, so we needn’t play games. Tell me what you need, and to the best of my ability, I shall provide it.”

  She studied him for an eternity, and André held himself very still, watching her, allowing her to decide how they would proceed. Through lengthy experience, he’d learned that most of what he hoped to discover would be revealed after an awkward silence. He had unlimited patience and expressive, coercive features that always succeeded in wearing people down.

  Ultimately she asked, “How were you acquainted with my father?”

  “I toured extensively before the Great Terror wrenched my beloved France apart. I stopped in Parthenia.”

  “Have we met?” she inquired.

  “No.”

  “Then how can you be so sure of who I am? I’ve been incredibly discreet.”

  “Everyone has secrets,” he told her with a sly smile. “I never divulge mine.”

  He’d lived in Cairo for decades, and local authorities were happy to let him deal with the troubles of visiting Europeans, so he’d personally dispatched her attacker. Just prior to slitting the man’s throat, he’d obtained the confession that explained the assault. The bandit hadn’t been a robber. A large reward had been posted for her capture, and he’d been hired to kidnap her.

  After André had received that startling news, it had been easy to piece together the rest of the story.

  Katarina Webster? For a woman who thought she was being furtive, she wasn’t very good at it. André had once danced with her American mother at a ball in Parthenia, and her mother’s maiden name had been Webster.

  “If you know who I am,” she said, “then you know I’ve lost my royal position.”

  “I’m aware of your difficulties.”

  “I’m no longer a princess so there’s no need to exhibit any deference.”

  “I don’t feel that way. Your father was a king. It doesn’t matter what your cousin, Kristof, has decreed. You’re still your father’s daughter.”

  “Thank you. You’re the first person who’s spoken kindly to me about it since I was stripped of my title.”

  “The citizens of Parthenia are idiots.”

  She was too polite to agree. Instead she said, “You won’t disclose my identity to anyone in Cairo, will you?”

  “Not if you don’t wish it.”

  “I don’t wish it.”

  “Then Miss Webster it is. What assistance do you seek?”

  “My mother’s brother, Cedric Webster, is digging in the pyramids. I shall travel to his camp and stay with him for a bit.”

  “I’ve met Monsieur Webster.”

  “Are you familiar with his whereabouts?”

  “Yes. If you hire a boat and sail on the river, it’s a three-day journey from here.”

  “I’m relieved that it’s nearby.”

  Her anxiety was visible, her nerves at a raw edge. She was brave to have come so far, to have plotted and schemed to protect her brother, and she’d accomplished it with no support from those who should have aided her.

  There had been ghastly rumors about the coup in Parthenia. Kristof w
as an incompetent malingerer with visions of grandeur about his intellect and abilities. If there was any justice in the world—and typically there wasn’t—the people of Parthenia would get sick of him quickly enough.

  If André had been younger and more reckless, he might have offered to help restore her brother to the throne, but an aristocratic life could be hazardous—as his own kin had learned in a murderous way. All his relatives had had their heads chopped off by the guillotine. Luckily he’d been sightseeing in Egypt when the tragedy had occurred, which was the only reason he was still walking around and breathing the sultry desert air.

  “I should like to continue on to my uncle’s site,” she said, “so I must hire a guide and some bodyguards. I was hoping for recommendations from you.”

  “I can supply you with the men you need, but I must ask—as an old friend of your father’s—what are your plans after you’ve conferred with your uncle?”

  “I have no plans after that. I’m out of options and ideas. If you have advice to share about my predicament, I would love to hear it.”

  André reflected on the kidnapper who had almost succeeded. Did she realize she was being followed? He didn’t suppose she did. Was it his place to apprise her? Should he involve himself in her troubles? He couldn’t fix the issues plaguing her, and if he became an ally, he’d have his own issues with Kristof Morovsky who had spies working in Cairo.

  Every European André encountered in Egypt was in the midst of a catastrophe. It was the general situation for everyone. They didn’t bring enough money, didn’t comprehend the dangers, weren’t ready for the harsh conditions, the peculiar customs, or problems with the language.

  He dealt in information and secrets, but he kept his distance and never grew entangled in any mess. Though Princess Morovsky was a royal, and André had considered her father a friend, she was no different than any other beleaguered traveler who staggered through his door.

  He would suggest, he would listen, but he wouldn’t actually do much of anything for her.

  He said, “You were prudent to remove your brother from Kristof’s custody and control.”

  “I appreciate you telling me. I’ve been conflicted as to whether it was the right decision.”