Must Have Been The Moonlight

by Melody Thomas

  His words worked their way down to her bones. “Is this why you came here tonight?”

  “I really did have business with your brother. But I only intended to give you a little more time before you and I had a serious chat. Don’t think I haven’t known where you’ve been every minute of your day this past week.”

  “Major Fallon…” She set down her knife, alarmed by how quickly she’d lost control of this entire situation. “I’ve reconsidered many things—”

  “Come riding with me tomorrow morning.”

  “No.”

  “Six o’clock at your stables. Wear something comfortable.”

  He was standing when Christopher entered.

  “Miss Donally,” Major Fallon said in farewell.

  Brianna watched him go, her mind racing faster than the blood in her veins. This week had only proven that she’d let everything get out of control. She might as well have put a bull’s-eye on her chest and asked for an arrow to drill her through the heart.

  It was best that she discontinued all involvement with him now. And if her body language didn’t announce her intentions, then he would know when she didn’t show up at the stables tomorrow morning.

  Chapter 7

  “What the hell do you mean she left here before dawn?” Christopher demanded of the groom when Abdul finally found him and brought him to the house. “Alone?”

  “No, Donally Pasha.” The groom nervously passed his hand across his mouth. “She went with Fallon effendi.”

  Christopher had been dressed and ready to leave with her for the picnic. “Did she say when she would return?”

  “Tonight.” The groom squirmed.

  “Tonight?” Christopher felt a swell of incredulity.

  “Fallon effendi had his own man with him. He told me that my services would not be needed. So, I stayed behind.”

  How could Brea be so bloody obtuse? Didn’t she know that her absence today at the picnic would be noted along with Fallon’s? Christopher raised his gaze to the groom. “She’s not allowed within fifty yards of the damn stable from now on—”

  “You can’t do that, Christopher.” The calm feminine voice brought him around.

  Alex was sitting comfortably ensconced in a fluffy chair. She had been casually reading until Abdul’s visit, and continued to hold her finger on one of the pages in her book. “I’ll be here. Tell them she’s with me.” Looking over her wire spectacles at him, she raised her brows. “You can’t control your sister. She’s a grown woman.”

  That had been his whole problem since his mother died. He’d never been able to rein in his sister, any more than anyone else in the family could. And David, who was supposed to be a man of the cloth, had done nothing but encourage her rebelliousness by getting her involved in every social cause under the sun. Christopher dismissed Abdul and the groom before turning to his wife.

  Sunlight filled his bedroom. A breeze ballooned the sheer white curtains. The room shone white, from the pale carpet on the floor to the eyelet lace and netting that enclosed the massive white iron bedstead.

  “That grown woman, as you like to refer to her, is about to ruin herself.” He dropped into the chair across from Alex and scraped his hands through his hair. “Where do you propose that we send her next? There are no more relatives who live abroad.”

  Alex set down the book on the stand beside the chair. “Maybe you’re not worrying about the right person.”

  He raised his head. “I know Fallon.”

  “So do I.” She planted her hands on her knees. “And I’d be more worried about him if I were you.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Sunlight pulled the gold from her hair. “Haven’t you seen the way he looks at her when he thinks no one else is looking? Well, I have.”

  Hell yes, he had.

  “She’s bright, charming, and beautiful. She’s effervescent, like fine champagne. Who doesn’t eventually fall in love with fine champagne? And who at the consulate hasn’t tried to court her? Except they’re all afraid of you.”

  “Me?”

  “You’re a bully.”

  He was a man. And knew a man’s mind. He’d been pleased that his sister had found her string of admirers boring. Most were well-bred idlers and idiots who fancied themselves the cat’s cream, with their genteel manners and inflated knowledge of Egyptian affairs.

  “Your sister is wealthy in her own right, and much too independent to surrender her liberty. Half the eligible men in Cairo have asked to call here at least once since our return. She likes her life the way it is.”

  His eyebrows came together. “And this is a good thing?”

  “As far as I’m concerned, Major Fallon is perfect for her. He’s not afraid of you, for one thing.”

  “And the other?”

  “He’s not afraid of her. He’s the only man I’ve ever seen that she hasn’t been able to lead around by the nose.” Alex stood and walked over to him. “She doesn’t have to live here, Christopher, but she chooses to do so because she loves us both. Why do you think she’s been working so many hours at the museum these past weeks? Mr. Cross told me that she’s doing Coptic research for me.”

  “Brea has her nose in a book?”

  Tears filled Alex’s eyes. “I haven’t even had the heart to tell her that I have no desire to finish the project.”

  Christopher took her down into his lap, wrapping his arms around her as she leaned against his shoulder. Her silken skirts whispered with her movement. “Why not?” he asked her.

  “I don’t know.” She curled against his chest. “I think something is wrong with me. I can’t concentrate. I’m irritable.”

  His hand slid over her abdomen. “You’re pregnant.” He still couldn’t believe that she carried a child.

  His child.

  Their child.

  He realized how much he wanted this baby.

  She hadn’t wanted to return to the museum or leave the house in a month. His arms tightened around her. The doctor had said that her state was as much indicative of her pregnancy as the trauma she’d suffered.

  He didn’t know about emotional pendulums. Or understand how someone could be strong and independent one moment and weepy the next. He only knew that he was trying to understand.

  “I love you.” He pressed his nose into the soft fragrance of her hair. “Sometimes it scares the hell out of me, Alex.”

  “I’m not so weak, Christopher,” she whispered. “I don’t want you to worry about me.”

  He slid his hand around her nape and pulled her mouth to his lips. His kiss was possessive, rough with need and carnal awareness. Her bottom pressed firmly against him. Her cool hands rose to touch his face. The kiss deepened. He bent her over the arm of the chair, sliding his palm to her breasts, which were fuller in his hands.

  “I’ll be seeing the physician tomorrow,” her voice hummed against his lips.

  He brought her back to his mouth. “Fock the doctor.” He caught the Irishness in his voice, but was past caring that Alex still managed after all of these years to crack that thin veneer of civility he’d built around his life.

  Pulling away, she braced her palms on his shoulders. Her mouth was kiss-softened and moist. “Unfortunately, you’re going to be late for your date with Charles Cross.” She kissed him on the nose. “Someone has to tell the poor chap that Brianna isn’t here.”

  Major Fallon didn’t leave the city, as Brianna had anticipated. Instead, after an exhilarating ride along the outskirts of Cairo, he turned and rode through the center of town, at times threading his way past cupboard-sized shops and the narrow mastaba-shaped benches, where merchants sat out front chatting and drinking coffee. He bandied with many in good-humored assurance and knew most by name. The temperature was pleasant. Flocks of white storks covered the minarets. It was still cool enough that clouds of black flies had not yet appeared. Brianna felt like a tourist.

  As they rode through historic Cairo, he pointed out that in place of ri
ckety wooden houses a new residential quarter had grown up around the palace. It was to one of these structures that he brought her. “We’ll rejoin Halid later,” he said when his hands wrapped around her waist to help her dismount. When she was settled, a little too close in front of him, he raised his brows inquiringly. “You’ve said very little since our departure.”

  Despite all of her self-admonitions to stay away from him, she hadn’t. Indeed, she’d arrived at the stables ten minutes early, only to find him already waiting for her. “I was thinking about what my brother is going to say when I don’t show up this morning to attend the picnic.”

  “You don’t care a whit about the picnic,” he said close to her ear. “Or you wouldn’t have come with me.”

  He was right, of course, though she’d have rather died than admit it to him. His overburgeoning confidence in himself annoyed her. He hadn’t even batted an eyelash when she’d arrived, looking stunning in a jade green riding habit. He was already waiting at the stables, as if he had no doubt that she’d show up.

  In truth, as Brianna looked at the stone structure, she admitted to nervousness. Curiosity had brought her this far. That and her desire to glimpse a part of Major Fallon’s other life. If he seemed aware of her unease, he didn’t say anything. The door swung open and a little girl flung herself bodily into the major’s arms. She spoke in Arabic, but he answered in English; for her benefit, Brianna realized, and was at once grateful for the courtesy.

  “I’ve come to see your papa and mama,” he said.

  “I know. Everyone has been waiting.” The dark curls on her head bounced as she bent and whispered something into his ear.

  Major Fallon’s silver eyes smiled into Brianna’s as he nodded to the words the girl said. “I think so, too.”

  She giggled. “Did you bring peppermints?”

  Fallon winked at Brianna, who could only stare in response to the change in him. “A lady after my own heart.”

  He grinned and handed the little girl a tin of peppermints from inside his coat.

  Beturbaned and wearing a loose-fitting thwab made of white cotton, a man wheeled on a chair into the room as Major Fallon edged Brianna over the threshold. “You’re late, Major,” the newcomer snapped, but he smiled as Fallon closed the door. “You must be Miss Donally.” His bushy brows arched as he looked her up and down like a draft horse at auction. “You’ve become famous.”

  “I have?”

  “You’re a survivor, Miss Donally. Something I can relate to.” He eyed Fallon devilishly. “She is a pretty one. Just as I’d heard.”

  Major Fallon moved behind her, so close that her shoulders touched his chest. His arm brushed hers as he reached around her to take the man’s hand in a brief shake. “Miss Donally, meet Colonel Sir Evelyn Baker or Baker Pasha as he is known to his peers,” he said. The major’s hands went to her arms, the heat of his fingers curling into her sleeves. “He is Yasmeen’s husband and the father of the little girl you saw. Yasmeen teaches at the mission. You might know her.”

  Yasmeen stood back from her husband, now holding the girl. A little boy stood at her side, gazing shyly at Brianna. Yasmeen wore pajamas, topped by a blue satin blouse. She was French. Brianna did know her, at least by sight. Yasmeen salaamed, and Brianna nodded in response.

  “Miss Donally volunteers two days a week at the mission,” Major Fallon told Baker.

  Brianna wanted to ask how he knew so much, but her hand was taken in a firm grasp and her attention diverted at once to the feisty man in the wheelchair. The house smelled of coffee and almond pastries.

  “Colonel Baker was my superior officer serving under the khedive when I arrived in Egypt,” Major Fallon said.

  “Recently returned from a military mission to annex the Upper Nile and suppress the slave trade. All to be done under the banner of civilization, of course. As you can see, it is a job better suited to younger men. Now, the major keeps me company when he can.”

  Yasmeen smiled, and in a quiet voice said, “Major Fallon said that you are a photographer.”

  “Yes,” she replied without preamble.

  “The girl should have been here for the opening of the Suez last year.” Colonel Baker chuckled at his demure wife. “The canal was blessed by Moslem, Greek Orthodox, Coptic, and Roman Catholic priests, every available cannon and gun fired, twenty military bands struck up, and the fireworks dump blew up, nearly demolishing Port Said. With not one photograph to be had of the blessed show.”

  Brianna laughed. “Did that really happen?”

  “That wasn’t even the half of it.”

  Without saying a word, the little boy at his mother’s side touched his palm to Brianna’s riding skirt. The girl who Major Fallon had been carrying now leaned against Brianna’s legs. The room filled with a pungent odor from burning oil rising from a feeble wick.

  “Come, all of you.” Yasmeen nudged the boy. “We will leave your father to some peace so he can enjoy his guests.”

  Screaming children scattered into the adjoining room. The room emptied of noise as the door shut behind Yasmeen’s slim form.

  “I was about to begin my coffee without you, Major,” Baker said.

  Brianna looked up at Fallon. “You had this planned?”

  Pushing Colonel Baker’s wheelchair into the next room, where a stove emanated warmth, he bent nearer to Brianna’s ear. “Yasmeen makes delicious pastries,” he said. “They come out of the oven like clockwork every Saturday morning.”

  “Don’t let him fool you, Miss Donally. While he’s in Cairo, this rascal here plays the paladin. He lets me win at chess—”

  “Don’t believe it.”

  “—and takes the children to the market. Last week he bought cloth.”

  The colonel poured coffee for the two of them, then offered Fallon a cigarette from a green tin box, which to Brianna’s surprise he declined, opting for his peppermint tin instead. “Ah, I know that old trick.” The colonel turned to Brianna and winked. “Once a man grows to enjoy Turkish tobacco, it is very difficult to stop. Fallon effendi does not like to be a slave to his cravings. Have you ever smoked, Miss Donally?” His eyes twinkled.

  Smoking was one of the first vices she’d indulged in upon her arrival in Egypt. She didn’t see any point in denying it. “I found Turkish tobacco to be positively revolting.” She wrinkled her nose.

  “I knew just by looking at you”—he wagged his finger at Major Fallon with an I-told-you-so grin—“she’s one of those newfangled suffrage types. Mark my word, she’ll own your heart then rule the roost before you blink an eye.”

  Brianna could have choked.

  “If women get the vote, there’ll be no stopping the lot from trying to wriggle into our exclusive clubs next.” Baker winked at Major Fallon. “Then it will be parliament.”

  “Since when would that be a bad idea?” Major Fallon said over his cup, his voice light with mirth.

  Wrapping her hands around the warm coffee cup, Brianna smiled at the major over the rim. He’d won the round today. Hands down.

  The conversation turned to other business. As they sat at the table eating almond pastries and drinking coffee, Brianna’s restless gaze roamed the cluttered room. Clearly, Colonel Baker abominated Victorian austerity. He was old school to the core. She also suspected that he was very poor.

  “I hear that you’re having trouble with our old friend Omar.” The colonel set his cup down.

  Major Fallon sat forward on his elbows. “He’s not letting this latest infraction go.”

  “What does that mean?” Brianna asked.

  “Nothing.” Major Fallon looked at her. “At the moment, anyway.”

  “He yanked Omar’s beard hard this time. That’s what it means,” Colonel Baker said.

  The muted patter of a hand-cranked sewing machine broke the silence. “Yasmeen is fitting the children with new clothes,” the colonel said, changing the topic. “She lines them up like soldiers against the wall and refuses to allow them to escape until
they are measured and fitted. But they wanted to meet you.”

  “Me?”

  Major Fallon straightened and his arm touched hers as he leaned forward on the table. “You are like a lucky penny, Miss Donally.”

  Again she smiled at him over the rim of the coffee cup. No one had ever accused her of being good luck. Her eyes told on her thoughts, but she didn’t care if he read her feelings.

  The colonel cleared his throat. “You’ve allowed this old man to talk your ears off, Miss Donally.”

  “You’re not so old,” she said.

  “I have something for you.” Wheeling his chair around, he pulled out the drawer from the breakfront behind him and withdrew a stack of papers. “Yasmeen grew up here. She’s mapped out the Coptic section in Cairo and more that may interest you in your research.”

  Disbelieving, Brianna took the papers. She turned to Major Fallon, her eyes filled with gratitude, and smiled at him.

  “He said you were interested,” the colonel said. “I told him that I would have something ready today if he wanted to drop by.”

  Major Fallon moved behind her chair. Brianna clutched the papers to her chest as she stood. “Thank you.”

  “Most people who come here are interested only in taking something out of this country. Few ever give anything back. I hope that your book is of interest to our scholars.”

  “Thank you, Colonel.” She held out her hand. “Please give my gratitude to your wife as well.”

  Outside, the sunlight hit Brianna’s eyes. Major Fallon didn’t say anything. Hidden from the street, the horses idled beneath a mimosa tree.

  “Why?” she asked, holding her packet as she turned to face him.

  He set one wrist on the saddle. He wore no head covering, and Brianna smelled the soap he’d used to wash his hair, maybe that morning—before he’d ridden to meet her at the stables. “Because I like your work. I’m impressed with your vision and your perseverance.”

  “You are?” Most of her family had never told her that much.