by Valerie Parv
She shifted restively. "Hearing about your discussions will help take my mind off.. .what happened."
He spread his hands wide. "We talked of many things, mostly international affairs."
"This morning I heard you tell Gage that your discussions would concern purely local matters."
Angry color washed up Butrus's neck into his face. "What we spoke about is none of Gage Weston's
concern."
Or hers, she heard, although he didn't say it. Butrus knew that she had a brain and opinions of her own
and couldn't be relegated to a decorative role in his life. "Those men look more like criminals than
businessmen," she insisted. "I can't imagine what you have in common with their type."
Butrus reined in his temper with a visible effort. "In my work, it is sometimes necessary to deal with
people other than one's own kind." "Then you don't like them, either?" "Liking them is not the issue. The important thing is that I can deal with them when I must." He stood up.
"They will only occupy me for another few hours, then I can devote my time to you. Your father agreed to
allow you to come to the estate because he thought you needed the rest. He will never forgive me if I return
you in worse condition than when we arrived."
Fueled by the knowledge that Butrus and her father had made plans for her without consulting her, she felt her impatience grow. She had thought the invitation was Butrus's idea alone. "Surely where I go and what I do is up to me."
"Of course. Before today's misadventure, I thought you were enjoying your small vacation."
"I have enjoyed myself. The souk was wonderful."
He smiled indulgently. "Did you buy a great many new clothes and jewels?"
She shook her head, deciding not to mention the tiger necklace, which she intended to return to Gage as soon as she could. "Nargis and the others bought clothes. I ordered the most wonderful piece of marble."
He frowned in confusion. "You bought marble? Whatever for?"
Didn't he know even now that her passion for painting was equaled only by her enthusiasm for sculpting? "I intend to make a bust of my father as a gift to celebrate his long tenure on the throne."
He regarded her as if she'd lost her mind. "Wouldn't you rather commission such a piece? I know an artist who—"
"I know an artist," she said, modulating her voice with an effort. "As do you—the one you're about to marry."
"I understood that after our marriage—"
"I'd give up all this foolishness?" she supplied for him. "If I did, you wouldn't want me, because I'd be unbearable to live with."
He took her hand. "You are far too beautiful to be unbearable, my dear. We'll work this out, I have no doubt."
She had plenty of doubts but didn't voice them. "Let's hope so." Extricating her hand from Butrus's hold, she got to her feet. "I think I shall go to my suite and rest, after all."
"Excellent idea," he commended her. "This has been a difficult day for you."
She looked away. "More than you know." Almost getting killed had away of sharpening one's thoughts, she had discovered. She wondered if Butrus had any idea of the direction hers were heading in. She would petition her father to release her from the engagement when she returned to the palace.
She had thought she was prepared to marry Butrus, but his persistent refusal to understand her filled her with misgivings. More worrying still was his involvement with men she was sure were criminals. Nargis had heard that the Americans were linked with a crime syndicate in that country and had reported that another servant had overheard them plotting. Although Nadia didn't encourage Nargis to relay gossip, this time she had listened with alarm. Why was Butrus entertaining such men? His evasiveness had only added to her unease. She was sure her father didn't know or approve.
"I'll see you at dinner," Butrus said.
She hesitated, reluctant to sit at the same table as his guests. "Will you forgive me if I don't join you tonight? As you say, it has been a difficult day. I'll have something brought to my room."
Butrus seemed almost relieved by her decision. "It's probably wise. Rest well, little one. I'll see you tomorrow."
As she made her way to her suite, she found herself wondering how Gage would choose to spend the evening.
* * *
The object of her thoughts had retired to his suite, citing his need to prepare for his departure the next day. In truth he felt as if he had gone several championship rounds in the boxing ring. The last thing he felt up to was sitting cross-legged on a divan for hours, drinking coffee and making polite conversation with Dabir and his guests—when he would have preferred to get his hands around the man's throat.
Why was he so antagonistic toward Dabir? In the intelligence field, Gage had dealt with all kinds of people, good and bad. Where Dabir was concerned, all he had were suspicions. Not enough to feel so violently inclined toward him.
Gage suspected the real reason for his antagonism, and its name was Nadia Kamal. He was starting to hate, really hate, the thought of her marrying a man like Dabir, sharing his bed, bearing his children, when the man didn't deserve to breathe the same air she did.
Looking down at his hands, Gage saw they were tightly clenched and made an effort to unclench them. Dabir wasn't worth the expenditure of so much energy. There was a better solution. Find proof that he was the traitor in the Kamal ranks and solve both his problems at once. Sheik Ahmed would hardly want his daughter to marry a traitor.
After he finished packing, Gage had a servant bring a tray of cheese, fruit and pastries, as well as a jug of chilled water to his room so he could graze at his leisure. Afterward he spent a long time standing under the steaming spray of a shower, letting the hot water unknot his aching muscles.
"Nice set of bruises, Weston," he told his reflection. Tomorrow he was going to be an interesting shade of black and blue from neck to hip. He had just finished zipping up a pair of chinos but was still bare-chested, when his cell phone rang.
He slung a towel around his shoulders and picked up the phone, flipping it open in the same movement. "Dani here," came the unceremonious greeting.
"Darlin', you've no idea how good it is to hear your voice," he told her. "How's your dear father?"
It was their agreed code for "Do you have any information for me?"
"He's not at all well," she said, sounding cheerful for someone with such news.
No news yet, Gage interpreted. "Is he still in the hospital?" he asked.
"I'm afraid so. He's in intensive care."
Intensive care meant Dani was still investigating and would report back as soon as she had more news.
Disappointment swamped Gage. He had hoped Dani would be able to link at least one of Dabir's recent arrivals to the Brothers of Darkness. "At least your father's in good hands," he said, trying not to communicate his disappointment.
Dani heard it, anyway. "I'm sorry not to have better news."
"Not your fault. How are your brothers holding up?"
Dani had no brothers. She would know that Gage was asking after the organization. "Quiet for the time being, thank goodness. I thought one of them was in those holiday snapshots you sent me yesterday."
Gage felt his tension increase. "And was he?"
"No, he only reminded me of my brother. I'll show it around and see if the rest of the family sees the resemblance."
"Good girl." Dani was telling him she wouldn't rest until she had identified all the men in the photos Gage had e-mailed to her.
"How are things at your end?" "I'm living the diplomatic high life, rubbing shoulders with royalty." Almost getting killed, he was tempted to add but didn't. No sense alarming Dani when there was nothing she could do. "I'm returning to the embassy tomorrow," he finished.
"I thought you were staying for another few days."
"Let's say I wore out my welcome."
Her musical laugh lifted his spirits. "Next time keep your rov
ing eye to yourself."
Dani was closer to the truth than she knew, he thought as he ended the call. Shoving his open suitcase to one side, he threw himself onto the four-poster and linked his hands behind his head. Was Gage being asked to leave because Dabir suspected his real mission, or because he didn't want Gage anywhere near his bride-to-be?
If Dabir knew who he was, Gage was sure he wouldn't have been allowed to leave the man's office alive. That left Nadia. Had the lawyer somehow found out about the kiss they'd exchanged last night and sabotaged the car to get Gage out of the way? It would explain Dabir's shock at hearing that his plan had almost killed Nadia, as well.
Gage wondered if he should have told Dani the truth. If anything happened to him, she would know his demise was the result of foul play.
And do what? Come racing to Tamir to avenge him? Forget it, he instructed himself. Allowing Dani to do research for him was one thing. Involving her in the dangerous side of his work was another.
He hadn't wanted her to be involved in any of it, but she had insisted after overhearing him and Conrad planning a mission together. With her contacts in the rock-music scene all over the world, some with dubious connections of their own, she had proved more adept at ferreting out information than Gage liked. Since he hadn't been able to stop her from getting involved, he had tried to keep her out of anything remotely risky, starting with limiting the people who knew she had anything to do with him.
Nadia knew, he thought, sitting up with a jolt. What sort of fool was he, telling her about Dani's role in his life, when the princess herself was still a suspect? Putting himself in danger because he was attracted to Nadia was one thing, but if he had endangered Dani because he couldn't control his hormones, he would never forgive himself.
Chapter 12
He jolted awake to find the room lit only by the spill of moonlight from the window. Some nightmare, he thought, rolling to his feet in a swift movement that brought a stab of pain. His ribs felt as if they'd been used as a trampoline.
Snapping on a light, he poured himself a glass of the now-tepid water at his bedside and sat on the edge of the bed to drink it. In the nightmare he'd been riding a magnificent filly that had bolted toward the edge of a cliff, jerking awake as the horse gathered herself and leaped into the void.
No need to wonder where that dream came from, he thought. The runaway horse had been his mind's way of dealing with the runaway car. Then he remembered reading that in some schools of dream theory, runaway horses were also powerful sexual symbols.
"That's what you are, frustrated," he told himself, getting up and peering in the dresser mirror to finger a bruise blossoming on his cheek. Time he wrapped up this mission and headed home to Penwyck, where he could find a nice woman of his own kind, a woman who wasn't promised to a lowlife like Butrus Dabir.
The thought was oddly unsatisfying, not because Gage didn't have his pick of women back home. One of the advantages of being a duke, even if you didn't use the title, was its attractiveness to the fairer sex. In Gage's experience, half the women he knew would kill to be able to call themselves a duchess.
One or two of them he liked enough to imagine bestowing the title on them.
He wasn't exactly in his dotage, but he wanted to have children while he was still young enough to keep up with them. So why hadn't he done anything about it?
Because liking a woman wasn't enough, he thought, repressing a sigh. He was an idealist, who wanted the whole brass band and fireworks of being in love. He wanted to put stars in his woman's eyes and feel them in his own. To make vows about "till death do us part" and mean them with all his heart. He was probably setting himself up for a lonely future, but he couldn't change how he felt, and didn't really want to.
Restless and uncomfortable, he began to wish he'd taken the princess's advice and consulted her doctor, after all. She could have prescribed a painkiller and maybe something to help him sleep. It was too late now. He didn't have as much as an aspirin in his luggage, and he was so wide awake he felt like jumping out of his skin.
It was the aftereffect of the brush with death, he knew. Going back to sleep didn't appeal after coming as close as he had to never waking up at all. So why try? He reached into the suitcase and put on the first shirt he grabbed, tucking it into his jeans with decisive movements. He thrust his wallet into his back pocket, pulled a pair of ripple-soled moccasins on his bare feet and he was ready, although he couldn't have said for what.
He prowled to the door of the suite and listened, hearing the restive stirring of the guard posted in the hallway. He would have to use the other exit. Luckily the terrace off his living room was only a dozen feet off the ground, with lawn underneath. He waited but saw no sign of another guard, so he climbed over the balustrade and jumped.
He swore aloud as the landing made his bruises sing a song of pain. Instantly he melted into the shadow of the building and waited, but no challenge came. He was free to walk off some of his restless energy.
The direction was decided for him when he saw another figure gliding along the moonlit path leading to the swan lake. Recognizing the figure, he felt a grin play across his features. So he wasn't the only one being kept awake by their near miss.
He tracked her silently, in no hurry. Once, she stopped to listen, looking around as if sensing his presence. By the time she turned in his direction, he had become one with the bushes beside the path. He saw her shrug and continue on. He counted a couple of heartbeats before following.
It came to him that she could have her own reason for being out here. He would feel like a complete fool if she was meeting someone else, or was on some errand for her fiance.
She had almost reached the filigreed metal pavilion when she spun around. "Who's there? I know someone's following me. Show yourself before I scream for help."
Gage stepped into a pool of moonlight and held up his hands. "No need to scream, Princess. Not that anyone would hear you from here. But it's only me, your faithful stunt driver."
She clutched a hand to her chest. "Gage, you scared me out of my wits."
She sounded remarkably in possession of them, he thought. He had heard that the princess had been schooled in self-defense and wouldn't have been surprised if she had decided to get in some practice on him. She looked more than capable.
"I didn't mean to frighten you," he said, lowering his hands.
"And I'm not usually so nervous. I'm still feelingjumpy, after what happened."
He moved closer. In the moonlight, the contours of her face were outlined like the lines of a classic sculpture. She was dressed in a long, lemon-colored robe that rustled with her movements. Moonlight reflected off the gold embroidery at her throat, wrists and hem. She swayed a little in the light breeze, as a swan called to its mate in the reeds at the water's edge.
Without conscious intention, he put an arm around the princess's shoulder and urged her into the shelter of the pavilion. She felt fragile but strong, as if she possessed an inner core of steel. Candle lanterns and matches stood ready on a side table. He crossed to them and lit a couple, hanging them from brackets on the pavilion walls. Soon the dancing flames filled the structure with soft golden light.
Nadia had seated herself on one of the velvet-covered divans that edged the pavilion. She leaned back. "I couldn't sleep."
He resisted the temptation to sit beside her and took a seat opposite. "Me, neither. Rough day, huh?"
She opened her eyes and nodded. "Not the sort I'd care to repeat. I told Butrus you thought the car had been sabotaged."
"Let me guess—he didn't believe it. What other explanation did he suggest?"
"None. He was more concerned that I was in the car with you."
"Were you? Concerned, I mean?"
She pulled some cushions toward her and arranged them as an armrest. "I shouldn't have agreed to ride with you."
"Because of the danger?"
She dropped sooty lashes over her night-dark eyes. "Certainly because of the da
nger." Suddenly she lifted her head and looked directly at him. "You are the most dangerous man I have ever met, Gage."
He found the statement curiously encouraging. If she had known who he really was, she would never have risked such a betraying admission. "Most men would take that as a compliment," he said.
"It wasn't meant as one."
"I don't mean to frighten you," he said.
"You don't, not in the usual way. But you upset many of my beliefs and customs. Tamir society is orderly, predictable."
"And I'm not," he guessed.
"Not in the least. You remind me of Gordon."
Gage wished he knew whether that was good or bad. "Who is Gordon?"
"Was," she corrected gently. "Like you, he was English."
In the sudden softening of her tone, he heard what she wasn't saying. "And you were in love with him."
Without the intimacy of the flickering lanterns keeping the balmy night at bay, and the fact that they had nearly died together this day, Gage doubted she would have continued. Now she nodded. "He was a man of great talent and sensitivity. We met while I was out painting and arranged further meetings without anyone knowing what was really going on. As far as anyone knew, he was teaching art to me and my sisters. They helped me to keep our secret."
Gage found his insides clenching involuntarily as he imagined what this Gordon might have taught Nadia. He reminded himself she was speaking in the past tense. "What happened to him?"
"One day my father caught us together in my studio and ordered Gordon to leave Tamir. I heard no more of him until I saw a television news report that a foreign visitor had drowned while swimming off a treacherous stretch of our coast. Even before they identified Gordon, I knew it was him."
"You think he killed himself?"
She shook her head. "I think he was so distraught over being forced to leave that he took less care than he should, and drowned as a result."
"But you blame yourself."
She turned brimming eyes to him. "Why shouldn't I? Had we never met, he might still be alive today."
Again Gage was thinking of himself. "I wonder if he would agree with you. You know what they say about it being better to have loved and lost, than never to have loved at all?"
