Arabian Nights with a Rake Page 5

  But her heart argued otherwise. The man so concerned with her pleasure, who worshiped her body so reverently, was a man of sincerity and honor. Whatever he did with her afterwards, he would not leave her here to face a cruel fate at Bassam’s hands. She knew what awaited her if he denied her—public punishment and the private humiliations Bassam would heap upon her. She could imagine too what awaited Alex if he did not deny her. At the very least there would be trial by fire, the Bedouin tradition for truth-telling, at the worst he would be ruined as a man unless she could intervene.

  “Will you play me for her? She is not one of you. Your codes are not her codes. Whatever she has done, let me at least play for her. I fancy her and, unlike you, I am not repulsed by her sin.” Alex said with cool casualness.

  “No cards,” The sheikh laughed, warming to the idea of a competition. “If you’re as good as your friend, it is hardly fair.”

  “Weapons then. We are all fair hands with knives.” Alex suggested. “You and Bassam against Crispin and myself.”

  “It is dark.”

  “The tent is large. We can set targets at the far end.” Alex countered.

  The sheikh glanced at Bassam. “What do you say?”

  Bassam grinned. “Take the challenge. If they win, they may take the girl. If they lose, they will leave camp before sun-up, happy to be alive and praising the sheikh’s generosity.”

  Susannah fought the urge to seek out Alex’s gaze. Her fate balanced literally and metaphorically on the point of a knife, and she, a woman used to taking care of herself, could do nothing about it but watch and wait.

  Chapter IX

  It was to be a private competition between the four of them, but it was no less tense for the lack of spectators.

  Alex critically watched the targets being prepared by a trusted relative of the sheikh. He resented being unable to go to Susannah, who’d been manhandled roughly to the side to sit under guard.

  She’d borne up stoically under the crass negotiations. She’d kept her eyes modestly downcast throughout the transaction, but he knew she’d heard the unspoken messages as well. As Sutcliffe’s daughter she would have been trained to read between the lines. He’d feared at one point she would protest and give herself up out of some misguided effort to save him. Such a sacrifice might have momentarily cleansed the conscience but it would have done little to alter the situation. She’d shown great insight and understanding to know enough to withhold her reaction.

  “Is she worth it?” Cris spoke in low tones at his ear, passing him a throwing knife. Crispin Ramsden was a saint among men, Alex thought, a tarnished saint to be sure, but a saint all the same. He’d come without question ready to defend Alex’s interests. Alex knew no finer gentleman than the rough-edged brother to the powerful Earl of Dursley.

  “Yes.” Alex replied. Everything was in that answer. He hazarded a glance at Susannah. He had not imagined himself to be a man open to love at first sight. In that regard, he’d believed himself to be much like Crispin, a cynical lover of women, quick to take pleasure but less hasty to bind himself to one in any permanent fashion. Yet a woman like Susannah demanded more, and he found he was more than willing to give it.

  She was beauty personified with her pale-gold hair and houri curves. But she was more than beauty. Her blue eyes were windows into mystery and intelligence. Without him realizing it, she had become an essential part of his plans for the future.

  “We have to get out of here alive first.” Crispin commented. “You’re already planning your life together. Let’s work on the present.”

  Alex laughed. “My apologies for being so transparent.”

  “A man in love always is.” Crispin hefted a knife, testing its weight and balance. “I’ve seen it before. When my brother fell in love with Tessa, it was fast and deadly.”

  “You talk about it as if it’s a disease, spreading like cholera.”

  “Well?” Crispin challenged.

  “We’ll find you a woman next.”

  Satisfied with their weapons, their talk turned serious in the moments they had left. The targets were nearly set.

  “What’s the plan if we lose?” Cris inquired, baring his teeth at a glaring Bassam across the tent.

  “The same as if we win. It won’t matter to them. They’re not letting us go easily.”

  “Is this the ride-like-hell option you spoke of earlier?”

  “Yes. Any chance our horses are close?”

  “The black is outside. The sheikh thinks I’ve brought him to return him. The other two horses are in the rope pen behind the sheikh’s tent where we left them when we rode in.”

  Alex spoke rapidly. “Susannah and I will make for the horse pen. You take the black and ride out. Don’t wait for us.”

  Crispin nodded, understanding the necessity. If he rode out on the prized horse, he could be a successful diversion. “I’ll see you in Algiers then, my friend.”

  All was ready. The targets were at thirty paces, a distance that would require a strong arm as well as accurate aim. Additional torches had been brought to the tent to ensure quality lighting. The flames also increased the temperature. Alex could feel sweat beading his brow in response to the additional heat.

  The rules were simple. Each of them had four throws. The best combination of throws would determine the victor. Bassam threw first, two of his knives finding purchase on the second ring of the target, one of them on the outside ring, the final knife successfully finding the ring closest to the center.

  Crispin tossed the man a look of disdain as if to say, Is that the best you can do? He stepped up to the line and sighted his target, throwing methodically, his arm in a guaranteed rhythm. Three of his knives gained the closest circle from the center, making the one knife of Bassam’s look like a lucky strike compared to the expert accuracy of his. His fourth knife fell short of excellence and joined Bassam’s in the second outer circle, but he’d still bested the sheikh’s brother-in-law.

  Alex gave Crispin a grateful nod. Cris had not failed him. They were ahead, three knives to one. But the sheikh remained. Alex had taken his measure carefully during the competitions the day before. Muhsin ibn Bitar was a fine knife-thrower; no one but himself had matched the sheikh. Even then, their competition had been a draw.

  Undaunted by Crispin’s excellence, Muhsin toed his mark and sighted the target. He threw slowly and with deadly accuracy. His first knife hit the bull’s-eye and he cast a mocking glance at Susannah. His second knife sliced the ring closest to the center where most of Crispin’s had fallen. But his last two throws were devastating, both of them hitting the center target.

  So be it. Susannah was pale on the sidelines. This would be difficult indeed. The problem with throwing last, Alex thought, was that he would know if he’d lost after he’d thrown two knives. If at least one of them was a bull’s-eye, he was still in. If neither hit a bull’s-eye, the other two throws mattered not at all. Alex drew a deep breath. He had his methods and it would not do to deviate now.

  Susannah held her breath, marveling at Alex’s calm. In his turban and robes he might be one of them, so seamlessly did he fit in. Only the sharp green of his eyes and the sun-streaked hair that she knew lay beneath the winding wrap of his turban betrayed him as belonging to another world. She tried not to think of that world. It was a world in which she was no longer sure of her place.

  Her renowned father was dead. Would she be welcome in his circles abroad? She could perhaps see herself making a quiet home in Italy or in Cairo where her experience in the desert wouldn’t matter as greatly. Or would she be forced home to England and her mother’s people? There would be pity there but no acceptance. They were strict people, doggedly adhering to the moral codes of Society. A Bedouin captive, a woman who’d lived without chaperone in a society they’d deem as immoral would not be suitable to their world. But all that remained to be seen, all of it resting on Alex’s broad shoulders.

  He stepped to the mark and stared hard at his target f
or long moments. All four knives were in his belt and he pulled forth the first one now and tossed it lightly in his hand. The wait was maddening. Without warning, he threw the first one, hard and sure towards the target. In rapid succession he drew the other three. He fired without hesitation. His movements mesmerized. He threw quickly and without thought, unlike the others, who’d deliberated before each throw.

  There was no time to think, to register the landing of the knives. Later, she’d realize he’d planned it that way. He’d guessed all along that neither victory nor defeat would matter. The sheikh would not simply let him leave with her if he won. Neither would Alex simply walk away without her if he lost.

  The speed of his throws was utterly distracting. He’d moved to her side before anyone realized it. The man in charge of the targets was busy tallying the scores. But Alex was pushing her towards the tent entrance behind them.

  Crispin was already there, arms crossed and legs spread, ostensibly awaiting the pronouncement of victory.

  Alex had just gently shoved Susannah into the darkness outside when the cry inside erupted.

  “We have won, have we not?” Alex heard Crispin’s challenge. “We’re free to go.”

  There were harsh words and the commotion of a fight. Alex was torn between the need to go back and assist Crispin or to stay with Susannah. Crispin could handle himself in a fight. His sacrifice would be for nothing if he and Susannah did not get away.

  “Quick, the horse pen.” He ushered her forward in the dark, holding her firmly when she stumbled.

  In the end, there wasn’t time to get both horses. The animals were skittish with the camels so near them and Alex had trouble calming his stallion down long enough to throw Susannah up. A challenging neigh in the darkness warned Alex Crispin had made his getaway. He swung up behind Susannah and kicked his horse into organized motion, leaning sideways and slicing an exit in the rope pen with a knife he’d secreted up his sleeve. He’d never, ever intended to fight fairly.

  The opening in the pen full of camel-skittish horses had the desired effect. The animals spilled out into the camp in a rampage, taking the revelers unawares. But the distraction did not entirely ensure their escape. Bassam sighted them and raised the alarm.

  Alex kicked his horse into a gallop, taking his chances with speed. If they could clear the camp, they would make it. But he needed a lead in order to get to the cache he’d stashed earlier in the day. Without those supplies, the desert would finish them off as surely as Bassam’s knife.

  Luck was with them. They cleared the camp and the rampaging horses ensured that no one had the speed to follow them into the desert. With more luck, the sheikh would assume they had no supplies, that their flight was precipitous and poorly thought out, and he would leave them to their demise.

  Alex spotted the formation he’d used to mark his cache. He pulled the horse to a halt and slid off. “We made it.” He grinned up at Susannah, pale but game on the back of the stallion, her hair a tumble of gold in the moonlight. She’d never looked lovelier to him.

  “We won’t survive without water. It’s days back to Algiers.” She said matter-of-factly.

  Alex’s grin widened. “I left supplies here today, in anticipation of our flight tomorrow. It’s a good thing I plan ahead.” He dug in the soft sand until he came up with wineskins and saddlebags of food. He passed them up to her and watched her settle them across the horse’s withers.

  She smiled, and he noted her tension had seeped away at the sight of water. Alex swung up behind her, ready to ride again. There was still distance to put between them and the camp. “Once we’re safely away, I have some other plans I’ve made for you.” He murmured in her ear.

  She pressed her back against him and he savored the feel of her body nestled against him, close and intimate, her buttocks to his groin. He felt himself harden instinctively, but that would have to wait.

  He urged his horse to a trotting pace. If they traveled by day they’d have to walk to save the horse from sweating too much, but in the cool of a desert night, they could manage the speed and right now they needed it.

  “Will Crispin be all right?” Susannah asked when it became apparent he wasn’t joining them.

  “Crispin’s always all right. He has a stash too. He’ll see us in Algiers.” Alex answered confidently.

  She sighed, her head moving sleepily against him. “You won, you know. All four knives were bull’s-eyes.”

  She drowsed against him and Alex welcomed her weight. She was his. Just as soon as they reached Algiers, he’d make it legal.

  Somewhere between the last of the night and sunrise, he found a cave with enough room for the horse to be comfortable during the hot day. It would do, for his horse and for him. The excitement of the evening’s events and the woman he carried with him still fired his loins, seeking relief.

  Inside the cave, he made their meager encampment, laying down a blanket for their bed. He laid Susannah gently upon it and she stirred at the movement, looking up at him through sleepy eyes. She reached for him. “Come to bed, Alex.”

  Four simple words, and yet the most powerful aphrodisiac he’d ever experienced, the words of a woman inviting a man to bed.

  In a swift movement, he shrugged out of his robes and fell naked beside her in acceptance of the invitation. She snuggled beside him, her sleepiness disappearing. “You saved us, Alex.” She kissed him hard on the mouth, a hand dropping low between them.

  Alex groaned appreciatively. Her hand moved to stroke his length, massaging, arousing, if it was possible to be aroused further. Suddenly, she rolled over and straddled him. “I was thinking about this as we rode tonight,” she whispered, letting her hair fall forward and tickle his nipples. “I was thinking that I could ride you like a horse, like a stallion.”

  “You could,” Alex grinned as she teased.

  “And I was thinking,” she continued, bending to kiss him on the mouth, “that while I was up here, I could do…other things….”

  Alex’s reply was hoarse. “You could,” he managed. But his permission was hardly necessary. She’d already started the journey downwards, trailing kisses down his chest, her breath feathering his navel, her lips pressing either side of his thighs and then finally reaching their destination.

  She tested tentatively at first, her lips a mere flutter on the sensitive head of him. Then firmer as she took all of him, sucking and licking until Alex cried out into the night. This was an ecstasy beyond words and he reveled in her boldness.

  When he could stand it no longer, he urged her head up and pulled her above him, letting her take his length inside her and begin to ride towards fulfillment. As the sun rose outside the cave, Alex took them both to completion, her body collapsing against him, satiated.

  They spent the day in the cave. The sun was too hot to make travel worthwhile. There was little to do but make love and talk, not that Alex minded. When he was with Susannah, he was discovering he wanted to do little else.

  “Where will you go when we reach Algiers?” Susannah asked, playing idly with the flat of his aureole.

  “Cairo. My family lives there, and you’ll want to meet them. But there will be reports to make in Algiers. We’ll be there a while.”

  “We?” Susannah lifted her head, her sea-blue eyes curious.

  “Us.” Alex smiled softly. “I plan to marry you once we reach civilization. If you’ll have me?” He levered up on one arm. “Susannah Sutcliffe, will you marry me? I cannot guarantee a life rich in wealth, but I can promise a life rich in adventure.”

  She laughed, but turned her gaze away. “The sun has touched you, Alex. You hardly know me and you must know that no one will consider me suitable. I’m damaged goods.”

  Alex snorted at that. “And what am I? I am no lord’s son. I’m the son of a diplomat, who hopes to be a diplomat himself. Perhaps we’ve got a viscount grandfather somewhere in the family tree, but it’s a tenuous claim to Society at best, and it’s not a connection I trade on.” Th
en he sobered, another thought striking him. “Perhaps you do not wish to marry me?” He had not anticipated her refusal. He was not a man who dwelt on failure. He had not thought of losing the knife contest just as he had not thought of losing her. They were both impossibilities to him.

  She smiled softly. “I do not wish to hinder you, Alex. I recognized at once that first night I danced before you that you were a man of honor…”

  Alex was in no mood to talk about his honor. “I want you, Susannah. Your intelligence and your courage. You are an incredible woman, and I want you to be mine.” He reached for her, a hand behind her neck, pulling her to him for a kiss that spanned the chasm of her doubt. “Magic like this doesn’t happen every day, Susannah.” He whispered into her mouth. She stared at him, searching his eyes and slowly a smile of pure happiness spread across her face. He actually looked nervous. It had seemed impossible, but it was true. She was loved.

  “Yes, Alex,” She whispered back, her body molding to his as he rolled her beneath him. “Yes, I will marry you and be yours.”

  Glowing with relief, Alex moved to claim her, rising above her in man’s age-old possession of a woman, a possession as ancient as the desert itself. He thrust deeply, finding his homecoming in her warmth. “Mine.”

  Ah, but he loved the desert.

  Epilogue

  A few months later, Algiers

  “I am told I must call you ‘sir’ now.” Crispin sighed dramatically. He leaned on the rail of the little balcony of Alex’s apartments looking out over the bay. A fresh wind blew off the water as the two friends said their farewells.

  Alex nodded, smiling. “It was something of a surprise. London moved pretty quickly.” He shot a sidelong glance at his friend. “I wonder if your brother had something to do that.”

  Crispin made a noncommittal gesture with his shoulders. “Maybe. I happened to mention something to Peyton about your latest exploits in my last letter home.”