Desert Rogue (30 page)

Ali refused to take the coins the American tried to press upon him, determined he would not allow his proud friend to leave without at least attempting to help him.

“Put your money away, Jed. I've riches enough,” he insisted, pushing Jed's hand aside.

“If that's the way you feel about it, I'll be going,” Jed muttered, stuffing the money back into his trouser pocket. Though he had come to view Ali as the next best thing to a brother, Jed couldn't see himself running to another to bemoan his ill fortune. He'd handle his own problems. Coming here had been a mistake.

“Oh, no you don't,” Ali proclaimed, pulling the retreating American forward. “You must be introduced to Fatima. She would be displeased to find you had been here, and she was not given the opportunity of meeting the man who had saved her husband's life.”

“I don't know if that's such a good idea, Ali,” Jed said, digging in his heels and shaking off the Egyptian's grasp. He was suddenly unprepared to observe the bliss Ali and his wife enjoyed, the sort of happiness that had been denied to him by the cold-hearted woman who intended to marry Hayden Reed.

“I cannot think of a better one. To deny me this is to insult me, Jed. I would have you enter my home and be my guest.”

“Some other time. I'll be back,” Jed mumbled.

“It is disheartening to see a man crumble because of a woman.”

“Vicky has nothing to do with my deciding not to visit for a spell, Ali,” Jed lied, tipping his hat in a gesture of farewell.

“Good,” Ali called to his retreating back, “because no woman, especially that one, is worth such misery.”

Jed whirled around, fists clenched, ready to do battle and prove that Victoria Shaw was worth more than the whole world put together, until he observed Ali's knowing smile.

“Damn it, man, you almost had me ready to bust up your shop all over again,” Jed said with a rueful smile, walking back to stand beside him. “Clever bastard, aren't you.”

“I think so,” the Egyptian said smugly. “Now, come, we will enjoy some refreshment and talk of things that matter.”

“Don't think I came here to discuss Vicky,” Jed asserted, following Ali along a narrow passage to a neat whitewashed domicile hidden in the rear of the brass studio.

“As you wish. We will talk of anything that pleases you,” Ali assured his companion, though he anticipated his friend talking about nothing other than the blonde who had conquered his heart amid the blazing desert sands.

“Fatima! I have brought a guest,” Ali called as he bent his long frame in order to enter the small door leading into his home.

After a rustling of fabric behind a heavily beaded curtain, a diminutive feminine figure appeared. Swathed in mantle and veil, she advanced with mincing steps, her black eyes glistening like polished obsidian.

So this was Fatima, Jed thought, a half smile pasting itself on his face. Why, the woman wasn't anything like Vicky at all, no matter what Ali had said previously. Besides her dark coloring, Fatima was much shorter in stature. More to the point, from what Jed could see of her under her layers of clothing, she appeared plump as a little partridge. No, he wouldn't look at Fatima and think of Vicky, Jed promised himself, until he noted the way Ali glanced at his wife, as though he would do anything for her, even those things that seemed impossible to accomplish. It was then that Jed felt a pang of envy mixed with regret, seeing in his friend's face the reflection of his own feelings for Victoria Shaw.

Following introductions, a gracious Fatima hovered around the men like a minute bird hopping from one foot to the next as she fluffed the pillows on which Ali and Jed reclined, brought bowls of water perfumed with jasmine for their ablutions, and offered trays of fruits and Turkish delight for their enjoyment.

In her behavior, Fatima wasn't much like Vicky, either, Jed thought wryly. Certainly he couldn't envision the woman he had rescued deigning to wait on him so solicitously. It wasn't until he had pulled a flask from his shirt and held it out to Ali that Jed saw a similarity between Vicky Shaw and Ali's wife. At once the woman's dark eyes sparked angrily, signaling her condemnation of the alcohol Ali had been reaching for. Without having to speak a word, Fatima had made her displeasure known, putting Jed in mind of the spirited female he had escorted across the desert.

A heavy sigh escaping him, the rugged American theorized that women were a funny breed. As much as they might chatter and squawk, their silent glances were far more powerful when it came to keeping a man in line. Ali's abashed haste to withdraw his outstretched hand and return it to his lap before it came into contact with the whiskey only supported Jed's observation. And so did the loving nod of approval Fatima dispensed as her husband's reward.

“I'm slated to see Cookson, the consul general's aide, tomorrow,” Jed informed Ali brusquely, taking refuge in masculine affairs. “Reed doesn't know. I managed to circumvent him when I made the appointment.”

“Perhaps if you shave beforehand, Cookson will be more likely to believe you,” Ali commented wryly. He took a goblet of water from Fatima, its top crowned with an aromatic slice of lemon.

“Don't worry, I'll clean myself up some. It's just that I've been out having so much fun the last day or so, I've been rather remiss with my grooming.”

“Excuse my saying so, Jed, but from your appearance, it would seem that you and
fun
are hardly acquainted.”

“Well that shows what you know,” Jed grumbled.

“You're too busy having a good time to do anything about what's making you so miserable, I suppose,” Ali commented with exasperation. “I've never seen a man so gloomy.”

“Well, I have good cause,” Jed blurted. “The Shaws had the audacity to send me an invitation to dine with them. How can I put Vicky behind me when people keep reminding me of her existence?”

“What is so wrong?” Ali inquired calmly. “The Shaws merely want to show their gratitude.”

“As if I could sit there in Vicky's home, watching her with Hayden Reed, seeing her bend her head to his. I'm afraid I wouldn't have much of an appetite. I'm not accepting.”

“I am,” Ali said in a quiet voice.

“You were invited, too?” Jed asked in surprise. Reluctantly he had to admit the Shaws were demonstrating well-mannered cordiality in inviting Ali. Most upper-class Britons would never ask an Egyptian to their homes, much less break bread with him. Perhaps the Shaws were not as lofty as he had judged them to be. Still, that didn't solve his own dilemma. It wasn't the woman Ali loved who would be sitting beside another man. “Well, have a good time and convey my regrets,” Jed growled. “I'm staying away.”

“But of course you will go!” Fatima interjected, leaving Jed little doubt as to what Ali had told her. Speaking for the first time since his arrival, Fatima's voice was high-pitched and full of Eastern melody, but her disapproval of Jed's decision was plain. “You cannot hope to win the lady if you refuse to see her. How can you decline such an opportunity,” she gently scolded, flitting around Jed excitedly, “when even I, a stranger, can see that you are crestfallen? Do not be as cowardly as a runaway rooster rejected by the hen, Jed Kincaid. Instead, you must continue to strut and crow more loudly than before, displaying your fine plumage to impress your lady.”

“Now, see here, Fatima,” Jed began, “I appreciate your interest, but—”

“His plumage is nothing to crow about, my dove,” Ali pronounced, his dark eyes sliding critically over Jed's disheveled garments. “But perhaps Abu the tailor can be of assistance.”

“Splendid, my husband! I shall fetch him right away!” Fatima exclaimed, clapping her hands joyfully.

“Wait a minute,” Jed objected, starting to rise before Ali reached out to push him back down upon the cushions.

“Not to worry. Abu is an excellent tailor. He is responsible for clothing a great many of the foreigners living in Cairo. Of course, he will not be able to provide you with evening clothes for tomorrow night's dinner, but that cannot be helped. However, with prodding, he could have your finery ready in two or three days so that you can attend other social affairs at which Victoria might be present.”

“But—” Jed began, bewilderment crossing his handsome face.

“Don't worry, Jed,” Ali interrupted quickly to forestall Jed's true objections, “there will be no door in Cairo closed to you. You are the city's newest hero, the man who traveled to the Sudan to rescue Victoria Shaw. You will find yourself with more invitations than you can handle.”

“I will find myself alone in my hotel room,” Jed snapped.

“No, believe me, Jed. The invitations
will
come,” Ali responded, smoothly ignoring the point the nettled American was trying to make.

“But—”

“There is nothing to cause you concern. Leave it all to us,” the Egyptian said with a smile. “I am afraid Fatima will have it no other way.”

T
he next evening, Victoria sat listlessly before her mirror as her mother's maid finished dressing her hair with tiny pearls.

“I fear, Miss Victoria, that you have had too much sun for your hair to be at its best,” fussed the girl. “No matter how many pins I use, I doubt these curls will remain in place all evening.”

“Maybe it will be a short evening.” If Jed had his way, her curls would be down long before the night grew late.

To Victoria's dismay, it seemed everything anyone said or did triggered thoughts or memories of the man. Even when she sought escape in sleep, he had come to her, his evocative hands tenderly worshipping her body as he had on the bank of the Nile, filling her with inexpressible joy—until she awoke alone and wept for impossible dreams that withered beneath the harsh sun of reality.

Jed was a vagabond adventurer who had only proposed to her out of a sense of guilt, Victoria practiced telling herself. Hayden, on the other hand, had a secure future and an impeccable character. As his wife, Victoria would find herself cosseted among the highest echelons of society, not fed half-polluted water transported in uncured skins—or kissed wildly, nakedly beneath the stars.

“I believe you are ready, Miss.”

“Ready? Oh, yes, for Father's dinner party,” murmured the distracted Victoria. “I'll wait a few minutes, Enid. Thank you.”

Who was the woman looking back at her from the glass? fretted Victoria. On the outside, except for those irritating freckles and a pinkish tinge to her cheeks, she hadn't really changed. Yet in so many different ways, she had matured. Much as it troubled her to spurn Jed's attentions, how could she do anything else, knowing eventually she would make him miserable?

“Here you are, darling. I brought you a light dinner,” said Grace, bustling into the room. “Oh, you do look quite lovely.”

“Thank you, Mother, but I'll wait and dine with Father's guests shortly.” Preferring not to admit the identity of those guests gave Victoria a few added minutes of peace. She stood gracefully and smoothed the royal blue skirt of her gown.

“But you know a lady never really eats in public. It is much better to have a bite privately, and nibble later.”

“It seems so pointless,” Victoria sighed. She never would have entertained such an opinion before meeting Jed, but through his eyes, she had come to realize how much of society's behavior was a sham. “Sooner or later, Hayden will see me eat a full meal.”

“Not until after the ceremony, dear, and then it won't matter, you'll already be married,” explained Grace, fluttering her fan. “Now, come, the chicken and yoghurt is quite nice.”

Shaking her head, Victoria realized a concession to Grace's will would delay her meeting with Jed that much longer, and so she sat to heed her mother's urging.

* * *

“Kincaid, Cameron Shaw. I am
very
pleased to meet you, sir,” said the banker. Stepping forward as the butler withdrew, he clasped Jed's hand firmly in his own. Slowly Shaw's eyes measured the lanky American, looking beyond the casual beige cotton shirt and trousers to read the heart of the man displayed in his sharp gaze and confident bearing. Satisfied when Kincaid met his pointed examination without flinching, Victoria's father nodded and smiled. “And this, I presume, is Mr. Sharouk.”

“I am called Ali, sir,” nodded the Egyptian, resplendent in a finely woven white
gallabiya
edged with gold embroidery. Surprised at Shaw's extended hand, the Cairene recovered quickly and completed the formality of a handshake with an Englishman.

“And you must call me Cameron,” urged Victoria's father. Gesturing toward the French doors, he led the men out onto the wide, shaded terrace where Grace had conceded to hold the irregular dinner party. “What can I fix for you gentlemen? Gin? Brandy?”

Jed, uncertain of Shaw's motives in inviting him, was in no hurry to accept a drink, but Ali replied quickly.

“Have you no
zabeeb?
” he asked. Jed rolled his eyes. Out of Fatima's sight, Ali was ready to indulge.

“No, but I think you'll find the Napoleon brandy an admirable substitute. Mr. Kincaid?” asked Cameron, handing Ali a snifter. “I thought we might lift a glass to Victoria's safe homecoming.”

“Gin will do. Your daughter called me Jed, among other things. Why don't you do the same?”

“All right, Jed,” agreed Cameron, smiling. “Victoria does have quite a temper, and while she rarely displays it unless provoked, I take it you saw a good deal of it?”

“Jed was an expert at provoking her,” said Ali, the brandy loosening his tongue. “Yet he returned as much fire as he took.”

“Speaking about returning, before the ladies join us, I would like to settle the matter of your fee—”

“Fee? Who said anything about a fee?” Jed didn't know whether to be offended or amused. Reed wanted to jail him and Shaw wanted to pay him for the same unauthorized efforts? What did the man think Victoria was? A piece of misplaced luggage for which you offered a reward? “I never asked for money—”

“No, but Reed gave me back forty-five hundred pounds of the ransom and I've taken the liberty of writing a bank draft to each of you for half of that amount—”

“I don't wish to be disrespectful, sir, but I didn't go after
Victoria
in the hopes of collecting any blasted reward—”

“Come, come, Jed, Ali lost money when he was away from his shop—”

“Only the few piasters for pieces my wife's cousin sold too cheaply,” protested the Egyptian, keeping a close eye on Jed's rapidly reddening face.

“And Jed, you make your living solving people's problems—”

“If you mean I didn't inherit a fortune, you're right, but all the same, you can take your damned money and—”

“Jed!” interrupted Ali. “I am certain Cameron meant no offense. You did him an honorable service—”

“That you did, son, and I mean to compensate you for your help. You accepted Nabar's money for reclaiming his amulet, why not take mine, though what you returned to me was more precious?”

Because I wasn't in love with his daughter
were the words Jed longed to utter, but he knew he couldn't. Instead he stalked across the veranda to stare at the burning torches leading down to the landing on the Nile.

“Look, Shaw, I didn't do it as an employee looking to earn a salary. A man does what is right because it is the right thing to do, and that's all there is to it,” pronounced Jed. Turning to confront Cameron, he permitted himself a sad smile. “Besides, during the journey back, your daughter and I became friends, and for you to compensate me for that relationship cheapens it.”

“I understand, and I apologize if I offended you,” said the older man slowly. Jed's old-fashioned creed of right for right's sake touched a chord and he couldn't help but admire the adventurer's philosophy. No wonder Victoria had referred to Kincaid as a maverick. There were few like him. “If there is ever any way I can be of service to you, you've only to ask.”

“Thank you, sir, but of course, I speak only for myself, not Ali,” clarified Jed, unwilling to deny the Egyptian the reward.

“I, too, will accept nothing,” concurred the Cairene. If Allah were kind, Fatima would never learn of the spurned offer. “Pay was not a part of our arrangement with Mr. Reed.”

“I'll say not. It is totally out of the question even to consider paying these men,” rejected Hayden as the butler led him out to the veranda. Yet he realized he would have to choose his words carefully so as not to reveal that their motive for pursuing Victoria was to avoid being jailed. As much as he would have liked to expose their true character, it would cast him in a poor light for having used such scoundrels. “They probably cheated you royally on those
essential
supplies, five hundred pounds, wasn't it?”

“Since it was your
fiancée
who was returned, and
not
your money that was spent, I wouldn't think the expenses were any of your concern,” said Jed. When Hayden colored, he smiled. Maybe the evening would not be as bad as he had feared, not if he could bait Reed. “Besides, padding an expense voucher was never my style.”

“No, I suppose it's not brazen enough,” said Reed, smarting from the counterattack.

“Ah, ladies, how glad I am that you have finally joined us,” admitted Cameron as his wife and daughter appeared, none too soon. “May I say you both look enchanting?”

At Cameron's words, Jed turned and received a glimpse of paradise. Unrecognizable as the disheveled princess he had rescued, Vicky was a stunning embodiment of beauty. The blond curls he had only seen tousled and free had been tamed into submission, drawn up to grace her head as if with a golden crown, encrusted with small pearls. Her blue gown fell softly from her shoulders to flaunt her tiny waist, baring enough of her bosom to take Jed's breath away. Still, she appeared more modestly garbed than in his memories of her naked in the moonlight, memories he had been unable to exorcize from his heart no matter how often he refused to indulge them.

“Grace, may I present Jed Kincaid and Ali Sharouk, the men who so unselfishly risked their lives to assure Victoria's return?” said the banker, interrupting Jed's reverie.

“A grandiose display that would not have been necessary had they obeyed my orders,” muttered Hayden as Jed's eyes narrowed at the barely discernible words.

“Mr. Kincaid, Mr. Sharouk, I am very pleased to meet you,” affirmed Victoria's mother. “Cameron and I owe you a great deal.”

“Nonsense, ma'am. Becoming so well acquainted with your daughter was enough reward for me,” Jed replied. As he bent to kiss Mrs. Shaw's hand, his eyes unerringly caught and held Vicky's, daring her to deny the truth of his words.

He should look out of place here in such casual attire, Victoria thought, blushing prettily at his stare. Instead, it was her father and Hayden who appeared sadly uncomfortable beside Jed's rugged masculinity. His forearms, bared by his rolled-up sleeves, displayed his muscled hardness, evoking memories she had tried desperately to eradicate.

How did he do it? In the few minutes since she had joined the others, Jed had managed to monopolize her thoughts, despite Hayden's presence. It wasn't proper, but, recalling the gentle strength with which he had held her in the desert and his solidity behind her on the camel, she couldn't take her eyes from him.

“How nice of you to say so,” Grace answered gently. “Thank you, too, Mr. Sharouk. I understand from Victoria that your assistance was invaluable.”

“And wasn't Hayden so very clever for dispatching them to find me?” Victoria asked suddenly. Fighting Jed's mesmerizing glance, she moved quickly to her fiancé, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. Perhaps that would ease the visible tension, she hoped.

“Thank you, my dear, but we
all
know who the heroes of this evening's festivities are,” Hayden said, his jaw clenched tightly.

“We'll have no false modesty, Hayden,” chided Mrs. Shaw. He was, after all, her daughter's intended, and if he came off as more timid than the wild man standing before her husband, was it his fault? He needed a bit of consolation. “We all know, too, how very anxious you were when Victoria was missing. It took remarkable judgment and no little skill on your part to find just the right envoys to succeed at such an overwhelming task.”

“Indeed, quite remarkable judgment,” snorted Jed in disgust as Victoria modestly kissed Hayden's cheek once more. Raising his drink, he emptied the glass in one swallow and moved toward the drink table, uncertain whether to take another or leave.

Ali could not have been more wrong. Pursuing Vicky would be futile. She was clearly content with her foppish diplomat. And while the choice was hers, Jed Kincaid didn't have to sit by and watch her throw herself at the pompous fool.

“Easy, Jed,” cautioned Ali quietly, coming up beside him, apart from the others. “Her eyes follow you, not Reed, and I warrant so does her heart, even if she is not ready to admit it.”

When the butler announced dinner, Jed looked quickly at Vicky, startled to see her suddenly avert her eyes. Maybe there was something in what Ali said, he considered.

Ali smiled, pleased at his small success. He cared for Jed and did not wish him hurt. Perhaps the meal would soothe the ruffled feathers of his combative friend.

“Jed, if you will sit at the other end of the table at my right,” suggested Cameron as he seated his wife. “Ali can sit next to you. Victoria and Hayden, you are over there.”

Nodding, Jed struggled to keep his face impassive. The seating arrangement had placed him directly opposite Vicky, unable to avoid her pert face, those freckles of hers vibrant reminders of their days in the sun, the long hot days of desire which, though now passed, had left him wanting her still.

“Hayden, if you will say grace,” prompted Mrs. Shaw, pointedly giving the privilege to Victoria's betrothed.

“Certainly, Mrs. Shaw. Father, we thank you for the food we are about to enjoy and the many gifts with which you have blessed us, but, most important, we thank you for your goodness in guiding Victoria through her many adversities. For it is You alone who brought her safely home to her loving family,” pronounced the diplomat. His pale eyes fixed on Jed, rather than his folded hands, daring him to challenge this interpretation of the events.

Jed, however, merely shook his head and raised his eyebrows, joining in as the others intoned “Amen.”

At Grace's signal, the butler filled their wineglasses and the maids began to serve a dainty pâté.

“Now, a toast. I ask you all to raise your glasses to Jed Kincaid, whose bravery and inventiveness brought a pleasing end to a frightening chapter in our lives. What might have transpired without his involvement does not bear thinking about,” said Cameron. “We salute you and Ali with the utmost gratitude.”