Her Every Pleasure (20 page)

“Your point is well taken, Colonel. Still, I intend to confront the Turkish ambassador—”

“Let Lord Griffith do it,” he ordered.

“Don’t tell me what to do!” She pulled her arm angrily out of his light hold. “I want to look into that blackguard’s eyes and see for myself if he knows who is trying to kill me! I’m going to put this knife in front of him and see if I can call his bluff. I am not naïve—I don’t expect the ambassador to be honest with me, but if I take him off guard, he may betray some telltale sign that he knows something—or not. Either way, it will be useful information.”

“This is not a card game.”

“You think I don’t know that? I’m the one they’re trying to kill! With all due respect, Colonel, I think I understand the stakes slightly better than you do.”

He clenched his jaw and lifted a long-suffering gaze to the ceiling.

“If the plot against me is coming from Ali Pasha alone,” she continued, “then the Turkish ambassador will let the Sultan know that his petty tyrant in Albania is up to his old tricks. Sultan Mahmud has his own interests in the region and might not appreciate Ali Pasha taking it upon himself to start making mischief again. Sultan Mahmud can crack down on Ali Pasha as nobody else can—if he chooses.”

“And what if it’s not Ali Pasha? Then what are you going to do?” Gabriel pressed her. “What if you go in there and find that the plot originated with Sultan Mahmud himself?”

“Don’t think I haven’t thought of that,” she assured him defiantly. “I know full well the Sultan could be the one behind this, only using Ali Pasha to do his dirty work for him. And if that’s the case, then I might as well know it, because that means I’m probably doomed.”

“Well, if you’re doomed, damn it, so am I,” he said in a soft, fierce tone.

She looked into his eyes, taken aback; Gabriel shook his head at her, won over in spite of himself.

He gave her a reluctant little smile, and slowly, she returned it.

The reminder that he was on her side seemed to shore up her resolve. She lifted her chin, then glanced at the door to the Map Room. “Why don’t we confront him together?”

Gabriel considered it, saw he could not stop her, and then decided it was better to go in there with her and at least try to rein her in a bit. “Listen.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “Back in the army, Derek and I always had this strategy that usually worked in these kinds of situations.”

“What was the strategy?”

“Whenever we had to have an unpleasant
discussion
with someone, he would be agreeable while I would scare the hell out of them. Between the two of us, it usually seemed to get results.”

“I love it,” she said at once. “I’ll be the scary one!”

“You?” He furrowed his brow while she smiled and tweaked a button on his coat.

“I can get away with more than you can,” she replied. “Let’s go.” She ordered her Greeks to hold their posts, then the two of them continued striding toward the Map Room.

Gabriel escorted her, somewhat beside her, but minding his place half a step behind her. “Don’t overdo it, darling,” he warned under his breath as both of them stared straight ahead. “If you overplay your hand, you’ll look bad to Griff and I could end up sacked—not that I’d mind so much, but somebody’s got to protect you.”

“Trust me. I wouldn’t get my favorite bodyguard sacked.”

“There’s something I want to talk to you about, by the way,” he added grimly as they approached the door.

She glanced at him in question.

“Later,” he murmured.

She nodded and stepped ahead of him. Then, without further ado, she burst into the Map Room where his kinsman was in parley with the fearsome Sultan’s representative.

Gabriel prayed he wasn’t making a big mistake by going along with this, but he had to give her a chance. It was time to find out what his princess was really made of.

Seated informally across from each other at one of the sturdy oak tables, Lord Griffith and the Turkish ambassador looked over in surprise.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Sophia flung out, the sudden draft from the opened door making the many candles throughout the room flicker.

“Your Highness!” Lord Griffith started to rise at her entrance, but she waved off his courtesy.

“You said we needed evidence, Marquess. We found it.”

Lord Griffith furrowed his brow and glanced past her at Gabriel, sending his kinsman a questioning look.

Her brawny ally muttered a convincing apology, as if he had no control over her or of this matter.

When Sophia reached the men’s table, she jabbed the curved Arabic dagger down into the wooden tabletop right in front of the startled Turkish ambassador.

“What is the meaning of this?” he exclaimed. Turbaned and silken-robed, the Ottoman grandee pulled back from her a bit in puzzled alarm.

“I was hoping that you could tell me that yourself, Mr. Ambassador,” she replied, bracing one hand on the table and the other on her hip as she leaned down to stare at him matter-of-factly. She did not take her eyes off him, but instead held his gaze, noting every shift and flicker of thought and emotion in his weathered countenance.

The Turk glanced from her to Lord Griffith, who, in turn, looked horrified by their intrusion.

“Your Highness, what on earth is going on?” the marquess exclaimed.

“I came to ask a favor of the ambassador,” she replied in brash insolence, turning back to the Ottoman. “Sir: When you return this weapon to its rightful owner, tell him I am looking forward to our next meeting. I shall enjoy the chance to skewer him!”

The Ottoman ambassador was glaring at her with an affronted look. “I am afraid, Your Highness,” he said slowly in English, his Near East accent softened by French-trained pronunciations, “that I do not understand.”

“No? Well, that is a pity. Allow me to explain.”

“Perhaps it would be better if I tried—” Gabriel started in a placating tone.

“Silence!” she ordered sharply—just to keep him out of trouble with his superiors on the British side. “I can speak for myself, Colonel. I’m a woman, not a fool! And the Ottomans would do well to heed that, too,” she declared. “I wish all my neighbors in the region to understand that though I am young and a female, my father’s throne is ancient, and I will not be trifled with.”

Gabriel gave a low cough into his fist. “Of course. I beg your pardon, Highness.”

When she glanced over at him, his eyes communicated encouragement at odds with his mask of obedience. She fought back a smile, discovering that it warmed the very cockles of her heart to have an ally like him at a moment like this.

But when she turned back to the Turkish ambassador once more, she assumed her royal glower. “You see, gentlemen, Colonel Knight and I just returned from searching the spot on the road where
someone
tried to kidnap me the other night—or kill me—it’s hard to say for certain which, but why split hairs? We found this dagger there and, as you can see, it comes from your corner of the world.”

“If Her Highness is implying—but this is absurd!” the Turk cried, glancing from her to Lord Griffith in protest. “The Porte Sublime has no designs on Kavros!”

“Good,” Sophia said coolly. “In that case, Sultan Mahmud might wish to have a word with Ali Pasha. If he has his eye on my nation, someone ought to tell him not to try it. He will fail.”

The Ottoman ambassador appeared confounded. Sophia was starting to think that he knew nothing, but actions spoke louder than words. When he gave them some solid assistance in finding out who was behind this, then she’d accept his claims of innocence.

Lord Griffith, for his part, looked like he wanted to strangle her. “May I remind Her Highness that England has no quarrel with the Turks?”

“Nor do we want one,” Gabriel hastened to interject. He gave the Sultan’s agent a courteous smile. “If the ambassador is in a position to help us, then I am certain he will do so.”

“Humph!” Sophia conceded with a haughty toss of her head, but she sensed her role in this little drama had come to an end. Time to exit left and let her able partner take center stage.

“Gentlemen,” she clipped out in terse farewell. She pivoted and without a backward glance, swept from the chamber.

But unseen by the others, she sent Gabriel a wink full of cheeky satisfaction as she passed him.

Pulling the door to the Map Room shut behind her, Sophia leaned back against it for a second and let out a large exhalation.
Well, that was somewhat reassuring.

Judging by the ambassador’s reaction, she did not get the feeling that the Ottomans were the ones who were trying to kill her. And that was certainly good news.

“Your Highness?” Timo stepped toward her and searched her face in concern. “Is everything all right?”

She gazed fondly at him. “My old friend. Everything’s just fine. Come.” She rallied her spent strength after that nerve-racking confrontation. “I wish to retire to my chambers.”

He snapped his fingers at the others. They fell into formation. Sophia’s step was light as she returned to her gilded apartments with her retinue of trusty Greeks in tow.

Gabriel stepped to the fore, loosely clasping his hands as he approached the men. The placating role was wholly unfamiliar, nor did he like it much. But she was worth it, he supposed, this blow to his warrior pride. “I beg your pardon, sirs, for this intrusion by the princess. I could not stop her—Her Highness was terribly upset. I can only hope you gentlemen will understand the poor girl is distraught over the attempt on her life.”

Griff eyed him warily, but the Turkish ambassador begrudged him a somewhat mollified nod.

“I am certain Her Highness would have wished me to assure you that Kavros welcomes the friendship of the great Sultan Mahmud. Which is why,” he added, explaining in a delicate tone, “we thought it proper to warn the Sultan of any possible new intrigues arising from Janina. We would certainly wish to save His Serene Majesty from any embarrassment or…inconvenience. Just in case the Porte Sublime is not already aware of such activities, that is.”

“Sultan Mahmud prides himself on knowing everything that transpires throughout his domains,” the ambassador answered with an indignant lift of his chin.

“Of course, sir.” Gabriel bowed modestly.

“If there is any such mischief afoot, we will certainly get to the bottom of it immediately.”

“Mr. Ambassador, that is all we ask. We should be extremely grateful for whatever information you are able to provide.” He paused. “By the by, sir, may I show you the markings on this blade? They are most unusual.” Gabriel pulled the knife out of the table with a wrench, then presented the flat of the blade to the Turkish ambassador. “Have you ever seen these symbols before?”

Gabriel studied the Ottoman’s face intensely, and saw how the ambassador paled as his stare locked on the odd little squiggle at the base of the blade, quite apart from the Koranic verses inscribed on the hilt.

“Is this symbol familiar to you?”

“No, I—I have never seen it before. May I—take this with me to show to my colleagues? Perhaps one of them may be able to identify the mark.”

Gabriel nodded. “Indeed, sir. We would appreciate that.”

Quickly masking his consternation, the Turkish ambassador rose from his chair and bowed to them. “Lord Griffith, Colonel. Her Highness may rest assured I will do all in my power to unearth whatever information I can to add to her protection.”

“We thank you, sir.
Shukran. Masaa’ alkhayr.
” Gabriel gave the Turk a bow in the Eastern fashion hand to heart.

The ambassador returned it, bid Griff a good evening, and then hurried off to start making inquiries of his own about the attempt on Sophia’s life.

As Gabriel watched him leave the room, he wondered just what the man knew about the symbol on that dagger. The mysterious markings definitely seemed to worry him.

The door closed and his suave brother-in-law instantly turned to him with a rare show of anger. “What the hell was that little stunt?”

CHAPTER
         ELEVEN         

G
abriel bristled. “Sorry?”

“You expect me to believe that young chit could run roughshod over you? You had a part in this, do not deny it! Don’t you realize what a catastrophe that could have been?”

“But it wasn’t,” he said coolly.

Griff glared at him, but backed off a bit. “Gabriel, you
can’t
let the girl go tearing about in this fashion. Good God, after growing up with a spitfire like your sister, I’d have thought you could handle the princess better than that!”

“
Handle
her?” His face darkened as he took umbrage at his kinsman’s words. “I thought it was my duty to protect her, Griff.”

“Yes, from herself, if need be, as well as from would-be assassins.”

“Beg your pardon, old man, but considering all the girl’s got on the line in this—she’s risking heart and soul and blood in this quest of hers—don’t you think you’re being just a little condescending toward her?”

“Condescending?”

“Do not underestimate this woman. Her Highness is more than just a pretty young thing who happens to have the right lineage for our purposes. She is young, true, but she has great courage and more brains than the average man.”

“Does she, indeed?” Griff folded his arms across his chest and stared at him. “Don’t tell me she’s gotten to you, too?”

“Of course not! Don’t be absurd,” Gabriel muttered with a scowl. The blunt question confused him; his guarded response was automatic, if not entirely honest. “I just…think you should be fair to her, that’s all.”

“Well, she’s not the only one risking herself here. The stakes are high for us, too. She simply can’t go running about half-cocked making accusations against England’s allies—”

“Ah, don’t blame her, it was my idea,” Gabriel admitted with a dismissive wave of his hand.

“
Your
idea?”

“Well, it worked, didn’t it?”

“Gabriel!”

“You saw the ambassador’s reaction to the markings on that blade! You still think there’s no merit to Sophia’s suspicion of the Turks?”

“I don’t know, anything’s possible!” Griff exclaimed with a confounded gesture. “Ali Pasha would
seem
to be the likely villain here, but why would he try it? He’s the first one who’d be suspected, and besides, that brute stands more to gain by the new treaty than we do. As for Sultan Mahmud, I can’t see what he’d stand to gain by harming the girl.”

Gabriel furrowed his brow in thought. “What manner of man is the sultan?”

Griff shrugged. “Mahmud is widely known as a reformer. He’s been surprisingly receptive to Western ways. He prefers the French to us, of course, but he has been basically peaceful. If he gives anyone problems, it’s the Russians. They’re still squabbling over control of the Dardanelles.”

Gabriel nodded.

“Now…if we were dealing with his predecessor,” Griff said slowly, “his half brother, Mustafa the Fourth, then I would certainly give more credence to Sophia’s accusations. The previous Sultan was a dangerous and evil religious fanatic. He betrayed his half brother, Sultan Selim, another reformer, so he could gain power. Had him murdered in his harem, for God’s sake.

“Mustafa surrounded himself with viziers and sheiks who wanted to expunge all Western influence and take the Ottoman Empire back to the bloody Dark Ages. But fortunately, Mustafa was only in power for a very short time. The present Sultan Mahmud’s supporters destroyed him. Now Mustafa is dead, his core of supporters scattered to the winds. With a reasonable man like Mahmud in power, I cannot imagine that the Porte Sublime would undertake such an adventure as trying to take over Kavros.”

“Yes, it doesn’t sound like it,” Gabriel agreed. “Perhaps the ambassador will be able to shed some light on all this. For what it’s worth, I don’t think Sophia alienated him too badly.”

“Well, she went about as far up to the line as she could without crossing it.”

“Somebody’s trying to kill her, Griff. We still don’t know yet who or why. She’s scared.”

“Luckily, she’s got you,” Griff replied wryly. “She got away with it this time, but it had better not happen again. And as your kinsman,” he added delicately, “I would remind you that you, too, must be careful about stepping over any lines, my friend.”

Gabriel eyed him warily. The man was too perceptive.

“I will talk to her,” Gabriel assured him in a low tone. “Let me know if the ambassador learns anything of interest, will you?”

Griff nodded with a piercing look, and Gabriel took leave of him.

Striding through the castle on his way to the royal apartments, he felt a twinge of guilt for being less than forthcoming with his kinsman about his feelings for Sophia, but what was he to say? He was not even sure what he felt or what she felt, or if he’d be allowed to remain at his post if the truth were known. He could not leave her. Shrugging off the tangle of emotions, he turned his mind to practical matters and weighed Sophia’s certainty of Ali Pasha’s guilt against Griff’s insistence that the Terrible Turk would not risk breaking his new British treaty; then he considered both sides against his own newfound suspicions that one of her Greek bodyguards might have turned traitor.

He did not want to broach the subject with Sophia after all she had been through—he knew it was going to upset her—but her safety was at stake. Besides, if he spoke to her about it, he might discover there was someone in her entourage whom she already doubted.

He made a mental note to post a few British soldiers from the castle’s garrison around Sophia as an added layer of protection in case her Greeks could not be trusted. Then he reminded himself to review Leon’s logbook tomorrow and any other recent notes or writings from the late head of security. If Leon had known or suspected something about the threat against Sophia, he might have kept records on any leads in the matter before he was killed.

Arriving before her suite of rooms several minutes later, Gabriel tensed when he saw four of Sophia’s Greek guards posted, as usual, outside her door.

He gave no sign of his suspicions. “Is she at home?”

Niko nodded, and then Gabriel noticed with some irony that the swarthy Greeks were eyeing him as skeptically as he regarded them.

He ignored the undercurrent of resentment coming from her bodyguards and banged loudly on the door, bracing himself for what was sure to be a difficult conversation.

The door opened, but it was not Sophia who answered. He found himself face to face with the languid blonde he had seen with the princess earlier.

He bowed to her. “Ma’am. I am Colonel Knight.”

The young woman smiled with a brief glance flicking over him. “I know.”

Gabriel paused, taking in the speculative gleam in her eyes. “I would like a word with Her Highness, if I may.”

“Of course, Colonel. She’s been expecting you.”

“You are…Lady Alexa?”

“I am,” she answered, straightening up and looking pleased to have been acknowledged.

“Pleasure.” He gave her a perfunctory bow, his hand resting on his gleaming sword hilt.

“The pleasure is mine, Colonel.” From the corner of his eye, he noticed the two Greeks staring at Lady Alexa with panting looks.

He furrowed his brow, his manner toward her turning even more businesslike. “I understand you were there the night of the ambush.”

She nodded with a pouting little frown.

“I hope you are quite recovered from your ordeal.”

She peeked at him from under her lashes. “I’m well,” she said in a tremulous voice. “How gallant of you to ask.”

“If it is not inconvenient, I should like to talk to you about your experience—”

One of the Greeks nearby coughed. The sound bore a striking resemblance to stifled laughter.

Raising a brow, he looked over, and the lusty mirth on the men’s faces as they exchanged a glance made him wonder what exactly Lady Alexa had been doing with the bodyguards.

He turned to her again. “Your, er, experience of that night,” he clarified.

“Gladly, Colonel. I am at your disposal,” she murmured, curving her voluptuous body against the frame of the open door. Leaning there, her receptive pose lifted her ripe breasts for his inspection, as if she wanted to make sure he saw them.

Which he certainly did.

Gabriel faltered slightly.

Perhaps the full size of his libido had gone cramped and stifled much too long, locked up in the iron safe of his good intentions.

It occurred to him in hindsight that if his rakish brother had ever truly intended to send him a whore, Derek would have chosen someone like Lady Alexa.

A flash of memory zoomed through his mind of his younger, wilder years, and his ardent study of India’s Kama Sutra. Back then, he’d have kept a woman like Alexa very busy, indeed. Alas, his tastes had evolved from those simpler days. Complicated women were so much more trouble.

“Alexa, let the man in!” Her Highness ordered her lady-in-waiting from somewhere inside her apartments.

She sounded a little exasperated—and no wonder, that.

Sophia’s friend had a body, all right, but Gabriel wasn’t sure she had a brain.

Lady Alexa opened the door for him with a giggle and watched him appreciatively as he brushed past her.

“One moment, Colonel! Make yourself at home,” Sophia called from an adjoining chamber that opened off the left wall of her sprawling suite, up a few, wide, shallow, marble steps.

To his right, as he sauntered in, a dainty cluster of striped satin couches and chairs were arranged around the white fireplace in elegant informality. But then, he stopped, for straight ahead at the far end of the room stood a huge canopied bed. Oh, God. He was standing in her bedroom.

He tried hard not to look at her bed, for his thoughts went instantly where they should not. Desires teased awake by her ninny-headed friend bloomed into fullblown lust by the true object of his obsession.

Especially when she emerged from her dressing room just then, clad in a long, wispy negligee of black silk with a matching robe. Gabriel’s breath rushed from his lungs at the sight of her—long, soft, midnight curls flowing back over her shoulders, unbound, the black silk of her nightdress wafting over her lithe curves and trailing along the marble steps as she strode toward him.

“Leave us,” Sophia ordered Lady Alexa, while Gabriel stared, transfixed.

“Good night, Colonel,” Alexa squeaked.

He glanced over in dazed distraction, barely seeing the blonde before she slipped out of the room. As soon as he caught his breath, his pulse began to pound.

“Hullo, my friend!” Sophia greeted him with breezy confidence, lifting her glass of dark, ruby-red wine to her lips with an air of sophistication as she joined him. “I think our ploy went smashingly, don’t you? What was your verdict? Tell me yours and then I’ll tell you mine. Sit, please. Do you want some wine?”

“Uh.” Not knowing where to look, he opted for the floor, but even with his gaze downcast, he could still see her lovely feet in high-heeled mules of matching black silk. The ebony gauze of her negligee was also transparent enough to show him the trim, sleek lines of her beautiful legs. He could still feel them wrapped around his hips. The memory flooded his mind of the way she had arched beneath him that night in his bed, begging him to take her.

He swallowed hard, cursing his body for the tingling sensations rushing into his groin. No, no. Now, there would be none of that. He redirected his stare toward a safer location, namely, the painted ceiling.

Clasping his hands politely behind his back, he tried like hell to remember why he’d come before she had stunned his male brain.

“Here.” She stepped closer to him. “Taste this.”

“What?” he croaked.

“This,”
she informed him, lifting her glass to him, “is a proper glass of wine.”

“I am on duty,” he responded stiffly.

She laughed at him. “Iron man! I
order
you to try this wine. It’s Greek. Besides, we must celebrate our victory.”

“What victory is that?”

“The Ottomans aren’t trying to kill me! At least I think they’re not. What was your conclusion?”