Sweet Revenge (44 page)

“Arabs are natural bargainers, and we have always understood the value of stones.”

“Of course. The ruby on your third finger. May I?”

With a lift of brow, Abdu held out his hand.

“Seven to eight carats, Burmese at a guess—excellent color, what they call a pigeon-blood red with the vitreous luster you expect from a quality stone.” Sitting back, Philip picked up his cup. “I recognize, and respect, gems of great value, Your Highness. Which is why I want your daughter.”

“You’re frank, but there is more involved in a marriage of this nature than your wants.” Abdu said nothing more for a moment. He’d given Adrianne’s marriage some thought, as
he would any minor social or political matter. If she had been of pure blood, he would never have sanctioned her marriage to a European, and certainly not some pale-skinned British gem merchant. However, her blood was tainted. She was of much less value to him than a good horse. In a small way, she could be a link between Jaquir and Europe. More important, he had no desire to have her in Jaquir.

“I’ve had little time to explore your background, Mr. Chamberlain, but what I have learned is satisfying enough.” And perhaps unlike her mother she would bear sons. Grandsons in England could be of some use in the future. “If Adrianne had remained in my house, a different marriage would have been arranged for her, one that suited her position. However, since that is not the case, I’m inclined to approve—if terms can be agreed upon.”

“I don’t claim to be an expert on your culture, but I understand that a settlement is customary.”

“The bride price, a gift which you will offer to my daughter. This gift will be hers, and remain hers.” He didn’t think of The Sun and the Moon, but Philip did. “It is also expected that you will make a gift to her family, in recompense for our loss of her.”

“I see. And what gift would recompense you for Adrianne?”

He considered toying with Philip. The reports had indicated the Englishman was wealthy, but there were things more important to Abdu than money. The first of these was pride. “Six camels.”

Though his brow shot up, Philip managed, barely, to conceal amusement. Thoughtfully, he tapped a finger on the arm of his chair. “Two.”

Abdu was more pleased than he would have been with an easy agreement. “Four.”

Though he wasn’t sure where he was going to get his hands on one camel, much less four, Philip nodded. “Agreed.”

“So it shall be written.” Still watching Philip, Abdu barked an order to a servant. “My secretary will draft the contracts, in both Arabic and English. This is satisfactory?”

“I’m in your country, Your Highness. We’ll do things your way.” He set aside his cup and longed for a cigarette. The tea was laced with some spice his British palate found
mildly objectionable. “As Adrianne’s father you would be concerned that she will be well provided for.”

Abdu’s face remained impassive. There may have been a trace of sarcasm in Philip’s voice, or it may have been the British accent. “Of course.”

“Of course. I had a million pounds in mind for her settlement.”

It was rare for Abdu to be taken by surprise, rarer still for that surprise to show on his face. The Englishman was either mad or besotted. Perhaps Adrianne, like her mother, had the power to blind a man. But the Englishman’s fate was no more concern to him than that of the daughter who reminded him, just by existing, of a mistake. He wouldn’t give her the honor of bargaining.

“It shall be written. We will have a meal this evening to introduce you to my family, and to announce the betrothal.” He rose in dismissal.

“It will be my pleasure.” He’d been prepared to find Abdu cold, but the reality was more rigid, more dispassionate than any speculation. “Will you attend the wedding in the spring?”

“The spring?” Abdu’s lips curved for the first time in what might have been a smile. “If you wish to have a ceremony in your own country, it is no concern of mine. However, the marriage will take place here, next week, as is fitting under the laws and traditions of Jaquir. You will wish to rest until this evening. A servant will show you the way.”

Philip stood where he was as Abdu left him. He might have laughed, but he doubted Adrianne would find the news amusing.

The evening was to be a mixture of the old ways and the new. Adrianne bound her hair but ignored the veil. She dressed modestly, adhering to
aurat
, things that cannot be shown, by choosing a gown with long sleeves and skirt and a high neck. But the label was Saint Laurent. Word had spread through the women’s quarters that Philip would be introduced. That alone told her that he had pulled it off. Now that Philip and the engagement had been accepted, the first stage of the plan was behind her.

It was too late to turn back. It had always been too late.

The diamond on her finger winked in the mirror as she
concealed the bruise on her cheek with makeup. Symbols, she thought, of the two men who had changed her life.

Stepping back, she took a last inventory. She’d chosen black deliberately, knowing the other women would be arrayed in peacock colors. In black she would appear only more modest and obedient. Reluctantly, she fastened the amethyst around her neck. Abdu would expect it. Until she left Jaquir she intended to go on giving him what he expected.

Philip had been right about one thing. When she allowed her emotions to surface, she became reckless. However true her words to Abdu had been that afternoon, they had been rashly said. She had the bruise to remind her that he was not now, nor had he ever been, a man to listen to a woman’s heart.

She touched a finger to it again. She wasn’t angry about the blow, or even resentful. The pain had been brief, and the mark itself served to remind her that no matter how many new buildings, new roads, new freedoms existed in Jaquir, men still ruled however they saw fit. She was less of a daughter to Abdu than she was a thing to be married off and shuttled out of the country, where whatever mistakes she made wouldn’t reflect on his honor.

She wasn’t sorry for that, but she was sorry that she had harbored a place in her heart for the hope that there might have been love and regret and reunion.

Hope was dead. Adrianne turned at the knock on the door. Now there was only purpose.

“Yellah”
Yasmin, dressed in bright striped satin, grabbed her hand. “Come on. Hurry,” she repeated in English. “My father has sent for us. Why do you wear black when red would be more flattering?” Even as Adrianne’s lips twitched, Yasmin was pulling her toward the other women.

The men were already in the salon. Abdu, three of his brothers, his two sons, a smattering of cousins. Adrianne flicked a glance at the boy who was her younger brother. He’d only be fourteen, but he was already ranged with the men. In a matter of seconds they studied one another. She saw a mirror of the curiosity she was feeling, the same grudging kinship. This time she didn’t try to prevent the smile, and was rewarded by the brief curving of his lips. In his smile she saw her grandmother.

Then there was Philip, looking wonderfully, coolly European. Like an oasis, she thought, refreshing and comforting. She wanted to reach out, if only for a moment, and link hands. Make a connection. Instead, she kept her hands folded in front of her.

He wanted five minutes alone with her. There had been no opportunity for a single word since they’d stepped off the jet. He’d have preferred to tell Adrianne about the monkey wrench Abdu had tossed in the works. Five minutes, he thought, fretting against the customs that were both cover and restraint. There was a volcano in her. He’d seen it flare briefly in her eyes that afternoon. There was no telling if Abdu’s announcement would cause it to erupt.

One by one, with a formality suited to Buckingham Palace, the women were introduced to him. In their opulent party wear they were a rainbow of dark women with dark eyes and soft voices. Some gowns were elegant, some gaudy, some chic, some foolish, but the women were all identical in attitude. Heads were lowered, eyes downcast, pretty ringed hands were folded at the ends of concealing sleeves.

He watched Adrianne step forward, at her father’s gesture, to greet her brothers. Fahid kissed her cheeks, then gave her arms a quick squeeze. “I’m happy for you, Adrianne. Welcome home.”

He meant it, she realized. While it was impossible for Jaquir to be home she felt a comfort.
I love Adrianne.
He had often said it to her, simply, honestly, in the way of children. Those children were gone, but there was something of them left in the way their eyes met, held. How could she have known, after doing without for so long, that family would mean something?

“I’m glad to see you again.” And she, too, meant it.

“Our brother Rahman.”

She waited, as was proper, for him to kiss her. It wasn’t restraint she felt from him when his lips brushed her cheeks, but shyness.

“Welcome, sister. We praise Allah for bringing you back to us.”

Rahman. He had the eyes of a poet and the name of their great-grandfather, the warrior. Adrianne wanted to speak with him, forge some link. But Abdu was looking at her.

Philip continued to watch as she was presented to the rest of her family. Her younger brother he recognized as the boy who had been praying in the room close to his own. How would it feel, he wondered, to face a brother you’d never seen before? Strange, but until now he’d never considered the fact that he might have siblings. He thought of the gulf between Adrianne and the other children of her father. Perhaps it was best never to know.

She was speaking Arabic smoothly, musically. That more than anything made the entire scene like a dream. Though he willed her to, she didn’t even glance in his direction, but moved, as directed, to Abdu’s side.

“Tonight we rejoice.” In deference to Philip, Abdu spoke in clear, precise English. “I give this woman of my family to this man. Under the will of Allah, and for His honor, they shall be married.” Taking Adrianne’s hand, he placed it in Philip’s. “May she be a fruitful and modest wife.”

Adrianne might have smiled at that, but she saw her grandmother, supported by younger women, wipe a tear from her eye.

“The documents have been signed,” Abdu continued. “The price set. The ceremony will take place one week from today.
Inshallah”

Philip felt her fingers jerk in his. Her head came up, and for two heartbeats the volcano was there, smoldering. Then she was lowering her eyes again and accepting wishes for happiness and children.

They still had exchanged no words when she, along with the other women, filed out to where they could celebrate out of sight of the men.

Adrianne’s dreams were disturbing enough to make her toss in bed. They weren’t clear. One bled formlessly into the next, leaving her with a feeling of unease and grief. She’d hoped to exhaust herself, then escape into sleep. After all the chattering about wedding dresses and wedding nights, she
had
been exhausted. But a sleep chased by dreams wasn’t escape.

When a hand covered her mouth, she shot up in bed, one hand grabbing a wrist, the other groping for purchase.

“Easy.” Philip said the word in a whisper directly into
her ear. “You start yelling and your relatives are going to cut vital little pieces off my body.”

“Philip.” The first wave of relief was so
intense
, she threw her arms around him. He slid easily to the bed with her, then cut off even her murmur with his mouth. That was it, the taste he’d needed, craved, all evening. He hadn’t known need could build so high in a matter of hours, or that worry could press like an anvil’s weight on the back of the neck.

“I’ve been going crazy,” he muttered against her throat. “Wondering when I could talk to you, touch you. I want you, Addy.” He nipped lightly at her ear. “Now.”

On a murmured agreement she combed her fingers through his hair. The next instant she was shoving him aside and sitting up. “Goddammit, what are you doing in here? Do you know what will happen if they find you?”

“I missed you too.”

“This isn’t a joke. They still have public beheadings near the suqs.”

“I don’t intend to lose my head over you.” He took her hand and brought it to his lips. “Any more than I already have.”

“You’re a fool.” And her pulse was thready.

“A romantic.”

“Same thing.” Tossing the sheet aside, she scrambled out of bed. “We have to get you out of here, and quickly.”

“Not until we talk. Adrianne, it’s three in the morning. Everyone’s in bed loaded down with lamb and pomegranates.”

She dropped back on the bed. Five minutes longer wouldn’t hurt, she told herself. And it was so good to have him there. “How did you get into the women’s quarters?”

“The tunnel.” He’d been right. He could find a mole in the dark.

“Good God, Philip, if you’d been seen—”

“Wasn’t.”

“Will you listen to me?”

“I’m all ears.”

“And hands.” She batted them away. “It’s a foolish enough risk for you to be out of your own wing, but here …” She paused long enough to pull his light and clever fingers away from the buttons on her nightshirt. “How did you find my room?”

“I have my ways.”

“Philip.”

“A little tracking device on your makeup case.”

With a sound of disgust she rose to pace. “You’ve been with Interpol too long. If you keep treating this like something out of a spy novel, you are going to lose your head.”

“I needed to see you. I needed to see that you were all right.”

“I appreciate that, but you were supposed to wait until I contacted you.”

“I didn’t. Would you like to waste time arguing about it?”

“No.” She didn’t think it was wise to risk the lamp, but lighted two candles instead. “I suppose it’s best if we do talk after Abdu’s little bombshell.”

“I’m sorry it was sprung on you that way. It was impossible to warn you.”

“More to the point, what are we going to do about it?”

“What can we do?” The trace of smugness in his voice wasn’t lost on her. “I’ve signed on the dotted line. I seriously doubt if we can manage to steal the necklace and work out an alternate way of leaving the country in less than a week.”