The Pleasure of Your Kiss (35 page)

Farouk scowled down at her for a moment, then threw up his hands in frustration. “What am I to do with the both of you? Am I supposed to let your insult to my pride and to the honor of my forefathers go unavenged? If I set you free now, how will I ever be able to hold up my head among my own people?”

No one even noticed Poppy had slid off the chestnut until she tugged on the sleeve of Farouk’s robe. “I believe I might have a solution for your quandary, Your Majesty. You can take me instead of her.”

“Poppy, no!” Clarinda cried, horrified that her defiance had led to this.

Ignoring Clarinda, Poppy continued talking to Farouk as if they were the only two people on the beach. “Weren’t you the one who told me one woman in your bed was as good as the next? And just think how deliciously vengeful you’ll appear when everyone believes you ripped Clarinda’s dearest friend from her arms and forced her to become your concubine to punish Clarinda for running away with Captain Burke.” Poppy’s eyes sparkled behind her spectacles as she lowered her voice to a stage whisper. “You can even chain me in the dungeon for a few nights if it will make you look more dastardly.”

Farouk gazed down at Poppy for a long moment with no expression whatsoever before taking a threatening step toward her. “Your attempt to spare your friend my wrath is a noble one, Miss Montmorency. But if you think you are going to get off that lightly, you are mistaken.”

Visibly alarmed by the look in his eye, Poppy began to back away from him. He followed her step for step, towering over her. “You underestimate my thirst for vengeance. I am not going to make you my concubine. I am going to make you my wife.” Clarinda’s mouth fell open in shock as he continued stalking Poppy. “That way I will have a lifetime in which to make you pay for your friend’s misdeeds.”

Poppy stopped retreating and stood her ground, resting her hands on her generous hips. “Contrary to what most people believe, I do have my pride. What makes you think I would stoop to accepting such a romantic and heartfelt proposal?”

“This.” Farouk hauled her into his arms and kissed her without an ounce of the polite restraint he had always shown Clarinda. Clarinda and Ash exchanged a stupefied glance, and for once even Luca was speechless.

Yasmin rolled her eyes. “It sounds like a fair trade to me. The silly cow is large enough to make two of us.”

The kiss went on for so long that Farouk’s guards began to awkwardly shuffle their feet and look at the ground. Everyone knew Farouk wasn’t worried about them revealing anything they had witnessed on this night. They were too attached to their tongues.

Farouk finally drew away from Poppy, lifting a hand to smooth back her hair as he gazed into her eyes with the utmost tenderness. “I have a responsibility to the women already under my protection. I may not be able to make you my only wife in the tradition of your people, but I swear to you on the blood of my forefathers that you will be my last wife.”

Poppy sniffed. “Well, in that case, my answer is yes.”

Clarinda might have suspected she was losing her mind if several puzzle pieces hadn’t suddenly fallen into place. “Wait just one minute,” she said.

Farouk and Poppy faced her, looking like two children who had just been caught with their hands in the biscuit jar.

Clarinda pointed an accusing finger at Farouk. “When you were going on and on in the hammam that morning about there being only ‘one true mate for every man’ and that to ‘embrace her was to embrace your destiny,’ you weren’t talking about me, were you?”

Farouk’s brow furrowed in a puzzled frown. “How did you know about that?”

“Never mind that.” Clarinda shifted her attention to Poppy. “And that big basket of
ktefa
Farouk sent to the harem wasn’t for me, either, was it? It was for you. He was courting you behind my back, wasn’t he?” Clarinda wagged a finger at Farouk. “You sly dog! You should be ashamed of yourself!”

He gave her an arch look.

“But I can certainly see why you’re not. And, Poppy, you’re nothing but a sneaky little tart!” Clarinda exclaimed, no longer able to hide her delight at this unexpected turn of events. “You finally managed to find a secret you could keep, didn’t you?”

In response, Poppy mimed turning a key at her beaming lips and tossing it over her shoulder.

Slipping an arm around Poppy’s shoulders as if it had always belonged there, Farouk swept his stern gaze over Clarinda and Ash. “Since Miss Montmorency has so nobly agreed to pay your debt, you are free to go. But I want my horse back.” He signaled to one of his guards. “You may take the chestnut instead.”

“Have you gone mad?” Tarik rushed forward, all but foaming at the mouth. “I cannot believe you are just going to let him go! Why, he may even be the one behind the attempts on your life! Did he not appear on the very day you were first attacked by the assassins? And was he not in the courtyard on the day the stone nearly crushed you to death?”

“He was the one who saved me,” Farouk patiently pointed out.

Tarik spun around and pointed an accusing finger at Luca. “What of him then? Where was the Romany jackal when the stone fell? Does anyone know?”

“There is a certain lovely slave girl who might be able to attest as to my whereabouts that afternoon,” Luca offered.

Ash stepped forward and said calmly, “Perhaps you should ask your uncle where he was on that day.”

Tarik gaped at Ash for a minute before barking, “Do not listen to him! Why would you even think about believing this infidel or his whore? They have already proven there is no truth in them. Nothing but poison and lies spew from their lips!”

Farouk eyed Ash warily. “What are you trying to say?”

Ash shrugged. “Sometimes a man has no need to look outside his walls for his enemies.”

Farouk slowly turned to study his uncle, the disbelief on his face rapidly turning to appalled fury. “You? You would seek to kill the only son of your own brother? Your own blood?”

Tarik lifted a hand as if to ward off a blow. “The assassins were not supposed to kill you.” Too late, he realized his mistake. The color drained from his rage-mottled cheeks. “They were only supposed to wound you. To make you angry.”

Judging by the murderous glitter in Farouk’s obsidian eyes, Tarik had succeeded beyond his wildest dreams.

“And what of the stone? Was that supposed to
wound
me as well?”

“A simple miscalculation. You were closer to the wall than I realized. Do you not see?” Tarik pleaded, taking a step away from his nephew. “I did it for your own good. For the good of all El Jadida. I had to wake you up to the dangers that surround us on all sides. I had to make you see that you cannot afford to relax your guard or negotiate with those who seek to do you harm and take what is yours. The only way for a man to prove himself a true lion of El Jadida is not through treaties or by inviting his enemies to break bread with him but on the battlefield with a sword in his hand and a battle cry on his lips.”

“So you would have had me attack our innocent neighbors while my true enemy sat at my own table and broke bread with me?” Gently setting Poppy aside, Farouk swept a scimitar from one of his guard’s hands and advanced on his uncle, his upper lip curled in disgust.

Tarik scrambled backward but there was nowhere he could go to escape his nephew’s towering shadow. “Please, my son! I beg of you … mercy …”

“I am not your son.”

Farouk drew back the weapon, its blade glinting in the moonlight. Ash pulled Clarinda back into his arms, pressing her face into his chest. She clutched at the front of his robe and squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could close her ears as well to spare them the sound that would come next.

Instead, she heard Poppy’s cheerful voice. “It occurs to me, Your Majesty, that if I am not to be chained in your dungeon on this night, you just might have a vacancy. And what better way to usher in a new era for El Jadida than to show your subjects that mercy is not a sign of weakness but a measure of a ruler’s strength.”

Clarinda dared to steal a peek at Farouk, waiting for him to chide Poppy—a mere woman—for daring to interfere in his business.

Farouk slowly lowered the sword, his furious snarl turning into a contemptuous sneer. “Get the traitor out of my sight.”

Tarik collapsed on the sand, gibbering in Arabic. As two of the guards hauled him to his feet and dragged him to one of their mounts, Farouk turned to face Ash and Clarinda once again.

“Before you go,” he told Ash, “I would like to have a word with Miss Cardew. In private.”

Ash’s arms tightened around her but Clarinda said, “It’s all right,” and gently eased herself from them.

Ash folded his arms over his chest and watched them walk to the edge of the water, never once taking his eyes off her.

Farouk rested his hands gently on her shoulders, gazing down at her face with a bittersweet mix of tenderness and regret. “I wanted to tell you that you were right. I never loved you. But I did like you very,
very
much. Until you came along, I had never entertained the notion that a woman could be more than just a body to warm my bed. That she could be my friend. But you were.”

She smiled up at him. “If you harm Poppy in any way—including breaking her heart—I shall no longer be your friend. And I can promise you that I would make a most formidable enemy.”

The look he gave Poppy in that moment proved there was little danger of that. “I will consider her heart my greatest treasure and guard it with my life. I swear it upon the honor of my forefathers.”

Rising up on her tiptoes, Clarinda threw her arms around his neck and gave him a brief but fierce hug. “Thank you,” she whispered, surprised to find her throat so tight she could barely speak. “For everything.”

Farouk returned to Poppy’s side while Clarinda strolled back to Ash, finally able to enjoy the gentle breeze and the murmur of the surf against the sand. One of the guards had swapped the chestnut for the stallion while she and Farouk said their good-byes.

Holding the horse’s reins, Ash watched her approach, his amber eyes as opaque as the desert sands. “For a minute there, I thought you were going to change your mind and beg Farouk to take you back to his harem.”

“Why, Captain Burke,” she said, unable to resist giving him a mocking smile, “for a man who is only doing his job, you certainly have a jealous streak.”

C
larinda sat on a rock near the gently burbling spring, gazing up at the sky. After her months in captivity, the vast sweep of stars was almost too much for her eye to embrace. When they had first seen the oasis wink into view in the moonlight after plodding across the shifting sands of the desert for over three hours, she had thought it must be a mirage, a trick being played on her mind by her weary body. But as they had drawn closer, the oasis hadn’t vanished but grown even larger and more enticing. One side of the pool was fringed with swaying palms, the other open to the glittering vista of sand and sky.

With Farouk’s blessing they had turned their backs on the coast and headed inland across the desert. If any of them had found it odd that the sultan had set off in pursuit of them with his guard carrying extra water and supplies, including a small tent, they had been wise enough not to mention it. They had simply thanked him for his generosity and patiently waited while Clarinda bid Poppy a second tearful farewell.

Tucking her hands in the sleeves of her robe, Clarinda rubbed her arms to ward off the night chill. She was going to miss her loyal friend more than she could say. Poppy had promised she would coax Farouk into returning to England for a visit as soon as possible. Given the openly adoring glances the sultan had been casting at her friend, Clarinda had no reason to doubt Poppy’s words. She shook her head, marveling once again at the mysterious workings of the heart.

Her own heart thudded heavily in her breast as she heard a footstep in the sand behind her. Ash dropped the robe he had been wearing during their flight from the palace over her shoulders, enfolding her in the warm, masculine musk of his scent. “Most people don’t realize how cold the desert can be at night,” he said, propping one foot on the rock where she sat.

He tipped back his head to study the sky, his profile as inscrutable as its glittering face. He had stripped down to his breeches and shirtsleeves and pushed those sleeves up to reveal powerful forearms lightly dusted with fawn-colored hair.

Although the tent had been set up at the far end of the pool, beneath the sheltering fronds of the palms, Yasmin’s shrill voice still carried easily through the hush of the desert night. “You are a pig dog. Your mother was a pig and your father was a dog!”

“Ah,
cara mia
! How I adore it when you talk so sweetly to me!”

Luca’s tender reply elicited an outraged shriek from Yasmin, followed by the sound of shattering pottery.

Then all was ominous silence.

“They’ve been bickering since we left the coast. Do you think they’ve finally killed one another?” Clarinda asked, more worried about Luca than Yasmin.

“I daresay they’ll die in one another’s arms before this night is done,” Ash replied cryptically. “Or at least before we reach Max’s encampment.”

“Max?”
Clarinda echoed, reeling with shock. “Maximillian is
here
? In Morocco?”

Ash nodded. “He’s set up camp with his men just outside of Marrakech. It shouldn’t take us more than three days to get there.”

Three days,
Clarinda thought, the very words making her heart go numb.

All this time she had pictured her fiancé sitting safely behind some desk at his outpost in Burma, not camped three days away from where she was being held captive in Farouk’s harem. She had assumed Ash would have to transport her to Burma by ship. That they would spend long, lazy days—and nights—together at sea before he sauntered back out of her life for good.

Three days was nothing but a wink of time after a decade of waiting. Until he had materialized in Farouk’s courtyard like a mirage, Clarinda hadn’t even realized she had still been waiting. She had genuinely believed she had been moving forward toward the future. A future with Max. A future without Ash.