The Pleasure of Your Kiss (7 page)

He impatiently brushed away Luca’s hand. “There’s only one cure for what ails me. And that’s to finish this job and get the bloody hell out of this godforsaken country.”

He was rising to retrieve their horses when Luca grabbed him by the sleeve and jerked him back down. “Look!”

Following Luca’s gaze, Ash trained the spyglass on the opposite bluff. Five riders in black, flowing robes had just melted out of the desert. The men were watching the sultan canter back and forth across the valley below with the predatory patience of a flock of vultures.

Ash swore beneath his breath. “Apparently we’re not the only ones waiting to have a private word with the sultan today.”

He shifted the spyglass back to their prey. Even with his bulging muscles and the sunlight glinting off the wicked curve of the scimitar tucked into his belt, the sultan was still no match for five heavily armed men.

“What are we going to do?” Luca whispered.

“Well, we can’t very well let them cut the fellow down in cold blood, can we? If he dies, my brother’s fiancée may be lost to him forever.”

Just as she had been lost to him.

He narrowed his eyes much as he had that long-ago day in the meadow when Clarinda had finally pushed him one step too far. Having fought under his command and by his side for the better part of a decade, Luca knew exactly what that look meant.

Luca sighed. “I don’t suppose it would do any good to point out that there are five of them and only two of us.”

“What do you want me to do? Tell them to go back to wherever they came from and get two more men to even out the odds?”

Muttering something under his breath in Italian that included the words
folle
and
insano
, Luca drew a dagger from the sheath at his waist and tucked it between his teeth in preparation for battle.

When the black-robed assassins came charging down the bluff to ambush the sultan, the last thing they expected to encounter were two riders thundering down upon them at full gallop from the opposite rise. For a moment all was chaos, punctuated by pistol fire, the clash of steel, and a guttural grunt as one of Luca’s deadly daggers easily found its target.

As that man fell, one of his companions wheeled his mount around and took off into the desert at a desperate gallop. While a skinny fellow with a pockmarked face and blackened teeth grappled with Luca, the two remaining men launched themselves off their horses and onto the sultan, plainly determined to complete their mission. The three men went crashing to the sand, locked in mortal combat.

The sultan put up a valiant struggle but he was no match for two men with murder on their minds. The largest of the two had straddled him and was preparing to draw the blade of a wicked-looking dagger across his throat when two shots rang out nearly simultaneously.

Both attackers collapsed like puppets whose strings had been cut. Shaking his head to clear it, the sultan slowly ratcheted himself up on both elbows to find Ash standing at his feet, his boots planted firmly apart, his eyes narrowed to deadly slits and a smoking pistol gripped in each hand.

The sultan’s handsome face broke into a grin, his short, dark beard parting to reveal a mouthful of dazzling white teeth. “Jolly good shot!” he exclaimed, his English more clipped and precise than Ash’s own.

Ash squinted at him. Even with his kaffiyeh slightly askew, his lower lip swollen, and a bruise rapidly darkening one of his broad cheekbones, there was something oddly familiar about the man. Ash would have almost sworn he had seen that winning grin and those sparkling obsidian eyes before.

Throwing off one of his attacker’s lifeless arms with a grimace of distaste, the man climbed to his feet, brushing sand from his voluminous black trousers. That was when Ash realized he
had
seen him before, rising from the flagstones of the courtyard at Eton, dusting himself off just so after a thorough drubbing by a rambunctious pack of his upperclassmen.

Ash’s jaw dropped in disbelief.
“Frankie?”

The sultan jerked up his head, his eyes going wide with alarm, then glanced around them and touched a finger to his lips as if the desert might be rife with eavesdroppers as well as assassins. “Frankie does not exist in this place. I am always to be known as Farouk among my people. Even though they have taken to the language I have commanded them to learn, there are those in my household who still do not approve of my father’s decision to send me to England to have me educated among the infidels.”

Frankie/Farouk hadn’t been a well-muscled, broad-shouldered man during their years at Eton, but a plump, bespectacled lad more likely to be caught sneaking into the kitchens to pilfer a pastry than into the stables. With his swarthy skin and thick Arabic accent, he had been an easy target for anyone looking for someone weaker to torment. Ash arched one brow as he eyed the impressive span of the man’s chest beneath the black silk vest. The upperclassmen might not find it so easy to best him now.

He strode forward to capture Ash’s hand in his grasp, giving it a hearty pump. “I thought you looked familiar to my eyes as well. You are Burke the Younger, are you not? I remember your brother from school.”

“Yes,” Ash murmured, gently disengaging his hand from Farouk’s grip. “Most people do.”

“He was a bit of a stiff-necked ass, was he not?”

Ash felt his own lips curve into a smile as he suddenly remembered exactly why he had found Farouk’s grin so winning.

A strangled cough rang out behind them. They both turned to find Luca still rolling around in the sand, locked in a life-and-death struggle with his wiry attacker.

“Hate to interrupt … your touching … reunion,” he choked out, trying to pry the man’s grimy hands from his throat. “But if you’re … not too busy … I could use … a … ” His attacker squeezed harder, reducing his last word to a gurgle.

Ash raised his pistol but Farouk stayed him with a polite “Allow me” before strolling over and applying his boot to the side of the man’s head with more enthusiasm than was strictly necessary.

The man collapsed to the sand, his eyes rolling back in his head. Luca sat up, rubbing his throat and giving Ash a reproachful look.

Resting his hands on his hips, Farouk gazed down at the unconscious man. “I will have my guard deal with this mongrel.” A dangerous smile curved his full lips, confirming Ash’s suspicion that he was no longer an opponent with whom a man would want to trifle. “Perhaps they can use their charms to
persuade
him to expose the villain who sent him and his fellow jackals to attack me in the very shadow of my own stronghold.”

While Luca staggered to his feet, still nursing his throat, Farouk turned back to Ash. “You are a long way from England, Burke the Younger. What is it that brings you here at such a fortuitous moment?”

Before Ash could waste either his time or his breath formulating some implausible explanation, Farouk raised a hand to silence him. “Forgive my rudeness. We shall discuss your business here later. I prefer to trust Allah’s will in these matters. It would accomplish nothing to question his wisdom in sending you here to do his work. You have given me back my life on this day. Now you must allow me to offer you something in return. It is my sincere wish that the two of you would accompany me back to my humble home as my honored guests.”

“We would be honored indeed to accept such a gracious invitation,” Ash said smoothly, hoping his formal bow would hide the frantic working of his mind.

He had never dreamed such an opportunity would literally tumble into his lap. If he and Luca could infiltrate Farouk’s palace, they might be able to find a way to rescue Clarinda without going to all the trouble of abducting the sultan.

Luca appeared at his shoulder. “But I thought we were planning to—” He grunted in pain as Ash jabbed an elbow into his sternum, informing him that their plans had changed.

“Excellent!” Farouk gave Luca a hearty clap on the back that nearly knocked him off his feet. “From this day forward, we will no longer be strangers or even friends, but brothers! We shall now proceed to my stronghold, where you may partake of my hospitality and the many pleasures it can provide.”

As Farouk moved to retrieve his horse from where it had bolted during the attack, Ash adjusted the brim of his hat so that it would shadow his eyes.

There was only one
pleasure
the sultan possessed that was of any interest to him whatsoever.

The sultan’s
humble home
was not a crude fortress or a motley collection of tents but a genuine palace nestled within a copse of swaying palm trees and topped by graceful minarets. Its walls were constructed from large rectangular stones baked to a golden hue by the sun’s rays. The roof was crowned by overlapping terra-cotta tiles the color of burnished rust. Beyond the sprawling compound, wavering like a mirage in the distance, lay the cobalt waters of the Atlantic.

As they rode into the outer courtyard, Luca shot Ash a wary look. Farouk had spent the entirety of their ride pointing out the natural beauties of his native land and regaling them with tales of its rich and violent history. There had been no opportunity for so much as a whispered warning between the two of them. Luca was just going to have to trust that Ash knew what he was doing.

Ash could only pray that trust was not misplaced.

Two towering, bare-chested guards in voluminous trousers and jeweled turbans appeared to relieve them of their mounts. Luca handed over the reins of his horse with visible reluctance. He knew, just as Ash did, that they were surrendering not only their horses, but their freedom. Without some kind of mount beneath him—be it camel or horse—a man wouldn’t survive the rigors of the desert for more than an afternoon.

Farouk had insisted on leading his captive’s horse behind his own stallion with the man’s limp form still draped over the beast’s back. He dismounted and gave the man a contemptuous shove, sending him sliding to the flagstones in an unceremonious heap. As Farouk barked out a command in Arabic, two more guards materialized to drag the man away between them, ignoring his piteous groans.

There was no mistaking the look Ash gave Luca in that moment. It was imperative they tread with care in this place lest they also end up in the sultan’s dungeons, being
persuaded
by his guards to reveal their original intentions and all of their deepest, darkest secrets.

They were halfway across the courtyard when a bearded man of middling years, bald except for the fringe of salt-and-pepper hair circling the crown of his head, came hurrying toward them, his long robes rustling with each step and a steady stream of Arabic pouring from his lips. Ash cultivated a blandly curious expression, pretending he couldn’t understand every syllable of what the man was saying.

“English, Uncle Tarik,” Farouk commanded him, nodding toward Luca and Ash. “Out of respect for our guests.”

The man gave them a suspicious glance before returning his worried gaze to his nephew’s face. “The guards are saying you were waylaid by bandits. Is it true, my son? Are you unharmed?”

“Not common bandits, I fear,” Farouk said, gingerly touching two fingers to the burgeoning bruise on his cheekbone, “but assassins.”

Tarik shot Ash and Luca another glance, this one openly hostile. “And who are these strangers you bring into our home? More assassins?”

Farouk threw back his head with a hearty laugh. “Angels of Allah, more likely. If not for their timely intervention, it would be my blood watering the desert floor right now instead of the blood of my enemies.”

“Oh,” Tarik said stiffly, looking even more taken aback by the revelation. “Well, in that case they have my humble gratitude for rescuing my nephew from his own foolhardiness. Have I not told you how dangerous it is to ride out from these walls with no guard to protect you?”

Farouk threw one of his massive arms around his uncle’s shoulders, giving him an affectionate squeeze. “Can you blame me for seeking a few precious hours of solitude? Between you scolding me as if I were still a schoolboy in short pants and the constant chattering of my wives, how am I to hear myself think?”

Wives
.

Was Clarinda now one of those wives? Ash wondered, his hands curling into fists of their own volition. He could hardly imagine the high-spirited, headstrong girl he had known being content to share the affections of a man with another woman, much less several women. That was almost as unlikely as a man craving the attentions of another woman when she belonged to him.

“Come, friends,” Farouk said, abandoning his uncle to throw an arm over each of their shoulders. “I did not invite you here just to leave you standing in my courtyard like a pair of starving hounds. We will eat. We will drink. And we shall each celebrate another precious night of life in the arms of a beautiful woman!”

Luca immediately perked up, but before Ash could fully absorb Farouk’s words, they were swept away from the disapproving eyes of Farouk’s uncle and across the courtyard on the tide of their host’s goodwill.

A pair of massive double doors inlaid with burnished bronze and decorated with carved images of twin lions swung open to welcome them into an inner courtyard redolent with the intoxicating scents of climbing jasmine and incense. A mixture of dread and anticipation quickened in Ash’s veins. He had successfully been running from his past for almost ten years, and now it was about to catch up to him with a vengeance.

What would Clarinda do when she recognized him and realized he had come to bring her home? If she threw herself into his arms, sobbing with gratitude and relief, would he be able to stop himself from wrapping his arms around her and pulling her into the shelter of his body? From burying his lips in her hair and breathing deeply of the clean, fresh lily-of-the-valley scent that still haunted him every time he drew another woman into his embrace?

If she failed to temper her reaction to his unannounced arrival with caution, she might well get them all killed. He could only hope there would be time to bribe some greedy servant into slipping a message into the harem, cautioning her to pretend indifference when they first came face-to-face. Then at least he wouldn’t risk catching her unawares.