A Secret in Her Kiss (8 page)

So why couldn’t he remove his hands from this woman?

Mari refused to give him time to ponder the answers. She unbuttoned his waistcoat, her hand sweeping over his linen-covered chest and down his side. When she fumbled at the waistband of his trousers, pulling loose his shirt so her hands could slip inside to touch him, any claim he’d had on control shattered.

His hand tangled in her hair as his lips advanced from her mouth to her cheeks to the supple line of her throat. Her distinctive scent intoxicated him, vanilla and nutmeg. Innocence and seduction.

His hand lowered to her stomach, starting at the swell right below her breast and sweeping his fingers along the lithe curve of her waist.

Something crackled.

He jerked back. As he traced the folded paper tucked in her stays, his breath grated in his ears. “The drawing?”

She swallowed several times and groped for words. “Yes. I didn’t want to risk leaving it.”

He stepped back. What the devil was he doing? She had been angry at him. Well, she had every reason to be. He had no right to seduce her out of her reaction. He should have accepted her taunts as the price of his success.

Mari surveyed him wide-eyed, her lips delectably swollen. Her cheeks still flushed with fury and passion. Her bosom heaving against the confines of her dress until his hands itched to ignore the paper, undo the line of buttons down her back, and explore the contours of her breasts.

Bennett jerked his gaze to the cold, unforgiving line of weapons on the table behind her. “There won’t be a repeat of this.”

“What if
I
want a repeat?”

He grabbed the edge of the table to keep from tossing her on the bed. “It will not happen.” Lust still commanded a stranglehold on his thought so he peered out the window into the night till his thoughts cooled. Anyone might have entered the inn while his attention had been centered on Mari. He’d been certain no one had followed them from Constantinople this morning, but that did not preclude new complications from developing. He picked up a knife and tucked it back into the hidden sheath in his boot while she stepped back from him, adjusting the neckline of her dress with a quick tug.

“I’m leaving Constantinople after this assignment,” he tried to explain, as much for his benefit as for her own.

Mari eyed the other knife with a little too much interest. “Good. I am more than eager for this to end.”

Her words were unaccountably painful. Hadn’t she felt anything more than lust today? He didn’t count himself an emotional man, yet he couldn’t deny something deeper had been sparked within him. “You could have fooled me.”
Damn it to hell. Ignore the taunts and send her back to her room.

She had the audacity to shrug. “It was nothing more than a kiss.”

If it wasn’t for the paper, they would have done a whole lot more than that.

He hated that paper. Hated the distance he had to put between them, and also the scornful pretense he’d forced her to assume when they both knew they desired each other. “I’ll escort you to your room.”

Her hand shook as she reached for the door handle. “It’s not necessary.”

The hell it wasn’t. He’d nearly ravished her. The least he could do was see her safely to her room. “It isn’t open for debate. You may not value my protection but that does not mean I will cease to give it.”

She gestured ahead, her face neutral. “Fine.”

He preceded her into the corridor, scanning left and right before leaving the room. “Come.”

She ignored his proffered arm. “It’s really not far. I can manage to walk ten feet without—”

Something thumped behind the wooden wall to Mari’s room. He held up a finger to his lips.

“It really is possible for a woman—”

He clamped his hand over her mouth and pulled her against him to quiet any protest.

She stilled.

“Is your maid packing?” he whispered.

She pried his hand off her mouth and shook her head.

Another scrape sounded inside the room.

She pressed her back tighter against him. “No, she was going to the kitchen in hopes we’d—” She ducked her head. “No. Although it is possible she returned.”

“Stay here.” Bennett slid Mari to the wall beside him. His footfalls landed silently on the wooden floor as he approached the door. He drew the knife from his boot.

Resting his free hand on the doorknob, he lowered to a slight crouch.

One. Two.
Three
. He slammed open the door.

Inside, a thick-set man with a coal-black mustache sprang to his feet. A jar of Mari’s ink tumbled from his hand and shattered on the floor.

Mari gasped behind him.

Damn it. Couldn’t she follow simple directions?

During his split second of inattention, the thief leaped into motion, dashing toward an open window.

Bennett dove for the man but missed him by a breath. Without pausing, he threw his knife into the thief’s calf before the man could lift his leg over the sill.

The intruder shrieked and fell to the floor, blood darkening the leg of his trousers. With a panicked moan, he yanked the short blade out. The whites of his eyes gleamed as he tried to locate Bennett, but too late.

Bennett slammed into his side. The knife clattered across the wood floor to Mari’s feet. Bennett punched him once in the jaw. “Who are you!”

The man struggled against Bennett’s weight. A torrent of words Bennett couldn’t understand poured from the man’s mouth. He kept repeating the same phrase over and over.

“Who do you work for?”

A woman screamed.

Mari.

Bennett locked his hand around the man’s throat. His heart hammered as he whipped his head around.

“Achilla, silence.”

Not Mari. Her maid. Achilla surveyed the scene with horror, a sickly green color coating her pale cheeks. Mari stood next to her, her face white as well, but she held his knife in a firm grip.

Good girl.

The man choked under his hand and Bennett released him. He gasped for breath. “Who sent—”

But it was too late. Achilla’s scream had roused the innkeeper. The stout, gray-haired man stumbled into the doorway.

Mari dropped the knife and promptly burst into tears. “A thief. We’ve been robbed.”

The innkeeper, to his credit, patted her on the shoulder while bellowing for his servants. Two burly individuals hurried into the room and pulled the intruder to his feet.

A third man, slightly better dressed, entered on their heels. His straight posture and intelligent eyes marked him as a town official, most likely a magistrate, and the hastily donned appearance of his clothing explained his presence in the ramshackle inn. He exchanged words in Turkish with the innkeeper, then bowed to Bennett.

The innkeeper translated for the magistrate as he spoke. “We apologize for your trouble. This man is a well-known thief. I trust you are uninjured?”

Bennett nodded.

“Can you tell me what happened?”

Bennett informed them he’d found the thief in the room upon returning. The innkeeper once again translated. Mari sobbed even more hysterically from the chair where she’d seated herself.

The magistrate edged away from the noise. “He will trouble you no more.” He motioned, and the servants escorted the whimpering intruder from the room after him.

The innkeeper bowed and after assuring them their stay would be free of charge, backed from the room.

Bennett shut the door behind them. Confound it. He’d lost his answers. He had no excuse to demand to speak with the man. He was supposed to be a gadabout nobleman. He pounded the door frame once with his fist.

Achilla jumped and watched him with frightened eyes. She wasn’t just upset by the situation, she was terrified—of him.

Bennett forced himself to look away from her ashen face. Violence was who he was. It was part of the reason he’d been selected for this mission. He could mete out death and pain without flinching. Any hesitation that existed at some point in his career had been drowned out in blood.

Mari’s sobs quieted.

He kept his gaze trained on his bruised hand resting by the door. Mari had more than just cause to be frightened of him now. But he couldn’t stand to see it on her face. His chest ached with cold.

“Curse it. Now we won’t know who sent him,” Mari said, voice suspiciously calm.

He turned slowly toward her. She was glaring at the door, her eyes free of both tears and alarm.

The cold thawed a touch.

“Achilla,” Mari stood and lowered her maid into her chair. “Rest before you collapse.”

Achilla shook her head slightly from side to side as if clearing it. She whispered something to Mari that Bennett couldn’t hear.

Mari colored at her words. “Hardly. He is definitely not.” She walked over to Bennett and drew him toward the window. “Are you all right?” She lifted his hand and examined his scuffed knuckles.

“I am uninjured.”

She traced his hand below the reddened skin.

Bennett savored the gentle movement. With blood still pounding in his veins, he gave thanks the maid was there so he didn’t have to put his promise not to kiss her again to the test. He cleared his throat. “Did the thief say anything of use?”

Mari lowered her voice. “Nothing substantive.”

“What did he say?”

Mari frowned. “He just kept repeating he hadn’t taken anything. He couldn’t find it.”

The man must have known about the drawing. “Damnation.”

“My thoughts precisely.” She let go of his hand and closed the window next to her. “Someone knows my identity.”

Bennett stared at her. Hell. “Nothing has changed.”

“Of course it has. It is one thing for someone to be following me because they’re suspicious. It is quite different for them to know where I am and what I am doing.”

Bennett had long suspected his soul teetered on the brink of hellfire, but what he was about to say would push him over the edge. His only hope was that Caruthers would be there alongside him. “You’ll still draw Vourth.”

Her mouth dropped open in shock before it snapped shut. “You must be joking.”

If only it were that simple. “No, the British government must have that information.”

She stepped back, her eyebrows drawn together. “If someone knew I’d be here, what makes you think they won’t expect me at Vourth?”

“We will be careful.”

“So they might be waiting for me?” Her hands were planted on her hips, but a touch of fear had reentered her eyes.

“I—”

She spoke the truth, but some small bit of self-preservation warned him to hold his tongue. He knew once he admitted the danger, yet still refused to let her quit, his damnation would be complete.

Yet despite that knowledge, he could not lie to her. Not even to save his own soul. “Yes, it is possible.”

“So you will take me into Vourth, even though they already know who I am.” Her eyes burned into his. “You will gamble with my life because you were ordered to do so.”

And to save the lives of his men and get him home to help his sister. Bennett ignored the vicious thrust of guilt and met her gaze. “Yes.”

Chapter Nine

M
ari stretched as the coach clattered to a stop in front of her home. She rubbed an aching spot on her neck. Ottoman roads were not known for smooth travel.

Achilla shot one final glare at Bennett. The last in a near constant stream.

At first, her maid’s show of solidarity had buoyed her. But after a while, the whole thing had seemed rather pointless and her own anger had lessened to a dull pain.

She had thought the charming man on the hillside was the real Bennett that he’d hidden away. Now she had to conclude that this stern, unbending side of him was just as real. And she wasn’t sure what to do with the fact. She grudgingly understood his dedication to his duty, but it was her life that hung in the balance. Couldn’t she expect him to give more weight to her safety?

Perhaps not, but confound it all, she could wish.

“You are no longer a gladiator or a Greek god in my estimation,” Achilla announced with vindictive relish.

Mari’s eyes met Bennett’s, and for a moment, humor flashed in his gaze. The silent, shared amusement was oddly intimate after their mutual distance this morning. Her breath refused to obey her, and she teetered between amusement and embarrassment.

She broke their gaze. She now knew what to do with her understanding of Bennett—keep herself separate and uncaring.

“Are you going to be able to keep up the pretense of the courtship?” he asked.

“Why do you ask me when I have no choice?”

The door clicked open. Selim offered her his hand to help her descend, but his attention was already riveted on the passenger behind her. As he helped the maid down, his hand lingered on Achilla’s for a second longer than necessary.

Selim turned to Mari as Bennett climbed out. “Esad Pasha has requested you and Major Bennett visit him at two this afternoon, and Fatima Ayse Hanim is awaiting you inside by the Grand Fountain.”

Mari clenched her hands at her sides, uncertain which of those two things was worse.

Selim bowed. “I am sorry. I tried to convince her I was unsure when you would return, but she insisted on remaining.”

“I know how she is.” Mari closed her eyes. Perhaps she could send Bennett away?

Strong fingers stroked her arm. “Are you all right?” Bennett asked.

She nodded, glaring at her travel-stained dress. “Yes, I am well. It appears I have a visitor.”

“I will accompany you.” Bennett stepped slightly in front of her, placing himself between her and the door. He’d been ordered to protect her and he would bullheadedly try to do just that, no matter the situation.

Mari squared her shoulders and walked toward the door. She was being a fool. Bennett would meet Fatima at some point regardless. Fatima made it a point to conquer all attractive men, and the fact that she thought Bennett belonged to Mari would make the conquest seem all the more irresistible.

She tried to keep her voice light. “Fatima will try to convince you to call her by her first name, but do not fall for her ploy or she will undoubtedly find some excuse to reveal that detail to her husband. He will make a fierce enemy.”

Bennett frowned and offered his arm. “What should I call her?”

“Hanimefendi would be proper, or Fatima Ayse Hanim.”

A crease appeared between Bennett’s brows so she explained further. “The first is similar to Your Grace and the second to Lady Fatima. The title follows the first name.”

He nodded. “And her husband?”

“Talat Bey.”

His lips thinned and she knew he’d recognized the bey’s name. “I have heard—” The words died on his lips as they rounded the corner into the courtyard.

Fatima had displayed herself on the edge of the fountain. Leaning back slightly with her arms braced behind her, she gently arched her back to draw attention to her full bosom. The neckline of her caftan had been maneuvered to offer up a generous sampling of cleavage. Even the color of clothes, silver and sky blue, perfectly complemented the darker gray tones of the marble fountain.

Bennett straightened. His arm dropped away from Mari’s hand as they reached Fatima’s side.

Fatima’s smile widened beneath the white translucent veil, and her eyes met Mari’s with a gleam of triumph.

Mari lowered her hand to her dusty, wrinkled skirt. It wasn’t his fault. She had yet to meet a man immune to Fatima’s charms.

Pit viper
.

Fatima rose to her feet with an elegant motion that caused the bracelets at her wrists and ankles to tinkle. She gave a surprised gasp and stumbled back. Even though she was in no danger of tumbling into the fountain behind her, Bennett reached out and grasped both her shoulders to steady her. Fatima gave an exaggerated shudder. Her veil tumbled off and puddled on the floor near her feet, revealing her flawless olive complexion, full pouting lips, and a face so exquisite men literally stumbled over their feet upon seeing her.

Fatima really needed to ensure her maid arranged her veils more securely. They always slithered off at the most opportune times.

Bennett retrieved it for her, and Fatima’s fingers slid down his hand as she drew it from him. His chest jerked at the contact.

Well, confound him anyway
. Mari swallowed to dislodge the lump of pain in her throat. He wasn’t really her beau, but they did have a false courtship to maintain. She stepped closer to Bennett, hoping to jar him back to his senses.

Fatima batted her long eyelashes at him. “I hope you don’t mind if I do not put this back on. We are all friendly here, are we not?” Her tongue ran slowly over her bottom lip. “Or at least we will be once I know your name.” She glanced expectantly at Mari.

Mari had to unlock her jaw so she could speak. The urge to remain silent to spite the other woman was a childish one, and Fatima would view her silence as a victory. “Fatima, this is Major Bennett Prestwood of the Ninety-fifth Rifles. Bennett, this is Fatima Ayse Hanim.”

Fatima offered her hand and he bowed over it, his lips lightly brushing her knuckles. His arm trembled as he straightened.

Fatima smiled. “Mari and I have known each other for a dozen years, you may call me Fatima.”

Bennett shook his head. “I would never dream of such intimacy.”

He was flirting, confound him! She didn’t even know the man knew the word existed.

He continued, “I cannot believe you have been friends for that long. You look far too young.”

Fatima giggled and swept an appreciative gaze over him. “Oh, but it has been a few years. Her father is friends with my uncle Esad, so we knew each other as girls.”

At least she didn’t have the gall to name herself as Mari’s friend.

“I have heard of your husband, the bey, as well.” Bennett’s voice was hoarse with emotion.

“Ah, yes. He is an important man, but so often gone—”

Enough! She would not let Fatima proposition her supposed suitor right in front of her. There was only so much her pride could take, after all. “Why have you come, Fatima?” She barely disguised the impatience in her voice.

Fatima cast a sympathetic glance at Bennett, then turned back to Mari. “I had thought to hire you—pardon me, ask you if you would assist with the night of henna for my niece’s wedding next week.”

The slip had been an intentional slur, of course. But Fatima’s niece was a friend, if a tad young for marriage. Mari still hadn’t accustomed herself to that tradition. “How old is Ceyda now?”

“Fourteen. We wouldn’t want her to languish as a spinster.” Her pointed look displayed disdain for Mari’s single state. She changed tactics when Mari didn’t respond. “You are the best, as you well know. Your henna designs always bring luck.” Her tone begrudged the small compliment.

Mari sighed. Ceyda would be hurt if she refused. She didn’t want to wound the sweet girl just to spite Fatima. “I will come.”

Fatima nodded. “Good.” She replaced the veil over her hair and face. She rested her hand on Bennett’s arm. “I look forward to seeing you again.”

“Will you be at the ambassador’s soiree this evening then?” Bennett asked.

Fatima’s lips puckered sourly for a moment before the expression melted into a rueful smile. “Alas, an Ottoman woman is not granted such luxury. I would only be able to entertain you in private.”

The hussy. Mari estimated how hard she would have to push for the woman to land in the fountain.

Bennett nodded. “Until then.”

Fatima smiled and glided from the room.

Bennett stared after her retreating form. He continued to pine until not even the scuff of her slippers could be heard. The odious man had not even glanced at Mari once since setting eyes on Fatima.

He turned to Mari. “I must ask you something about her.”

Mari wanted to pound him with her fists until the dazed look fled his expression. He could at least pretend not to be so interested; he had kissed her senseless last night.“How long had she been married before she made her husband a cuckold?”

It took three full seconds for his words to register. She gasped.

Bennett grinned, then coughed, then finally threw his head back and laughed.

Mari stared at him. Strangely pleased, yet concerned for his sanity at the same time.

“My sisters used to pull stunts like that whenever my brother and I would bring friends home on holiday. Took us forever to figure out why our friends suddenly turned into gibbering idiots.”

She understood his words, yet they didn’t make sense. He hadn’t been taken in by Fatima’s act?

“My sisters claimed they needed to practice for their coming out. Although I do have to credit them with a touch more subtlety.”

The warmth in his voice when he spoke of his sisters might have been the most disconcerting thing of all.

Bennett rubbed his eyes. “It took everything I had to keep my composure. I couldn’t even risk looking at you for fear of losing control. Does that act work on anyone?”

Mari could have kissed him. In fact, the idea held definite appeal. Until she remembered why she’d determined to keep her distance. Her smile faded.

Bennett drew in a deep breath. “Our pretense could use some work, however.”

“Pardon?”

“At the soiree this evening, we must appear to be at ease in each other’s company. You were so uncomfortable holding my arm as we entered, I feared you’d give us away.”

Perhaps she was the one who had gone mad. She clarified, “So you drew away because—”

“You were so stiff I was afraid your friend would suspect something was amiss.” He paused. His brows drew together. “What did you assume?”

Her face heated to the point she worried she resembled a pomegranate. There was no way she’d admit her earlier thoughts.

The humor left his face. “You thought she had me so beguiled I’d abandon you without a second thought.”

Mari studied the scuff marks on the toe of her slipper.

He tucked his finger under her chin and raised her face until she met his gaze. Something dark lurked in his eyes. “My orders tell me to protect you. You may think that means you matter to me less, but you are wrong. It means you are mine.”

“I am no man’s.”

“You are until the mission is complete.”

Achilla bustled into the room, saving her from having to formulate a response. “Esad Pasha has sent a messenger to confirm your visit this afternoon. What shall I have Selim tell him?”

Bennett dropped his hand from Mari’s chin. “Were you expecting this?”

She shook her head. “But it is not unexpected, either. He will want to meet the man courting me.”

“We will go then.”

Achilla crowded next to Mari, forcing Bennett to step back. “You need to go change before the meeting, Major.” Her words continued overly bright and cheerful.

She must have overheard Bennett’s comment about missions.

Mari grasped her maid’s excuse. “Yes, I must dress as well.”

A slight frown pulled at Bennett’s mouth, but he nodded. “I will return at two and accompany you to the pasha’s. That should allow us to return in time to prepare for the ambassador’s soiree.”

She nodded. “I will see you then.”

Bennett had hardly taken his leave before Achilla erupted. “Orders, indeed! I was prepared to think slightly better of him if he groveled. Did the man learn romance from a dead goat?”

Ah, his blessed orders again. “He’s simply my protector.” A protector willing to risk her life.

Achilla snorted. “Then he’d better work on protecting your hair because it was much more tousled when you returned to the room last night.”

Mari sighed. “Just let it go. Neither Bennett nor I want anything more to come of this.” She bit her lip.

“You want nothing else from him?” Achilla asked. Her eyes narrowed. “Truly?”

What did she want?

For him to value her more than his orders.

But that wasn’t possible. Would she settle for less? Perhaps she should listen to Achilla. What if instead of ignoring the lust simmering between her and Bennett, she took advantage of it?

The thought jarred her back to her senses. Was she truly so pathetic that she was willing to forgive his threats in exchange for a few small moments of affection?

She changed her English dress for her Turkish clothing. Esad wanted to meet Bennett. By the time the pasha had finished his interrogations of several of her previous would-be suitors, the men had fled. Well, except for the man who was so overwrought he had to be carried away on a litter.

Perhaps she should warn Bennett.

She remembered his comment about orders and smiled.

Perhaps not.

A
n enormous man approached. His scarlet caftan was trimmed in lemon. His turban was twice the size of any Bennett had yet seen in Constantinople and appeared to be at least three shades of green.

“Esad!” Mari left Bennett’s side and ran to the man.

This was the man who caused Daller to quake with fear and envy? Other than his size, how could he make anyone but a valet tremble in terror?

The man looked up from Mari. As the man’s gimlet gaze bored through him, Bennett discarded his earlier assessment.

Bloody hell. The man was a tiger plumed in a peacock’s feathers.

He met the pasha’s gaze without flinching, yet a small part of him couldn’t help wondering what the other man saw.