Lord of the Desert (19 page)

“Mademoiselle!” the guard choked. No woman had ever spoken to him in such a way in his life. He was dumbfounded.

“Madame, to you, you sidewinder!” Gretchen raged, infuriated by her whole situation, not the least in having her identity denied by her own husband. And lifting one slippered foot, she kicked the guard in the shin as hard as she could and stormed back down the corridor.

Philippe's eyebrows arched almost to his hairline as he stood, shocked, watching Gretchen's fiery retreat. His now-lame guard was hopping on one foot and trying to look dignified in the process. Philippe shot a curt order at him and let him go back to his quarters. He glared hotly at the other guard, who was trying very hard not to grin. The guard stood at attention and faced forward, quickly.

Philippe went back into the chamber and closed the door, ill at ease with Brianne. He was behaving badly. His uninhibited ardor with Gretchen had shocked and frankly embarrassed him. Even in his younger days, his prowess in bed had been largely silent, controlled. With Gretchen, he had said and done things that would never have occurred to him to do with any woman. His weakness and vulnerability had made him uneasy around her. He didn't completely trust her not to take advantage of his vulnerability, as well. Women did so enjoy having a man at their mercy. His past was full of women who would have used that vulnerability to get what they wanted from him. But in the weeks since their return from the desert, his wife had not come near him, not to flirt, not to demand. Her avoidance of him had shamed him, and now he was fighting guilt as well. His treatment of her tonight would haunt him. What did he think he could have with Brianne Hutton now, except friendship? She loved her husband. She grieved like a widow since her arrival, after their estrangement.

Besides that, the sudden arrival of Brianne and her ordeal in Paris had been much on his mind. He had loved her once. He had avoided Gretchen, living in a land of dreams where Brianne and her child were his family. But the dream had not been realized. And tonight he had come to his senses abruptly and with shock. Gretchen was going to leave him. He would be left with nothing, because that was all he could expect with Brianne Hutton.

He still adored Brianne, but she was married and so was he. If there had ever been a chance for them, it was far too late now. All she talked about was Pierce and how miserable she was since they'd parted in anger. There was another problem, one that had shaken him to his very soul—he was unaroused by her. His body, so receptive and immediately responsive to Gretchen's, was as dead as sand when he was near Brianne. Amazing, he thought, that it had taken him weeks to realize how indecent his behavior would seem to the people around him. And tonight he'd committed the worst error of them all, by denying his marriage and letting Gretchen walk away.

“Why did you have an American secretary?” Brianne was asking curiously.

He ran a hand through his thick, black hair and sighed heavily as he looked down at her with troubled eyes. He grimaced. “I have made many mistakes in my life. Tonight is the crowning glory of them all.” He smiled faintly. “Gretchen isn't my secretary, Brianne. She's my wife.”

Brianne's face was a study in fascination, surprise, and then, amusement. “Your wife?” she asked, almost with glee.

He shrugged, looking embarrassed. “She's from Texas,” he said, smiling. “She rides like the wind and shoots a Colt .45 like a movie cowgirl.” He chuckled. “She rode right into an ambush and was kidnapped trying to save me from harm.”

“What an interesting woman,” Brianne said warmly. “Trying to save you…?”

“She'd only ever seen me in business suits,” he explained ruefully. “She thought I was a, what is the word, a wimp.”

She chuckled. “Oh, my.”

“My father adores her,” he added. “He permits her to touch the orchids, a privilege even I do not enjoy.” The smile faded. “It is dangerous for her to leave now. Your stepfather is still nearby, probably plotting more mischief.”

“Then shouldn't you go and tell her to stay?” Brianne challenged with an impish grin.

“It will take a brave man to walk in there unarmed,” he pointed out. “I fear my guard will limp for a week as it is. And he may never recover from the shock of her insults.” He burst out laughing. “I had no idea she knew such curses, and in a very archaic dialect of my people. I suspect my father has been giving her lessons, without proper definitions. I really must speak to him.”

Her eyes softened as she looked up at him. “I've hoped for a long time that you might find someone who could, well, who could accept you as you are and make you happy. You're my friend. I care about you.”

He took her hand to his lips. “As I care about you,” he said gently. “As I always will. But Gretchen…” He hesitated, self-conscious. “I am…whole…with her.”

Brianne caught her breath. “Philippe!”

He smiled. “I never believed in miracles until she wove herself into the fabric of my life. I have been unkind to her. Now I must try to redress the balance. You will excuse me?”

“Absolutely.” She chuckled. “I think I really must call Pierce and see if he's as miserable as I am. If he grovels nicely, I'll even go home.”

“With a contingent of my men,” Philippe said firmly, “not alone. I refuse to let you put yourself at risk.”

“I'll tell Pierce.” She went on tiptoe and kissed his lean cheek. “Thanks, Philippe. You've been wonderful to Edward and to me.”

“I adore your son. I wish…” He shrugged again. “But, then, one miracle is all many of us can expect. I must not be greedy.”

“I've discovered in my life that miracles happen most often when you least expect them to,” she said. “Even doctors can be wrong.” She laughed wickedly. “As you've already found out, I gather?”

He laughed, too. He left her and went down the long corridor toward Gretchen's chambers. On the way he met Leila, who looked harassed and overwrought.

“Sidi,”
she exclaimed, running to him. “The Lady is packing. She will not listen when I try to reason with her, and she is speaking the most horrible sort of words…!”

“You're lucky you weren't holding a rifle,” he murmured dryly. “She kicked one of my guards.”

“She is out of her head!” Leila said.

“I'll deal with her. Go to bed,” he said.

“But,
sidi…
”

“Go.”

She bowed and went along without argument.

When Philippe reached Gretchen's room, he met his own father coming out of it. He glared at Philippe from the doorway.

“Go and look at your handiwork!” he raged in Arabic. “She is leaving, and this is your doing!”

“How self-righteous you sound, when her language sent one of my guards into spasms of horror!”

The old man cleared his throat. “She heard that from me when one of the guards tipped over one of my grandchildren and broke his stem. I did not translate the words.”

“You should have. I expect to be chastised by the entire household. And she kicked one of my bodyguards so hard that he cannot walk.”

His father pursed his lips. “Did she? Why?”

Philippe cleared his own throat. “He, uh, stopped her at my doorway and refused to believe that I was her husband.”

“One could be forgiven that, since you spend so much time with the woman from Paris and so little with the woman you married.” He gestured toward the door. “I cannot stop her. But I have insisted that she take Hassan with her when she goes.”

“She is going nowhere,” Philippe said haughtily.

The old man looked down at Philippe's legs in the gold and white
aba
he was wearing over his
thobe
and
chalwar.
“I suggest more padding before you confront her,” he murmured dryly, and walked away.

Philippe took a deep breath and walked into Gretchen's room.

Her big canopied bed was covered with her few articles of Western clothing. The
gellabias
and robes and silk and velvet
abas
he'd given her were piled in two chairs by the window. Her long blond hair was loose and falling into her face as she muttered, trailing the sash of a bathrobe as she deposited it with the rest of her unwanted clothing.

She spared him a glare as he entered the room. “Come to say goodbye, have you?” she asked coldly. “Fine. You've said it. Goodbye.”

He hesitated, uncertain of his next move. “Brauer is still in the vicinity. This is a bad time to travel.”

“I'm taking ‘Elvis' home with me,” she said. “He'll protect me.”

He folded his arms over his chest, glaring at her. “I will not give you permission to leave the country. I will have you stopped at the airport.”

“Your father has already given me the necessary papers so that I can travel, in his personal jet, without your damned consent,” she shot back.

His eyes began to glitter. “You are my wife!”

“Like hell I am!” she replied, eyes blazing as she walked right up to him. “I'm only your secretary. You just said so!”

He winced. “I want to explain,” he began.

“There isn't anything to explain. Now get out of my room!”

His chin lifted slowly. The menace in his face grew with every deep, measured breath. “You do not command me in my own palace,
madame!
”

“This is my room, and I want you out of it!”

“I will leave when it pleases me,” he growled. “Not before!”

“If you don't get out of here, I'll—Philippe!” she cried sharply.

He had her up in his arms and his face was furious. He turned, walked to the door, slammed it shut and locked it.

“You put me down!” she raged, fighting him. “I'm going home! I'm going to marry my ranch foreman and live happily ever after, do you hear me?”

Ignoring her struggles, he carried her to the bed and tossed her down onto it. With a savage smile, he bent and ripped the caftan she was wearing from neckline to hem, whipping it away from her body, nude except for tiny white briefs. He jerked those off as well and stood over her, vibrating with anger and jealousy of the faceless man back in Texas that she'd once confessed to being in love with.

“You monster!” she choked, grabbing the sheet up against her nudity as she glared up at him. “How dare you!”

“You are my wife,” he said harshly, so eaten up with desire that he was shivering from the force of it.

She was angry, too, her lips tremulous as he stood over her. “That isn't what you said a few minutes ago! And just what are you planning to do?” she demanded.

He laughed coldly. “Since I have nothing left to lose, I am going to show you what you married,” he said harshly. “If you think I am a monster, let me prove that you are right before you leave me.”

He caught the hem of his
aba
and
thobe
and threw them off, pausing long enough to step out of his slippers and unfasten the silk pants he wore under the robes. When he turned, the scars that covered the left side of his body were blatant white streaks against the natural olive tan of his skin. But it wasn't the scars that drew Gretchen's shocked, fascinated eyes. She'd seen photographs of nude men, but Philippe was in a class of his own. She wasn't looking for flaws. In fact, she wasn't certain she'd have recognized them if she'd seen them. She sat up in bed, suddenly uninhibited, and stared at him with parted lips.

“Well?” he asked furiously, his fists clenched at his sides. “Don't you have anything to say?”

She swallowed and lifted her eyes back to his. “No wonder it hurt, the first time,” she said in a husky, fascinated tone.

P
hilippe's rigid stance relaxed. His fists unclenched. “What?” He scowled.

She swallowed again. “You heard me.” Her eyes fell back to his hips and she colored furiously.

Something changed in his lean face. He moved toward her, sitting down on the edge of the bed facing her. “I wanted you to see the scars,” he began hesitantly.

“Oh.” Her eyes met his, curious and soft. “Why?”

He laughed in spite of himself. “I thought it might be a suitable revenge for your defection.”

“Revenge? I don't understand.”

Quite obviously she didn't. His eyes fell to her mouth. He bent and kissed it slowly, teasing her lips apart. He felt her shy hands go to his hair-roughened chest and bury themselves in it. His body rippled with sensation. He eased her down on the mattress and moved over her. He felt her arms slide around him, felt her long legs soften and slide against his in a slow, lazy caress.

His hands framed her face as he kissed her. His tongue went slowly past her lips and into the soft darkness of her mouth. His body became one long caress, teasing hers, whispering against it in a silence that grew explosively by the second. He felt as he had in his teens, when he was inexhaustible and eager for experimentation. He treated her as he would have treated a virgin, slowly arousing her, denying her the pleasure she begged for. Minutes grew long with the exquisite pace of their loving. By the time he curled her into him and began to possess her, she was shivering helplessly with the fierce urgency of her need.

She cried out softly at his ear, gripping his powerful upper arms with her nails as he moved into total intimacy with her. He felt her hips straining upward in a rigid arch and he lifted his head to look at her.

He read the thought in her eyes. Without moving, he reached for one of the small cushions and placed it gently under her hips. “Yes,” he whispered as he moved down again, this time in a stark penetration that made her gasp. “For me, too, it must be…very deep…”

She whimpered as his mouth moved to cover hers. He whispered to her, savage, shocking things that made her writhe under him. She felt the pleasure climb like a spiral of pure fire as she clung to his strength and felt the potency of him increase with every brush of his body. It had never been like this. She was barely certain, in the last few lucid seconds, that she could even accommodate him…!

He felt her body convulse under his, again and again. He gloried in her pleasure until his own need demanded fulfillment. He gave himself to it, his body fierce on hers, hoping that he wasn't going to hurt her in the frenzy of passion. He soared, burned, consumed in flames that pulsed and pulsed and pulsed endlessly.

He heard his own ragged breath jerking out at her ear as he lay heavily upon her damp body, shaking in the aftermath of their explosive lovemaking. Finally, he forced his head to lift and he looked into a face that was white with misery and tears.

“Gretchen!” he whispered, startled. “Did I hurt you?”

Her lips trembled. She felt sick all over. She'd welcomed him, shamed herself with him, when all the time she knew it was because he wanted Brianne and couldn't have her. He'd used her, and she'd let him, out of a helpless, shameful love that she couldn't help. But it was wrong. Wrong!

She pushed at him and he withdrew from her, rolling onto his back and then his side. She curled into a ball and refused to look at him.

“Did I hurt you?” he demanded.

She shook her head.

“Then what is wrong?”

She swallowed, hating him for the very pleasure he'd given her. “She's married,” she whispered harshly. “But a blind man could see that she looks just like me. I guess I'm her stand-in tonight, is that right? You couldn't have her, so you had me. I hope you enjoyed it.”

His heart seemed to stop. “I beg your pardon?”

“I'm so ashamed,” she sobbed. “I've never been so ashamed in my life. I didn't even have enough willpower to deny you. I let you…use me!”

He couldn't remember ever feeling so outraged. He slammed out of the bed and back into his clothing, so furious at her intolerable insult that he forgot to be embarrassed about his scars. She wasn't looking, anyway. Her back was to him.

He took the coverlet and threw it over her, his face like stone. He raged at her in three languages, the content of which was muddled and barely comprehensible.

She rolled over under the cover and sat up, glaring at him from a ravaged face. “You just can't stand the truth, can you?” she demanded on a sob. “You want her, but you're too noble to do it with her. You wouldn't even introduce me as your wife, but when you want sex, here I am!”

“You aren't my wife any longer,” he raged back in heavily accented English. “I divorce you!” He snapped his fingers. “You can go back to Texas and marry your foreman, with my blessing!”

“And you can get Brianne Hutton a divorce and marry her, can't you?!” she cried.

“Believe what you like,
madame!
” He spun on his heel and stormed out of the room, scattering servants as he continued to curse, eloquently and audibly, the entire length of the corridor.

Leila came running, having feared that her Lady would have need of her. When she saw the sobbing woman in the bed, she knew she was right.

“Lady, what can I do for you?” she asked gently.

Gretchen's lower lip trembled, but she raised her face proudly. “You can help me finish packing and call Hassan! I'm leaving here right now!”

“But, Lady,” Leila began.

“You heard him,” she pointed out. “The whole palace heard him. He just divorced me. I don't live here anymore!” She got out of bed, totally uninhibited, and put on her
gellabia.
“I want a bath and then I want you to call the driver to take Hassan and me to the airport.”

“I will go with you,” Leila offered.

“I'll miss you. But you can't go with me.” She turned away. “You'll have a new Lady to take care of very soon, anyway.”

“She is married, Lady!”

“She can be divorced as easily as he divorced me. Come on. I want to get this over with.”

 

A week later, she was not only back home in Jacobsville, but she was back at work as well. The girl who'd taken her place at the law firm of Barnes and Kemp had gotten pregnant and gave up her job while morning sickness kept her bedridden. The job was temporarily open, and Gretchen had to support herself until she could look for something permanent.

The surprise was to find that Callie Kirby wasn't there, either. Something very hush-hush was going on, and nobody was talking about what it was. Gossip was that a drug lord was involved, and that Micah Steele, Callie's stepbrother, was also missing. Beyond that, nothing was really known publicly.

Gretchen could have found out from her brother, Marc, but he hadn't been at home when she arrived, either. Conner Mack, the elderly ranch foreman, and his wife, Katie, welcomed her with open arms. Marc's old friend and fellow Texas Ranger Judd Dunn was home on vacation. He stopped by to see Gretchen and was surprised to find her with a six-foot-four-inch Arab bodyguard who went everywhere with her.

“Where did you get him?” he asked.

“Hassan? Oh, he's my dowry,” she told him with a grin. “I suppose he's my marriage settlement, too. I must say, I've never felt safer in my life. He takes very good care of me.”

Judd's black eyes flashed with humor. “Do you get to go to the ladies' room alone?” he asked wickedly.

“He stands right outside the door,” she said with a chuckle. “He's intimidating, isn't he?”

“Does he speak English at all?”

She shook her head, smiling at Hassan, who nodded and smiled back. “But he's a darling. I feel ever so safe with him.”

Judd noticed a flicker in Hassan's eyes, but he didn't mention it. “What are you going to do about your marriage?”

Her face hardened. “There's nothing to do. He divorced me before I left the country. I'm free.”

“Doesn't sound quite legal,” he remarked.

“The marriage was only legal in Qawi,” she pointed out. She folded her arms over her chest, fighting a bout of nausea. Ever since she'd come home, she'd been having these irritating queasy spells. She must have picked up a bug in Qawi, while they were in the desert. “How's the job?” she asked.

“It's hard,” he said flatly. “They've got me working with a new partner, and we don't get along. I miss Marc.” He shoved his hands into his jean pockets. “He's never going to be happy living from pillar to post. Why doesn't he come home?”

“He's wondering that himself. He isn't happy with the Bureau. He doesn't like all the traveling he has to do.”

“Good. I hope it gets so bad he can't sleep at night.”

She grinned. “Give it time. He's weakening.”

He glanced at her as they turned and started back toward the house. “I wondered why he went off in the first place. He loved the Rangers.”

She wasn't about to give Marc away, especially not to Judd. His reason for leaving was still painful. “He thought he wanted a change of scenery.”

“Uh-huh.” He pursed his lips. “And to get away from somebody in the process, maybe.”

“I haven't said a single word. And I won't.”

He chuckled. “Never mind. I know when to quit, too.”

He came over twice more before his vacation was up and he headed back to headquarters in Austin for his next assignment. She liked Judd, but she was still a little intimidated by him.

She wasn't at all intimidated by the ranch foreman and his wife, who did the cooking and housecleaning. Connor was in his fifties and so was Katie. She wondered what Philippe would think if he knew that she'd had her “crush” on Connor when she was six years old. He was much more like her father than an employee and she loved him and Katie dearly. She'd given Philippe a wrong impression, but it didn't really bother her. She was still seething about Brianne and being treated like a slave girl in her own bed while she stood in for the other woman. Her pride was crushed, but nothing helped her loneliness. She missed Philippe more every single day.

She brooded over her own problems, but worry wasn't going to solve them. She'd hoped that Philippe might call or write, or even show up one day at the front door. But a month passed with no word from him at all, and Gretchen gave up. She was lackluster and miserable, sick half the time and tired the rest, but she put on a good face for her co-workers. The only bad thing was the continuing ill health that finally drove her to Dr. Lou Coltrain after she passed out in the office where she worked.

When she came to, Hassan had her in the ranch truck and had driven her to the doctor's office. Heaven knew how he found it, but he was resourceful. He helped her out of the truck and frog-marched her, in the gentlest possible way, right up to the receptionist's desk and patted her shoulder with a hand the size of a ham.

“Hassan thinks I should see Dr. Lou,” Gretchen said irritably. “I fainted,” she added.

“Is Mr. Hassan your husband?” the receptionist asked, staring at the big man wide-eyed.

“What he is would make a book,” Gretchen said with a sigh. “Can you work me in, since he won't let me go home?”

“Of course! She's only got one more patient. She was leaving early, but she won't mind seeing you. Have a seat.”

She did. Hassan sat and waited with her, ignoring the fascinated glances of the other people in the waiting room. Ten minutes later, the nurse called her name and led her back to a small cubicle. Hassan followed, standing at attention outside the door.

Lou Coltrain came in seconds later, giving the huge man a speaking glance before she closed the sliding cubicle door and looked at Gretchen.

“You have a shadow,” Lou remarked with a grin. She had long blond hair, too, and was married to “Copper” Coltrain, the other doctor in the small practice.

“Hassan,” Gretchen said complacently. “Although I call him ‘Elvis.' He's my dowry.”

Lou blinked. “Excuse me?”

“My husband gave him to me as a dowry. I get to keep him, even though my husband divorced me. He's my bodyguard.”

Lou grinned. “Do you need one?”

“I am…I was,” she corrected, “married to the head of state of a small Middle-Eastern country. He divorced me and sent me home, but one of his enemies is trying to blow him out of his palace. He thinks I may be a target, so Hassan has to live with me until one of us dies or Kurt Brauer is arrested again.”

Lou cocked her head. “Nice story. Thinking of getting it published, are you?”

Gretchen glared at her. “It's the truth.”

Lou nodded. “Of course it is,” she said, humoring her patient. “Now let's hear your symptoms.”

Gretchen elaborated on them. Lou asked a question and Gretchen gasped out loud as she realized that she hadn't had a monthly in two months. Lou frowned and called the nurse in to draw blood.