Darkness had fallen before Jed finally moored the falucca at a spot not too far from the British Consulate. Helping Victoria onto the quay, Ali darted Jed a searching look as the American jumped ashore.
“Well, what are you waiting for? Go home to your Fatima,” Jed barked before the other man could speak.
“As much as I yearn to see my wife and tell her of my safe return, I do not want to desert you when you are so troubled,” the Egyptian stated, his hawkish features alive with sympathy.
“You didn’t mind leaving me on the bank of the Nile this morning,” Jed said with a snort. “As for trouble, I won’t have any once I hand Miss Shaw over to Reed.”
“Perhaps I should go with you,” Ali said indecisively. He was afraid that if he left the man to his own devices, Jed would only make the situation somehow worse. “We began this journey together. We should end it the same way.”
“Listen, Ali, as far as I’m concerned, our forced partnership is over,” Jed pronounced acridly. “I’m not about to tolerate your company any longer than I have to. Get the hell out of here. I’ve seen enough of your face to last me a lifetime.”
“All right, so be it. But before I leave, there is something I must say,” Ali stubbornly continued, drawing Jed aside and lowering his voice. “I thought you were a brave man, Jed Kincaid, and now I find that is not the case. Slave markets, dervishes and miles of treacherous sands mean nothing to you. Still, you fear the simple pain of the human heart. You want the woman, and yet I can see from your face you will do nothing to win her. It is a coward’s action to turn away. Fight for her, Jed. Forget your trepidation and your pride.”
“Go home, fellah, to your spouse and your shop,” Jed hissed, the muscles of his jaw working in barely suppressed fury, “before I permit my temper to get the better of me and I kill you.”
“You know where you can find me,” the Egyptian said quietly before turning back to the falucca to claim Fatima’s bolts of silk. Then he bid Victoria a fond if brief farewell and walked off.
Jed ran the back of his hand over the stubble-covered planes of his cheeks while he watched Ali’s tall, lean frame disappear into the crowd that had begun to form at the sight of such bedraggled travelers arriving at the quay in the darkness.
He certainly wasn’t looking his best, but it was Victoria with her disarrayed profusion of blond hair, disheveled blouse and torn skirt that commanded the most notice. Before she could arouse any more curiosity, Jed hired some porters, shouting orders for them to take his saddlebags to the Crescent Hotel where he kept rooms. Then he shouldered his rifle and roughly grabbed Victoria’s elbow, propelling her toward the consulate.
* * *
“What do you mean Reed’s not here?” Jed shouted, his black scowl meant to quell the pomposity of the aide left in charge of the consulate for the night.
“Just what I said,” the new staff member replied officiously.
“Then where the hell is he?” Jed practically snarled, unwilling to see his plans for coercing Vicky into making a choice fall apart as a result of Hayden Reed’s schedule.
“He’s most likely at home,” the aide said with a disdainful sniff, eyeing this barbaric colonial and the beauty of questionable character he had in tow.
“Well, send someone to haul his tail back here,” a fuming Jed ordered, his impropriety shocking the minor official more than the rifle he had left with the guard in the vestibule.
“I beg your pardon!” the Englishman commented archly.
“You can do that later,” Jed said. “Right now, go and fetch Reed. Tell him I’ve returned his fiancée.”
“Miss Shaw?” the incredulous fellow asked in awe, as he took in Victoria’s sun-reddened cheeks and shredded clothing. At her nod, his arrogance transformed into fawning solicitation. “I’ll see to it right away,” he replied, bowing while he backed out of the room, “and I’ll have some tea sent up, shall I?”
“Yeah—I sure could do with a bracing cup of tea right about now,” Jed said with sarcasm lost on the bureaucrat. “And make yourself scarce until Reed gets here,” he called to the retreating figure. “Miss Shaw would like some privacy.”
“Very good, sir.”
After the man’s departure, Victoria began to pace the room nervously. She had been shocked and put out to hear that Hayden had left his bachelor quarters and taken up residence in the house that would be theirs. But she had quickly forgiven him, supposing that the move was no more than a desperate clinging to hope, an affirmation that she would return and they would be married. However, it now dawned on her that his absence meant she would be compelled to spend more time alone with Jed Kincaid, something she hardly relished, and her pique with Hayden began to flourish all over again.
Her attitude would make it most difficult to be convincing when she threw herself into her fiancé’s arms for their joyous reunion. Yet that was exactly what she had to do in order to make Jed believe Hayden was the man she truly wanted.
Would her virile rescuer watch her then as intently as he was doing at present? She felt his green eyes boring into her as she took step after step across the luxurious rug sitting upon a perfectly polished floor. Graceful and focused as he was, Jed looked like some great desert cat, hungry for prey. With trepidation, Victoria waited to hear his husky growl float across the hot, heavy air that hung between them, but to her relief, he kept his silence.
For each minute that passed without his speaking, a tiny bit of tension eased from her body and gave her cause to hope that perhaps he had seen logic and finally accepted her decision.
By the time the tea arrived, the pretty blonde was comfortable enough to perch on the edge of a damask-covered chair, though she still cast an occasional wary glance in Jed’s direction. When the servant had disappeared, she chanced pouring the hot drink set before her, fighting not to allow the trembling of her hands to betray her unsettled state. There was nothing she longed to do as much as throw herself in Jed’s arms, but she very civilly poured two cups of tea instead, not at all surprised when one cup remained untouched.
Oh, how she had longed for tea poured from a dainty teapot when she had set out from Khartoum. Back then, she had sworn there was nothing so wonderful as the trappings of civilization. But finding herself seated upon plush, expensive furniture beneath a crystal chandelier, with oil paintings on the wall and a fragile china cup in her hand, she discovered none of it mattered.
Jed Kincaid was what she wanted now. Even in his rumpled clothes, with his dark hair too long and a stubble of beard on his rugged face, Jed possessed a thousand times more dignity than his surroundings. There was an essential masculinity about him, and a vital, virile pride that diminished the importance of the things elite society valued. Once more, she was tempted to go to him, to bow her head and beg him to take her back, until she remembered why she could never be his. After all he had come to mean to her, it was beyond her to condemn Jed to a life of eventual unhappiness.
A soft sigh escaping her, Victoria Shaw reconciled herself to the inevitable. She would set Jed free and try to make Hayden a good wife.
Her roiling thoughts were interrupted by the sound of hurried footsteps along the corridor. Apprehensively, she stood and faced the doorway, steeling herself to do what had to be done.
At the measured tread echoing in the hallway, Jed yearned to take Victoria in his arms and crush her lips with his own, ardently claiming as his right her uninhibited response. Reed’s being greeted by such a sight would settle the question of whom Vicky was going to marry once and for all. But despite the plan’s bold merits, he decided against it, sensing instinctively that Vicky would hate him for doing such a thing.
With no other options he could see, Jed did nothing more than rise impatiently for the confrontation with Hayden Reed.
Suddenly the door was thrown open, and the tall, spare Englishman rushed into the room. Taking Victoria into his arms, he placed a light kiss on the top of her forehead.
Hell, that wasn’t the way he would greet his woman, Jed decided in contempt. Surely a passionate woman like Vicky couldn’t be satisfied with such a restrained show of devotion. Still, the sight of Victoria enfolded in Reed’s embrace had him clenching his fists as well as his jaw while he waited for the diplomat to stop his murmured crooning to Victoria and to recognize his presence.
When Reed finally pulled away from her, Jed noted that Vicky was crying, huge tears cascading down the contours of her delicate face. It was only the second time he had seen her cry, and the thought that her tears could possibly be those of joy was enough to throw Jed into a frenzy.
“Reed,” he said, his barely controlled voice harsh.
“Kincaid,” Hayden greeted him with a tight nod. “I’ll deal with you in a moment, after making certain Miss Shaw is quite all right before sending her home to her parents.”
“Her parents?” Jed echoed in mocking disbelief. Hell, he’d be too busy even to think of notifying the girl’s family of her return until sometime around noon tomorrow.
“Of course!” Hayden snapped, annoyed by the impudence of the man he considered no more than a vulgar ruffian. It was beneath him to lose his temper with this brash American before Victoria departed, but restraint seemed impossible in light of Jed’s contemptuous smile. He decided, therefore, to dispatch his fiancée to her home with all possible haste so he could deal with the smug American as he deserved.
“Victoria, darling, you seem as well as can be expected under the circumstances,” he began, his lips compressing at the sight of the shapely leg exposed by her skirt. “As overjoyed as I am at your return, I can’t be entirely selfish and remiss in my duty to your parents. I shall have an escort brought around to see you safely to your father’s estate so that he and your dear mother can partake of the happiness I feel.”
“But, Hayden, don’t you want to know what happened?” Victoria asked with distress. Suddenly she was loath to leave Jed’s company, her heart bereft at the prospect of never seeing him again.
“Of course, my dear, but that can wait for tomorrow,” he said with a rigid firmness couched behind a gentle tone of voice that set Jed’s teeth on edge. “Besides, you must be overcome with exhaustion, and the only place for you is your own bed.”
Her own bed! You don’t deserve her, you fool, Jed wanted to shout, hoping that this rejection would open Vicky’s eyes.
“But, Hayden,” Victoria importuned, trying not to compare her fiancé with the man who had saved her life only to claim her heart.
“No buts, Victoria,” Hayden insisted. He reached for the bell pull that would summon his aide. “I won’t hear another word about the matter. Do as you’re bid like a good girl, won’t you?”
To Jed’s utter disbelief, Victoria docilely agreed. This wasn’t the fiery Vicky he had known. But more than that, the anxious American could not bring himself to believe she would turn her back on him and leave this room, still Hayden Reed’s intended.
Yet when the aide appeared, Victoria made no further attempt to protest. Eyes lowered, she bid her fiancé good-night, receiving a proper peck on the cheek for her efforts.
In an instant, Jed stopped her before she could follow Reed’s lackey into the hallway. Heart beating thunderously in his chest, he knew the moment of truth was at hand.
“Aren’t you going to say goodbye to me, Vicky?” he asked, his gruff voice half jeer, half entreaty.
“Of—of course,” Victoria muttered, conscious of Hayden’s annoyance. Drawing close to the man she loved, she felt as though she were being wrenched in two. But she told herself that her present pain was for Jed’s sake. She had to be strong.
“Goodbye, Mr. Kincaid,” she began, studying the tips of her ruined shoes. Given Jed’s silence, she was not prepared for the look in his eyes when she finally raised hers to his. It was a taunting expression, a silent dare. He never thought she’d walk out of this room without him and into a future that included only Hayden Reed.
She faltered for a moment, calling on every bit of courage in order to bid Jed Kincaid farewell. Finally, she knew she had to proceed before she broke down under the strain of what she had to do.
“Thank you for all you have done. I truly appreciate what it has cost you,” Victoria said in a small voice. Close to tears, she reached up to place a light kiss on Jed’s cheek. Then, before she could react to the achingly familiar sensation the brief intimacy evoked, she turned and fled amid the flutter of her tattered skirt.
A stunned Jed looked at the door that closed behind her. She really had left him forever, and all for some jackass who would never cherish her as he would have done. Perhaps Vicky’s departure was just as well, he decided in an effort to fight the helpless rage swelling up inside him. He certainly hadn’t known her as he thought he had. She had been right, they would never suit.
“All right, Kincaid. Let us have at it,” Hayden Reed said briskly, giving Jed an excuse to push his tumultuous emotions aside and regain his control. “You were expressly told to do no more than deliver the ransom. The next thing I know, the oasis was strewn with carcasses and not only has Miss Shaw disappeared. but so had you, the Egyptian and the money. You’d better have a good reason for disobeying orders.”
“I did my job, and I did it damn well,” Jed said with a lazy smile at odds with the grief constricting his heart. “As for orders, I don’t answer to you or anyone else.”
“You most certainly do,” Reed insisted.
But before Jed could form a reply that would eradicate the Englishman’s arrogance, the door swung wide, catching his attention and renewing his hopes. The figure standing at the threshold was not Victoria’s, however, though it was familiar all the same. At the sight of Ali Sharouk, Jed nodded. At the moment he could use a friend, and despite the harsh words with which they had parted, Ali was just about the only one he had in all of Egypt.
“I am sorry to be late,” Ali said, entering the room briskly, “but I wanted to advise my wife of my safe return.”
“That’s all right. You didn’t take all that long. Wasn’t Fatima glad to see you?” Jed asked with a grin that caused the Egyptian to turn a darker shade. “I told you I’d handle this.”
“Not trusting you, I had to come to hear what you said,” Ali proclaimed with irritation. But regardless of his words, both he and Jed knew why he was there. It had been worry for his friend’s well-being that had driven him out into the night once more.
“I see you two are congenial as ever,” Reed interrupted impatiently, wanting only to get this over with. “I was just questioning Kincaid’s precipitate actions near the Wadi Halfa. How could you have allowed him to do so reckless a thing?”
“In truth, the American had no choice,” Ali lied. Then he proceeded to relate the story of Victoria’s rescue, or at least those details he thought Reed should hear, Jed interjecting occasionally to supplement his partner’s narrative.
The consular agent’s eyes narrowed when the men told him the story of Victoria’s near abduction by the dervishes, and again as Jed told him what he had overheard the night at the oasis when he had crept along the sand to get Victoria water.
“Were there any names mentioned?” Hayden asked coolly, though the stare with which he fixed Jed and Ali was most intent.
“No. That doesn’t mean trouble is not brewing,” Jed replied.
“Then you’d best give me every detail you can remember,” Hayden directed, efficiently withdrawing a pencil and paper from a nearby desk drawer. Poised to take notes, a serious Hayden Reed made an impressive official, even to Jed’s prejudiced eye.
But when the American and the shopkeeper had concluded their account, he regarded them with a smirk that smacked of dismissal.
“I suppose I should commend you for your intentions in reporting this dervish business, but I can assure you, it means nothing,” he stated with an arrogance born of an education rooted in imperialism. “From my experiences in this heathenish outpost, I judge this to be no more than wishful thinking on the part of the natives. There is no need to concern yourselves.”
“They’re building a powder magazine on Tuti Island, rifles are being run down to the Sudan, and they’ve taken it into their heads that they have a Mahdi, a saviour!” Jed protested.
“These people are always looking for a new redeemer,” Hayden replied, his tone drenched in boredom. “As for the firearms, scoundrels constantly smuggle contraband, try as we do to stop them. And by your own account, the powder magazine is far from being finished. The Sudanese will, in all likelihood, be too shiftless to complete it. None of what you have told me means anything.”
“How can you say that? I insist you pass this information on to your superior,” Jed argued.
“Kincaid, you are in no position to insist upon anything. In fact, if it weren’t apparent that Miss Shaw feels some sort of misplaced gratitude toward you, I’d have you and your cohort arrested for failing to simply deliver the ransom money as directed. If you had done so, I have no doubt my fiancée would have been returned long ago, without being dragged along on some wild, hazardous journey through the desert. As it is, I’ve half a mind to jail you both. However, since she is home safely, I will allow her father to decide what is to be done.”
“Let’s hope he has more sense than you do,” muttered Jed.
“Mind your manners, Kincaid,” Hayden ordered, “or I’ll follow my first inclination. As for the senior consular agent, I will determine what, if anything, he should be told. In my opinion, this could all be something you’ve fabricated to forestall prosecution for placing Miss Shaw in needless jeopardy. However, being a fair man, I am going to give you a choice. Leave the ransom money and go, or remain and be arrested.”
Jed and Ali exchanged glances and wordlessly got to their feet. Reaching into an inner pocket of his shirt, Jed withdrew what remained of Cameron Shaw’s money and threw it on a table.
“A simple thank you would have been sufficient, Reed,” he said with disdain.
When he and Ali reached the door, Jed turned around and addressed Hayden Reed once more. “You’ll find money missing,” he announced, his voice steely. “There were expenses. Unfortunately, I didn’t think to get receipts, so you can add theft to my list of crimes.” Then he walked away with a nonchalance that told an incensed Hayden how very little Jed feared his authority.
By the time they reached the street, Jed’s barely contained fury threatened to erupt. His rage stemmed not so much from Hayden’s treatment as from the fact that Victoria Shaw dared prefer such a man to him.
“Where will you go?” Ali asked quietly, his face filled with concern. “I’m sure Fatima wouldn’t mind if you—”
“Get on home, Ali,” the American growled, interrupting him before the words began in pity were completed. Then Jed Kincaid stalked away into the night, wondering where his footsteps would take him before he returned to his hotel. In spite of his weariness, he had no wish to seek his bed. It would seem too lonely after he had grown accustomed to having Vicky sleep by his side.
* * *
Victoria stared silently at the passing civilization of Cairo as the small trap carried her out of the city toward her parents’ estate. Despite the late hour, lights shone in occasional windows, but the young woman saw only dark confusion surrounding her.
She had deliberately scorned Jed’s proposal to spare him, and tonight, mere moments before, had turned her back on the man to whom she owed so much. And how had Hayden treated her? Like an inconvenient obligation to be dispatched from sight. Hayden was, by nature, a private, reserved gentleman, while Jed was nothing if not undisciplined, but why couldn’t her fiancé have shown more enthusiasm at her return? She would have thought Hayden would have been relieved to see her after nearly three weeks.
Yet despite the man’s shortcomings, she had chosen Hayden over Jed, Victoria reminded herself. She had no right to grumble because she was weary and troubled by second thoughts. Besides, Hayden did love her, certainly he did—and in return, she loved him, at least a little...didn’t she?
When the carriage finally stopped before the Shaw home, the query still echoed in her heart, but Victoria cast it aside as a familiar voice called out in excitement.
“Victoria? Oh, dear Lord, it is you. Every night we’ve waited, hoping against hope that another day wouldn’t pass without your return,” cried Cameron Shaw, his jubilant emotions overwhelming his banker’s demeanor. Without concern for decorum, he swept his daughter into his arms. “Grace, Grace, come quickly.”
“Father, you don’t know how often I prayed to see you again,” she murmured against his shoulder. Pleased by his blatant affection, she couldn’t help but compare it to Hayden’s poor example.
“I wager not half so fervently as your mother and I did,” he answered, hugging her close. Rather than relinquish his hold on her, the banker carried Victoria into the house, refusing to let her down until they reached the drawing room.
“My poor child.” Even as Cameron released the girl, Grace enveloped her in a warm embrace, simultaneously calling out orders to the servants. “Draw Miss Victoria a bath, prepare a tray, see that her bed is turned down, oh, and bring us some tea.”
“Never mind the tea,” said Victoria’s father. Going to the decanters displayed on a mahogany table, he poured three glasses of amontillado. “Sherry is bloody well more soothing for the nerves. Besides, we must toast the splendid chap who rescued Victoria and brought her back to us. Kincaid, isn’t that his name? Where is he, child? We owe him a large debt of gratitude—”
“Ah—well—I imagine he’s still at the consulate with Hayden.”
“You were with Hayden and he didn’t bring you home?” Grace could hardly believe her ears.
“It wasn’t Hayden’s fault. He wanted to, but he had to take Jed’s report and I didn’t wish to wait for him,” extemporized Victoria. Having made her choice, she was unwilling to hear Hayden slandered any further, especially after listening to Jed’s derogatory remarks about him for weeks. “I wanted to hurry home and reassure you—”
“Of course you did, dear,” agreed Mrs. Shaw, “and rightly so.”
“I still want to meet Kincaid and salute the fellow,” insisted Cameron. Handing Victoria a glass of sherry, he reached down to stroke her flushed cheek, all too aware of what he might have lost without the man’s assistance. “After all, he is the one who restored my dearest treasure. American mercenary or not, we must invite the man to dine, Grace.”
“I doubt he would come, Father,” murmured Victoria, paling at the notion of facing Jed under her parents’ watchful eyes. Finally home, all she wanted was to forget him and return to her life. Confronting the choice she had been compelled to make was not part of her plans. “Kincaid is not very social—and there is Ali.”
“That’s no problem. I’ll invite them both,” countered Cameron, a man accustomed to having his way.
“But Victoria says he wouldn’t be comfortable,” protested Grace, wondering how she would entertain such an odd pair at her table. “Perhaps you could take them to Shepheard’s—”
“Nonsense. The man is a hero and deserves to be treated as such. It is only right Kincaid and his associate come here.”
“Really, Father, I don’t believe Jed will accept. Such an invitation would only put him in an awkward position,” she argued weakly. It had torn her heart asunder to bid Jed a final farewell once. She didn’t think she would have the strength to do it again.
“Don’t concern yourself,” counselled Grace. “Your father will do as he likes. Come upstairs. A good night’s sleep in your own bed will have you right as rain by morning.”
Victoria was too exhausted to protest any further. Cameron Shaw would do as he wanted, regardless of what she said, but then, so would Jed. Turning to follow her mother, Victoria leaned forward to kiss her father’s cheek.
“I will be up to say good-night,” he promised, running his hand over her unruly curls. “And, in the morning, you can tell me all about your adventures.”
Watching as Grace led his daughter from the room, Cameron shook his head. He knew he shouldn’t question the gods, but he couldn’t help it. If Kincaid had discovered any clue as to why Victoria had been taken, he wanted to know about it to prevent a recurrence, and know it he would. Besides, to meet an adventurer with the reputation of Jed Kincaid, a man who could steal his daughter from the very center of white slavery, would be a real pleasure, even if the chap was American.
* * *
Jed’s haunted steps carried him through the serpentine passageways of Cairo’s medina. Driven by a sense of abysmal loss, he neither saw nor cared about the exotic sights surrounding him. No matter how desperately he tried to banish it, Victoria’s visage was what he carried before him, blinding him to all else. The dragomans and snake charmer were invisible to him, along with the beckoning merchandise artfully displayed by the shopkeepers. Compelling as the streets of Cairo’s Arab Quarter were, the lovely contours of Victoria’s face continued to easily supersede the reality flanking Jed.
As he pressed onward, the American evinced the supple grace of a caged panther. Though his physical movements were not hampered, his emotions had been captured by a blond, blue-eyed vixen, so that Jed was held prisoner as surely as if he were behind bars.
Rounding one corner and then another, Jed didn’t even know why he was in this part of the city, where he was going, or for that matter, where he had been. He felt lost, alone, a stranger in a foreign land, and for the first time in a long while, he wished one of his brothers were close at hand.
To dispel his sense of isolation, he had gone to a tavern, but after one sip of whiskey, he had left. Next, he had tried Nadir’s brothel, but could not bring himself to cross its threshold. Nothing could serve as a balm for the wounds he carried within his heart, and so he drifted aimlessly, searching for some sort of a cure. Yet the only palliative that would make him whole again was the beautiful Englishwoman installed on her father’s estate, and she had made it clear she did not want him.
When Jed looked up to see where his random path had finally taken him, he was not overly surprised to see a display of brassware. Cursing himself for his weakness in needing someone, he nonetheless approached the shop, stopping before its open front. Standing in the midst of tables, pitchers, trays and coffeepots, he put his hands on his hips and called out to the shop’s owner, hoping to hide his despondency behind masculine bravado.
“Ali! Ali Sharouk, get your tail out here, man!”
Momentarily, a grinning face appeared, and Ali came out into the narrow alley that served as a street.
“I was wondering when you would arrive,” the pleased Egyptian announced.
“Yeah, well don’t get all excited about it. I’m only here on some business,” Jed said gruffly. Ali was a happy man, and Jed suddenly thought better of bringing his troubles to the Egyptian’s doorstep.
“I am disappointed you come to my shop simply to conduct business, but what is it I can do for you?”
“Why, I’m here to...to...to pay you for that damned coffee service,” Jed fabricated, discomforted by Ali’s probing stare.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Jed. That is long forgotten,” the brass merchant assured him.
The Jed Kincaid Ali saw standing in front of the shop was not at all to his liking. He appeared more haggard than the Cairene had ever seen him, even during the worst of the times in the desert. Back in civilization for almost two days, Jed had yet to shave, and while his clothing was clean, it hardly bespoke fastidiousness. His usually brilliant eyes were dulled, and his spirit weary. It was unmistakable, even to the blindest of beggars, that Jed was a human being who was feeling most wretched.
Ali refused to take the coins the American tried to press upon him, determined he would not allow his proud friend to leave without at least attempting to help him.
“Put your money away, Jed. I’ve riches enough,” he insisted, pushing Jed’s hand aside.
“If that’s the way you feel about it, I’ll be going,” Jed muttered, stuffing the money back into his trouser pocket. Though he had come to view Ali as the next best thing to a brother, Jed couldn’t see himself running to another to bemoan his ill fortune. He’d handle his own problems. Coming here had been a mistake.
“Oh, no you don’t,” Ali proclaimed, pulling the retreating American forward. “You must be introduced to Fatima. She would be displeased to find you had been here, and she was not given the opportunity of meeting the man who had saved her husband’s life.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea, Ali,” Jed said, digging in his heels and shaking off the Egyptian’s grasp. He was suddenly unprepared to observe the bliss Ali and his wife enjoyed, the sort of happiness that had been denied to him by the cold-hearted woman who intended to marry Hayden Reed.
“I cannot think of a better one. To deny me this is to insult me, Jed. I would have you enter my home and be my guest.”
“Some other time. I’ll be back,” Jed mumbled.
“It is disheartening to see a man crumble because of a woman.”
“Vicky has nothing to do with my deciding not to visit for a spell, Ali,” Jed lied, tipping his hat in a gesture of farewell.
“Good,” Ali called to his retreating back, “because no woman, especially that one, is worth such misery.”
Jed whirled around, fists clenched, ready to do battle and prove that Victoria Shaw was worth more than the whole world put together, until he observed Ali’s knowing smile.
“Damn it, man, you almost had me ready to bust up your shop all over again,” Jed said with a rueful smile, walking back to stand beside him. “Clever bastard, aren’t you.”
“I think so,” the Egyptian said smugly. “Now, come, we will enjoy some refreshment and talk of things that matter.”
“Don’t think I came here to discuss Vicky,” Jed asserted, following Ali along a narrow passage to a neat whitewashed domicile hidden in the rear of the brass studio.
“As you wish. We will talk of anything that pleases you,” Ali assured his companion, though he anticipated his friend talking about nothing other than the blonde who had conquered his heart amid the blazing desert sands.
“Fatima! I have brought a guest,” Ali called as he bent his long frame in order to enter the small door leading into his home.
After a rustling of fabric behind a heavily beaded curtain, a diminutive feminine figure appeared. Swathed in mantle and veil, she advanced with mincing steps, her black eyes glistening like polished obsidian.
So this was Fatima, Jed thought, a half smile pasting itself on his face. Why, the woman wasn’t anything like Vicky at all, no matter what Ali had said previously. Besides her dark coloring, Fatima was much shorter in stature. More to the point, from what Jed could see of her under her layers of clothing, she appeared plump as a little partridge. No, he wouldn’t look at Fatima and think of Vicky, Jed promised himself, until he noted the way Ali glanced at his wife, as though he would do anything for her, even those things that seemed impossible to accomplish. It was then that Jed felt a pang of envy mixed with regret, seeing in his friend’s face the reflection of his own feelings for Victoria Shaw.
Following introductions, a gracious Fatima hovered around the men like a minute bird hopping from one foot to the next as she fluffed the pillows on which Ali and Jed reclined, brought bowls of water perfumed with jasmine for their ablutions, and offered trays of fruits and Turkish delight for their enjoyment.
In her behavior, Fatima wasn’t much like Vicky, either, Jed thought wryly. Certainly he couldn’t envision the woman he had rescued deigning to wait on him so solicitously. It wasn’t until he had pulled a flask from his shirt and held it out to Ali that Jed saw a similarity between Vicky Shaw and Ali’s wife. At once the woman’s dark eyes sparked angrily, signaling her condemnation of the alcohol Ali had been reaching for. Without having to speak a word, Fatima had made her displeasure known, putting Jed in mind of the spirited female he had escorted across the desert.
A heavy sigh escaping him, the rugged American theorized that women were a funny breed. As much as they might chatter and squawk, their silent glances were far more powerful when it came to keeping a man in line. Ali’s abashed haste to withdraw his outstretched hand and return it to his lap before it came into contact with the whiskey only supported Jed’s observation. And so did the loving nod of approval Fatima dispensed as her husband’s reward.
“I’m slated to see Cookson, the consul general’s aide, tomorrow,” Jed informed Ali brusquely, taking refuge in masculine affairs. “Reed doesn’t know. I managed to circumvent him when I made the appointment.”
“Perhaps if you shave beforehand, Cookson will be more likely to believe you,” Ali commented wryly. He took a goblet of water from Fatima, its top crowned with an aromatic slice of lemon.
“Don’t worry, I’ll clean myself up some. It’s just that I’ve been out having so much fun the last day or so, I’ve been rather remiss with my grooming.”
“Excuse my saying so, Jed, but from your appearance, it would seem that you and fun are hardly acquainted.”
“Well that shows what you know,” Jed grumbled.
“You’re too busy having a good time to do anything about what’s making you so miserable, I suppose,” Ali commented with exasperation. “I’ve never seen a man so gloomy.”
“Well, I have good cause,” Jed blurted. “The Shaws had the audacity to send me an invitation to dine with them. How can I put Vicky behind me when people keep reminding me of her existence?”
“What is so wrong?” Ali inquired calmly. “The Shaws merely want to show their gratitude.”
“As if I could sit there in Vicky’s home, watching her with Hayden Reed, seeing her bend her head to his. I’m afraid I wouldn’t have much of an appetite. I’m not accepting.”
“I am,” Ali said in a quiet voice.
“You were invited, too?” Jed asked in surprise. Reluctantly he had to admit the Shaws were demonstrating well-mannered cordiality in inviting Ali. Most upper-class Britons would never ask an Egyptian to their homes, much less break bread with him. Perhaps the Shaws were not as lofty as he had judged them to be. Still, that didn’t solve his own dilemma. It wasn’t the woman Ali loved who would be sitting beside another man. “Well, have a good time and convey my regrets,” Jed growled. “I’m staying away.”
“But of course you will go!” Fatima interjected, leaving Jed little doubt as to what Ali had told her. Speaking for the first time since his arrival, Fatima’s voice was high-pitched and full of Eastern melody, but her disapproval of Jed’s decision was plain. “You cannot hope to win the lady if you refuse to see her. How can you decline such an opportunity,” she gently scolded, flitting around Jed excitedly, “when even I, a stranger, can see that you are crestfallen? Do not be as cowardly as a runaway rooster rejected by the hen, Jed Kincaid. Instead, you must continue to strut and crow more loudly than before, displaying your fine plumage to impress your lady.”
“Now, see here, Fatima,” Jed began, “I appreciate your interest, but—”
“His plumage is nothing to crow about, my dove,” Ali pronounced, his dark eyes sliding critically over Jed’s disheveled garments. “But perhaps Abu the tailor can be of assistance.”
“Splendid, my husband! I shall fetch him right away!” Fatima exclaimed, clapping her hands joyfully.
“Wait a minute,” Jed objected, starting to rise before Ali reached out to push him back down upon the cushions.
“Not to worry. Abu is an excellent tailor. He is responsible for clothing a great many of the foreigners living in Cairo. Of course, he will not be able to provide you with evening clothes for tomorrow night’s dinner, but that cannot be helped. However, with prodding, he could have your finery ready in two or three days so that you can attend other social affairs at which Victoria might be present.”
“But—” Jed began, bewilderment crossing his handsome face.
“Don’t worry, Jed,” Ali interrupted quickly to forestall Jed’s true objections, “there will be no door in Cairo closed to you. You are the city’s newest hero, the man who traveled to the Sudan to rescue Victoria Shaw. You will find yourself with more invitations than you can handle.”
“I will find myself alone in my hotel room,” Jed snapped.
“No, believe me, Jed. The invitations will come,” Ali responded, smoothly ignoring the point the nettled American was trying to make.
“But—”
“There is nothing to cause you concern. Leave it all to us,” the Egyptian said with a smile. “I am afraid Fatima will have it no other way.”