A Secret in Her Kiss (18 page)

The shock in her voice discomfited him. “It wasn’t his fault. The poem was apparently so poor he thought I’d entered in jest.” He had to force the words past a painful dryness in his throat.

He’d labored over that waste-of-paper for two months, revising, then rethinking, then revising again. He’d submitted it the last hour before the competition closed because his first copy had become so smudged from his sweaty palms that he’d had to write it anew. In typical schoolboy arrogance, he’d been sure all he had to do was wait for the accolades to come pouring in. There would be astonishment, too. After all, he was destined for the army and had hidden his poetic genius well, but he’d planned to sagely point to the warrior-poets of old and had even looked up a few names to cite.

The next day, the professor had confronted him in front of his entire class, reading the poem aloud, then accusing him of making a mockery of the contest by submitting worthless tripe meant to turn the competition into a farce.

Of course, Bennett did what any boy of twelve would’ve done and laughingly agreed with his professor. He then bore the punishment from his teacher and the congratulations of the other boys for his clever prank.

Mari had again fallen silent behind him.

He skirted around a large grouping of boulders so she wouldn’t have to clamber over them. He hadn’t written again until he’d been ordered to the Peninsula at seventeen. Then he’d composed only because it was either that or go mad from the chaos in his mind. But then Colonel Smollet-Green had stepped in and repeated what he already knew—he was meant to butcher soldiers, not the written word.

He’d burned every poem he wrote for the next nine years.

Really, they’d both done him a favor. How much more humiliating would it have been to go through life thinking he could write when he could not?

“How dare he!” Rage colored her exclamation, startling him. “The man must’ve been blind.” She grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Your poems are good.”

He ruthlessly mocked the small moment of pleasure her words roused. He’d made her feel sorry for him—what did he expect her to say? “You don’t need to fear crushing my spirit.”

Her lips parted. “You don’t believe me.”

“I believe you are generous.”

“Your poetry is better than good, it’s riveting.”

“You’d hardly say otherwise to my face.” He smiled to show he understood the quandary in which he’d placed her.

She jabbed him in the chest with her finger. “I might hesitate to say the truth, but I wouldn’t lie. You really thought your book deserved to be left in the dirt?”

The disbelief in her hazel eyes shook him more than anything she’d said. His heart pounded erratically. But he still couldn’t bring himself to consider her praise. “It was just a silly amusement.”

“If that’s what you think, I’m keeping the book.” Mari glared at him and strode past.

His chest constricted. Bad or not, the book belonged to him. He needed it back. “My form is weak.”

“Yes, your meter is off in places.”

He flinched at the confirmation.

Yet she continued, “But who says you have to follow the established pattern?”

He fumbled for an answer. “The poets.”

“Your poems didn’t flow beautifully off my tongue. They didn’t align nicely on the page.”

Why had he encouraged her to tell the truth?

“They didn’t paint me a picture of war.” She whirled and faced him. “They grabbed me by the throat and dragged me there.” She exhaled in frustration and started walking again.

Bennett stood motionless for a full minute. If he hadn’t nearly lost sight of her as she entered a scraggly cluster of pines, he might’ve stood there dumbfounded for a good deal longer.

He hurried after her. “The English master at Eton is a well-respected authority.”

Her hips swayed provocatively with her short, agitated strides, impossible to ignore even in his bemused state. “What was your poem about at Eton?”

“The spring.”

“Do you even like the spring?”

He frowned. “What’s not to like about the spring? Flowers and renewed life and whatnot. Besides, I know I’m not destined to be a poet.”

“How?”

“After we sent Napoleon to Elba, I returned to my estate for a few months. I thought I’d try once again to compose poetry. I failed miserably. And this isn’t false modesty. I could think of nothing to write and what I did write was good for nothing but kindling.”

“What were those poems about?” Mari asked.

He proved his point. “Classical themes. The countryside. Nature. Beauty. The bread and butter of poets. I couldn’t produce a single thing.”

“Do you care about those topics?”

He surveyed the terrain. “Of course.”

“You’re not the strongest at structure and form.”

She didn’t need to reiterate that.

“If you try to rely on that, you’ll fail. What drives your work is your passion. If it isn’t there, you have nothing of merit, but when passion is there—” A ruddy red stained the back of her neck. “When passion for your work is there,” she corrected, “you have stunning success.”

A tentative hope filled him. But it seemed too dangerous to be allowed to flourish. Besides, if war was the price for his ability to write poetry, then he’d be content to never write another poem again.

But as her blush reminded him, there were other types of passion. The poem he’d written the other night about the water sprite had flowed easily and hadn’t been a complete debacle.

Yet he couldn’t go about seeking wild experiences just so he could write about them. It didn’t fit his personality. He was, in normal life, quite a staid fellow. Passion wasn’t a daily occurrence.

Until Mari.

The thought caught him unawares. Surely, the intensity of his desire wouldn’t last. It couldn’t. It already half consumed him. If it continued, it would engulf him entirely. To live life under that constant force would be impossible.

Or impossibly pleasurable.

He scanned their surroundings to distract himself. He had to keep her alive before he could follow that line of thought.

Something moved.

Bennett reached out and grabbed Mari’s waist. When she glanced back, he hushed her with a gesture. She nodded and drew back next to him, following his gaze with her own.

The object flickered again on the horizon. It was too distant to discern whether it was human or animal. All he could see was motion.

He pulled Mari back toward some small trees and lowered into a crouch. She copied his position. Her breathing was fast and shallow.

He signaled for her silence again. Her brows drew together in confusion. He pointed to his mouth. Her frown deepened, then cleared. After a shuddering breath, her inhalations slowed and deepened. He briefly squeezed her waist to show his approval.

The blur at the horizon coalesced into colors. Brown and tans. Still moving in their direction.

The pattern of motion remained too linear and steady for an animal. It was human.

Another dot appeared on the horizon.

And it wasn’t alone.

Chapter Twenty-three

T
he filthy group of men continued to descend on their position. Mari pressed herself against the comforting wall of Bennett’s chest. Although they were still a few hundred yards off, their voices carried over the empty desert. Their Turkish was loud and coarse.

“Bandits?” She felt more than heard Bennett’s murmur.

She strained to hear the men’s words. She flinched at the content of their conversation. Apparently, a woman by the name of Evet was quite skilled at certain amorous pursuits.

The men laughed.

“Not that you get to see her anymore,” grumbled one of the men. “With the protection the sultan has on the shipments, we can hardly make enough now to pay for even a cheap whore.”

His companion’s reply was too low to hear, but the others nodded.

“Yes, bandits,” she answered. And they were headed straight toward their hiding place. The curved swords at their waists glinted in the sun. At least two of the men also carried pistols. The third held a rifle.

Her throat closed and she pressed even tighter against Bennett. Her mind felt muddled and she could hear little but the thump of her heart. The men would be on top of them in moments. If they wanted any chance of getting away, they needed to move now.

Her feet scrabbled in the dirt.

“Be still.” Bennett’s order was accompanied by a viselike arm around her ribs.

“They’ll see us.” Panic clawed at her.

“No, if we are perfectly still, they won’t. People only see what they expect to see. If they aren’t looking for people in the bushes, they won’t see us. Trust me.”

Why did he have to say that?

Yet she clamped down on her urge to flee, and the fog enshrouding her mind cleared. She needed to listen to their conversation and discover if they suspected anything. Bennett didn’t speak Turkish, so it was up to her to listen for useful information. It was why she’d insisted on coming.

The hammering in her ears softened to a dull thud. The voices came back into focus.

“ . . . Hazir attacked.”

“Any fool could see it was a trap.”

“They killed him?”

“Died in the rush.”

“Humph. Better than letting the soldiers capture you alive. The new captain is a sick cat who likes to play with his food.”

The bandits walked only a few dozen feet from where she and Bennett crouched between the trees.

Their weapons slapped against their legs as they walked. Sweat glistened on their unkempt beards. Dust covered their scuffed boots and worn trousers.

If a single one of them looked to their right, they would see her.

Although Bennett remained motionless, she sensed the explosive force he readied if needed.

She wouldn’t let him fight alone. She concentrated on the muscles in her legs, willing them to retain functionality. Egg-sized rocks littered the ground near her feet. She could hurl them at the head of the nearest man. Even if she didn’t hit her target, at least she’d provide distraction.

Twelve feet away.

“The captain’s enough to make a man go honest.”

The men chuckled at this. “What would you do, be a cook? You’d kill more people with your food than you do now.”

Nine feet.

“Besides, this new captain won’t last long.”

“He might be gone sooner than he plans. Mahmut has grown weary. He thinks it’s time to remind the captain who controls this area.”

The bandits were so close she could see the scabs dotting the knuckles of the man in front of the group. The deep, wind-scoured lines on his cheeks. The grease stain on the hem of his shirt.

She ceased to breathe.

The men stayed on their chosen course. As Bennett had predicted, not one of them looked in their direction. Their conversation faded to indistinguishable rumbles.

Bennett remained motionless. His grip on her waist didn’t slacken.

The muscles in her legs balled into tight knots.

He still didn’t move.

The burn in her legs intensified. Mari bit her lip to keep from crying. Surely, the bandits were far enough away now. Yet she pressed her eyes shut against the pain and waited for his clearance.

Bennett’s arm slid from her and she teetered to the side as her abused legs refused to hold her weight.

He caught her and helped her upright. “We must move fast.”

What had they been doing thus far? She stepped and her knees buckled.

With a frown, Bennett knelt beside her. His large hands encircled her thigh.

She gasped. “What—” Her question ended in a whispered moan as he began kneading her aching muscles. His strong fingers dug into her sore flesh. A shudder passed through her. With merciless precision, his hands worked in slow circles down her leg, his touch at once exquisitely painful and exquisitely pleasurable. When he reached the ankle of the first leg, he moved on to the second, repeating the treatment.

“Can you walk?” Bennett asked.

No, but for very different reasons than before. She could hardly admit that. “Yes.”

“Then let’s go.”

He hadn’t exaggerated his desire to move fast. After a few minutes, the air burned her lungs and her throat dried like parchment. “Why the extra speed?”

His pace didn’t slacken. “The bandits we just passed. They traveled without supplies. Not even water.”

That was insanity in this terrain. Anyone who lived here more than an hour would know better.

Lived here.

She stiffened. “Their base is close by.”

“Closer than we were led to believe.”

Chapter Twenty-four

T
he delicate flush in Mari’s cheeks deepened into a blotchy red stain; her strained breaths edged closer to gasps; the weariness in her expression devolved to resigned doggedness. Yet Bennett continued to push her and himself. Each soldier had a breaking point. He’d been forced to quickly learn to recognize the signs in the field. Amazingly, Mari hadn’t yet reached hers.

But she was close.

He was a bastard for forcing her into this.

She raised her hand to her hair. It trembled so badly she lowered it without pushing the strands from her eyes.

That was her sign.

“We stop here.” The sun hung low on the horizon. It would’ve been time to stop in a matter of minutes regardless. The tang of the salty ocean air had begun to creep into the desert dust. The plants had begun to thicken. He plotted their location. They were far ahead of schedule, which suited him well. They’d be out sooner.

Mari closed her eyes briefly but gave no other indication of her relief. In fact, she’d been nearly silent since the close call with the bandits. While it was wise, he disliked the fear fueling it.

He wiped the curls from her face and handed her the canteen.

She grimaced as she sipped the water. “Water isn’t supposed to burn.”

“It’s all the dust,” he answered. She should be home sketching flowers.

“Shall we set up camp?” Mari asked.

He glanced around the small, open space ringed with brush and rocks. It’d at least disguise their position and offer protection from the wind. But a thick wool blanket was the sum total of the shelter he’d be able to offer her.

“This
is
the camp, isn’t it?” The corner of her mouth lifted ruefully. “It’ll make for easy takedown in the morning.”

“At least I can offer dinner.” He pulled out two small loaves of bread from his pack, as well as some dried meat and apples.

She tossed the apple a few times in her hand. “Ah, luxury.”

He grimaced. He’d debated even bringing the apples. They could’ve survived on hardtack for two days, but he’d been unable to resist. “We can’t risk a fire.”

“I figured as much.”

They ate their food as the sun dropped below the horizon, bathing the landscape in molten bronze. The air chilled as the rays disappeared, but heat continued to radiate from the sand and rocks. However, that would soon cool as well. He removed a gray wool blanket from the pack and tucked it around Mari’s shoulders, enjoying the feel of her slender form under his hands.

“There’s only the one?” she asked.

He nodded. “One of us has to be standing watch at all times, and I have my coat.”

She tucked it tighter around her, her eyes gleaming with mischief. “Just you remember that coat. I’m not going to give this up at two o’clock in the morning when you change your mind.”

He’d thought wrapping her up would help him keep his mind on task, but now all he could think of was unwrapping her. “I’ll take first watch.”

She frowned. “I slept in the coach last night.”

Yes, but he hated the weary lines that bracketed her mouth. “I’m used to less sleep with far less appealing companions.”

She opened her mouth to argue.

He interrupted. “Never fear, I intend for you to take your turn.” As much as he disliked the necessity, he was still more soldier than gentleman. He needed sleep if he was going to be of use tomorrow.

“Good.” She eyed the ground to her right and then her left.

“Come here. I make quite an effective pillow.”

She scooted closer and after a brief hesitation, laid her head on his lap. He smoothed the hair from her forehead. She sighed and relaxed.

He reached down to straighten the blanket around her.

She trapped his hand against her shoulder. “Ha, I knew it. You want the blanket.”

No, just who was in it.

He had to convince her to return to England. He didn’t want her in danger, but more than that, he finally admitted to himself, he wanted her with him.

She kissed the inside of his wrist, the light contact sending pleasure shooting up his arm. His tired body leaped back to life.

Bandits could appear at any moment.

That thought alone kept him from hauling her into his lap and making love to her.

But it didn’t keep his hand from sliding down to cup one of her breasts. The weight of it was heavy in his palm. “I’m afraid I was woefully neglectful of these the other night.”

Her ribs expanded with a quick breath. “I didn’t notice at the time, but if you feel the need to rectify the situation—” She gasped as he gently pinched her nipple.

“I remember you asking for this at the soiree.” To be more honest, her words haunted him until he could barely think of anything else.

Her head tilted back on his knee until her gaze met his, a teasing smile sparked in her eyes. “No, I think I asked you to kiss my breasts.”

He slowly unbuttoned her shirt and moved his hand down to the warm silk of her breast. He kneaded the soft mound, causing her hips to squirm under the blanket. “Kissing will have to wait, I’m afraid. I am standing watch after all. And if I taste these delightful bosoms, I won’t be able to focus on anything else.” As a matter of fact, he was having difficulty focusing as it was. An entire army of bandits could be surrounding them with trumpet and tambourines and he wouldn’t have noticed.

Regretfully, he withdrew his hand from her shirt. “You need sleep.”

She bit her bottom lip and dipped her chin into the folds of the blanket.

“Damnation, if you think I am stopping for any other reason. You are mad,” he said.

“Truly?”

A harsh groan rasped in his throat. “If you doubt me, turn your head a bit. You’ll see what you do to me.”

A flush stained her face as she studied the bulge in his trousers. She reached out and traced a finger down his straining shaft.

He caught her hand before he lost control like a green recruit.

Her face flushed brilliant red. “I’m sorry.”

He brought her fingers to his lips. “Don’t be. I enjoyed it far too much.”

When her gaze met his, it teemed filled with sensual curiosity that nearly broke his resolve.

“Really?” she asked.

“Hell, yes, woman. Now go to sleep.”

She complied with a sleepy sigh, rubbing her cheek on his thigh as she settled. But after a moment, she peeped up at him. “How angry are you about what I did for Esad?”

His heart ached at the uncertainty in her expression. He stroked her cheek as he considered her question. “You shouldn’t have betrayed that information to the pasha, but I understand why you did.” He pulled the remaining pins from her curls. “What I don’t understand is why you forgave him for owning your mother but refuse to forgive England.”

She frowned at his less than seamless change in topic. “It took my father, too. He couldn’t stand to be there without my mother, so we fled. Once here, my father discovered opium and I lost him completely.”

“Don’t you ever want to go back? Surely, you left friends and family behind.”

Her head twisted on his leg. “When my mother was sick, my aunt convinced my father that I shouldn’t be there. They dragged me away from her bed kicking and screaming. Literally, I’m afraid. When I tried to run away, they found me and brought me back. She beat me with her cane until I couldn’t walk.”

“Is she alive?”

Mari paused. “No, I don’t think so.”

Good. Because if he ever saw her, he would no longer be able to claim to be a gentleman. He smoothed his hand over Mari’s cheek, the growing twilight cool on her skin.

“Then there was nothing for me to do but wait in that horrible house, with that horrible woman who hated my mother for sullying the family name. When the news came that my mother had”—Mari shuddered—“had died, she smiled. She was happy that— I have no regrets about what I left in England.”

Bennett pulled her closer. “Not everyone in England is like that woman.”

“I know, but things were . . . bad for a while after we arrived here. We’d be out in the field and my father would forget to buy food or pack water, or he’d wander off without telling me when he’d return.” She shook her head slightly. “I wrote some of my father’s relatives to ask them to take me in. Even my aunt. I was that desperate. They were all sorry and regretful but unable to help the daughter of a slave.”

“Mari—”

She rolled away so he could see only her profile. “Don’t worry, I had Esad. He found out about the situation and arranged for a house and for my father’s funds to be made accessible to me.”

Bennett sifted through her soft, springy curls with his fingers. “What could convince you to return?”

She moved so she faced him again, her gaze solemn and intent. “Nothing.”

He had a trump he’d not yet played. “What if I asked you to come with me?”

Her gaze didn’t waver. “My answer would still be no.”