Her Every Pleasure (13 page)

“Sophia,” he groaned softly as the storm of climax finally eased from him.

She lifted her lashes and looked up dazedly into his eyes. By the candlelight, she could see they had darkened to a deep indigo shade. But it was their heart-melting sweetness that made her quiver in the aftermath of passion.

“Sophia, Sophia,” he whispered. He shook his head at her with a fond but chiding half smile. Then he kissed her gently on her big Greek nose.

She was not the easiest woman in the world to figure out.

A while later, having tidied themselves up from their exertions, they lay spoon-fashion in his bed. They faced the window, and Gabriel could see the stars. Sophia nestled sweetly in his arms. They were not exactly sated, but at least now they should both be able to sleep.

Gabriel found himself in the oddest mood, all possessive. God, he had not expected any of this. He had not been with a woman since he was wounded, and after such a long abstinence, he did not mind refraining from full coition. It could wait. In a way, it was almost as if he had reverted to a state of innocence himself. The closeness he felt with Sophia, however, it had been a very long time since he had experienced anything like this.

He understood now why his brother had chosen her for him. Derek had selected her not for debauchery’s sake—not because she was a virgin, but in spite of it. Gabriel had to admit she was the perfect sort of companion for him. It was rare to find a female who could hold her own with him.

He had a strong inclination to keep her around, perhaps as his mistress.

Maybe…if they got to know each other better, if she ever saw fit to tell him the truth about herself, and if, over time, they ended up becoming a bit more…attached, he thought hesitantly, then perhaps just this once he could bend his own rules against deflowering virgins. He had too many damned rules, anyway…

But he was getting ahead of himself.

For now, she was a question mark to him, an irresistible puzzle, with her flashing dark eyes and her strong, lithe, delicately sculpted body. Hot-blooded? She was a fireball. He savored the still-fresh memory of her eagerness, but he barely knew what to do with her.

She was a tough little fighter, but she needed someone looking after her. Keep her out of trouble. As for him, well, maybe the truth was, he needed someone, too.

They seemed to suit.

More important, ever since her arrival, a strange sense of new hope had been born in him. Perhaps the answers he sought would finally come if he stopped looking so hard for them and entertained himself for a while with this luscious young thing.

“Sophia?” he murmured in a low tone, all too aware of the soft curve of her backside against his groin.

No answer came.

He listened to the soft, even sound of her breathing and realized she already slumbered. A faint smile curved his lips as he buried his face in her rioty curls. Damn, he was already craving her again, but, ah, well. He’d let her sleep. She had worked hard today.

He still did not know how much of her Gypsy tale to believe, but at the moment, it didn’t matter. The feel of her in his arms was real, and right now, that was enough.

He closed his eyes, savoring her smell and the warmth of her silky skin, and the reassuring rhythm of her breath.

Stay with me.
He smiled faintly at his own errant thoughts.
I’m going to want you again tomorrow.
He dozed off with his arms around her.

The men had not slept since the target had slipped through their fingers.

Where was she? Where had the little bitch run off to?

Late that night, worn out from searching, the Tunisian took a mouthful of what passed for coffee in this cold, miserable land and spit it out again in disgust.

He was in a bad mood for he had lost his favorite dagger in the fight, but more than that had certainly not expected failure after all his precise planning. His timing had been perfect, as well, but the girl had fought back with a ferocity that none of them had been prepared for.

Though no one cared to admit it, they all felt slightly unmanned by her little victory.

But it would not last.

His men were talking quietly amongst themselves nearby, cleaning their weapons; they wanted her blood now, especially Ahmed, for the royal witch had shot his brother Abdul point-blank in the head.

Kemal stared into the darkness, musing. He had never seen anything like it. Indeed, he had never heard of a female acting in such a manner. But such was the foulness, the perversion the West brought to his people.

And to think that men like Sultan Mahmud should be blind to the danger, even learning to converse in French like an aping fool! He shook his head. Well, there would be changes in due time.

Their first attempt had failed, costing them three of their own, but no matter. Their brothers were martyrs in heaven now, but back here on earth, Kemal and his men would simply try again.

They had little choice. Having backed the wrong contender for the Ottoman throne, the rebel Janissaries were outlaws now. There was no way for them to go but forward.

Their faith in the rightness of their cause was undimmed. God willing, the Porte Sublime would be purged of these evil influences—but first, he and his men had to prove themselves to Ali Pasha.

The Lion of Janina was their last great hope, but he would not agree to their proposal until they had persuaded him of their capabilities, showed him a little of what they could do.

Which was a great deal, indeed.

Most of them came from wealthy and important families all around the Ottoman Empire. Kemal himself was a lesser prince back in his sunny homeland on the North African coast; his elder brother was the mighty Bey of Tunis.

As boys, the Janissaries had been handed over to the emperor by their families to be trained up as warriors, consecrated to the protection of the Ottoman sultans.

Forbidden to marry, the sword and the Book were their entire lives, and as grown men, it sickened them to see the corruption that had infected the emperor’s palace, the voluptuous sensuality spreading like a disease through all the Ottoman lands.

It had to be stopped. It was their duty to kill it, their jihad. The purity of sharia law had to be restored to save their dying empire.

Their fallen prince, Mustafa, would have purged their lands of this sickening Western influence if their attempt to place him on the throne had succeeded. But after one short year of rule, Sultan Mustafa had been murdered at the age of twenty-nine, and the throne had passed back once more to the so-called reformers, with all of their filthy modern ideas.

The rebel Janissaries still had hope, however. Prince Mustafa’s spiritual adviser and Grand Vizier during his short reign still survived in hiding. Sheik Suleiman had advised them that Ali Pasha of Janina could be used in Mustafa’s stead to bring the Empire back to the path of righteousness.

Of course, Ali Pasha was not a member of the Ottoman royal House of Osman; he was born of wild mountain brigands. Nor was he as devout as their fallen prince had been. In truth, he was a coarse, brash adventurer whose own ambitions always came first.

But he understood the dangers the West posed to their civilization—he even agreed that Europe should be brought to Allah if such an enterprise were possible. Above all, as Sheik Suleiman had correctly said, Ali Pasha alone was ruthless enough to unite all the diverse regional leaders whose lands, like so many puzzle pieces, made up the Ottoman Empire.

Kemal’s brother, the Bey, had agreed in secret to support Ali Pasha if it came to it, and many others would join in, too. So many were fed up with the Porte Sublime.

But Ali Pasha was a cagey fellow, and he knew that agreeing to this adventure could cost him his head. Before he would consent to lead a revolution to overthrow Sultan Mahmud, first he wanted Kemal and his men to demonstrate their effectiveness. The task Ali Pasha had set for them was to get him the little Greek island chain of Kavros.

Ali Pasha lusted to possess it.

Kemal and his men had concurred, liking the challenge and seeing how neatly it fit into their most glorious vision of gradually converting all of Europe to Islam.

Napoleon himself had said that whoever ruled Kavros could dominate the West. It was perfect. It was a start—and a victory at Kavros would inspire more of the regional leaders to join their cause.

To that end, their fellow rebels in Mustafa’s royal Order of the Scorpion had been working steadily on the goal for the past year by various techniques, making up for their lesser numbers by using their wits.

There were many more of their brethren already infiltrating the island of Kavros in secret, all of them Janissary warriors who had supported Prince Mustafa. They had agents provocateurs stirring up the people against the British troops stationed there, and causing all manner of mayhem in their steady effort to destabilize the place.

Soon, they would instigate the locals to burn a few of the Royal Navy’s warships docked in Kavros Harbor, and when that happened, Kemal was confident it wouldn’t be long before the British tucked their tails and fled, removing to their sturdier outpost at Malta.

The only fly in the ointment was this young Princess Sophia.

The English sought to install her in power to calm the people, which was the exact opposite of what Kemal and his comrades desired.

She had to be removed from the equation.

Now that he had seen her beauty, he thought it would be amusing to send her to his brother, the Bey of Tunis, for a concubine, but Sheik Suleiman had advised them to hand her over to Ali Pasha. The added gift of the princess would help to persuade the Lion of Janina to agree to their plot. No doubt he would teach that lawless wench proper respect for the superiority of males.

“Captain?”

Kemal glanced toward his men. Ibrahim stalked over to him, looking as strange as they all did dressed in their Western clothes, but it was necessary to try to blend in.

Ibrahim had an easier time of this; born in Belgrade, he was red-haired and fairer-complected than Kemal. His light eyes still burned with anger over the way Her Highness had sliced his arm open when he had tried to break into the carriage. It had bled for quite a long time.

Ibrahim’s arm was bandaged now, but his pride was still badly bruised. “When?” he asked in grim determination.

Kemal smiled at his men’s eagerness to strike again, then he glanced over and addressed his words to all of them. “Be patient,” he ordered quietly. “Rest yourselves well. She’s gone to ground. We can do nothing until she surfaces again.”

“How will we know when that might be?” Ibrahim asked with urgent insistence.

“Don’t worry,” Kemal assured him with an icy smile. “Our friend inside will send us word.”

CHAPTER
         SEVEN         

S
ophia awoke before sunrise, filled with a blissful sense of peace. She hadn’t moved all night, still lying on her side with her head on Gabriel’s pillow.

As she slowly opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was the window across from the bed. Through the glass, the world was still misty and gray. The predawn clamor of birdsong filtered into her awareness.

That must have been the sound that had awakened her. She glanced over her shoulder at Gabriel, fast asleep on his back behind her. For a long moment she just stared at him, incredulous at his proud male beauty.

The warrior in repose—defenseless in this moment.

An odd protectiveness flooded into her. How strange. Even sleeping, Gabriel Knight had the power to bring out the most unusual feelings and reactions in her.

Her gaze traveled over his hard profile, gentled with sleep, down his throat to his thickly muscled chest, rising and falling in soft, slow, steady breaths.

His sun-bronzed skin was so tempting to touch, but she refrained, not wishing to wake him. She stared at his powerful arms that had stayed wrapped around her for half of the night and had filled her with a sense of safety unlike any she had ever known.

With the stirring of renewed desire, she bit her lip and blushed to think of the scandalous things they had done together last night, both here in his bed and in the other room.

She probably should be ashamed of herself, but she could not claim to regret it. Somehow everything between the two of them felt so natural and right. She gazed at him for another long moment as a rich, private smile of remembrance played at her lips. But then suddenly she heard something outside—another noise that grabbed her attention.

Amid the morning birdsong came the startling cry of a night jar—the signal from her men!

Glancing back toward the window, she narrowed her eyes, suddenly glimpsing a dark flash of motion outside.

She drew in her breath and raised herself up higher onto her elbow.

Her men had arrived.

She tensed, her heart suddenly pounding as she spotted two, no, three of her black-clad bodyguards prowling around Gabriel’s farm looking for her. At last, trusty Timo had tracked her to the red-seven coordinates. She could see he had bold Markos with him and good-natured Yannis the peacekeeper of their little band. They had found her bay horse outside in the meadow and would have realized she must be close by.

Though she was glad to see her loyal friends, that almost meant it was time for her to leave Gabriel.

Pain filled her eyes as she glanced at him again. Her heart twisted with bittersweet anguish at the realization that she had to go—now.

This country idyll was over. It was time to return to her duty and all its cares.

The prospect of never seeing him again tore a little piece off her heart. God, she had not expected it to hurt this badly. She had lost so many people in life that it seemed bitterly unfair to have to be separated from him, too. This incredible…friend she had found.

All she knew was that
because
she cared about him—because he’d been so kind to her—she had to protect him.

Her troubles were her own.

Pressing her eyes closed for a moment, she did her best to summon up her usual determination, ignoring the lump in her throat. She forced herself to sit up. Then she left his bed without a sound.

Tiptoeing into the dressing room, she fetched her gray peasant costume and pulled it on once more in silent haste.

There wasn’t time to bother with her hair. Her curls flowed over her shoulders, wild and free, just like they had last night in her sensual adventures with the major.

She prayed he would not wake up. She did not want him getting dragged into all this. Nor did she think she could bear to admit her lies.
Let him sleep.
As she buckled the leather strap around her thigh once more, securing her knife in its sheath, she knew that the last thing she needed was a brawl between her lover…
her lover
…and her guards.

Leon would probably sense that she had been up to no good when he saw her with her rumpled hair and her flushed cheeks, but Sophia figured she would cross that bridge when she came to it. Clad in her plain disguise a moment later, she peeked out of the dressing room.

Gabriel slumbered on like Mars, the god of war, in repose.

His breathing was steady and deep. Well, he needed peace, she thought, and for the moment, he had found it.

Let him rest.

Though everything in her longed to go to him and press a gentle farewell kiss to his lips, it would be too hard to say good-bye. She crossed his chamber from the dressing room to the door.

There she paused, glancing back at him with tears in her eyes.

I’m sorry.

How she hoped he would not be too hurt by her desertion—and her cowardice. He’d probably be angry when he awoke and found her gone without a word, but she tried to remind herself that he hadn’t wanted her there in the first place. She brushed a stray tear off her cheek, then blew him a silent farewell kiss.

Hearing her men coming closer to the farmhouse, she found the strength at last to tear herself away and slipped out of the room.

Gliding along the upstairs hall, she crept down the staircase, listening for any sounds from the kitchen, but there was no sign of Mrs. Moss yet.

As she stole through the house, she picked up her knapsack on her way to the front door. Escaping at last, she dashed outside, instantly signaling to her men to be silent.

Relief poured across their faces at the sight of her. She saw they had brought a fresh horse for her, a white mare with a black saddle. While Timo slipped a lead rope on the bay gelding, preparing to go, the other two followed as she ran ahead into the barn to collect her things from their hiding place.

“Are you all right?” Yannis murmured as she swiftly climbed the ladder to the hayloft.

“Fine.” A moment later, she threw down the red velvet gown and other royal accoutrements that she had hidden under the moldy pile of hay.

The kittens came tumbling over to her, already mewling hungrily for their milk. With a pang, Sophia paused to stroke their tiny heads with one fingertip. “Don’t worry, babies,” she whispered, “he’ll be back soon.”

A man like Gabriel wouldn’t forget.

“Your Highness, make haste!” Markos whispered from the bottom of the ladder.

Amazed at how reluctant she was to leave, Sophia glanced out the loft window at the little ruined church where she had first spotted the brooding master of this place. She closed her eyes, willing him out of her heart as best she could or she might never find the strength to go.

Her country needed her.

It was time to return to reality. This respite, this little dream, was done. Back to the world of warring factions and soulless assassins who wanted her dead.

She took a deep breath, steeling herself, then moved on, hurrying down the ladder. She jumped down onto the floor of the barn again and nodded at her men.

Striding out onto the drive, they mounted up swiftly, and in another moment were riding at top speed down the road. The dusty wind from her horse’s gallop made her eyes sting with unshed tears. Sophia could not get Gabriel out of her head. His taste and touch were seared into the memory of her senses.

They rode on, keeping silence, until they had gone a mile or two down the road, where they met up with the others.

Having split up to search the area for her, the rest of her guards greeted her with exclamations of joy and relief, but when Sophia looked around, taking a welcome survey of their familiar faces, the most important one was missing.

She turned to Timo, noticed the tension around the corners of his eyes, and felt her stomach plunge with a sudden, terrible knowing.

Stark horror washed over her. She could hardly force the question past her lips.
“Where is Leon?”

Gabriel felt like such a bloody fool.

His first reaction upon waking to find her gone had been shock, then a stunned sense of betrayal, which ultimately hardened to brooding anger.

He was furious with himself for sleeping through her departure, letting her sneak off without a word. He could only suppose it had been so long since he’d had any sort of sexual pleasure that afterward he had slept like a log. But as irked as he was at himself, it could not match his anger at Sophia.

He supposed he should be glad she hadn’t robbed him while he slept, other than taking the bay gelding. Ah, but despite her protestations of innocence, he had known deep down that she had had something to do with that horse showing up when it did. They had arrived together and now they were both gone, the little liar and her stolen animal, and good riddance. He had no business engaging a mistress, anyway.

Other than the gelding, nothing had been taken, but Gabriel still considered her a thief. She had made off with a piece of him that he hadn’t known he possessed.

It was the only way to explain the ache inside. He did not understand at all.
I really thought there was something between us.

Half of him wanted to hunt her down and let her tell him to his face why she had walked out on him without a bloody word. He wanted an answer as to why she had deserted him. He deserved an explanation, and he needed a clearer-cut ending to this.

Derek would probably know where she could be found, since he had hired her, but Gabriel flatly refused to go chasing after her. He did not grovel for anyone.

He would not budge.

As the days passed, he vented his wrath by splitting several cords of firewood with his axe, but his exertions did not help him to forget her, a fact that vexed him to no end. Obviously, she didn’t care about him, so why should he still give a damn about her? He barely knew the chit, and she had filled his head with lies.

Yet the realization of her indifference left him feeling more frustrated than ever, plagued by the unfulfilled lust that she had awakened in him, the pitiless hoyden.

He had come here seeking solitude, but after Sophia’s brief visit, the isolation soon became intolerable.

It had been a long time since he wanted anything as much as he still wanted her.

Unable to take any more of his mental battles with himself, he gave up trying to pretend it didn’t matter and saddled up his white stallion. Then he rode off to his brother’s house to track Sophia down.

Only his intense annoyance with her could have dragged him back out into the world again. But maybe it was time.

He couldn’t have asked for a more beautiful autumn day to venture out from the farm. The jeweled leaves were nearing their peak of vibrant changing color; a few shaken loose by the mild breeze whirled and eddied across the road ahead. Above in all directions, plump clouds, white and silver-edged, drifted across the light cerulean sky.

Cantering through the countryside, Gabriel relished the change of scenery as much as his horse enjoyed the exercise.

After an easy ride of about two hours, he turned into the rambling country drive leading up to the large white cottage that Derek had recently bought for his new bride, Lily.

Reining in at last in front of the newlyweds’ quaint love nest, he leapt down from the saddle and stalked to the front door, quite ready to accept his brother’s certain offer of a drink. His throat was parched after the dryness of the road. Flinging the door open, Gabriel strode inside with all the familiarity of family.

“Anyone home?” he called, glancing in the cozy rooms he passed.

No one answered. But then, through the tall, arched window, he suddenly spotted the newlyweds taking tea outside in their garden folly, Derek black-haired and sun-bronzed, Lily blond and fair, both of them visibly enchanted with each other’s company.

Relieved that he had not interrupted them at any more private pursuits, Gabriel continued on through the house, heading for the door to their back garden.

“Anyone home?” he greeted them as he let himself out the door and sent a broad wave in the direction of the garden folly.