A Touch of Passion (7 page)

The air smelled musty and damp, but at least it was life-affirming. The sewer was dark, the only light coming from the drain of the pool behind them.

“Damn, I should have thought to bring a flint to light our way.” Philip’s tone indicated how annoyed he was.

“It would have been too wet anyway,” Grayson said. “We are going to have to feel our way along and walk slowly. That is not going to help us, for speed is of the essence.”

The stones of the sewer beneath Portia’s feet were worn smooth from the water. “Then we’d best get moving,” she said, and moved up behind Grayson, taking his hand in hers. She reached back, offering her other hand to Philip, and he took it.

Grayson merely nodded and began to walk feeling along the wall with his other hand. The further they moved from the bathing room, the darker the tunnel got. It wasn’t long before up ahead they saw a light. As they drew nearer it was obvious that it was a grate in the courtyard above for rain and water to drain through. Grayson came to a halt and whispered softly, “We have to move quietly. If anyone is above the grate, they will hear us. No talking, and try to keep your movements smooth so as not to splash.”

They inched ever closer, and as quietly as they possibly could, they passed underneath the grate. Portia noted that they were still well within the palace, as she recognized the palm trees filling the palace’s courtyard. She had come through the courtyard three days earlier, when she had been brought to the palace.

Portia had no idea how much time had gone by, but she realized they were heading the right way, as every few hundred yards another grate would light their way and they were able to see that they were still heading north, as Hassan had instructed them. She also noted that the floor began to slope away. They were walking downhill. She knew the Palace sat on top of a cliff, and she hoped that the jump Hassan had mentioned was not going to be too high.

Finally they came to a dead end. The tunnel turned hard right and dropped sharply, but straight ahead, high on the end wall, was a much larger grate right in front of them. Grayson put his finger to his lips indicating that they should be quiet, and he moved closer to have a look. Hassan had not lied—outside the grate was the ring road that went around the palace. The grate did lead them outside the palace walls; unfortunately, it was also quite high up the wall. It would be a drop of at least thirty feet. Grayson turned to Philip and said, “It’s quite a ways down, and we don’t have enough clothes to rope together to lower her. I suggest one of us climb down and find the consulate staff who are supposed to be here to help us.”

Portia immediately shook her head. “I don’t want to be left here. I just want to get out.”

As Grayson and Philip looked at each other over her head, she was infuriated with the way that the men decided they were going to make all of the decisions. She was at just as much risk as they were. “I can climb just as well as either of you.”

Philip shrugged. “She’s right. She always could climb better than either of us, and she doesn’t have any skirts that are going to hinder her.”

“But if anyone sees her they will know something’s up.”

Philip turned to her. “He is right, Port. It would be so much easier if the consulate guards were there with the horses. We can’t let you run naked down the street, for it would cause too much talk and set the alarm bells ringing. Anyone who saw you would have a good idea where you had come from. We really need the horses here. I’ll go, and Grayson can stay here with you.”

Grayson shook his head. “No. It would be better if you stayed with your sister and I went in search of the consulate support. I was the one who organized them. You can then help your sister down when I come back with the horses.”

Portia realized that they were wasting time arguing. “Just go, Grayson. The sooner you go, the sooner you will be back. Just be careful.”

With a brisk nod and one final look at her, Grayson pushed his weight against the grate. The grate was old and in disrepair, and it gave way at one corner quite easily. He pushed it out far enough for him to slip through the gap, and Portia watched with her heart in her throat as he made his way down the stone wall, wedging his fingers and toes into the cracks. It didn’t take him very long to reach the ground. Luckily, no one seemed to take notice of him.

“You have got some explaining to do, young lady, once we get out of this mess,” Philip said, swinging around to face her.

“I hardly think now is the time to chastise my behavior.” Portia resisted the urge to drop her head in her hands. “It’s a long story, brother dear, and it is not of my making.”

“Who did you go to meet in Vauxhall Gardens that night?” Philip asked. She could tell by his tone that he was sorely disappointed in her.

Grayson tried to ignore the sharp stones under his bare feet. All he could think about was finding the men from the British consulate as soon as possible. The soldiers had the three horses, which were their only means of escape. Due to his tattered clothes, his tanned skin, and his long untamed hair, he seemed to blend in quite well with the ragged crowd, many of whom probably thought him a poor beggar.

He noticed that he was breathing heavily, and it wasn’t really from exertion. It was more from fear. He had fought in the Battle of Waterloo, but nothing frightened him as much as the danger facing the young girl hiding in the sewer above. Young girl? He laughed to himself. There was nothing young about her anymore. At the age of four and twenty, she was a full-grown woman, and even though he tried to suppress them, images of her naked body kept flashing in his mind. He hadn’t seen Portia for several months, but as soon as he laid eyes upon her face he’d known he was in trouble. His body flared to excited life at the mere sound of her voice. To see her near-naked limbs and transparent shift … What was worse still was the guilt that ate at him. The only reason she was in this predicament was because of him. For some reason an unknown enemy had decided to use her as a pawn in a very dangerous game.

He picked up his pace, ignoring the sun beating down on his head. All he could think about was reaching the consulate personnel as soon as possible. He rounded the corner of the bazaar and found himself on one of the main streets. Up ahead of him he could see the men the consulate had provided for the rescue. They had brought three spare horses, one of them fitted with a woman’s saddle.

Captain Foyle turned and spotted him straightaway. The British wheeled their horses around and came galloping toward him.

“I say, my lord, are you all right?”

Grayson didn’t have time to explain anything further. He simply looked at the captain and said, “Please have your men come with me, and bring the extra horses. Time is of the essence—they will be looking for us by now. I’m pretty sure that they must have found the guards, so we have only one chance at getting away.”

He ignored the captain’s suggestion that he change into suitable clothes and promptly swung himself onto a saddle. He waved over his shoulder for the men to follow him and started cantering back down through the streets.

It only took him a few moments to get back to the wall. Unfortunately, as they drew nearer he saw some of the sultan’s armed men in the street approaching them. His state of his undress and the number of men on horseback must have made them suspicious, as they began shouting in Arabic.

Captain Foyle translated. “They want to know where you have come from and why you are wet.”

“Tell them I dunked myself in one of the barrels behind the stable.” He sat tensely on his horse as Captain Foyle relayed his words.

The guards talked among themselves for a few moments, glancing back at the men suspiciously, but then gave them a nod and went on their way. Grayson watched until they reached the end of the lane and turned the corner of the palace’s wall. Only then did he call up to Philip and Portia.

“Captain Foyle, we are going to need some of that rope to get Portia down.”

Before he had even finished speaking, he looked up to see Portia already through the grate and carefully picking her way down the wall as if she were a little monkey. Her shift was still wet and it clung to her, giving everybody in the street below a clear view of the beauty that lay beneath the cloth. The men with him did not avert their eyes, and Grayson couldn’t believe the surge of anger and possessiveness that flooded his veins. “Eyes downward,” he called sternly.

He was off his horse in one swift jump, grabbing a blanket as he went, and as soon as she reached the ground he wrapped the blanket around her, covering her from all the male eyes still fixed on her.

Unfortunately, just as Philip was starting down the wall the palace guards came back around the corner. Upon seeing Portia, they gave a massive shout and started charging toward the group.

Captain Foyle and his men wheeled their horses around and moved in front of Grayson and Portia to protect them. Grayson ran for his horse and pulled Portia up into his arms, settling her in front of him. To Philip he yelled, “I’m going to go for the boat. If you don’t make it there within the hour, we must set sail without you. I can’t afford to leave her in Alexandria a moment longer than that—the sultan will surely come after us.”

“Of course. Don’t worry about me—I’ll be right behind you.” Just as he uttered those words he slipped from near the top of the grate and crashed to the ground with a scream of pain.

“Christ, I think I’ve broken my leg,” Philip cried in agony. “You are going to have to take her back to England by yourself—I would just slow you down. I’ll make sure the consulate looks after me. Just get Portia out of here. Promise me!”

Grayson simply waved his hand and took off, counting on the armed British men to screen them from the view of the palace guards. As he turned into the bazaar, out of the corner of his eye he saw even more guards pouring out from the palace gates, and he prayed Philip and the other men would get away.

He could hear Portia gently crying into his shirt. “This is all my fault. All my fault. I should never have gone to meet you that night.”

Grayson was too busy concentrating on weaving his way through the crowds to reply. Still, he couldn’t begin to understand why she had been so naive as to think he’d send such a note to her, requesting a meeting in Vauxhall Gardens, of all places. She was wild and headstrong to a fault, and therein lay the danger. Portia was not for him. Would never be for him.

Except now she
was
his.

Grayson guided the stallion through the masses of people crowding the docks. The sun was a glowing fireball hanging over the sea. The low angle of the light glancing off the waves made recognizing the sails of the boat they had hired difficult. Grayson just hoped that he had lost anyone who might have been following them.

Portia hadn’t said another word the whole trip. He reined the horse to a stop down the dock from where the boat was tied up. He slid off the stallion, then reached up and carefully pulled Portia into his arms. With the blanket still wrapped tightly around her, he tried to cover her head so that no one would be able to see who she was. However, strands of her red hair lifted in the breeze, and he noted the inquisitive and interested looks from the men around him.

He glanced at one of the fishermen and with gestures offered him the horse, as he had no use for it now. The fisherman clearly couldn’t believe his luck. Leaving the horse with the man, Grayson weaved his way down the dock and pretended to go inside one of the taverns, when in fact he simply doubled back and made his way carefully to the vessel.

At this hour, everyone on the docks was striding purposefully, all the vessels keen to make the evening tide, so not many people paid attention to one man carrying a bundle. What might have alerted a shrewd observer was the way he constantly scanned the crowd. He had to make sure that none of the sultan’s men saw them board the vessel.

He kept trying to remind himself that the woman in his arms was like his little sister, but his mind had other ideas. Grayson could feel her soft curves, and her plump breast was tantalizingly close to one hand. He could smell her delectable scent and see into her eyes. He couldn’t forget that he was going to be alone on the
Amelea
for several days with her. He couldn’t ignore his awareness of her, of her body, slender, warm, and femininely curved, curled up against his chest. And he couldn’t lie to himself—he had always wanted to hold her this close. At least his body did. When he had seen all the men’s eyes follow her down that wall this afternoon, something buried deep within him had surged to the surface and growled,
Mine
.

He gritted his teeth and shook his head in a vain effort to dispel the attraction he was feeling. She noticed and said, “Is something wrong? Are you feeling dizzy? I’m not too heavy for you, am I?”

He couldn’t look into her eyes. Instead he pointed to the large cutter in front of them. “I just want to make sure that no one is following us before we board.”

She nodded crisply and glanced at the ship in front of them.

He carefully made his way up the gangway and nodded at the captain. “We need to leave as soon as possible, before anyone following finds us.”

The captain, Seaton, nodded benignly, and shouts started up the length of the vessel. Ropes were cast off, and within minutes they were preparing to leave.

Suddenly a man named Rush, Seaton’s second in command, yelled that men on horseback were galloping down the dock.

The captain ordered the vessel to get under way immediately, and the cutter moved slowly out of its berth, turning on the increasingly fast-rushing tide. The
Amelea
was equipped with four headsails and was quite fast in both calm and heavy seas. The harbor was congested, and the throng of vessels gave them extra cover. With so many vessels leaving port this evening, it would be difficult for the sultan’s men to apprehend them.

Grayson couldn’t be sure that some beady eyes hadn’t figured out who he was and what he carried. He made his way belowdecks, carrying Portia toward the two cabins that had been reserved, one for her and one for Philip and himself. He prayed Philip had made it back to the consulate and that he was being looked after.