Danger at Dahlkari (20 page)

“Damn!” I muttered. It was a word I rarely used.

“Such language,” he said.

I hadn't realized I had spoken loud enough to be heard. A blush tinted my cheeks as the man stepped casually around one of the trees and looked at me with mocking black-brown eyes, and then the blush must have vanished for I know I turned pale with shock and surprise. I couldn't speak. I could do nothing but stare at him, amazed, alarmed, disbelieving.

“Relax,” he drawled. “I shan't bite you.”

“You,” I whispered. I felt weak, dizzy.

He wore shiny black boots and a beautifully tailored creamy white linen suit and a loosely knotted emerald green tie. His head was bare, thick raven locks untidy, tousled by the wind. The face was exactly as I remembered it: cruel, ruthless, the face of a killer. The hypnotic black-brown eyes observed me coolly beneath hooded lids, and the lips curled sardonically at one corner.

“Surprised, Miss Gray?”

I stared at him, still unable to speak.

“I do hope you're not going to faint,” he said dryly.

“I don't faint,” I told him. My voice was tight.

“I shouldn't think so. Any young woman who can carry on so splendidly in the middle of a jungle after witnessing a massacre isn't likely to swoon at the sight of me. Pity, rather. I should enjoy reviving you.”

“You—you're Robert Gordon,” I accused.

“Guilty. I confess it.”

I could feel hot anger rising up inside, eclipsing all other emotions. I stared at him in outrage and dismay.

“You spoke English all the time!”

“Indeed,” he confessed.

“And—and you let me make a fool of myself! You let us think you were some kind of—” I gasped, unable to continue.

“Brigand, ruffian, brute, rapist, white slaver. I freely admit the first three labels might apply, but I've never committed rape, and I definitely don't sell young girls into bondage. I can't recall all the things the two of you called me during our little adventure, but it was certainly interesting to hear you speculate.”

“We were terrified of you!”

“Perhaps. It served its purpose. Had you known I was English you would have given cries of relief and gone to pieces, giving in to the hysterics both of you were holding at bay so superbly. I knew we had a difficult time ahead of us. Two brave, determined young women constantly alert, constantly on guard were much easier to manage.”

“That was despicable!” I cried.

“Is that fair?” he asked. “After all, I did save your lives. I should think you'd show a little more gratitude.”

He flicked an ash off the tip of his long black cigar and took another drag. Smoke curled about his harsh, deeply tanned face, and he narrowed his eyes against it. I thought of all the things Sally and I had said about him. He had understood every word. He had been laughing at us. My anger mounted, and I wanted to pound on his chest with balled fists. I had rarely experienced such tumultuous emotion, and it left me helpless, composure shattered, dignity gone.

“How
could
you? We were stranded in the middle of nowhere, paralyzed with terror, not knowing
what
you intended to do to us, and you—you were British all the time! You let us babble on like fools. You shoved Sally around brutally and treated us both like imbeciles and—”

“Guarded you with my life,” he interrupted. “Fine thanks I get for it, too, I must say.”

“You were prowling around at Karbala as well. Sergeant Norman thought you were a Thug. He almost
killed
you!”

“Poor shot, Norman. He fired twice, never came anywhere near me. I'll have to speak to him about that. Chap needs a bit more practice if he's going to qualify as a real marksman.”

“You let us rush off into the jungle like terrified cattle, thinking a whole band of assassins might fall upon us at any minute. I've never run so hard in my life.”

“The exercise did you good, I dare say.”

I swung my hand back, ready to slam it across his face. Robert Gordon caught my wrist, gave it a savage twist and slowly lowered it to my side. I winced at the pain, biting my lip, and he released me, shaking his head in silent admonishment. I could feel tears welling up inside, and I was horrified they might start flowing. Desperately, I fought them back, and the anger fled, replaced by confusion and frustration and other emotions I couldn't identify. Gordon took another long drag on his cigar and released the smoke and then, dropping the cigar to the ground, crushed it under his heel.

“I'd gone to considerable risk to save your lives once before,” he remarked, “and when I learned you were going to Karbala I decided I'd best tag along, make sure that nothing happened. Despite what your upstanding young lieutenant might believe, the whole area is infested with Thugs. It was a foolhardy venture. Your idea, I believe.”

“How could you possibly know that?”

“I know almost everything that goes on at the garrison, Miss Gray. I could give you a thorough account of everything you've done since the day you arrived, although I'm afraid it would prove quite dull.”

I had the tears under control now. At least I wouldn't suffer that humiliation. I struggled to summon some kind of composure. Never before in my life had I experienced so many different emotions in so short a time. Never before had I encountered anyone so disturbing.

“How could you possibly know what I've been doing?” I asked coldly.

“I have my sources, Miss Gray. Knowing things is my business.”

“Then you really
are
a spy?”

“If that's what you choose to call it. I'm a government agent attached to the military, a useful chap who can do things your average soldier boy can't.”

“Like posing as a native.”

“Among other things, yes.”

“If you work for the military, why aren't you in uniform now?”

“Wearing a uniform could cause unnecessary complications,” he informed me. “Because of the nature of my job it's often necessary for me to give orders to men who considerably outrank me. Were I wearing the uniform of a captain, say, or a mere first lieutenant, they would find it both difficult and galling to obey me. As I wear no insignia, no one here knows my rank. Makes my job a bit easier.”

“Apparently you need all the help you can get,” I replied. “From what I've heard, it appears you've had a remarkable lack of success.”

“You've heard that, have you?”

“I've heard a lot of things about you, Mr. Gordon, all of them highly unflattering.”

He made no reply, but a disdainful half smile curled on his lips. Cool, arrogant, mocking, he gazed at me with heavy lids drooping over those dark, hypnotic eyes, and I experienced yet another emotion, one that shocked me profoundly. When he had been disguised as a native, he had reminded me of one of the improbable heroes who charged through the pages of those flamboyant romances I had read back at school. I had felt his potent magnetism then, and it had horrified me even to recognize it as such. In his civilian clothes, his hair untidy, the emerald tie loose and flapping, he bore an even more striking resemblance to those unprincipled rogues who caused such stormy upheavals in the hearts of all of those heroines with flowery names. The man was infuriating, insufferable, but he had magnetism so strong it was almost like a physical force.

“It seems I have quite a task ahead of me,” he remarked idly.

“Oh?”

“Wooing you, winning you. I've made up my mind to marry you, you see. Can't have a wife who harbors such ugly ideas about me.”

“Of all the outrageous—”

“Never thought I'd care to marry,” he interrupted, still speaking in that idle, casual tone. “I lead an unsettled, frequently uncomfortable life, travel a lot, intend to do much more in the future. I need a woman who'll be willing to pay, pack and follow, who has a taste for adventure as strong as my own. A woman, in short, who can trek through jungles and face sandstorms and savages and endure all sorts of hardships without whining. Never thought I'd meet her. Most of the pale, puny English misses I've met wouldn't last a week. Then I met you, Miss Gray, under highly unusual circumstances. Took me no time at all to realize I'd finally found the woman I'd been looking for.”

“I—I've never been so insulted in all my life!”

“Insulted? I've just paid you the highest compliment a woman can receive. You're one in a million. Oh, you're cool and conventional enough on the surface, but there are depths yet unplumbed. I spotted that immediately. You're remarkably intelligent, and you have spirit and stamina and, incidentally, a face and form to make a man seethe with lust.”

I slammed my palm across his face, hand, and this time he made no attempt to stop me. My palm stung viciously, and I could see the imprint of my hand glowing on his cheek, but Gordon merely smiled.

“I can see this has come as a shock to you,” he told me, “but I dare say you'll grow accustomed to the idea. There's really no use fighting it, Lauren. I've made up my mind to have you, and one way or another I always get what I want.”

I was trembling with rage, unable to speak. I wanted to slap his face again. I didn't. I turned and moved quickly down the slope, my cheeks burning, my heart pounding. My skirts swayed wildly, and I almost lost my balance. The deer looked up, startled. The dreadful music grew louder and louder. My head was spinning. My pulses were leaping. Never before had I been so thoroughly shaken. Never had I felt such emotional turmoil. It was almost as though I had been struck by a bolt of lightning.

Eight

“I was absolutely fascinated,” Sally said. “He was wearing black trousers and this billowing Indian robe of dark maroon, all embroidered with leaves in black silk, and, Miss Lauren, he was smoking a
hookah
! It gave me a turn when I saw him, I don't mind telling you. There he was, big as life, looking just as sinister and mysterious as he did when he came riding up to us in the desert.”

“Surely you didn't visit that man's quarters
alone
?” I asked sharply. “Really, Sally, there are limits—”

“Of course I didn't,” she interrupted. “Bill went with me. He and Bill are good friends—I think I told you that. Anyway, he was ever so polite and gracious, told us to sit down on a pile of cushions, offered the hookah to us. I took a puff. Made me quite heady. You should see his rooms, Miss Lauren—Indian cushions on the floor, books and papers everywhere and the
most
unusual curios, all jumbled together. There were drawings, too, whole portfolios of 'em. I looked at some—they made what we saw at Karbala seem tame! He's writing a study of Eastern sexual customs.”

“Sally!”

“Oh, it's ever so scholarly, has to do with anthropology. I can't imagine anyone actually
pub
lishing it, but it seems there's a firm in Germany anxiously awaiting the manuscript. He's writing it in German, by the way. I guess that makes a difference.”

It was the morning after the rajah's fête, and we were out in the back garden. Sally had scampered off immediately after breakfast, the yellow rumal in her pocket, and I had moped around listlessly, irritated by Dollie's bright banter and bits of gossip, in a thoroughly foul mood. I had finally come outside to get some sunshine and try to compose my thoughts. Sally had come prancing out a few minutes ago, brimming over with excitement at her visit with Robert Gordon.

“We didn't stay long,” she told me. “Bill had to report for duty at ten-thirty. I gave Gordon the yellow scarf and told him how I'd gotten it, and he just nodded, frowning a bit. Bill was astonished, I must say. ‘You mean you're that native who—' he began, and Gordon cut him short and said he was to keep his mouth shut about it. Said I was to keep
mine
shut, too. No one knows but just the four of us, Miss Lauren. Gordon says it's important no one else knows.
You
haven't told anyone, have you?”

I shook my head. I hadn't mentioned it to anyone. I had rejoined the garden party and had several more glasses of champagne, and when Michael had finally come out of the palace I had been very charming and just a little tipsy. He had been amused and slightly alarmed at my condition, insisting I eat something, walking with me over the grounds until my delightful haze was gone and I was depressed and silent. Apparently no one had noticed me standing under the trees with Gordon, and I hadn't told anyone about meeting him. Although there was to be a spectacular fireworks display as soon as the sun went down, an event eagerly anticipated by the guests, I told Michael I had a frightful headache, and he had driven me back to the garrison shortly after five. I had had a restless evening, a sleepless night, and Sally's enthusiastic chatter about Robert Gordon wasn't helping my present frame of mind one bit.

“I told him I didn't think you had,” Sally continued. “I told him you were in a wretched state last night after the party, wouldn't eat anything and just mooned about in your room. For some reason, that seemed to
amuse
him. He asked if ‘the upstanding young lieutenant' had come by this morning and I said no, he hadn't, and you weren't in any mood for riding anyway.”

“You
do
talk a lot, don't you?” I snapped.

Sally paid no mind to my bad humor. She was so eager to talk about Robert Gordon that she probably didn't even notice it.

“Fancy, Miss Lauren, it was him all the time. All those things we said about him—he understood every word! I told him it served him right, pretending not to speak English like that.”

“I think it was horrible of him.”

“Not really, not when you stop and think about it. He explained why, and I must say it makes sense to me. If we
had
known he was English, we'd have been much less cautious. It's rather funny, actually. Remember how you tried to explain things to him? ‘Dahl-kari. Mc-Al-lis-ter pay many rupees.' I'll bet he had a laugh over
that
.”