Passionate (22 page)

Ducking into the door of a shop, James crouched behind a rack of tanned hides, heart pounding from effort and adrenaline. The sound of running footsteps approached, then stopped outside. James looked for something—anything—he could use to defend himself. Supple leather hides, soft boots, sheepskins. Why couldn’t he have concealed himself in a knife maker’s shop?

Voices sounded outside, questioning. He could not hope that his hiding place would go undiscovered for long.

Then he saw it. Lunging to the wall, James snatched the coiled black whip from its peg. This chase would have to end sooner or later. He stepped back into the street. Sooner was better.

“Were you looking for me?” He let the whip uncoil at his side.

The two men spun and charged together. Before they could close the gap, James slashed forward with the whip, sending it snaking around the legs of the dun-robed man. Yanking with all his strength, James sent the man down hard on the street, then stepped forward to meet his remaining attacker. The man was on him in an instant, hands reaching for his throat.

He twisted aside and jabbed the handle of the whip into the man’s stomach. The ragged man let out a whoosh of breath and James grabbed a handful of the man’s robe, pushing him hard against the plaster wall of the leather worker’s shop.

“Why are you following me? Who sent you?”

His captive squirmed, his dirty turban knocked askew. “We mistook you for another man.”

James shook him. “Try again—and this time, the truth.”

A shift of the man’s eyes was the only warning. James released him and whirled as the other man lunged, the knife in his hand glinting in the sunlight. There was the sound of tearing cloth. James caught the man’s wrist and twisted. With a cry, his attacker dropped the knife to clatter against the cobblestone pavement.

His assailants exchanged a look and took to their heels. James followed for several steps before reason tethered him.

Cursing, he opened the tear in his sleeve to assess the damage. Just a scratch, but it stung like the devil. He bent to pick up the whip and coil it. Handy, that. If he had been caught unarmed…Sweat trickled down his back. He would have to heed his own advice and be more careful when he went out.

A thin, nervous-looking man stuck his head out the door of the leather shop and eyed first James then the whip.

“Doctor Jones?”

James handed him the whip. “No—you must have me confused with someone else.”

An hour later, changed and freshly shaven, James knocked at the door of Lily and Isabelle’s suite. Lily opened it immediately, smiling.

“You’re late. After three days of plotting and secret arrangements you’re late! Won’t you tell me where we are going? Please, James.” She gave him her most winsome look. In her gown of gauzy white cotton she looked deliciously beautiful.

“Just a little longer then all will be revealed. The carriage awaits, and I am here to escort the lovely Misses Strathmore.”

Lily’s smile faded. “Isabelle has decided to join her parents and Mrs. Hodges for tea with the Fentons this afternoon. She asked me to convey her regrets.”

“Still avoiding me? I’d hoped her feelings would have softened by now.”

“Give her time—and don’t worry. There’s no need to let Isabelle spoil your surprise. Let me fetch my parasol.” Lily stepped back into her room then joined him in the corridor.

“Don’t forget your sketchbook.”

She patted the small case that contained her sketchbook and pencils. “Why? Are we going somewhere picturesque?” Her blue-green eyes sparkled at him.

“Perhaps.”

Her eyes widened.

“Or perhaps not. Let’s collect Richard and be on our way—the carriage is waiting outside.”

It was a perfect afternoon—the sky a dome of turquoise, a light breeze stirring the palm leaves, and Lily beside him in the open barouche. James felt like a boy setting out on a merry picnic to the seaside—carefree, joyous. The anticipation in Lily’s eyes only added an extra keenness to his pleasure.

“Where are we going?” Richard leaned forward from the seat opposite. “Surely you’ll tell us now?”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” James grinned.

“Lily, I can’t believe we’re keeping company with such a scoundrel.”

She twirled her parasol. “I couldn’t even get the secret out of Uncle Edward. He knows, doesn’t he?”

“Of course,” James said. “And your aunt, and Mrs. Hodges. It’s a grand conspiracy, really.”

Richard leaned out of the barouche, trying to see where they were headed. “Do you think he’s taking us to the grand mosque?”

“Could it be?” Lily turned to face James. “I didn’t bring any veils. Perhaps you would be kind enough to snatch a bed sheet off a clothesline for me. Something that matches my eyes.” She covered her face with her sleeve, but even then her eyes spoke her smile.

He loved her in this mood, the easy banter between them. James raised a brow and said in his most unctuously flattering voice, “Something that matches your eyes? How is that possible? Can one match the color of the sky? Can one match the color of the sea at dawn?”

“Well, actually, with a good grasp of color theory and the right paints—”

Richard gave a snort of laughter. “I think brown muslin. Mud brown.”

“You don’t mind converting then?” James said. “It is the only way they will allow us to enter the mosque.”

Richard looked thoughtful. “It has advantages, you must admit. We can take several wives each.”

“Ha,” Lily said. “Richard, you can begin with Anne Riding. That would keep her from chasing you about the dance-floor at any rate. And for James…” She tapped her lips with one finger. “Someone equally troublesome, I would think.”

“How about Isabelle,” Richard said. “She’s been troublesome since birth.”

James shook his head. “I don’t think Isabelle would have me.”

“No, probably not.” Richard cocked his head and looked at the two of them. “Lily, then. Granted, she can be every bit as troublesome as Isabelle, but at least she chose you over a stultifying tea with the Fentons. Of course, you will spend the rest of your days seated on a stool holding a pot of tulips while she paints you. Dreadful thought.”

James fought to keep his expression light. It was not a dreadful thought at all. And if it were possible to take Lily Strathmore for his bride he would make damn sure he held far more than a pot of flowers—he would have the artist herself right there amidst her brushes and paints. He looked at her, he couldn’t help it, and something of his thoughts must have shown, for she blushed and quickly glanced away.

“Really, Richard, you do go on. After traveling all this way with two such
troublesome
females, I doubt James intends to set up a Moorish household with Strathmores as wives one and two. In fact—oh, isn’t that the palace?” Her attention focused ahead of them.

“The Bey’s palace?” James kept his voice neutral. “It would appear so.” The driver turned to the right and they followed the street bordering the palace walls.

“What was it like inside?” Lily asked.

“Yes,” Richard said. “You and father did not tell us nearly enough about your meeting there.”

“Beyond the fact that we had permission to travel,” Lily said. “Are the floors paved in precious stones? Are there fountains flowing with wine?”

“No, but there were silken carpets woven in deep scarlet, and the Bey wore a ring with a ruby the size of a quail’s egg.”

She sighed. “I wish we could have gone.”

“Women are not allowed in the palace,” Richard said, giving her a smirk. “Unless you want to join the harem.”

“Actually,” James said as the barouche slowed to a stop, “In some instances women are allowed.” He vaulted lightly down onto the street and held out his hand. “This instance, for example.”

Lily glanced at him. “James!” She set her hand in his and he could see the excitement beginning to light her eyes.

“Splendid,” Richard said. “I was disappointed when you and father left me with the women the other day. You don’t suppose we’ll get to see the harem building, do you?”

“No,” Lily said, her voice almost a whisper. “We are going to see…However did you manage it?” The joy in her expression nearly undid him.

“What?” Richard looked from one to the other. “What are you talking about?”

“The mosaics! We are going to see the Roman mosaics.”

James nodded. The look on her face was worth all the effort it had taken to arrange this. “Come.” He held out his hand.

An arched door in the wall swung inward. “Welcome, James Huntington and guests,” a young, turbaned man said. “I am Ahmed, your escort, showing you the wonders of the palace. Please, be welcome.”

“We are honored to be your guests.” James let the young man usher them into a courtyard filled with an orderly planting of orange trees. Fruit and flowers mingled together in their branches, and the sun sparkled off a fountain in a square pool at the center.

“How enchanting.” Lily took a deep breath of the scented air.

She looked more beautiful than he had ever seen her, framed against the glossy leaves. He had a sudden, ridiculous urge to sketch
her
, but no markings he made on paper could hope to capture the essence of the woman who stood in front of him.

Their guide waved them forward. “Shall we go? There is much to see. The hall of the mosaics is this way.” He led the party to an arched door, the lintel inlaid with blue and yellow tiles.

Inside, the air was cooler and the light dim after the bright courtyard. The room soared two stories, supported by inlaid columns. A balcony ran around the upper perimeter and windows high above let in shafts of light.

“Here are the great artist’s treasures of my homeland,” Ahmed said, gesturing to the richly patterned mosaics set in the pale marble floor. “They are nearly two thousand years old, dating back to when Rome ruled here.”

James watched Lily closely, wanting to savor her every reaction. For a moment she stood unmoving, then slowly began to walk between the mosaics. Her eyes traveled over each work of art as she paused to admire the details—but there was something more in her expression. Joy? Thankfulness? Pleasure at seeing the mosaics? He did not know—only that when she looked up at him, her eyes alight, something inside him gave way. It was all he could do not to gather her into the center of his embrace.

“James,” she said, voice filled with emotion. “They’re more beautiful than I ever imagined.”

“I’m glad they please you.” If his quest failed, if they had to leave Tunisia tomorrow, the entire adventure would be worth it, just for this moment. Just to see the joy in her eyes.

She held out her hand to him and drew him to the edge of the tiles. “Look here—see the vines twining up out of the blue vases. There are angels, or cupids, in the branches—and what is that exotic bird?” She leaned closer. “It would be impressive if it were painted, but to think they achieved the pattern and depth with tiny squares of glass.”

“You like this one?” Ahmed gestured. “Come, I will show you the rose lady.” They followed him down the great hall.

“Here she is. With the sun shining upon her, she is shown in all her beauty.”

Sunlight beamed down from the upper windows, slanting onto the mosaic before them. The colors of the tesserae deepened and brightened like a thousand tiny jewels.

“Spectacular,” Lily said. “Look at her basket of roses—it glows. Why, she could be in any garden in London, gathering blooms on a bright summer morning. I think we are not so different from the ancients who made these.”

“Except for their taste in clothes,” said Richard. “I don’t think you’ll find anyone picking roses in London so dressed—or should I say, undressed…” He bent forward for a closer inspection. “Can you imagine anyone in Society picking roses with just a wisp of drapery over her thighs? She’d better mind the thorns.”

“It’s a good thing you play the piano so well.” Lily took out her sketchbook. “Otherwise I’d think you completely devoid of artistic sentiment.” She turned to Ahmed. “Don’t you have any of heroes slaying wild beasts to occupy his simple mind while I sketch?”

Ahmed grinned. “I have better than that. I will show him the mosaic of the wild beast devouring the hero. It is over here…”

James watched the two make their way across the hall, then wandered among the mosaics. He needed to put some distance between himself and Lily if he was to allow her the space and time to sketch.

She shared the rose lady’s light, her pencil driving across the page, the rest of her perfectly still, blue-green eyes narrowed in concentration. She glowed, her dress illuminated, her face radiant. Then she paused to turn the page and glanced up, sending him a quick smile before returning to her work.

Forcing his gaze away, he continued to stroll the room, describing a slow orbit around her until Richard and Ahmed returned.

“Lily,” her cousin said, “You don’t intend to spend all afternoon here, do you? Ahmed says the palace stables hold the finest horses in all Africa, and there is a garden with a reflecting pool and a parade ground, and the walls of the harem compound to see.”

She glanced at the mosaics laid out down the hall and bit her lip. “Well, I was hoping…”

Richard frowned. “Ahmed, are they really the fastest horses in Africa?”

“Oh yes, without a doubt. No others can compare.”

James stepped forward. “I’ll stay with Lily. I had a chance to see some of the palace on my earlier visit.”

“Do you mean it? I will not be long, I promise.”

“Off with you then,” Lily said. “I can see that you won’t be happy until you have beheld the horses.”

“If you need refreshment,” Ahmed said, “I have prepared a room with food and drink upstairs.” He indicated the flight of stairs at the far end of the hall. “Now come, Richard. We will pass near the harem on our way. You may look at the outer walls, but no higher, for to glimpse a concubine of the Bey is to forfeit your eyes.” The two young men walked down the hall in animated conversation.

As the door closed behind them, Lily looked at James. “I dare say we won’t see Richard for some time. He really is over-fond of horses. But won’t you be dreadfully bored?”