A Secret in Her Kiss Page 6

  Sir Reginald cleared a space for himself at his desk. A piece of stone in front of him momentarily confused him, but he placed it aside and turned his attention to Bennett. “So, Major, sorry to have missed our meeting yesterday. I was unavoidably detained. What was it you wished to discuss?”

  Mari had predicted correctly. No recognition shone in the older man’s eyes.

  Bennett cleared his throat, a sudden unaccountable nervousness assailing him. Which was quite ridiculous, since this whole relationship with Mari was a ruse. If her father, for some unforeseeable reason, refused him, they’d simply change the plan. “I would like to court your daughter.”

  Sir Reginald’s eyes widened and he rubbed his chin, leaving a smear of dust. “My little Mari? Not that she’s that little anymore, I suppose. I assume your budding romance is why she didn’t protest the meeting at the ambassador’s yesterday? I wondered at that, as she’s never been fond of the fellow.”

  Bennett nodded. “Indeed.” Not that Mari had gone to their meeting, either, but her father didn’t need to know that. If her father assumed Mari had known him for a while, it would make things run smoother.

  “In that case, I’ll do nothing to hinder you.” The older man smiled. “You don’t happen to be an archaeologist as well, do you? I have the hardest time keeping good help for some reason.”

  Bennett suspected the reason had to do with the man’s opium use, but he didn’t mention it.

  It was quite odd, actually. If not for the sickly cast of Sir Reginald’s skin, it would be hard to reconcile him with the man Bennett had seen yesterday. Today he could have been any of a dozen friendly antiquarian professors.

  “Oh well, you can’t be the answer to both our prayers. I assume then that Mari no longer favors that Nathan Smith fellow. He used to be about quite often.”

  And was quite familiar with Mari’s portion of the house. Neither Mari nor Abington had answered his earlier question. What had been the nature of their relationship? When she’d started the kiss yesterday, he’d been sure she’d never been kissed before, but by the end he was no longer positive.

  Had Abington taught her that passion, or was it fueled by her own natural intensity?

  The kiss had shaken him. He loved his family, but over the past years he’d felt more and more distant. Their natural affection and ease with each other, alien. But something in Mari pricked a depth of emotion he no longer thought he possessed.

  And wasn’t sure if he wanted to again. He’d tossed his deepest feelings into his poetry where they would never bother him or anyone else. He could restrain them there. A small part of him feared that if they escaped, he and the entire world would go mad.

  The servant, Selim, entered the room with tea. He moved stiffly, his formal grace gone. A bruise marked his cheek. Bennett frowned. He’d been fine a short while before.

  Sir Reginald shifted in his chair. He tilted his head and stared out the window as Selim placed a cup in front of him. Interesting. Most noblemen failed to notice their servants, but this was different. Sir Reginald was deliberately ignoring his.

  Bennett nodded his thanks as Selim handed him a cup as well. The servant assessed him with an unreadable gaze and then backed from the room.

  Sir Reginald exhaled and scooped three large spoonfuls of sugar into his tea. He slowly stirred his cup. “Mari is such a good girl. Never any trouble.”

  Bennett choked on his tea. He coughed for a good half a minute before catching his breath. “She is indeed a fine woman.” Were they speaking of the same person?

  “Although, don’t let her fool you, she has a bit of the firebrand in her. Much like her mother.” Sir Reginald’s eyes misted for a moment.

  The ambassador had hinted at gossip involving Mari’s mother. It seemed less distasteful to get the information from Sir Reginald himself. “Mari does not speak about her mother much. What was she like?”

  A distant smile crossed Sir Reginald’s face. “Ah, my Helena.” He stared at a spot on the wall with unfocused eyes. Several minutes passed. He reached absently for his tea and knocked over a pot of ink. That jolted him back to the present. “Um, yes. She was Greek, you know. You can see that much in Mari. You’ve heard how we met, no doubt.”

  Bennett shook his head.

  The man’s melancholy fled. “Quite the story that.” He straightened. “I was excavating a site near Nephases, a hilltop temple as it were. In the valley below, there arose a great commotion. So great, in fact, that even I noticed it. Below us in the valley, a horde of thieves attacked a lone rider. Being young and impulsive, I called to my assistants and rode to the man’s aid.”

  He settled back in his chair, excitement lighting his face. The sickness and dissipation fled and Bennett saw the man who’d gallop to the rescue of an unknown soldier. “The thieves shot my horse from under me, but I rolled clear. I got to the lone man just as he used the last of his ammunition. I dropped to his side and fired, taking the leader of the attackers down. My assistants were, by this time, running down the hill. The rest of the villains fled. The man I saved turned out to be Esad Pasha, leader of the sultan’s army. In payment, he gave me one of his virgin slaves, a great honor that. I could hardly refuse. Besides, once I set eyes on Helena I couldn’t condemn her to a life of slavery. She begged me to accept her, and since I couldn’t in good conscience keep a slave, I married her.”

  Mari’s mother had been a slave? That explained the ambassador’s innuendos about her background.

  “Helena insisted we move to England. I think living here was too humiliating a reminder of her past.”

  But Mari had visited the pasha this morning. How could she be friends with the man who’d owned her mother?

  Sir Reginald continued, “She embraced English society and the station my lowly title afforded her, used it to try to gain support for her fellow Greeks. I lost her eleven years ago to a lung fever.” The fire inside him extinguished, leaving the husk of a man from the day before.

  “When did you return to Constantinople?”

  “Later that same year. Mari was twelve.”

  “Why did Mari come with you?”

  “I sent her away when her mother was sick. I’m still not sure if she’s forgiven me for that. She and her mother were like two sides of the same vase. She hated not being able to be there when her mother passed. I told her I wouldn’t send her away again.” Sir Reginald pulled a decanter of brandy from his desk and added some to his tea. His hand shook as he poured. “She’s all I have left of Helena. I couldn’t leave her. She turned out rather well, if I do say so.”

  She had, it seemed. Her art captured life in a way his poetry never could. And as much as she challenged him at every turn, he could not deny her determination or cleverness. So why had she agreed to continue drawing even after being shot at? She was smarter than that. Had her father’s opium habit drained the family coffers? “Times must have been difficult since you returned.”

  Sir Reginald looked perplexed. “Not really. Constantinople is quite pleasant and I am close to my work.”

  “It seems expensive here, compared to London.”

  Sir Reginald chuckled. “She has a dowry, if that concerns you. I am by no means wealthy, but I can provide for my daughter.”

  Then why did that daughter insist on risking her life?

  The crack in the study door creaked ever so slightly wider. Bennett tensed but forced himself to relax. Risk of ambush was quite minimal. His eyes narrowed. Risk of eavesdropping, however—

  “I think Mari has come to join us.”

  She muttered a word in Turkish that he suspected was not polite. But she pushed open the door with a smile pasted on her face. “Hello, Father. Bennett.”

  Both men rose. Just to rile her, Bennett walked to her side and brought her hand to his lips for a lingering caress. She tried to free her hand but he held fast. “Don’t worry. Your father knows we’re courting.”

  “Ah, Mari. He’s quite right. No need to be bashful. I was in love
once, too. Where have you been keeping yourself? I haven’t seen you for a few days.”

  Mari smiled but her nails dug into Bennett’s hand. “Yes, Father, it has been ages. How is your work?”

  “Translations are going well. How are your drawings?”

  “I have yet to find the blue-winged Glaucopsyche melanops that I have been searching for.”

  “You will. I’m sure. You’re not one to let things escape you, even butterflies.” He then shook his finger at her. “Now we both know that’s not why you’ve come. I gave my permission for your major to call on you.”

  “He’s not my—” She coughed. “He’s not been too nervous, has he? I told him you’d approve.”

  “No, he’s bearded the lion in its own den, so to speak.”

  Mari’s eyes narrowed slightly at the pronouncement. “The major has a way of getting what he wants.” She jerked her hand away under the guise of straightening her skirt.

  Bennett watched her annoyed gestures. True, she might dislike his interference, but her dislike of him seemed a trifle excessive. He’d come to protect her after all.

  He shook off a pinch of regret. As intriguing as he found her, her opinion of him didn’t matter. He’d follow his orders whether she approved of him or not. He stood and bowed to both Sinclairs. “I regret I have business I must attend to.”

  By the time he reached the street, the crowds had cleared, driven inside by the afternoon heat. Instead, veiled women leaned out of second-story windows and called to one another across the alleys. Doves crooned their incessantly gentle notes from the tops of lush green cypress trees. Through gaps between the houses, an occasional glimpse of the waters of the Bosporus beckoned. Bennett withdrew his book from his pocket and the stub that was left of his pencil. He jotted down notes on what he saw. None of the phrases could be called poetry, but a few of them held a hint of promise.

  When he arrived at the embassy, the butler intercepted him and led him to the ambassador’s study. Bennett expected to find comfort in the English architecture, but instead the walls crowded the narrow corridors, suffocating him in the heat.

  Bennett tugged at his collar before entering. Abington, still dressed in his filthy clothes, looked up from a chair across from the ambassador. Excellent, he could question both men at once. Daller motioned for him to sit. “Perfect timing, Major. Abington has just finished his report.”

  Prestwood lowered himself into a chair.

  Daller stroked his chin and smiled. Bennett had the distinct impression that he enjoyed his position of superiority over two noblemen who outranked him. Daller handed him a sealed letter. “Additional orders.”

  Bennett broke the seal and scanned the contents. Miss Sinclair was to sketch military fortifications in Vourth. He was to ensure she complied using whatever tactics he deemed necessary.

  His hand tightened on the paper. This was it, his key home. He placed the paper in his pocket.

  Daller tapped a map on his desk. He looked as though he knew the contents of the orders. His next words confirmed it. “While the other drawings Miss Sinclair produced have been useful, this one is essential.”

  Abington straightened in his chair. “Where do they want her to draw?”

  Daller frowned. “Vourth.”

  Abington surged to his feet. “She will not!”

  The ambassador’s face remained impassive except for a new crease dividing his brows. “This no longer concerns you.”

  Abington spun toward Bennett. “The last two agents we’ve sent into that area haven’t returned. The place is a death trap. She will be killed.”

  The paper turned to lead in Bennett’s pocket.

  Daller interrupted before Bennett had a chance to respond. “I am sure Major Prestwood is more than capable of protecting Miss Sinclair.”

  Abington glared pointedly at the bruise Bennett knew was on his jaw. “That is not the point. It’s wrong to ask it of her. The trip alone is treacherous. The sultan himself has lost regiments of soldiers to the brigands in those mountains.”

  The ambassador held out a calming hand. “It is a risk. But it is the final thing we’ll ask of her.”

  The assurance failed to placate Abington. “Yes, because she’ll be dead. Prestwood, you cannot possibly encourage her to do this.”

  Unease churned in Bennett’s stomach, but he didn’t allow it to show. “I have my orders.” He wouldn’t disobey them. If British soldiers balked at every command they didn’t personally agree with, Napoleon would be sitting on the throne in London. This particular order might be more uncomfortable than the rest, but that didn’t make it any less necessary.

  Besides, he could protect Mari. It would take intense planning, but when it was over, he and Mari could return to their own lives.

  “Disobey your orders.”

  Abington lacked the military background to understand the enormity of what he had just proposed, but some of Bennett’s shock must have shown on his face.

  Abington stalked to the door. “I expected better of you, Prestwood.”

  Bennett’s hand fisted at his side, but he wouldn’t rise to the schoolboy taunt. “She chose this.”

  “The risk to her so far has been minimal. If it hadn’t, I would have stopped her months ago.”

  The last few words hung in the air. “Months ago? How long have you known Miss Sinclair was the artist responsible for the drawings? I thought her identity was a recent discovery.”

  Abington stilled. “I misspoke.”

  No, he hadn’t. Bennett rose to his feet. “You knew who she was all along and you let her become involved.”

  Guilt flashed across the other man’s face.

  “If you didn’t want her exposed to danger, you should never have let her play at being a spy.” Fury flashed through him. If Abington had been truthful from the onset, Mari would never have been allowed to involve herself in this, at least not to the degree in which she was now embroiled.

  Abington gripped the door handle so tightly his knuckles whitened. “As if I could have stopped her.” His lips pursed. “At least promise me you’ll inform her of the risks when you tell her of the assignment.”

  The ambassador spoke. “I hardly think—”

  Bennett cut in. “You have my word. She will go into this with both eyes open or not at all.”

  Abington nodded once, then stalked out.

  Bennett stared at the open door. During the war, he’d ordered men to take assignments he knew they would not survive. Carter. Johnson. Potter. Davis. Blarney. He knew the name of every one of his men he’d sentenced to death. He saw each of their faces in his mind before he fell asleep and in his nightmares each night.

  Their deaths hung like weights on his soul, but he didn’t question the correctness of his actions. He had done what needed to be done to win the war, to keep his family safe, and to keep the bloody, sickening horror of battle far from England’s shores.

  His current orders were no different. England’s safety took precedence over the life a single man.

  Or woman.

  Bennett shrugged into his dress uniform jacket. The prominently displayed medals clanked together in an embarrassing cacophony. He frowned and tugged on one. Damned gaudy things. But the ambassador made it quite clear he looked forward to presenting Bennett to his dinner guests tonight in full military glory, a sort of foretaste of Friday’s party.

  Bennett fastened the jacket slowly, trying to delay the upcoming monotony. Perhaps Mari—

  Bennett dropped to the ground and rolled behind the bed.

  He was no longer alone.

  He pulled his knife from his boot. Its weight balanced with cool familiarity in his hand as he listened to the silence in the room. What alerted him? Where had it come from? Awareness that had kept him alive on the battlefields hummed in his veins.

  There. A soft scuff on the floor.

  The noise did not come from the bedroom. That left the dressing room. A cool, damp breeze, from a room where the windows had bee
n left closed, confirmed his suspicion.

  Bennett rose to his feet and pressed back against the wall. He approached the adjoining room. His steps fell noiselessly on the wood floor.

  “I would prefer not to be gulleted if I have a choice,” the cultured voice stated in a soft undertone.

  “You could use a door.” Bennett lowered his knife. “If you are going to be sneaking into private rooms in the future, Abington, I would recommend further work on stealth.”

  Abington stepped through the doorway. He was still dressed in dirty native garb. “I am glad to see you noticed me before I tackled you this time.”

  Bennett grimaced at the rebuke.

  “With people arriving for dinner, too many might recognize me if I knocked on the front door.” He grinned. “I found your note in my shutter. I must admit to being flattered.”

  Bennett ignored his taunt and sheathed his knife. Leaving the note had been the most expedient course of action. Bennett knew of no other way to find him after the man had stormed out of the ambassador’s study. “I have a few questions regarding Mari.”

  The smile dropped from Abington’s face. “Are you taking her to Vourth?”

  Bennett nodded once.

  “Then I don’t feel all that inclined to help you.” Abington turned to the open window behind him.

  “How long has she been followed?”

  Abington halted abruptly. “Bloody hell.”

  Bennett studied him. “You didn’t know?”

  Abington’s fingers gripped the windowsill. “As I said, I looked out for her when I could, but I was hardly a constant companion.”

  “A man followed her this morning when she left you that note.”

  Abington swore. “Did he see her leave it?”

  Bennett shook his head. “She lost him first, but she was definitely being watched.”

  Abington tugged off his dirt-smeared turban and ran a hand through his dark hair. “I knew someone had taken a shot at her, but I didn’t realize her enemy was so dedicated. I assumed she’d be safe surrounded by her people. Damn.”

  “Do you have any idea who’s following her?”