A Secret in Her Kiss Read online

  Abington’s brows drew together. “It makes no sense. If the person is working for the sultan, why haven’t they simply arrested her? I have heard nothing through my usual channels that suggests the intelligence network here in Constantinople is even aware of her presence. If it were the Russians, she’d be dead. If the person wants money in exchange for their silence, why haven’t they asked for it?”

  So much for an easy answer. “Does Mari have any personal enemies?”

  Abington helped himself to a glass of brandy from the nearby table. “Nothing to warrant this level of interest. She generally keeps to herself. The women don’t pay her much heed and she is generally of little interest to the men.”

  It took Bennett a moment to realize the grinding he heard came from his own teeth.

  “Except perhaps those who wish to curry favor with the pasha.” Abington tipped back his drink with a single swallow. “Now, the pasha is a man with powerful enemies, but if they wish to discredit him through association with Mari’s actions, why haven’t they done so?”

  “Perhaps they want solid proof before facing him.”

  Abington nodded thoughtfully. “Not a bad theory. All the more reason to keep Mari from drawing Vourth. There could only be one reason for her to be in that region. It takes two days of treacherous hiking through barren hellish terrain to get there. Her flighty Englishwoman ruse wouldn’t work. No one would question her guilt if she is discovered.”

  Bennett folded his arms. He wouldn’t risk Mari’s life by rushing into the new assignment, but he would not avoid it. He had things to take care of back in England. “I have my orders.”

  The glass clunked heavily as Abington set it back on the table. “Do you wish her dead?”

  “I have every intention of keeping her alive. Can you give me any information on the area?”

  Abington spun toward the window, sighing. “If I don’t, I’ll be just as responsible for her death. I’ll give you a report on the last known bandit encampments as well as the safest routes I know of. It might take me a few days to gather the information.” He placed his turban back on his head.

  Good. That would give Bennett time to track down the person following her. “Thank you for your assistance.”

  Abington strode to the window and slipped out with a single noiseless movement. His voice whipped though the opening. “If she dies while under your care, Prestwood, you had better hope the bandits kill you, too.”

  Chapter Seven

  Mari paced on a smooth outcropping of rock until Bennett reached her. He struggled with the two oversized baskets, a large easel, and wooden box of ink jars. Guilt nipped at her as he paused without complaint, despite the fact that the heat of the afternoon radiated from the rock so intensely she had to shift from side to side to keep her feet from blistering through the leather soles of her shoes.

  He raised an eyebrow. She hadn’t let him rest since they set out from the inn where she’d left Achilla. The cumbersome items he carried had to be wearing blisters onto his palms, yet he bore it with stoic acceptance.

  The British officers she’d previously known were focused on their own comfort and glory. Apparently, she had been assigned the exception.

  She pointed to a copse of trees clinging to the side of the hill. “Let’s rest a moment until some of this heat passes.”

  A glint of humor entered his eyes. “I think we’ve already walked though the worst of it.”

  She tilted her silk parasol so he couldn’t see her face. “We’ll eat and then continue.”

  She moved into the shade of the small grove. The waxy green leaves provided only a few degrees of relief, but after the long hike, it seemed an incredible luxury. Mari tipped back her head and inhaled. The pungent, sweet smell of the leaves dripped from the trees and tingled over her. Her tired muscles eased. She caressed a smooth, gray trunk. Strange, sandalwood trees grew all over Constantinople and the scent had never affected her so.

  Bennett had smelled of sandalwood when she’d kissed him.

  She jerked away from the tree as if it had burned her.

  Bennett placed the hamper of food next to her. She sat, smoothing the sage green muslin of her dress around her legs. Her hand slid to cover the small ink stain Achilla had been unable to wash out. She ground her teeth and moved her hand to her side. She hadn’t cared about the spot the last time she wore this dress.

  With an agitated flick of her wrist, she flipped off the basket’s cover and sighed as she surveyed the contents.

  The final thrust of a campaign destined for failure.

  Her plan was rather silly and juvenile. Fine. This was completely silly and juvenile. She grimaced. Perhaps “doomed from its inception” would be a more apt description.

  She’d packed twice as many supplies as she usually did. She’d picked the worst inn to house them. She’d started the hike to her drawing site at the worst part of the day.

  And she arranged a meal carefully designed to terrify any Englishman.

  She pulled out the first crock of food and opened it. Aubergine and cucumber salad, seasoned with garlic, yogurt, green onions, and pepper. Lots of black pepper. Despite her father’s general acceptance of Ottoman cuisine, he refused to let this dish be served at his table, calling it an assault to the palate. Bennett’s nostrils flared as the scent pummeled him.

  She set out the cabbage dolma, the hard, raw sausage, and flat pide bread. All perfectly edible, yet all things it had taken her years to grow accustomed to. She really should apologize for this.

  Bennett surveyed the grove before sitting, seeing to her safety first.

  What had she been thinking? She wasn’t a schoolgirl trying to oust her governess. “I—”

  “I hope this means you’ve finally realized the futility of your childish plan.”

  Ah, yes. That was why she’d thought of this.

  After a quick sip, she offered him the canteen and smiled sweetly as he choked on a mouthful of the fresh turnip juice. “I have no idea what you are referring to.”

  His eyes narrowed and he drank from his own canteen strapped over his shoulder. “This plan is beneath you. You could have done better.” His hand twitched as he tightened the lid of his canteen.

  She grabbed his hand and flipped it over. Two puffy blisters bisected his palm. She winced as shame quenched her recent spurt of indignation. She’d meant to annoy him, not maim him. “Why didn’t you say something?”

  His steely eyes studied her. “I dealt with worse on campaign.”

  She drew out her own flask of water from the bottom of the basket and poured some on his hand. His hand flinched in hers as the liquid flowed over his abused skin. As she tied her handkerchief across his palm, her fingers grazed the old calluses that underlined his fingers. This wasn’t the hand of an officer who left the labor to his subordinates. A clean, white scar ran across the middle of his fingers. It must have been deep and bloody at one point, nearly severing his fingers. A saber cut, perhaps?

  She turned his hand over. How could she have forgotten these? She touched the proof of his past wounds.

  Because when she thought of his hands, she thought of pleasure, not scars.

  “How long have you been in the army?”

  His eyes followed her finger as she traced a scar. “Since I was seventeen.”

  Mari considered the fine lines on his face. Most, she suspected, were from a hard life rather than age, but he appeared to be in his early thirties. That would mean he’d been at war for more than twelve years.

  And she’d thought to drive him off with her pranks.

  She traced a different scar, this one a mottled discoloration caused by repeated powder burns. Her finger halted midway and she wrenched her hand away. Her face burned. “I’m sorry about the blisters.” She ducked her head and busied herself with filling her plate.

  He made no move to join her. “So what would you recommend I try?” Amusement rang clearly in his words.

  A bubble of laughter escaped befor
e she could stop it. She lifted her head and met his eyes. A mistake. A definite mistake. They crinkled around the corners with good humor. His mouth curved into a roguish grin.

  He was much safer when he looked at her like a disapproving chaperone. This new Bennett was all too engaging.

  “Believe it or not, I like all the things here.”

  He picked up a plate and held it out to her. “I leave it in your hands then.”

  She served him a small amount of all the different foods. She held her breath as he raised his fork to try the spicy salad.

  His face betrayed nothing. He chewed and swallowed.

  Three breaths passed.

  He gave a choked chuckle and took a long swig of his water. “Mischief I anticipated, but not murder.”

  She grinned and ate a large bite of the offending dish. “It isn’t my fault the British have weak stomachs.”

  He scooped another forkful of the salad. “You had to go and insult England. Now I’m forced to eat all of it to uphold her honor. Besides, you’re British as well, remember.”

  She ripped her flat bread into small pieces. Technically, she might be British, but at heart . . . She faltered. She didn’t belong to any land.

  Bennett chewed thoughtfully across from her. “You know, this isn’t half bad after one overcomes the shock of it.”

  Her heart performed a curious twist in her chest at his appreciation of the dish. True, his attention stemmed from direct orders from the British government, but if she leaned back against the tree and closed her eyes, it was easy to let the steamy afternoon lull her into believing he wanted to be there. Perhaps she could even pretend that he wanted to close the space between them and claim her lips once again, then lay her back on the fragrant bed of leaves and ravish her. Delicious patterns of sensation swirled through her veins as images drifted over her closed eyelids.

  He would prowl closer, drawn by the same helpless attraction that ate at her. His arms would enfold her and his lips claim hers, gently at first but then deeper, fiercer. This time she wouldn’t be focused on proving anything to him, but rather enjoying the sensations, storing them away for after he was gone. His callused fingers on her soft skin, discarding the clothing that interfered. The rasp of stubble on his chin scraping her neck. The smooth linen of his cravat as she removed it from his neck. The taste of his skin. Then she would, she would . . . She sighed. There were distinct disadvantages to having badgered Achilla into locating that copy of the Kama Sutra.

  She opened her eyes to find his gaze on her. A banked intensity simmered in his expression.

  He reached for her and she couldn’t have moved if the sultan himself had ordered it. Slowly, his fingers tugged the ribbons tying her bonnet. “If you’re going to sleep, I don’t want you to crush your hat. Why the English clothing today?”

  Desire roughened her throat and she swallowed several times to ensure the words emerged in a proper tone. “It depends on my plans. If I’m in a city, I dress to blend in, but out in the country like this, there is no chance of being inconspicuous if spotted, so I find it best to try to stand out as much as possible. The Turks think all the English mad and are quick to believe I’d gallivant about the countryside searching for butterflies. It’s better not to be caught in a lie about who I am.”

  “You’ve been stopped before?”

  “Twice. But I simply must find the last specimen I need to finish my book.” She batted her eyelashes and gave him her best featherbrained expression. “Surely, you understand?”

  A touch of surprised admiration flashed in his eyes.

  Perhaps he realized she wasn’t a complete nodcock. The thought warmed her more than it should. After all, it meant he’d thought she was an idiot until now.

  Although perhaps he wasn’t too far from the truth. The news that someone had trailed her yesterday had shaken her more than she cared to admit. For the week after Chorlu, she’d been constantly on edge, jumping at every noise and keeping to her rooms, but when another month passed and no new incidents occurred, she’d grown lax. Almost allowing herself to believe it was an accident. Now that wasn’t an option. She rubbed the goose bumps that pebbled the skin on her arms despite the heat.

  Someone knew. Someone knew when she arrived and departed from her home. Most likely the same person who wanted her dead. If she was found with an incriminating paper and linked to the other rebels, they would all be tortured and hanged.

  She had to end this. If she halted her work for the British, no one would have reason to pay her any further attention. She would call the ambassador’s bluff and refuse to draw anything further. It would rid her of danger and of Bennett in one fell swoop.

  The simplicity of the plan made sense. It was what she should have done from the onset.

  She’d find other ways to help the Greeks. Her mother had been a slave and she’d managed to build a group to foment revolution, for pity’s sake. She could find a way to help that didn’t involve endangering the others and despising herself every night for giving in to a blackmailer’s demands.

  Bennett removed her bonnet with a gentle tug, distracting her. “If we’re in the shade, you might as well enjoy the slight breeze.”

  Her hair, released from its tightly bound prison, rioted around her shoulders. She smoothed it back with two hands, desperately searching for traitorous pins.

  “Leave it. It is a sight to behold.”

  There was no way he could know how sensitive she was about her hair. Witch’s hair, her aunt Larvinia had called it. My mother had the same hair, Mari had said proudly. Well, your mother is dying, struck down by the hand of God.

  Mari banished the thoughts. But for some reason she still couldn’t meet his gaze to discover if he was making sport of her. She’d locked his silly comment about her hair yesterday in a safe corner of her heart. She didn’t want it to have been meaningless.

  He smoothed a tendril from her face. “If we weren’t courting, this would be terribly forward of me.”

  The reverence of his hand on that strand of hair eased her fear slightly.

  “I definitely couldn’t do this, either,” he said, rubbing it between his fingers. “And if I ran my hand down to this intriguing hollow in your throat, like this, you might otherwise take offense.”

  Her skin burned from where his hand had traced down her neck. “It might warrant a ringing slap.” She placed her hand on the rough stubble beginning to gild his chin. Its rough texture as unexpected as Bennett’s lighthearted play.

  “A slap, truly? For that paltry offense? I didn’t suspect I was courting a prude.”

  Arranging her face into an expression of outrage, she tapped his lips with her finger. “A prude? Certainly not.”

  A slow, lazy grin widened under her finger and she wanted to trap it there so she could memorize every curve. Her fingers had drifted to the seductive arch of his upper lip when his tongue flicked over to the pad of her index finger, surprising a gasp from her.

  “Did that shock you then?” His lips, then teeth grazed the inside of her wrist, sending shivers dancing over the delicate skin. “Or this?”

  “What if you discovered you were courting a wanton?” She didn’t care how breathy the words sounded, that she’d even managed to speak at all was a miracle. She untangled the simple knot in the cravat at his throat.

  “That might have its advantages.” The words rumbled from his chest.

  Trembling, she unfastened the top button of his shirt. His heart hammered under her fingers, and she pressed her palm against the spot, the intimacy as erotic as the heat darkening his eyes.

  She swayed forward, pulled by some force she was helpless to resist, and kissed his neck. He shuddered, and she felt the movement to the tips of her toes. This time it wasn’t simply the power she had to provoke the reaction that thrilled her, but it was because this was Bennett and he received pleasure from her touch. Suddenly desperate to give him more, her tongue darted out over his slightly salty flesh.

  He swallow
ed roughly. “Prude or wanton, you would undoubtedly slap me when I lowered my lips to your breasts.” His finger traced the edge of her bodice but he made no move to follow through with his threat.

  “What if I begged you instead?”

  He withdrew his hand with a curse and a rueful grimace. “No, slapping is definitely the correct course of action here.”

  She was tempted, not because he went too far. “Nonsense. We’re courting after all.”

  His eyebrow twitched upward. “Yes, if our relationship were only a ruse this could have been quite scandalous.” He rose to his feet and began collecting their things.

  “I find I don’t actually need all those supplies,” Mari confessed quietly. His reminder had been sobering. This false relationship was almost at an end.

  The ambassador would be furious when he heard that she had quit again, and the odds were good he would follow through with his threat. Mari picked up her ink and sketchbook, ignoring the ripple of muscle over Bennett’s shoulders as he stacked the supplies. It didn’t matter. When they returned to the inn, she was finished working for the British.

  Bennett leaned against the craggy rock as Mari dipped her quill into a pot of ink and continued her sketch. The butterfly she’d chosen had long since flitted away, but it appeared as if she’d somehow convinced its soul to remain behind. Unlike her earlier drawing where the creature prepared to flee, this little fellow reposed on a rock, his wings spread to the warmth of the sun, basking in it. With each flick of her wrist, she entrapped it on the paper. Hell, in an earlier age he might have been ordered to burn her as a witch.

  Her process baffled him. He’d thought perhaps if he watched her create one of her works, he’d understand how she captured the vitality in her art, but his study left him more awed than before.

  It was yet further proof that his silly poetic blatherings should be left in the darkness of his closet or better yet, burned at the first opportunity. Still, Mari’s creative energy taunted him and he couldn’t resist pulling his notebook from his pocket. Before opening it, he made another quick sweep of the area, ensuring they were still alone. Then he waited several heartbeats until he was sure Mari’s work absorbed her.