Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

“Yes.”

“That is the seraglio of the pasha.”

“Seraglio?”

“The harem.” He smiled at her predictable frown before smoothly turning her attention toward the towering obelisk. “And there is Cleopatra’s Needle as well as Amud el-Sawari, or as the French have called it, Pompey’s Pillar.” His fingers brushed her cheek, his dark eyes lingering on the curve of her lips. “Perhaps if we have the opportunity I will take you to the catacombs. They are quite popular among the tourists.”

Her heart missed a tiny beat. Only a female in her grave would fail to appreciate Rajih’s potent attraction.

“But surely you do not intend to linger?”

“It will be morning before a boat can be arranged to take us to Cairo.”

Her hands tightened on the railing. She had been certain they were gaining on the men who held her sister captive. Now Rajih was suggesting she tour Alexandria as if she were a silly tourist while Anya was taken ever farther away from her.

“What about those camels?” she demanded. “There must be a few we could—”

Rajih turned her to meet his somber gaze. “Emma, it will be far quicker, not to mention considerably more pleasant to travel by boat.”

She made a sound of impatience. “I am not a pampered lady of society. I am accustomed to hard work and considerable discomfort when necessary.”

“But it is not necessary.” He laid a finger over her lips to cease her objections. “And while I do not question your fortitude you are not yet prepared for the unmerciful punishment of the desert. You must trust me.”

Emma heaved a frustrated sigh. She did not want to trust Rajih. Or Dimitri. Or any other man.

She wanted to find Anya and return home where they both belonged.

Unfortunately, she had no choice but to depend upon the caliph and to pray that he truly intended to help her rescue her sister from the monsters who had stolen her.

She returned to her cabin as they docked, pulling on a bonnet that was the precise shade of her pale orchid gown and arranged the veil to cover her face. Then, standing aside as her baggage was taken by a small boy wearing no more than a baggy pair of pants and sleeveless vest, she allowed Rajih to lead her off the ship and into a waiting carriage.

She settled on the leather seat, wincing at the turbaned servants who ran ahead of the vehicle, cudgeling the unwary who strayed in their path.

“Where are we to stay?”

“I own a house in Alexandria.” Rajih waved a slender hand at the men who rushed to line the streets, shouting out what Emma presumed must be words of welcome. “It is far more modest than my home in Cairo, but it will offer a welcome comfort after such a rough journey.”

On the point of demanding the precise nature of their living arrangements, Emma was distracted as their carriage was halted by a caravan of donkeys carrying men who beat small drums. Following them was a small crowd attired in silk robes trimmed with gold.

“Good heavens.”

“Do not fear.” Rajih placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. “It can be somewhat overwhelming for a visitor.”

“Somewhat?”

“Customs and fashions, and even religion, might separate countries, but people are very much the same wherever you might travel.”

She sucked in a steadying breath, her gaze skimming over the palm trees that lined the narrow lane and row of pale stone buildings that held shops, hotels and cafés where men sat around tables smoking tall pipes.

“I suppose that is true enough.” Her gaze lingered on the gentlemen wearing familiar tailored jackets and breeches strolling down the street as if they were royalty. “And to be honest, I am surprised to find so many Europeans.”

Rajih shrugged. “It was not so long ago that the Sultan Kebir was in command of my country.”

Sultan Kebir?

“Napoleon?” she deduced.

He nodded, the muscles of his jaw knotted. There was no need to ask his opinion of the French invaders.