“Allow me,” he rasped, kissing the honey that clung to her mouth. “The sweetest of ambrosia.”
His enticing scent cloaked around her, the exotic spice as heady a temptation as the strength in the hand that cupped her face. It would be easy to give in to Rajih’s urging to replace Dimitri in her heart.
Not that she truly thought he could accomplish the impossible feat, but there would be undoubted pleasure in the effort.
Thankfully, she was a woman who learned from her mistakes.
She had allowed herself to depend upon Dimitri and had been betrayed. She would not allow another man the opportunity to disappoint her.
Pressing her hands to his chest, she pulled away from his kiss.
“We have halted.”
His hand briefly tightened on her cheek, then with obvious reluctance he pulled back, a flush staining his cheekbones.
They said nothing as a servant in loose robes rushed forward to pull open the carriage door, and Rajih led her into the three-storied stucco home that was framed by palm trees and mimosa.
She noted the tiled floors and fountains surrounded by low divans as they moved through the foyer and into the inner rooms. She had no need for Rajih to tell her that the tapestries that lined the walls were ancient heirlooms or that the delicate pottery were priceless works of art. Even a peasant from Russia could recognize the exquisite craftsmanship of her surroundings, she wryly acknowledged.
They stepped through a set of towering doors into the square courtyard before Rajih at last came to a halt and turned to offer her a small bow.
“Welcome to my home, Emma Linley-Kirov,” he said in an oddly formal fashion.
Her brows lifted as she studied the small stream of water that meandered through the dark greenery and the banks of flowers that filled the air with a thick perfume. In the center was a large fountain that sprayed water into the air and was surrounded by marble benches.
It was like a hidden jewel; all the more lovely because it was so unexpected.
“You consider this a modest home?” she demanded.
“It once belonged to my grandfather.”
There was a sound overhead and she glanced up to discover birds of prey silhouetted against the brilliant blue sky. A small shiver feathered down her spine.
“Is there a harem?” she asked.
“Of course.” His lips twitched as he deliberately stepped closer, his slender hand waving toward the profusion of brilliant blooms. “These gardens are a part of the seraglio. I believe you will find them suitably comfortable.”
She licked her lips, belatedly aware that they were very much alone in the courtyard.
“Perhaps it would be best if I were to find rooms at a hotel—”
Rajih reached to tug off her bonnet, a heat flaring in his eyes as her honey curls tumbled about her shoulders.
“Do you fear I might lock you away as my concubine?”
“I would be a fool not to be concerned.”
“Undoubtedly.” He chuckled, brushing a light kiss over her lips before straightening to regard her with a steady gaze. “And I am a brute to tease you. Yes, Emma, during your stay our tradition demands that you remain in the women’s quarters. It is for your own protection. But be assured that you will never be my prisoner.”
DIMITRI PACED THE NORTH terrace of Windsor Castle, his gaze absently studying the frozen countryside spread beneath him. A servant had pointed out the Thames churning a path through the meadows, as well as the cluster of distant buildings he had proclaimed to be Eton College. He had also attempted to interest Dimitri in the history of the Round Tower standing in the middle ward that had been built by Henry II and the fine architecture of St. George’s Chapel that he was assured possessed a fine stone-vaulted ceiling and a stained-glass window that was the finest in all the world.
At last accepting that the grim-faced Russian would not be coaxed into the warmth of the Grand Vestibule, nor impressed by the grand English castle, the servant had returned to his duties, leaving Dimitri alone with his dark thoughts.
He had not been offered an explanation as to why George IV had insisted that Lord Sanderson and Sir Jergens be brought to this castle to be held and questioned, although he suspected the portly king was anxious to suppress the revelation that proper English nobles were involved in the tawdry sex slave business. Such things were meant to be kept hidden from society.
But while Dimitri was anxious to be done with the royal formalities so that the men could be taken to Russia and their confessions heard by Alexander Pavlovich, that was not the reason he was restlessly pacing the frozen terrace.
No. The raw, gnawing fear that plagued him could be placed entirely at the feet of Emma Linley-Kirov.