Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

“Do not be too disappointed.” The caliph strolled forward, his utter confidence warning Dimitri that he had several guards hidden nearby. “Most men are predictable when a beautiful woman is involved.”

“You have Emma?” he asked, needing to be certain.

“She is an honored guest in my home,” Rajih confirmed.

Dimitri struggled between relief that Emma was near and an irrational rage at the knowledge she had chosen to abandon him and place her trust in this man.

“Guest?” he gritted.

“Of course.” Rajih chuckled. “Do you prefer to believe she is a prisoner that I forced to Egypt against her will? Perhaps you have imagined rescuing her from my harem and earning her undying gratitude?”

Dimitri made a sound of disgust. “You know nothing of Emma if you believe she would express any gratitude at being rescued, even if that was what she desired. She is more likely to blacken my eye and demand to know why I had not arrived sooner.”

“Yes.” The dark eyes flared with a genuine emotion that made Dimitri grit his teeth. “She is quite spirited.”

“A polite means of saying she is willful, stubborn and happy to toss herself into danger in the pursuit of her sister?” he demanded.

“I would never be so ungentlemanly.”

Dimitri offered a sardonic laugh. “Thankfully, I was raised upon the streets of St. Petersburg and not the hallowed halls of Eton. I have a peculiar habit of speaking my mind.”

Rajih waved a slender hand toward the gates of the harem. “If she is such a bother, I question why you would have traveled such a distance, not to mention risking my wrath by intruding into my home without permission, in pursuit of her.”

“Because she is mine.”

Silence filled the gardens at his stark words. Then, without warning, the caliph tilted back his head to laugh with rich amusement.

“I do not believe she would agree with your claim.”

Dimitri stepped forward, shocked by the primitive sense of possession thundering through his blood.

What was the matter with him? He was a man who prided himself on his cold cunning and ruthless logic. Only fools allowed themselves to be ruled by their passions.

But there was nothing cold in his urgent desire to bury the dagger he had hidden beneath his robes in Caliph Rajih’s heart.

“For now, I am more interested in ensuring that you recognize my claim,” he growled.

“It would be a good deal more believable if she had not eagerly fled your company to be with me.”

Dimitri’s breath hissed through his teeth. “Emma is desperate to rescue her sister. She would bargain with the devil if she thought it would bring her closer to Anya.”

“Yes, I am aware of the guilt and fear that haunts my beloved’s heart,” Rajih murmured. “And unlike you, Tipova, I am willing to do whatever necessary to ease her pain.”

Dimitri winced, despite the knowledge the man was being deliberately provoking. It was true. He had failed Emma. Oh, he could claim any number of reasonable excuses for his decisions, but all that mattered was that Emma had turned to another man rather than believing he could be trusted to offer her what she most desired.

“What do you want of her?” he asked.

“Is that a jest?”

“Do you intend to keep her as your concubine?”

The caliph glanced toward the harem, his expression unwittingly soft with yearning.

“That would, of course, be the reasonable choice. She is beautiful and highly desirable, but she is also a foreigner with no connection to power and wealth. Even worse she is opinionated, ill-tempered and impulsive.”

“Do not toy with me.”

“Very well.” Rajih turned back to meet Dimitri’s fierce gaze. “The thought of taking her as my wife has become a near unbearable temptation.”