Scoundrel's Honor (Russian Connection 3)

She frowned. “Rajih?”

“If I am not mistaken, Tipova intends to take you away from Egypt.”

An uncomfortable sensation tugged at her heart. Something that might have been regret.

“With or without Dimitri I intend to return to Russia.”

His eyes lifted to stab her with a relentless gaze. “Why?”

“It is my home.”

With a gentle care, Rajih covered the fingers that rested on his arm, his gaze sweeping over her upturned face.

“No, Emma, Russia is the place you were born,” he corrected. “Your home is where you choose to be.”

A dim, nearly forgotten memory of her parents seated before the fireplace in the cottage rose to mind. There had been nothing special about the evening. At least nothing that she could recall. But the image of her mother and father snuggled closely on the sofa, their hands entwined and their faces soft with love, had created a warmth in her young heart.

That was what created a home.

“I suppose that is true.”

As if sensing her bittersweet memories, Rajih shifted to cup her face in his hands, his expression somber.

“I want you to stay with me.”

“As your concubine?”

“As my wife.”

Wife. She blinked, regarding him with disbelief.

For goodness’ sake, was he touched in the head?

He was, after all, a shockingly handsome man with a ruthless virility that would make any female weak in the knees. She had seen how women fluttered when he stepped onto the streets of Cairo.

And of course, there was the tiny matter of him being a wealthy caliph with a number of estates spread throughout Egypt.

The mere notion he could desire an aging spinster with an evil temper and sharp tongue was…

Without warning, her laughter was spilling through the dark courtyard.

“This is absurd,” she choked.

His brows drew together, his pride obviously offended.

“You find my proposal amusing?”

“I find it astonishing. I…” She bit her bottom lip, struggling to regain command of her fragile composure.

He stepped forward, grasping her shoulders in a firm grip. “Emma?”

“For most of my life I have either been the source of pity or amusement,” she confessed, anxious to assure him that she was deeply honored by his proposal. “It is not a simple matter to accept that a gentleman could consider me worthy to be his wife. Certainly not a gentleman who is offered the most beautiful women in the world.”

His expression eased at her words, his hands stroking a warm path down her back.

“You are a woman of rare courage and loyalty,” he said. “These are qualities that I would desire for my sons.”

Her heart missed a beat, and she sharply turned away. She had never allowed herself to consider the possibility of children. Not when she knew she was destined to be an old maid.