Beguiled by Her Betrayer

‘Sleep ashore if the proprieties worry you. Who is to know in any case?’

Quin vaulted over the side to wade to the shore. ‘I don’t like to leave you alone on the boat, not when we are away from the area you are familiar with. Would you object if I slept on the deck?’

So close I will be able to reach out and touch you. So close you could come to my bed and no one would know. Only you will not, will you, my chivalrous American whom I do not quite trust?

‘I would be grateful,’ Cleo said, striving for a balance between gratitude and distance. The sight of Quin moving so effortlessly around the boat, his long legs encased in wet linen, the neck of his loose shirt open to reveal glimpses of the sun-bronzed skin of his throat, were all reviving pleasantly dangerous feelings that it would be most unwise to acknowledge. That kiss had been bad enough, but now she was recalling his naked body with accuracy.

‘We are ready, effendi,’ the oldest of the four boatmen called.

Quin raised one hand in acknowledgement. ‘Ready?’ he asked her and, when she nodded, simply scooped her up, waded through the shallow water and deposited her in the boat. She might have been a sack of wheat, she thought resentfully, so impersonal was his grip.

The villagers had gathered on the bank to watch them, faces as impassive as Cleo hoped hers was. These Inglizi with their strange habits had descended on them as though from the heavens and now they were taking themselves away, Allah knew where. Their ancestors must have watched like this as the temple builders came and went and then for hundreds of generations after as the sand took over the sacred places and a new religion and new conquerors swept across their land.

She had no idea what they thought of them, but she waved and the children waved back, running alongside as the boats cast off and began to drift with the current. The great sails flapped and filled and the women turned and went back to their village, incurious and uncaring of where the Inglizi were going now.

‘I hope the villagers will be safe when the Mamelukes come through.’

‘They should be. They’ll hide their livestock on the islands, I imagine.’ Quin stood amidships and leaned against the main mast, one bare foot on the strakes, his wet trouser leg flapping in the breeze. The wind ruffled through his hair and his face was more relaxed than she had ever seen it. He had said he was twenty-eight and she wondered just what his life had held to give him that strange ability to switch between bland courtesy, warm concern and an almost dark intensity. There was something in his family background that contributed to the darkness, she had sensed that easily enough, but why did she have so much trouble picturing him as the engineer he professed to be?

He was intelligent enough and practical, too. And yet... ‘How long will it be?’ she asked as she settled down opposite him.

‘To Cairo? Depends on the army barges, I suppose.’ He shrugged. ‘I assume they’ll want to make all speed, but we cannot travel at night, not with these sandbanks. Within ten days, I’d hazard, unless there are problems on the river or with the barges.’

Ten days to plan what she would do when they arrived in Cairo. There, at least, she could leave her father with a clear conscience. He could hire an assistant, servants, a house. These past few days had shown her that if she let him he would simply suck the life out of her. But where could she go on her own? France or England? Both strange, both at war. And both requiring money to reach them.

Cleo watched Quin, who seemed intent on the great flocks of geese and ibis on the shore. Where was he travelling next? Home to America? He would have to go to France or England to get a ship across the Atlantic, her geography was good enough for that.

‘Quin.’ He turned his head, still tipped back lazily against the mast. ‘Where will you take ship to America from?’

‘Oh, anywhere in the Mediterranean. Greece, perhaps, or there might be one in Alexandria. They trade all over Europe.’ He smiled at her. ‘Why? Thinking of starting a new life on the other side of the world?’

‘No.’ She shook her head firmly. America was out of the question or he would think she was building dreams on that kiss. ‘No, just making conversation.’ She needed the practice, that was certain. How on earth did one make small talk without sounding like a twittering female? ‘Have you commissions to go back to or will you be seeking employment?’ Was that all right? Showing interest in a man always seems to be acceptable. Or will he think I am unduly curious?’

‘I have employment waiting.’ Quin’s eyes were closed now, he seemed capable of resting whenever the opportunity presented itself. ‘But thank you for your concern.’