That bit of information gave India momentary pause. When Lord Barclay released him, Mustafa would return to the sultan with the complete description of everything that had taken place since they’d left the Topkapi, and India wanted to be certain Mustafa understood her grandfather’s influence and Lord Barclay’s enormous power. She wanted the handsome lord to figure so prominently in Mustafa’s tale that he became a legend in the seraglio. And she wanted Sultan Hamid, the dey of Algiers, and the Barbary pirates who had taken her from the HMS Portsmouth to know that her champion—Lord Barclay—was not a man with which to trifle—that he had the power of the English Crown behind him. “The king is mad?”
“Quite.” Jonathan dipped another corner of the towel into the basin of water and rinsed the soap from the cuts, more than a bit dismayed to discover the water had taken on a distinctly rust-colored tinge.
India winced involuntarily and bit her bottom lip. “When did that happen?”
“He’s always had bouts of madness,” Jonathan said. “Everyone knows that.” Gritting his teeth, Jonathan scraped the end of the towel over the soap once again, washing and rinsing his wounds a second time.
“I didn’t.”
She sounded personally affronted, and Jonathan couldn’t help but smile. “Perhaps, you were too young to notice.” Or too busy surviving.
“You missed one,” India told him. “There’s blood.”
“Where?” He craned his neck, trying to locate the cut in the mirror.
She took a step forward and touched the small cut below his earlobe. “There.”
Her fingertip was cool against his warm skin, and Jonathan discovered he liked the feel of it. And the scent of her perfume surrounding him.
A drop of his crimson blood marked her fingertip. India paled as she stared at it.
Jonathan noted her pallor and quickly swabbed his blood from the tip of her finger with the end of the towel. “There,” he pronounced. “As good as new.” He refolded the cloth and pressed the dry portion against his neck to stop the fresh flow of blood.
India took a deep breath. “Is the king’s madness common knowledge?”
Removing the towel, Jonathan lifted his chin and turned his head so he could view the results of his ministrations in the mirror. Satisfied that the bleeding had stopped, Jonathan laid the towel aside. “The exact nature of his illness isn’t common knowledge,” he answered, “because no one knows the exact cause, but the fact that he’s ill is known to almost everyone since the Prince of Wales was named regent two years ago.”
“Oh.” India thought for a moment. “The regent usurped his father’s power?”
“In a manner of speaking,” Jonathan agreed. “Parliament endowed him with a great many of the monarch’s powers. But unlike your sultan, the prince regent does not have the absolute power of life and death over his subjects.”
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“The sultan considers the English form of government weak,” India said. “He cares nothing about the workings of Parliament. But he understands a son’s willingness and ability to usurp his father’s powers. Sultans live in mortal fear of having their power usurped by sons, brothers, and nephews.”
“No doubt the Prince of Wales does, too,” Jonathan quipped.
“The fact that you’re an emissary of the usurper will make you more powerful than the emissary of an older, weaker ruler,” India continued. “We shall have to inform Mustafa of that in the morning so he can relay the information to the sultan. He understands strength, and he relishes court intrigues.”
“Unfortunately, this isn’t one of them,” Jonathan replied. “And I doubt your bodyguard is going to be impressed to learn that I’m an emissary from the prince regent or the king,” Jonathan warned her, reaching up to trace the first painful souvenirs of Mustafa’s distrust.
“He’ll be impressed,” she replied. “And he’ll carry the tales back to Istanbul because he knows it’s the truth.”
Jonathan would have liked to have Mustafa impressed in a very different manner. Hard labor on a British naval vessel might do the man a world of good, but Jonathan also knew that impressing him would raise all sorts of questions better left alone, so he was willing to settle for having Mustafa placed on one of Lord Davies’s merchant ships and sent back to his lord and master in Istanbul.
“The truth is that I’m not an emissary for anyone,” Jonathan said. “Certainly not His Majesty or the prince regent. Lord Davies asked his son-in-law to retrieve a parcel from his cottage. Since I was coming this way on business, I offered to do it for him.” Jonathan realized the truth the minute the words left his mouth. “Good lord! You’re the . . .”
“Parcel,” India replied.
Chapter Five
“I had no idea,” Jonathan admitted. “I was expecting a crate of books or a bolt of cloth or a bottle of vintage wine. A parcel wrapped in oilcloth. Nothing like this . . .” He looked at India dressed in her incredibly tempting costume.
India returned his speculative gaze. “And I was expecting Lord Davies or at the very least, a serious man of business.”
“Lord Davies’s wife tripped over one of their dogs and broke her hip,” Jonathan told her. “She’s confined to bed and Lord Davies was reluctant to leave her, so he asked Colin to retrieve a parcel from Plum Cottage.” He looked at India. “I knew I’d be coming within a few feet of the cottage on my way home, and I insisted that Colin stay home with his wife and in-laws while I retrieved Lord Davies’s parcel for him. So you got me instead.” He frowned. “What makes you think I’m not a serious man of business?”
“Because you have adventurer written all over you.”