Bound with Passion Page 19

  Ever since their wedding night, Georgie had become gentler somehow. She remained opinionated and demanding in all of her usual ways—forceful in bed and out—but early in the morning, before she armed herself to face the day perhaps, she was docile. Like now, when she was just waking up, she stretched her legs, and the thin muslin of her night rail pulled taut against her round bottom. She and James were still dozing in bed, James’s hand resting lightly against her neck as it had on their wedding night.

  “Nothing that can’t wait until later,” Trevor whispered in reply. He set aside his pen and gave Georgie his full attention, as it would’ve been impossible to stay focused on anything as mundane as drainage when that woman and that man were sleepy, soft, and warm with the burgeoning desire of the new day floating off them in waves.

  The lulling movement of the ship had added to the dreamy quality of the entire journey, and this morning was no different. Trevor stood up and joined the other two in bed. Georgie was facedown and hummed her approval when Trevor leaned in and kissed her bare shoulder. Trevor’s hand followed the curve of her waist and then along her thigh until he reached the hem of her nightgown. He pulled it up slowly until her arse was exposed and he was rubbing one of her cheeks in smooth, firm circles. “You are quite delicious, Georgie. You know that, of course”—she smiled with closed eyes while James slept on—“but I must confess I’ve been missing someone.”

  Her eyes flew open. “What? To whom are you referring?” she whispered hotly.

  He loved her moments of jealousy and slapped her bottom once in tender punishment. Her eyes brightened immediately, and then he resumed that lovely rubbing that got her so wet and ready for him. “I’ve been wanting to reacquaint myself with one Mister George Camden prior to our arrival in Cairo. Have you seen him anywhere aboard ship?”

  She pressed her face into the pillow and groaned, the sound some combination of happiness and embarrassment and pleasure. He watched as her shoulders relaxed slightly and her arms moved so she could rest her cheek against her forearm. She turned to face him and her mouth had that slack, careless quality he associated with her more masculine side. “Trust me,” she said, pitching her voice slightly lower, “you’re going to be seeing quite a lot of Mr. Camden upon our arrival.”

  Trevor raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?” He saw James’s eyes open sleepily beyond Georgie’s shoulder.

  “Yes. I was planning on traveling—” She gasped when Trevor let his fingers press deeper into her cleft. “Well,” she continued rather breathlessly, “with the three of us . . . as male friends . . . looking to buy a few prime stallions . . . I thought—” Her eyes slid shut and she ceased talking when his fingers found the wet entrance to her pussy and began toying with her clit and then her arse, sliding back and forth, in and out, with her own slippery heat coating her and getting her ready. When she moaned into the pillow, he couldn’t resist any longer.

  He levered himself up and hoisted her hips so he was between her thighs and had perfect access to her upturned arse. James was smiling up at him dreamily. Trevor pressed the head of his cock against her arsehole but didn’t push in.

  “I am in the market for a few prime stallions,” Trevor said, his voice getting rough with sexual anticipation, “and who better to guide me than the respected Mr. Camden?”

  She groaned and nodded once into the pillow and tilted her hips ever so slightly to invite him in.

  “Very well then, it’s settled,” said Trevor, thrusting into her and leaving all thoughts of tenderness behind. He wanted to pound her to dust. And by the sounds of her moans of pleasure and the erotic tears streaming down her face, that was exactly what she wanted as well.

  “You two are quite busy so early in the morning,” James said, rubbing his face with both hands as he widened one eye to get a better look at the way Trevor’s cock was pounding in and dragging out. “What’s this I hear about a visit from Mr. Camden?” he asked casually, taking hold of his own cock and moving in time to Trevor’s hips, while his other hand pushed roughly into Georgie’s eager mouth.

  “It seems Mr. Camden will be our guide in Cairo,” said Trevor, panting and smiling as he slammed into her again and again.

  “Ah, an insider’s look,” James said, working his cock more feverishly until his orgasm plowed through him and he spent in warm spurts against Georgie’s back. The feel of it must have been the final turn of Georgie’s pleasure, as Trevor felt the tight spasms of pleasure around his cock. James pulled Georgie’s mouth to his right as she would have screamed out her release and awoken the entire ship. The final slap-slap-slap of Trevor’s hips against Georgie’s arse was the last sound any of them heard before they collapsed atop one another and fell back to sleep for a few more contented hours.

  Two days later the ship arrived in Alexandria. They had agreed it was best if Georgie continued to dress as an elegant British bride until they had disembarked and bid farewell to all their traveling companions. James watched as she said good-bye to everyone on the ship with her wonderful combination of British haughtiness and bold familiarity. Promises to stay in touch were exchanged, with Trevor giving his details to most of the men with whom he had shared his idea of starting a philosophical society of some sort, while James looked around the docks at a dazzling world he’d never thought he would see.

  Once all of their trunks had been carried off the ship, James was dumbstruck. Alexandria was a braying, bustling, packed assortment of brilliant humanity. He remained overwhelmed for the entire one-hundred-mile overland journey from there to Cairo. During one of the breaks for food and water along the way, Lady Georgiana entered a modest tent, and ten minutes later a jaunty Mr. George Camden emerged. They spent the rest of the journey taking in the vast expanses of desert sands and small villages between the port city and the capital.

  Where James was dumbstruck anew.

  Cairo was simply dazzling. Mamelukes in glittering saddles of gold leaf and scarlet velvet pranced elegantly by, while scantily clad paupers sat cross-legged a few feet away, weaving together bits of hemp to be used as rope aboard the ships. Carts and carriages of every size and description, vendors and street urchins, but most of all it was the look in Georgie’s eyes that bowled him over.

  She was so alive, already arguing in Arabic with a carriage driver who was obviously trying to swindle her. She was in her element, laughing and dismissive one second, conciliatory and accommodating the next. Haggling was in her blood. He couldn’t wait to see her purchase something she truly craved.

  James looked over at Trevor, expecting to see similar jubilance, and was met instead with a glimpse of his sadness. The poor man still didn’t understand this woman, his own wife. While she continued to berate the carriage driver, James moved closer to Trevor. “She is splendid, is she not?”

  “She is,” Trevor answered carefully.

  “So then why do you appear as though you’ve just happened upon a dear friend’s funeral?”

  Trevor turned to face James. “I’ve made a horrible mistake suggesting we travel with her to Egypt, haven’t I?” He shook his head and didn’t wait for James to answer. “How can I possibly convince her that you and I are necessary to her happiness, to her life, when it is so obvious we are not? We, neither of us, speak this burbling language nor know any of the customs of this place. Within days Georgie will most likely send us packing for our uselessness.”

  James shook his head. “You are a very stupid man sometimes, dear heart.”

  Trevor opened his mouth to defend himself, but Georgie interrupted with a wolf whistle. “I’ve finally talked him down to a reasonable fare! Isn’t it glorious?” She swung her cane around and nearly decapitated the poor carriage driver. “Welcome to Cairo!”

  “She wants you to rely on her,” James said pointedly, so only Trevor could hear. “Not the other way round, you idiot.” Then James smiled broadly and joined Georgie near the coach, giving Trevor a few moments to contemplate the quandary of how his desire had very nearly been foi
led by his misguided belief in his own male primacy.

  By the time they had traveled twenty minutes through the crowded streets, James had fallen madly in love with Cairo. Georgie directed the driver to a neighborhood in a quieter part of the city, where she knew of several reputable guesthouses. When they pulled in front of the one she preferred, a man in his middle thirties, arrayed in gleaming white robes, was standing in the ornate narrow doorway that led to an elegant, dim lobby.

  Trevor waited in the coach with the luggage, while Georgie and James entered the building to see if there were any available lodgings that would suit. Another man stood up from behind his desk and came around to get a better look at Georgie. She bowed and tipped her hat, spinning her cane and making the most of her male appearance.

  The bright black eyes sparkled with enjoyment when he realized who she was.

  “And is it really you?”

  “Yes, Cyril. It is I, returned at last. And I have come with great guests.”

  “Oh, you must stay here! You are in luck, as the pasha’s sister and her family have just left the upper two floors.”

  “That is marvelous news,” exclaimed Georgie. “We’ve been traveling for many days and are looking forward to a short rest before I take them out for supper.”

  “Yes, that is what you must do. I will have some tea and sweets sent up. Please allow me to get my two sons to carry everything upstairs for you.” With that, Cyril rang a small bell on the side of his desk. Within seconds two Egyptian boys appeared from a door to the left of the stairs. They bowed slightly to James and Georgie, and then, at their father’s direction, headed quickly out to the street and began carrying the large, heavy trunks on their narrow backs.

  The two boys made several trips while Georgie filled out some paperwork and wrote her name in a guest book. James smiled when he glanced over her shoulder and saw that she had written with a grand flourish, Geo. Camden, Derbyshire. She finished signing and handed the exotic quill to James.

  He reached for it, but before she released it, she leaned in close and whispered, “You love it here already, I can tell. It reaches into you and grabs you, doesn’t it?”

  He smiled gently and nodded. “I know what you mean. I feel as though my blood is coursing through me with a new and promising rhythm, as if the city itself has entered my veins.”

  She smiled in return and released the quill, then waited for James to sign the register. He hesitated before putting pen to paper, looking at her for a few extra moments.

  “But however much I come to love this or any other place, Georgie, I know it would feel dry as dust and empty as a robbed grave without Trevor at my side.” He saw her enthusiasm dim slightly before he leaned down and wrote his name beneath hers: Mr. James Rushford, Mayfield House, Derbyshire.

  He set the quill next to the register and stood up straight to face her. “You would be wise to remember that before you hurt him—or yourself. I will not allow the former, and I hope you have enough sense to prevent the latter.”

  Georgie was in her element. Five years spent in and around Cairo had given her an intimate knowledge of the city, one she longed to share with Trevor and James . . . eventually. For now, she was blissfully alone. The men were still a bit groggy after the journey and were spending the first few days strolling around the quieter neighborhood near their guesthouse. Cyril had hired a cook and housekeeper for them and also made sure they always had fresh water, hot mint tea, and beautiful sweets that his cousin made at the bakery a few streets away.

  Those cautionary words James had said after he signed the guest book were constantly repeating in Georgie’s mind. Of course she had no intention of hurting Trevor—or James for that matter—and she especially had no intention of hurting herself. That was the very reason she had no intention of returning to Derbyshire. Nor had she ever made any false promises to do so. This was who she was—she glanced around the bustling open-air market—and she wasn’t going to be made to feel apologetic about it. She’d finally resolved all those feelings with her mother on her visit to England, and she certainly wasn’t about to let Trevor take on the role of her puppy-dog-eyed conscience.

  Still.

  Falling in love with Trevor and James was no longer some remote possibility. It was happening, damn it.

  Georgie was walking through one of her favorite parts of the city, Khan el-Khalili, the most crowded, noisy, colorful souk. She snapped her bamboo walking stick into the hard-packed earthen sidewalk with a bit more force than necessary.

  Her transformation back into Mr. George Camden was now complete. She’d styled her hair so she looked like any slightly effeminate British lad, just down from Oxford or Cambridge, with a taste for adventure on the Barbary Coast. She loved this freedom: walking alone through a dangerous city with long, arrogant strides, chin held high, making eye contact with anyone—merchant or mendicant—as she pleased. Quite simply, she felt alive.

  The niggling problem was that she had also felt very much alive on a moonlit night near a man-made lake at Mayfield House. She had also felt extraordinarily alive in that London hotel room. And on board that ship. And this morning in their bed . . .

  She tapped the cane in time with her pace, letting it strike when her left foot hit the ground. Right foot. Left foot. Tap. Right foot—left foot—tap.

  Preoccupied with the disturbing direction of her thoughts—was she actually considering giving up this adventurous existence to molder away in some godforsaken pile on some godforsaken island?—BAM!—she accidentally careened into a splendidly handsome Mameluke bey. The Mamelukes were an ancient tribe of Egyptian warriors who had helped control vast areas of the country through both military force and diplomacy. This man in particular, Khalid Bey Abu al-Dhahab, exuded a strength and power that sprang from many generations of warfare and victory. And Georgie—or rather George—knew him well.

  “Ah. If it isn’t the young and biddable Mr. George Camden,” Khalid said in his seductively accented English. “I’d heard you were back in town.”

  George’s heart sped up at the memory of how this man had pushed her to her knees, rough and sure, after they’d met at one of the men’s clubs a few weeks before she had returned to England. At the time, she’d been looking forward to future dalliances with the elegant warrior upon her return.

  “Yes, I am returned from my tedious family errands in England.” Georgie spun her walking stick around in two wide arcs with careless ease. “What’ve I missed? I hear Muhamed Ali Pasha’s not pleased with you.”

  The political climate in Cairo was always heated, but lately the Ottomans, the mercenaries, and the locals were coming to a boiling point. Muhamed Ali Pasha appeared to be playing all sides against the middle.

  Khalid lifted one shoulder and tossed his chin in the air, as if some mere pasha was nothing more than a gnat he could squash if he chose to. “I’ve no interest in talking politics with someone as young and inexperienced as you. You don’t even have a beard.” He reached over and slapped Georgie’s cheek, firmly, but with a familiar intimacy, just as any man might behave toward a younger friend or relative for whom he had developed an innocent regard—a nephew who was a promising athlete, that sort of thing.

  But Georgie knew that slap for what it was: an invitation. Khalid’s dark eyes narrowed and his intense focus caused Georgie’s vision to tunnel and her arse to squeeze together in eager anticipation. She was instantly excited by all the risks: of being alone in these surroundings with the city throbbing around them, of Khalid himself looking at her like he wanted to rip her to pieces, of what it would mean to betray Trevor and James. Yes, even that excited her.

  She exhaled slowly and let herself savor the feelings, both sweet and bitter. Trevor had been far too protective lately, especially when they’d been out in public—whether Georgie was dressed in the diaphanous silks of Lady Mayson or the fitted buckskin trousers of Mr. Camden. For the past day or two, it had all felt . . . confining.

  She knew what she was contemplati
ng. She knew what she was about. If she could convince herself that James and Trevor were controlling, tepid conformists, she could convince herself to leave them as she’d originally planned, with far less regret and sadness than she was beginning to anticipate.

  Georgie had quietly left their lodgings this morning after the other two had fallen back to sleep—fine, she’d sneaked out, having written a brief note saying she would return for supper after spending the day with an elderly acquaintance of her father’s. Such a man did exist—a retired diplomat with whom Georgie had always enjoyed passing the time and hearing stories about her father—but Georgie had no intention of actually paying him a call today.

  Instead, she was now standing on a crowded street, staring at Khalid—this beautiful, dark, vicious man—practically throbbing with blatant willingness. Her mind began to turn in all sorts of amoral directions. That note this morning had already made her a liar . . . so . . . it didn’t really matter if she lied once or one million times, about something small or something despicable. Not paying a social call was hardly any different from letting this man fuck her, as far as being a liar went.

  So why the hell not? She was never going to thrive as a baroness in Derbyshire in any case. Who was she trying to fool? Technically, Trevor had promised he would never prevent her from pursuing her own life on her own terms. Perhaps she wanted to test the limits of that promise.

  She licked her lips slowly and returned Khalid’s hungry stare. “You’re quite right, sir. I’m very inexperienced, especially in the ways of strong, knowledgeable men such as yourself.”

  The corner of Khalid’s mouth turned up slightly and he raised one eyebrow. “If memory serves, you’re not entirely without experience.”