Bound with Passion Page 20

  Georgie was turning the handle of the bamboo cane against her palm, one hand resting atop the other as she twisted it in front of her. Khalid stared down at the thin, strong walking stick, and his smile widened.

  “In fact, it appears you have everything you need for your next lesson.”

  She followed his gaze to the bamboo cane and began to turn it more slowly, watching her own hands and fingers as they circled around the top and moved up and down with suggestive slowness around the wide, rounded handle. She wanted this man, and that low growl he couldn’t repress let her know he felt the same.

  She remembered vividly how his strong, calloused hand had gripped the back of her head—demanding and unavoidable—while he pounded his huge cock into her mouth. After he’d finished, coming spectacularly all over her face, he had flipped her over his knee almost immediately. She had never removed a stitch of her masculine clothing, so he’d moved aside the tails of her riding coat and punished her backside through her buckskins with the very walking stick she now held in her hands.

  Her breath was shallow with the memory, and she could tell he knew it. Here was a man who had spent his entire life contending with power: either submitting to it as a young boy, plucked from his home and chosen to be trained for his elite warrior caste; or, later, exerting it over vast numbers of people. And she had him in her thrall. She might have been the one on her knees, but he had lost control entirely. And apparently wanted to again.

  When they’d last been together, Khalid had been so hard and eager that nothing short of battle would have prevented him from slaking that need, but he also had to punish her for making him want it. Of course he could not actually thank her for his pleasure, thus admitting that he had desired this blond infidel man. The only way he could reconcile the forbidden desire was to discipline her immediately for being the embodiment of such vile temptation. A discipline they both enjoyed.

  In the bright, crowded Cairo street, Khalid slowly pulled a brilliant gold pocket watch out from one of the many folds of embroidered silk and satin sashes that constituted his uniform. He clicked it open and looked very much like a political man of affairs. “It appears I have one hour to spare before my next appointment. Would you care to join me for a cup of tea?”

  The seemingly innocuous invitation immediately conjured their previous erotic assignation. Khalid, ever the elegant, educated diplomat, had first met Mr. Camden at the men’s club, where he’d invited her to join him for a cup of tea. She had nodded her agreement and, instead of staying at the club as she’d expected, he’d led her out into the streets of Cairo at night, back to his splendid home, where he’d guided her far within, past courtyards and arched halls, into a devilish room with deep red silk-lined walls and several oil lanterns casting provocative shadows.

  And sure enough, after he’d finished with her—no sign of sweat or seed upon him, nor the slightest hint of what had passed between them lingering on his skin—he’d served an elegant tea from a chased silver service. He’d been the picture of sophisticated control, whereas Georgie had spent that teatime—and the following week—fidgeting . . . and reveling in the tender, prickling reminders of those marks across her bottom.

  Georgie opened her mouth to accept his invitation, but at that precise moment she caught sight of two men across the street. They had their backs turned, but she recognized them, of course. Trevor was testing the bend and strength of a beautiful riding crop in a small store that sold Arabian equestrian items, and James was admiring an ornate bolt of fabric.

  “What is it?” Khalid asked, turning to look in the direction of what had caught her attention. “Friends of yours?”

  She had the faintest memory of Trevor swishing that crop after she had ridden Cyrus through the dangerous night at Mayfield. She remembered the look in Trevor’s eyes, wild and predatory. Why hadn’t Georgie remembered that look until now? Her eyes swept from the saddlery back to Khalid. She stared at his beautiful, harsh face for a few long moments and then shook her head no. “I’m afraid I do not have an hour to spare, my friend. In fact, I’m traveling with two Englishmen. I think you would enjoy making their acquaintance.”

  Khalid’s smile spread. “Alas. Not one man, but two? I should’ve known.” Georgie smiled in return, appreciating that he would let her refusal pass, something a man with an ego his size was not always wont to do. He snapped his gold watch closed and slipped it back into the invisible pocket from whence it came.

  “Always a pleasure to see you, Camden . . . and your stick.” With that, Khalid made to turn.

  “No, wait—” She reached for him but stopped before actually touching. His curved saber glinted at his waist. “I wish to introduce you—if you are willing.”

  He nodded. “Very well.” They crossed the busy alley, and Trevor, probably sensing Georgie’s presence, turned and exited the shop with James. Trevor’s smile was so obvious, and Georgie had a moment of panic—Khalid will know these men love me! Then the panic turned to warm, sweet honey in her veins—Khalid will know these men love me.

  “There you are!” Trevor called with sheer delight when he saw Georgie crossing the busy street, accompanied by some spectacularly attired sultan. Red and gold silk whushed around the man as he walked; a short, bejeweled sword glinted at his waist; his black hair was slick and gleaming. The man himself was shining like the bright sun.

  “How did you find your way to this quarter?” Georgie asked when she reached them, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. It took all the effort Trevor could muster not to reach out and touch some part of her, but he sensed her resistance and knew he had to be less protective in any case. She was dressed in her masculine attire and accompanied by a powerful man—Trevor knew better than to appear besotted! But he shoved his tingling hands into his pockets just the same, lest he give in to the forceful desire to be physically demonstrative with her in public.

  “We were bored in that quiet neighborhood where you were trying to keep us safe.” Trevor remained casual, or at least he hoped he appeared so. “And James wanted to look for fabrics and such—” He turned to see James more or less salivating over the splendidly attired man to Georgie’s right.

  “Allow me to introduce you,” Georgie said, repressing a laugh. “Khalid Bey Abu al-Dhahab, this is Lord Mayson of Mayfield House, Derbyshire, and Mr. James Rushford. My . . . friends . . . from England.”

  Trevor noted Georgie’s hesitation—as did Abu al-Dhahab. Trevor watched as the man bowed to James and then to him. There was more to it than a mere greeting: the man had been with Georgie—Trevor could feel it in that moment when their eyes met. “Lord Mayson. Mr. Rushford.” His low voice was rich with his Arabic accent.

  Trevor’s feelings were in a tumult. Had Khalid tupped her that very day? Why did the thought make Trevor thrilled rather than jealous? And then a few seconds later, hideously jealous? Holy hell. This woman was going to be the bitter end of him.

  Trevor collected himself and bowed in similar fashion. “Please call me Trevor. Any friend of George’s is a friend of ours.” He hadn’t meant it to come out like that—as some sort of declaration that she belonged to them—but he didn’t regret it either.

  Abu al-Dhahab smiled ever so slightly. “I agree. Mr. Camden has much to recommend him, yes? A wonderful mutual acquaintance upon whom we may . . . build a future friendship?” Trevor sensed this man knew far more than he let on. In fact, Trevor sensed that Khalid knew the whole truth about the former Lady Georgiana Cambury, now Lady Mayson.

  “Indeed,” Trevor agreed.

  “I hate to be impertinent,” James interjected, “but I simply must know where you procured the fabric of your robe.”

  Khalid looked down with one raised eyebrow. “Fabric?” he asked haughtily.

  “Rushford has a large manufacturing business in England,” Georgie explained. “Hats.”

  “Hats?” Khalid asked. He was so deliciously pompous, thought Trevor.

  James probably adored that about him too. “Yes!”
James exclaimed. “Hats of every imaginable color and shape. And I am quite certain I must make many hats out of this fabric; it will be fabulously popular in England.”

  Trevor watched in disbelief as James disobeyed every rule of polite society and reached out to rub a fold of the man’s satin caftan between two fingers. A flash of the sword in the sunlight had Trevor imagining the bey whipping his blade across James’s wrist, right there in the middle of the day, and leaving his amputated hand on the sidewalk for his impertinence. Instead, Khalid narrowed his eyes and smiled with a basilisk grin; Trevor had no doubt lesser men had been turned to stone under that gaze.

  “My two wives make all my clothes. They are skilled in many arts.” He looked down to where James was fingering the rich silk. “Perhaps we will dine together at some point during your visit and you will have the opportunity to compliment them personally.”

  James released the fabric, and Trevor watched as the two men assessed one another. It looked as though Khalid had initially mistaken James for some flamboyant British fool and was now beginning to see him for all he was. “I would like that very much,” James replied. His voice was always deep, but when he pitched it just like that, Trevor—and usually anyone else within earshot—was instantly in his thrall. Khalid smiled at the innuendo.

  “Would you now?”

  “Very much,” James repeated.

  “Then you must all come for supper,” Khalid declared spontaneously.

  Georgie gasped and Khalid turned quickly to take her measure. “Unless that is inconvenient, Mr. Camden?”

  “No, no. That sounds quite . . . promising.”

  “In fact, I am going to my palace in the desert in three days’ time, if you’d like to escape the city for a few weeks or so?”

  Georgie hesitated.

  “Unless you have a prior engagement?” Khalid pressed.

  “No, I believe we are available,” Georgie answered, sounding a bit skittish. Trevor wasn’t sure if it was the mention of wives or the fact that Khalid had invited them into what Georgie perhaps considered a private part of her life. She looked quickly at Trevor and James and asked if they agreed. Both nodded. “Fine, thank you,” she said to Khalid.

  “Excellent.” He stared at her, and the word hovered around the four of them. “Let’s depart Friday from my house. You recall the address, Camden?” Khalid’s voice was low, with an intimacy that was lost on none of them.

  “Yes. I remember.” She spoke with curt assurance, as if she was nearly insulted at the idea she would forget, but Trevor could tell she was repressing a lovely blush. “What time?”

  “Midday.” Then Khalid turned to the two men and bowed. “Until we meet again, gentlemen. I’m looking forward to it.”

  Trevor and James bowed in return.

  Khalid gazed languidly at Georgie. “And why don’t you bring one of your lovely French gowns? My wives will even out the numbers.” He winked at her, sly and knowing, then swept away through the crowd.

  All three of them watched in awed silence as the tall, beautiful man strode confidently through the crowded bazaar, his red robes swirling in a wave behind him.

  “Well,” James said on a sigh. “He is quite dramatic, isn’t he?”

  Trevor laughed. “That’s putting it mildly.” He turned to Georgie. “So, is that the friend of your father’s you mentioned in the note you left?”

  She looked pale and distracted when she faced Trevor. “No.” She hesitated and licked her dry bottom lip. “I lied about that.” Her voice was thin and far away, as if she wasn’t even aware of what she was saying.

  The bustle and hum of hundreds of pedestrians receded to a dull throbbing in Trevor’s ears. “Why?” he whispered. That was all he could think to ask. “Why did you feel you had to lie to me? To us?”

  Her nostrils flared and her eyes glistened. She swiped at her eye as if a bit of dust had flown in. “I don’t know—”

  Trevor was about to reach for her, but before he could offer a consoling touch, James shoved her shoulder—man to man—none too kindly. “You, George Camden”—he nearly spat the words—“are entirely full of yourself, and I for one have had enough. You tried to keep us shuttered up in that boring neighborhood as if we were a pair of maiden aunts. Look at us, you fool!”

  Trevor looked from one to the other. James—God, so gorgeous and fearless in his bright, fitted coat with the satin cuffs and his perfectly tailored buckskins and his hair getting too long and a piece across his high forehead. And Georgie—looking as though she hadn’t really looked at either of them, maybe ever.

  “I’m sorry—” she started.

  “You should be!” James interrupted. “You have been allowed—for some reason I cannot fathom—to pigeonhole everyone who crosses your path. From your fabulous mother right on down to poor little Franny the maid, who ran around like your most devoted slave for the past month. You! You are the one who is limited! You are the one who can only see life in black and white.” He grabbed at the masculine lapel of her jacket. “Just because you don’t know who you are, George Camden, doesn’t mean the rest of us are suffering under the same misapprehensions—about ourselves, or about you for that matter!”

  She turned to look at Trevor, begging with her eyes for understanding or assistance or rescue, he didn’t know which. Georgie was on the verge of tears, and Trevor had to dig his nails into his palms to prevent himself from reaching out and comforting her.

  “Trevor? Is that what you think, too? Is that still what you think? That I am nothing but a selfish, confused child?”

  “Georgie—” Trevor stopped speaking almost as soon as he started, unsure of what he could say that would be true and right for all three of them.

  She gasped slightly into the silence, probably realizing that he wasn’t going to soothe away the hurt with some placating falsehoods.

  “I love you, Georgie,” Trevor whispered. “Deeply. Truly. In whole and in part. I don’t know what more I can possibly say.”

  James sighed with an exaggerated exhale and released his hold on her jacket. “Nor should he have to say more than that, damn you, Georgie. When the finest man in the land declares his love for you, that should be enough. And you know you love him, but you’re too stubborn to admit it. Because you think it’s some sort of sacrifice.” James huffed out a bitter laugh. “Well, I can’t stand another minute of it. I’ll see you both back at the lodgings.” With that, James turned away from them and began walking in the direction Khalid had taken.

  After a few moments of tense silence, Georgie said in a low voice, “I was confused.” But the words were no longer wobbling. When she looked up into Trevor’s eyes, he felt his heart drop with a mix of fear and hope. “But I don’t want to be confused anymore. Come with me.” Georgie pointed her cane in the direction of the equestrian shop, and the two of them went inside.

  James walked home at a brisk, angry pace. Damn Georgie and her petty lies! How dare she belittle the authentic gift that Trevor offered—his heart. While Trevor might appear confident in his declarations, James knew what it cost him to be emotionally honest while Georgie waffled. When they had first met at Cambridge, Trevor had been a timid, sheltered boy. He was physically confident—handsome, to be sure, and aware of his masculine beauty—but it had taken months, maybe even years, for him to gain the conviction to express how he really felt.

  Trevor’s parents had loved him as one loves a precious gem: treasured but rarely touched. Yes, he had grown up next door to Camburton, so it wasn’t as though he had not been exposed to free-thinking, free-spirited friends. But it was not in his nature to express himself so openly. The love that Trevor offered was something rare and profound, and Georgie needed to be made to see that, even if it meant tying her to a post until she could accept the truth of her good fortune—the truth of her own feelings.

  Slowing his pace somewhat as an enchanting plan began to form in his mind, James turned a corner and realized he was close on the heels of Khalid Abu al-Dhahab.
When the Mameluke warrior stopped to look at something in a shop window, James was quickly upon him.

  Khalid turned and a slow smile spread across his face. “Well, if it isn’t the milliner.”

  James smiled conspiratorially. “Yes, it is I. And I confess I’m very happy that our paths have crossed so quickly once again.”

  Khalid looked at James with renewed interest, gazing from his face to his chest and the suddenly throbbing front of his trousers. Smiling ever so slightly at the obvious response, Khalid’s eyes swept up to meet James’s.

  “Is that so? Were you hoping for some sort of secret assignation?”

  James narrowed his eyes and assessed the man, an activity that could go on for hours and not yield a single definitive conclusion. “Despite what George—and my physical response—may indicate, I’m inclined to believe you prefer the company of women.”

  Khalid lifted his chin with what might have been respect. “Very perceptive of you, Mr. Rushford. Indeed, despite Lady Georgiana’s impression to the contrary, I do prefer women . . . at this time in my life. But there was a time . . .”

  It was James’s turn to smile. “Better and better. Shall we walk? I have something rather delicate I’d like to suggest, and perhaps it would be easier to discuss on a quieter lane or in a nearby park.”

  “Very well,” Khalid agreed. “Come with me, this way.” He led them toward what looked like a dead end, but eventually opened into a very narrow alleyway, which then opened onto a beautiful private garden. “What do you have in mind?” Khalid asked, gesturing for James to sit down on one of the stone benches that overlooked the small, burbling fountain in the middle of the shady courtyard.

  “Here is what I propose . . . ”

  A few hours later, James was waiting for Trevor and Georgie in the shadowy living room on the top floor of their lodgings. Khalid had not only agreed to James’s plan, he had seemed downright pleased with the whole undertaking. Their time at his palace near the oasis of Faiyum promised to be one that was both erotic and, if James was correct, emotionally transformative for Georgie.