Stephanie Laurens - The Elusive Bride

The three men rose and went, bowing from his presence as fast as they dared.

Leaving Uncle to mull over the vicissitudes of fate.

He’d ordered a night attack on the major’s boat, hoping to kill the woman at least, but she’d shrieked, and despite there being a goodly number of his cultists on the deck, the major and his party had prevailed.

But then a ship carrying a large number of cultists had reached him, sent on from Aden as he’d ordered. He’d sent them and their ship to attack the major’s ship as it had, necessarily slowly, eased out of the Suakin Channel. He’d been certain of success, had already started planning what means he would employ to break the major, only to see his men repulsed again, and their ship left wallowing in the faster schooner’s wake. He’d watched his failure unfold from the deck of another ship not far away-and cursed.

Who would have thought the captain and crew of the schooner would take up arms against his men?

In India, the cultists were not opposed by others. Others stood and watched as they wreaked their vengeance on any they chose. That was the way of things…but that did not seem to be so in this wider world.

He would need to allow for such strange behavior from now on. The major seemed adept at recruiting others to his cause.

“We will find them, Father.”

Uncle looked up at his son, let his lips curve. “Indeed, we will, my son.”

Failure was not an option.

20th October, 1822

Before dinner

My room in Cathcart’s house

Dear Diary,

I am rushing to write this before dinner. Although I sat down with plenty of time, I stared into space for so many minutes that now I must hurry to get my thoughts down. I have further developments to report, having spent a sizable portion of the afternoon in Gareth’s arms while we explored the depth and potential of our mutual attraction. The result is as yet undecided, for when we called a halt, by mutual accord, I for one needed to think and cogitate-not having indulged in either activity throughout the time his lips were on mine.

The truth is we have reached a point beyond which I cannot wisely go, not until and unless I am absolutely certain that Gareth Hamilton is my “one”-that one and only gentleman for whom I have waited for so long.

What will make me certain, I do not know-just as I do not know what, on this dangerous journey of ours, tomorrow will bring. Our way forward is as yet unclear. Regardless, we must forge on to England, eluding cultists and all dangers the fiend throws in our path. In similar fashion I will grasp every opportunity to convince myself that Gareth is my “one,” but whether I will be able to do so this side of Dover remains to be seen.

I am, however, determined to press on.

E.

L ate the following morning, Emily was sitting in the salon repairing the hem of her green gown, when a stir in the courtyard had her looking out to see Gareth greeting a smiling Cathcart.

Cathcart had gone to speak with a Berber sheik about their joining the man’s caravan. From Cathcart’s expression, he was the bearer of good tidings.

Both men turned and came striding toward the house. Emily put aside her mending, and looked up expectantly as Cathcart led Gareth into the room.

Cathcart swept her a bow. “Your carriage has been arranged, mademoiselle. You will be leaving at dawn tomorrow.” Straightening, Catchcart grimaced. “Sadly, there is no carriage as such, and, equally sadly, I fear that when Ali-Jehan says dawn, he truly does mean the instant when the sun pops over the horizon. Which”-Cathcart flung himself onto the other divan and smiled commisseratingly at Emily-“means we’ll have to leave here even earlier.”

“This Ali-Jehan understands that we might be pursued, and even attacked?” In the Arab robes he now seemed so comfortable in, Gareth stood looking down at his friend.

Cathcart grinned. “To Ali-Jehan, that point was a powerful inducement.”

Gareth humphed. He didn’t, to Emily’s eyes, look entirely pleased.

“Well,” she put in brightly, “that’s excellent news!” When both men looked at her, she continued, “We have to forge on, and journeying with a caravan will certainly be an adventure.” She caught Gareth’s eye. “One quite the equal of seeing the pyramids.”

He humphed, and prowled forward to sit on the other end of the divan she’d favored.

Turning back to Catchart, she smiled. “We must thank you, sir, for your help and hospitality. You’ve provided a much-needed respite.” She raised her brows in query. “Is there any message we can carry for you back to England? To family, perhaps?”

Cathcart thanked Emily for her kind thought but declined. Gareth watched as his friend continued to bask in the glow of Emily’s readily bestowed approbation. He tried not to growl or grind his teeth. She had no real interest in Cathcart-it had been he she’d permitted to kiss her-but Gareth wasn’t entirely sure Cathcart, happily accepting her feminine accolades, had no interest in her.

She glanced at him at that moment, a conspiratorial, inclusive expression in her eyes, then she turned back to Cathcart and continued to charm him…

Gareth realized he was scowling, and banished the expression. At least outwardly. Inwardly, he scowled even more. She knew . That’s what that brief glance was all about. She knew her charming of Cathcart was provoking him.

Of all the developments in the last hour, that pleased him least of all.

21st October, 1822

Before dinner

My room in Cathcart’s house

Dear Diary,

After Cathcart’s confirmation that we are to leave tomorrow, our party paid another necessary visit to the souk. The tension was palpable throughout, but despite keeping our eyes peeled, we saw no cultists at all-which, instead of making us feel less tense, only escalated the uncertainty. None of us believes the fiend has given up. His calling off his hounds only raises the question of what else he’s planning-how else he intends to corner us.

But as for our journey’s next stage, while I raised no open demur, I am not entirely sanguine about traveling with a caravan. However, as there appear to be no viable alternatives, then I will, of course, hold my head high and soldier on.

On the personal front, I have noted a certain dog-in-the-manger tendency on Gareth’s part. A degree of possessiveness in his attitude to me, and on that count I am uncertain how to respond. While I am not thrilled by this development, and can see definite problems looming, I suspect that with certain types of males, possessiveness is ingrained, and not easily eradicated.

My sisters, I am sure, could advise me, but sadly, they are out of reach, and there are no others I might question on such a subject. In this, I truly miss them, and Mama, too.

I am reasonably sure that when it comes to Gareth Hamilton, I am in need of sage advice.

E.

Roger Cathcart led them to meet the Berbers, a small tribe commanded by Sheik Ali-Jehan, in the coolness of the hour before dawn. The tribe’s camp was located in a dip in the sand dunes northeast of the town.

Camouflaged in her burka, Emily stood in a close group with the others of their party, likewise disguised and gathered about their baggage piled on a cart, while Gareth and Ali-Jehan-who proved to be a handsome devil of similar age to Gareth and Cathcart-conducted a low-voiced discussion, with Cathcart looking on. Peering through her burka’s little window, Emily used the minutes to see what she could of this unknown world.