Must Have Been The Moonlight Read online

  Chapter 10

  “You’re not interested in reading the rest of the papers?”

  With a quiet oath, Michael dropped the packet on the desk. “I’ve read enough,” he said, turning his back to the room, hands on hips. He looked out over the parkway in front of the ministry.

  Unshaved and smelling of grit and sweat, he still wore his white turban and a belted long-sleeve tunic that reached his knees. His leather boots encased his calves. He’d arrived back at the ministry office less than an hour ago, barely had time to shake hands with the man ho had come all the way from England to find him before dropping his knapsack on the desk and reading the packet. Whatever he’d expected to hear from his family one day, it wasn’t this.

  Never this.

  His jaw flexed with angry tension. “Who else knows about this?”

  “Once I arrived in Cairo, I went directly to the consul general to find you. I came by your office last week. It has taken me this long to catch up to you. Obviously you don’t read your correspondence.”

  The man’s identity answered the question of his anonymous visitor last week. Lord Chamberlain had been his father’s personal secretary. Michael also remembered tearing up Caroline’s letter.

  In the total stillness surrounding him, the blood hummed against his eardrums with an emotional force that grabbed hold of his chest and wouldn’t let go. “What happened to my brother?”

  “He was thrown from his horse. A rib punctured a lung. Edward lived for almost a month before he succumbed to pneumonia. The stallion should never have been ridden. But your brother never let that stop him. He was a lot like you…in that respect.”

  Michael turned back into the room. At first he’d been temporarily shell-shocked by the news Chamberlain had given him, but the numbness was quickly fading. “Edward has been dead for eight months. It didn’t take that long to locate me. Why wasn’t I told this sooner?”

  “Lady Caroline was expecting.”

  “I see.” His scoff held the hint of something far worse than disgust. He squinted down at the crowded street without seeing anything at all. “And my mother chose not to inform me until after Caroline gave birth. How it must have galled her to contact me at all. So, Caroline did not produce the needed heir to the Ravenspur dynasty.”

  “The lineage of succession passed to you three months ago. Your grandmother is the one who has finally summoned you home. You are the sole beneficiary to the Duke of Ravenspur, the Marquis of Farrington, and all the Aldbury family holdings, your Grace.”

  Your Grace. The title was as foreign to him—to his way of life—as the desert was to the ocean, and too many emotions collided for him to make sense of anything.

  He only knew that he couldn’t leave Cairo.

  Michael curbed his anger. “I’m surprised the Dowager Lady Anne hasn’t sent the royal marines to drag me back.”

  “I imagine that will be her next step if you do not return. She wants an heir, your Grace. And fully expects you will marry someone of standing and fulfill your obligation upon your return.”

  Michael lifted his gaze and, as if for the first time, his eyes went over the ingratiating bureaucrat wearing the colonial white suit. The man he’d once revered as much as his own self-absorbed father. Sons of the family of Viscount Carlisle had held the rank of Principle Private Secretary to the Aldbury family for a century. His round face was ruddy, no doubt from good living. His once stock gray hair had turned white. Sideburns cupped his jowls where he wiped a handkerchief across his mouth. The last time Michael had seen Lord Chamberlain had been the day his father had given him his walking orders and disinherited him. His father had died shortly afterward.

  “How are Caroline and her two daughters?”

  “The infant is healthy. They are all living at Aldbury.”

  And for the first time in years, Michael’s memories took him to the scented clover fields of home. How long had it been since he’d seen Caroline?

  Twelve years?

  “What is past is past, your Grace.”

  Was it?

  Michael sank into his chair behind the desk, the enormity of the situation now taking hold. Enough light filtered through the venetian blinds to reveal the wine-colored dispatch boxes awaiting his attention. Paperwork loomed everywhere. His gaze fell on Brianna’s book—and as foreign as his emotions were, the thought of her only added further chaos to his current state of being.

  He turned the book over in his hands.

  “Despite everything, I still have a responsibility to discharge here,” he told Chamberlain. “I’m not prepared at the moment to leave.”

  “As I understand, your replacement will be here before the end of the month, your Grace. In less than two weeks, to be exact.”

  “Indeed”—Michael crossed his hands at the wrist, a slow burn taking root in his gut—“you’ve heard that? Before I’ve met with the khedive? From whom?”

  Chamberlain’s ears grew red. “The secretary to the consul general told me, your Grace. It was only a friendly bout of conversation.”

  “Just a bit of state business to pass away the time over tea?” His gaze suddenly went to the file cabinet across the room, certain now that he’d overlooked an important lead. He’d not thought about interviewing employees at the consulate for a possible leak. There shouldn’t have been a free exchange of information from this office to the consulate.

  But maybe there was.

  “Which secretary?”

  “The consul general’s personal secretary, your Grace.” Realizing his error, Chamberlain mopped his brow. “I don’t normally discuss business with strangers. But I’m not unfamiliar with the chap. His father knew mine. We both attended Eton.”

  “Does the dowager have anything to do with my recall?”

  “It doesn’t matter, your Grace. The dowager duchess has enough connections at Whitehall that should you prove stubborn…”

  Michael’s jaw tightened. “She has erred in her assumption that I even want the title.”

  “That is no longer your choice, your Grace. The matter is done.”

  “Go back to England, Chamberlain.” Michael stood and personally invited the man out.

  “Of what shall I inform her grace of your return?”

  Michael opened the door. Did he honestly want that answer? “She’ll know that I’ve returned when she sees me at Aldbury Park.”

  “You can’t stay here forever, your Grace.” Chamberlain stopped at the door. “Eventually you’ll have to face them all again.”

  Michael shut the door and closed his eyes. “Bloody, blazing hell,” he said to the walls and to anyone else who cared to listen.

  “You are perhaps missing your Major Fallon?” The dark mellifluous voice at Brianna’s back startled her.

  Standing beneath a weeping mimosa overlooking the consulate grounds, she turned, her white skirts rasping with her movement. Sheikh Omar stood behind her. The sun had set against the trees behind him. “We have not been formally introduced, Miss Donally.” He bowed over her hand.

  Brianna’s fingers closed into her palm as she watched his lips touch her flesh. Disgust welled inside her. He raised his gaze to look at her.

  Taller by mere inches, the sheikh wore a black brocade coat stambouli. His fez perched slightly sideways on his head, his black beard harmonizing the decorations on his chest. His two bodyguards were not far behind. She had no idea whether hers were anywhere near since she was with Christopher and Alex tonight at the consulate.

  “Excellency.” She hid her reaction in a curtsy. Her hair was pulled up, and she was suddenly conscious of her bare shoulders.

  “You are very beautiful in the moonlight, Miss Donally.” He smiled, and all she could think about was what he’d done to Colonel Baker.

  Gesturing with his beringed hand, he indicated the gaily dressed people milling on the grounds. “They laugh and talk, and you stand over here looking somber. Did you not enjoy the concert performance?”

  “I appreciate
Rossini and Verdi.”

  “Cairo has an opera house. My cousin has created a splendid European capital, has he not?” He clasped his hands behind him and observed her curiously. “Yet, you spend much of your time in the Old Quarter with your camera.”

  How would he know that about her?

  He crooked his arm. “You will walk with me?”

  “I’m sorry.” She looked around him through the trees, wishing now that she’d not walked so far, or drank so much champagne. “I’m waiting for my brother,” she lied. “He told me he would be out in a moment.”

  “Ah, then he will not mind if you walk with me.” He inclined his head. “We are of the same mind, your brother and I, on matters of diplomacy.”

  A fog had begun to settle over the grounds. Distant roofs and domes, minarets and spires, swam in the misty light of nightfall. Earlier, she’d set her glass of champagne on the passing tray of a servant and hurried down the stairs of the consulate into the early evening air. She looked past the sheikh.

  “Shall we, Miss Donally?” He extended his arm.

  Not wishing to commit some diplomatic blunder, Brianna placed a palm atop his sleeve and they strolled along the garden path toward the small lake.

  “Is it common in your country that a woman of your class and beauty prefers to labor over menial tasks rather than marry?”

  Brianna turned her head to look at him. “There are many who find life outside marriage rewarding.”

  “And you are one?”

  “Yes.”

  “When I was in England some years ago, I sat for my portrait. It was a long time ago. While my cousin studied in Paris, I studied at your Oxford University. I met an English girl. Her eyes were like the finest amber.”

  They walked along the path that overlooked the lake. “I have occasioned to visit London a few times since. But I fear I am unable to get used to your cold. Or your British propensity for overdressing for every occasion. Do you agree?”

  “There is certain magic found in wearing eastern garments.”

  “And now my country is filled with Europeans who also do not like the cold but still have a disposition for overdressing.” He laughed. “The inclination for foreigners to congregate here has made Cairo into a little Europe, with its own Season from November to March. Still, some choose to live outside the circle. Your brother for one.” He seemed to observe her closely. “Major Fallon for another.”

  She became guarded. “I wouldn’t know.”

  “Do you not? Usually men such as he takes his mistresses from the general population. Fallon has not been as prudent as he should with you.”

  Brianna was conscious of an unexpected flood of color. That Omar knew so much about her life violated her to the core. Before she could grasp his intention, he placed his palm over her hand to keep her from pulling away. “I have known Fallon for some time.” He continued strolling. “I make it a practice to study my enemies, Miss Donally. Especially their weaknesses.”

  She was suddenly frightened. His hand on hers kept her from leaving.

  She could fight him. But what would she say to anyone who saw her? They were still on open ground. “What do you want?”

  “We shall finish our promenade around the gardens. It would be unseemly for anyone to think that you and I are engaged in anything but the most pleasant of talk. Is that not correct?”

  There was the hint of steel in his voice. Her gaze fell on his sapphire ring because she didn’t know where else to look.

  “The gem is the color of your eyes,” he said, noting her gaze. “I will have it made into a necklace for you. Would you like that?”

  Brianna withdrew her hand. Diplomatic faux pas or not, she was finished with the walk. “Get away from me.”

  Stepping in front of her, Omar brought her up short. “I find it provocative that you are not veiled.” The sheikh’s pithy gaze settled on her décolletage, and it took every ounce of her nerve not to cover herself with her hand. “What is it men of your country say?” He waved his other hand casually. “You would make a good fuck.”

  She tried to step around him, but this time he grabbed her wrist, swinging her around to face him.

  “When Fallon leaves, perhaps I will take you for myself.”

  Brianna yanked away from him. Omar made her feel worse than garbage. But it was a degradation she’d have to keep to herself. She would not allow this man to use her to hurt the people who were important to her. “Go to the devil.”

  “You can relay that sentiment to Major Fallon, Miss Donally,” he called after her, his laughter like a knife in her heart. “He is here.”

  “I have to ask you again, Excellency.” Michael stood with his back to the window, his shoulders tense, an indelible ferocity turning over his stomach. “Did Pritchards make reports to this consulate concerning activities at my office? Does Donally report to you?”

  “This consulate is not responsible for leaks that more than likely came from your office alone, Major Fallon.”

  Like hell he was going to let someone charge him for dereliction of duty. “Did Pritchards or Donally report to this consulate?”

  Veresy dropped into the wide leather chair behind his desk, the groan of castings muffled by the carpet. Michael could hear the orchestra warming up as strands of Mozart drifted up from the floor below.

  “Donally doesn’t report to me.”

  Michael sensed Veresy’s pause.

  “But Pritchards did,” Veresy added tiredly. “As a matter of professional courtesy. All information was given in the strictest of confidentiality.”

  “As was my imminent recall back to England?” Michael felt a harsh recklessness crawl up his neck. “Something that I’ve yet to be told?”

  “That was unfortunate.” Lord Veresy sat back in the chair. “But neither was the information classified.”

  A silence fell over the room. In vain, Michael only now comprehended that he had lost the support of Veresy. He knew what that meant to his job, to his reputation, and to his honor—lacking as it was, he valued the principles of the oath he’d sworn to uphold.

  “Your recall from this post was my recommendation,” Veresy finally said. “I’ve already been in contact with the Foreign Affairs office in London. When the khedive returns from Paris, I’ll brief him on the matter.” Veresy’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I hold no patience for those who court a personal vendetta over national interests, no matter the moral ground that you stand. We have to find a way to work with Sheikh Omar. Because of his holdings in the south, appeasing the man works in British interests, especially when the French have such a stronghold here. I know how you feel. You must also know I’m as reduced to bloody impotence by politics as you are.”

  Michael turned to the tall window that looked out over the narrow patch of lawn. “How long do I have left at my post?”

  “The Northern Star leaves out of Alexandria in ten days. I already put in for your transfer, even before I received a visit from Lord Chamberlain this afternoon. I understand that you would have been leaving us soon. My condolences on the death of your brother.”

  Laughter sounded from the thinning crowd outside. For a moment the noise didn’t penetrate; he heard only the rush of blood in his veins.

  Then he caught sight of Brianna as she ran up the steps from the garden, her dress belling out around her, and the whole world receded. Something primitive grabbed at his insides as he lifted his gaze to ascertain the reason for her hurried pace. But he saw nothing. Brianna wore white, trimmed with the slimmest of lace, her hair smoothly netted at her nape. The moonlight wrapped her in light and shadow.

  Maybe his discharge from his post didn’t matter anymore. Life always had an ironic way of turning vinegar into wine when least expected. As Donally had once told him, at least he was leaving here alive, even if he didn’t want to return to England at all.

  As he watched Brianna, two young men in uniform stopped her at the top of the stairs. “What is the occasion for celebration tonight?”
he asked, his gaze following Brianna until she disappeared inside.

  “It’s Wednesday.” Veresy opened the door with grave courtesy. “Go join the crush, Major. You’re entitled.”

  Michael descended the stairs to the crimson carpeted landing that overlooked the ballroom. Conscious that he was not in full dress, he knew that he was out of place among the glittering sect and ornamented uniforms of his brethren. He stood perhaps ten seconds before shouldering through the press of onlookers to where a young captain was escorting Brianna out for the first waltz. One look at Michael’s countenance was sufficient to inform even the meanest of intelligence that Brianna was his intended target.

  “Sir—”

  “This dance is already taken, Captain.” Michael stepped between the stunned man and Brianna, and pulled her out onto the floor, his method of securing this dance as unorthodox as his intent was selfish.

  “Are you insane, Major?” Brianna lowered her voice.

  Michael whirled her in a graceful arc around the edge of the ballroom. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said with combative eyes, the tenor of his mood pulled by something he could not explain. “Maybe I’m just bloody annoyed at watching every other man look at you.” Leaning close, he spoke in a low seductive voice. “Have I told you how beautiful you look?”

  Blue eyes lifted to touch his, and he wondered if she’d been crying. “I’d heard that you were with Lord Veresy,” she said quietly. “Are you going to face a court-martial?”

  “There will be no court-martial.”

  “I would stand as a witness to your character if it ever came to that,” she said. “You know that, don’t you?”

  “Are you all right?” he asked.

  She rolled her eyes. “Goodness, how unsophisticated do I sound?”

  But her arms tightened around him, and Michael experienced that same curious feeling of protectiveness he’d felt upstairs. “Do me a favor, Miss Donally.” He pressed his mouth to the soft scented fragrance of her hair. “I want only one thing tonight. And she’s currently ensconced in my arms.”