Must Have Been The Moonlight Read online

“Surely a man who sweeps me off my feet in front of the whole European community can grace me with a more provocative endearment, less common than Miss Donally.”

  Their gazes met. Michael took a turn with her out the glass doors onto the terrace, and together they slowed to a breathless stop. He didn’t understand the strange undercurrent beneath his mood or the tension that gripped him. “I believe that there’s nothing the least common about you,” he replied in a soft tone.

  “Only compared to social rank perhaps.” She took his much larger hand and turned it over in hers. “I prefer to think of myself as bold.”

  Michael pulled her fingers to his lips. “Bold enough to sneak out of a bedroom window to visit your true love?” He peered over her hand into her eyes. “The man who spoiled you for life with just one kiss?”

  She frowned and snatched her hand away. “I see Christopher has subjected you to the usual brother-to-other-man chat.”

  “I fear that is the case,” he said, quietly amused.

  “Did he also tell you that I’ve spent time in a gaol?”

  Taking her hand again, Michael walked with Brianna past a pair of colonnades away from the illumination of the ballroom. “I believe he mentioned that fact as well.”

  The blue flash in her eyes told him that she was not pleased with her brother. “Then while we’re on the topic of my indiscretion, you may as well know the other sordid details of my past.”

  Gravel crunched beneath his boots. A couple strolling past them in the gardens nodded their heads. “That’s not necessary, Brianna.”

  “Truly, I think it is,” she said. “Did he tell you that I shared my captivity in a cell full of bawds?

  “Bawds?” He hadn’t heard that term in ages.

  “Prostitutes,” she succinctly clarified.

  “Hell, Brianna. I know what a bawd is.”

  “I won’t go into the mundane details of why I was arrested with them in the first place.” Her voice remained confrontational. “I went on to document their lives in an attempt to bring awareness to their plight and the plight of others on the street.”

  “What happened?” He’d stopped beneath a tree near the pagoda.

  “My work was considered pornographic and banned in England.”

  “Did you really publish a book?”

  “I did.” She raised her chin.

  Their gazes held; then she looked at his gloved hand entwined with hers. “Stephan and I were together for four years,” she said after a moment. “The man I snuck out the window to see. I thought the sun rose and fell with his smile. I was seventeen when I fell in love with him.” She leaned against the tree. “One doesn’t just fall in and out of love overnight, if you can understand? And it’s never taken lightly with me.”

  He’d entwined his gaze with their fingers but now looked into her face. “Maybe I understand more than I should, Brianna.”

  “What I haven’t told my family, or anyone else for that matter, is that he walked away for someone else. A simple, sweet English girl more fitting of his station. It was a matter of pride that my family not know.” She paused as if to consider her next words.

  “Not that my family doesn’t have good reason for their doubts about me,” she said. “I blamed Stephan for being a stupid dolt, yet, I have the unfortunate ability to understand his reasons for what he did. Now, I’m in Egypt…and once again it seems that I find myself drawn to the forbidden.”

  “In that we are both the same, amîri.”

  Michael was not prepared for her effect on him. He was unused to dealing with the fallible human side of his being. He’d been too long in the desert. Too long a soldier who wasn’t allowed to have feelings or to show emotion. His existence hadn’t lent itself to doubt or dishonor in the day-to-day ritual of survival. He’d served his queen with dubious distinction, but he’d served with honor. Now, as England emerged on the horizon like a vast green morass of uncertainty, for the first time in his life he found the road ahead fogged with no clear path.

  “I think the forbidden excites us.” She traced a finger along the epaulette edging his shoulder. “Would you like to know my theory why?”

  He leaned his palm against the tree at her back, took in her scent and the heat of her body, which imprinted itself on the length of his. “I’ve never known you to be tongue-tied, so I expect you’ll tell me.”

  “We are both the youngest in a family of tyrants, subjected to all manner of oppression. And oppression breeds rebellion against authority. Of course, I feel sorrier for your circumstance. I can understand why you became a soldier and ran away.”

  More than anything else, she had the power to make him laugh, and he did so now.

  “Was it any harder then than it is now?” she asked.

  “Is what harder?” He pulled back to look down into her face.

  “You said once that you served with Gordon in China. How did you survive the change?”

  “One doesn’t survive China in a state of distraction. Especially someone who didn’t own a single blister on his hands when he left.”

  Turning his hand over in hers, she raised it to her cheek, and he was lost to her tenderness. “Did you find out anything about my Dickens book?” she asked after a moment.

  “It didn’t make the rounds of any shops. Whoever delivered it to the mission did so through one of the children there. The book was sentimental to you. Maybe someone wanted you to have it back. Do you have any more admirers that I should know about?”

  “Do tell, Major.” Her rebuke was weighted with gentleness. Then she wrapped her arms around him and rested her head on the solid muscle of his shoulder. “I’ve missed you, too.”

  He slid his hand beneath her hair. “Have you?”

  They were in public, and the trees made a poor shield. A reckless more dangerous part of him knew the sordid ugliness that came with gossip, and how quickly a way of life could end. He didn’t want Brianna to suffer that castigation.

  Holding her face between his palms, he pulled away and looked into her eyes. Bloody hell, he thought, if he wasn’t about to do something honorable. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck—and Michael knew a moment when he was lost. Maybe it was some forgotten memory of cool sunny days and blue skies, he decided, that had stamped his psyche forever. No matter its origin, he couldn’t stop himself from covering her mouth with his.

  He’d meant only to taste her, but as soon as his mouth touched hers, his arms tightened and he pulled her closer.

  “Leave with me,” he said against her hair, her mouth, as he kissed her again. “I’ll have you back at your house before this soiree ends.”

  Her hand came up between them. “I can’t,” she whispered. “I came here with my family. I’m sure Christopher has already gotten word of my unorthodox departure from the ballroom.”

  “Dammit, Brianna.” With a thick sound of frustration, the fury that had been seething just below the surface made itself heard in a quiet oath as he set her away. “Our time together seems to be at cross purposes.”

  “Truly you can be unreasonable about the oddest things.”

  The absurdity of his irritation caught at him. But Brianna didn’t know him as well as she thought, and unreasonable didn’t nearly touch the raw edge of his emotions.

  “Go,” he said quietly, paying no heed to her wounded look. “If you stay here, you’re going to find yourself flat on your back.”

  A frown bracketed the corners of her mouth, but she did as he told her. Michael walked up the steps of the pagoda. Leaning in the archway, he watched the sway of her skirts, and knew a hunger deep in his loins. She hadn’t walked far when she turned.

  “Will you consider lunch on Friday?” She stood on the flagstone path between the shrubberies. “Alex hasn’t seen you since we’ve been back. Two o’clock,” she coaxed him, not waiting for him to answer. “Plus or minus an hour depending on her ladyship’s appetite.”

  Michael watched her go. Somewhere beyond the high walls of the consulate
, a mandolin played. He rolled a cigarette and looked out across the lake as he struck a match, then laid the flame to its tip. He turned and peered through the smoke as Brianna disappeared inside the ballroom. He couldn’t do the family proviso with her. He didn’t know how, and it was too late to begin.

  Hell, he hadn’t even told her he was leaving Cairo.

  He’d told her nothing at all.

  Then he looked past the blue smoke and saw Omar on the drive. His hand, holding the cigarette, froze in midair. A bevy of dainty women in their tulle veils and ample dresses of saffron silk surrounded him. He watched as they boarded their European carriage in seclusion. Omar mounted a horse and, followed by his dark guardians on horseback, thundered away from the consulate with all the fanfare of a mighty ruler. In disgust, Michael ground out his cigarette.

  He didn’t even know the bastard was present tonight. Looking back at the ballroom, he grew still. Charles Cross stood at the edge of the veranda, his blond hair nearly burnished gold by a paper lantern that marked the path into the gardens. He, too, had been watching Omar’s exit.

  As if sensing Michael’s stare, he turned his head, the glow of light on his face. Michael remained unmoving in the shadow, unseen from the ballroom. Then Cross turned away and the moment passed.

  As Michael’s gaze followed the empty drive where Omar had vanished, he wondered at the glimpse of hatred he’d seen on Cross’s face.

  The streets were crowded and wet as Brianna made her way to the museum the next morning. After handing her horse over to her groom, she unlaced her saddlebags, her fingers slowing as she quickly turned. She’d felt on edge all morning, and knew her confrontation with Omar last night was partly to blame. As well as her emotions about Michael. The terrible feeling was reminiscent of that day in the suk when she’d seen Michael with Yasmeen.

  Brianna raised her gaze to the sky. Pewter clouds hung low over the city. Carrying a satchel holding her photographs in one hand and a rare bottle of Italian wine in the other, she hurried up the stairs. Knowing Mr. Cross’s expertise on such things, she knew of no other way to thank him for all the help he’d given her.

  As she watched him spread her photographs over his desk, going over each one for flaws, Brianna paced the room, finally coming to a halt behind him. He smelled faintly of carbolic acid, as if he’d washed his hands and clothes in disinfectant. She hadn’t been able to talk to him much last night, and he left the consulate just after Michael had.

  She’d been poor company, she realized.

  “Well?” She was impatient for some comment. Anything but this silence. “Will they work for Lady Alexandra’s research?”

  Without answering, he flipped through two more, discarding one, then another. He did this for another five minutes until Brianna wanted to scream. His was the only expertise she’d sought. She’d had to make sure of her work before she presented everything to Alex. Thunder grumbled outside and the room grew darker.

  “These are excellent, Miss Donally,” Mr. Cross finally said, his light brown eyes intent behind his spectacles, and Brianna almost clasped her hands in a prayer of gratitude.

  “Thank you, Mr. Cross.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I could not have finished this without your help. I plan on presenting them to my sister-in-law tonight.”

  Mr. Cross surprised her by opening the bottle of wine. He removed two glasses from a cabinet at his back. “If you had been anyone else in your family, Miss Donally,” he handed her a glass, “I wouldn’t have lifted a finger to help you.”

  His animosity struck her. “You don’t like Lady Alexandra?”

  He leaned around her and opened the window to the sound of rain. “I don’t like your brother.”

  Brianna’s mouth formed a silent O. The novelty of that sentiment wasn’t new, but the tone of Cross’s voice was uncomfortable to her. His eyes watched her as he drank. “My mother would have liked you,” he said.

  She glanced out the window, down on the rubble that littered the landscape, suddenly conscious of his nearness. Two pigeons cooed on the stone turret outside. “Do you have family in England?”

  “I have a younger brother.” Turning his attention back to the desk, he set down his glass. “May I?” He lifted the other photographs in her collection. She noted that he seemed more casual with her than usual. “You’ve captured the expressions of the people.” He flipped through the pictures. “You should think about compiling these into your own book.”

  “Do you think so?”

  His hands stopped on the photograph of the young man she’d taken in the caravan. “Yes, I do,” he said.

  Brianna leaned over his arm and eased the photographs from his hands. There were still events in her life that she was not prepared to discuss nor had any desire to remember. “I’ve been thinking that I’d like to do something more with my work.”

  “As have I.” His voice lifted her gaze. “In matter of fact, I’ve been investing these past few years. I have no desire to remain in Egypt. I’m preparing to leave quite soon.”

  “But whatever would you do? You’ve spent years training to reach this pinnacle in your career.”

  “I’ve decided that it’s time to move on. Marry, perhaps.”

  Brianna laughed. Mr. Cross could be so grim at times that she’d oft wondered if he knew how to live life at all. He looked different this afternoon for some reason. Taller. “Don’t tell me that you’re in love?”

  But as she said the words, Brianna was at once regretful. Turning his back to her, he retrieved his wineglass and walked to the window. He’d not deserved the jest. Especially since it appeared by the stiffness in his spine that she could possibly be the focus of his heart. Brianna had no desire to be unkind. At the same time, she didn’t wish to encourage him in a direction that she had no interest in pursuing. Her goals would eventually take her from Egypt. Nor did she have a desire to return to England.

  “Do you like to travel, Miss Donally?”

  “Yes. Very much.” Brianna glanced at the rubble across the street, aware of how ugly the morning had turned. “Mr. Cross—”

  “‘The blossom is blighted, the leaf is withered, the god of day goes down upon the dreary scene.’” Charles turned his head to look at her. “It’s offensive that so much of this city lies in ruin. Don’t you think?”

  “You’re quoting Dickens?” She stared at him in disbelief. “I can’t believe you’re quoting Dickens.”

  He perused her in surprise, as if she’d just exceeded some indiscernible bar of intelligence. “No one ever guessed before.”

  Tinkering with the small metal tab on her satchel, Brianna returned the photographs to the bag. She supposed many people read Dickens. Michael did. She turned to face him. “Mr. Cross, I didn’t mean to make light of your heart. The young ladies who are here in Cairo for the Season do so for one reason,” she reassured him. “And that’s to secure a husband. You would make a wonderful catch.”

  “Even for someone who is seeing another man?”

  Brianna’s mouth opened. “She is hardly seeing another man.”

  “I’m glad to hear that.” Charles sat at his desk and folded his hands. “Especially since Major Fallon will be leaving Egypt before the end of the month. Possibly sooner.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “He’s been recalled by the government. Though, it won’t matter. He’ll be selling back his commission anyway.”

  “Why?” A feeling of coldness settled deep inside her.

  “He’s to marry when he returns to England. He just inherited the Ravenspur dynasty.”

  Chapter 11

  “Is it true?” Brianna said in a quick breathless voice. Her hair wet from the rainstorm, she stood beneath the doorway of Michael’s office. “Are you returning to England?”

  Palms flat, he leaned over his desk. A single lamp lit the maps spread out on his desk. The rest of the room was dark. He carefully set down his pencil. “Brianna…” Behind him, the venetian blinds banged with th
e wind. “What are you doing riding here in a storm?”

  She didn’t understand why she’d come here, why she was so frantic. But an hour ago it had somehow seemed imperative to get here. Imperative that she learn the truth.

  As if for the first time, Brianna recognized that he wasn’t alone. Her bewildered gaze went around the room. Two men in turbans and robes sat in chairs around the desk. Halid stood near the window, to Michael’s left. Her riding outfit soaked through, Brianna clutched her satchel of photographs to her chest.

  Thunder shook the windows.

  “I’m—” She made a futile attempt to contain her emotions. “I didn’t know that you were in a meeting.” Her eyes continued to hold Michael’s stark gaze from across the room. And then she realized—

  He knew!

  He’d known last night that he was leaving Egypt. He’d known as she rambled on about tyrants and aristocrats, and said nothing!

  She wanted to hit him. The same place that she hurt.

  In the stomach.

  “Brianna—”

  “Don’t!” Whatever he was about to say, she didn’t want to hear.

  She spun away, her wet skirts flapping with her hastened dash to the door in the outer office.

  She was angry. Angry that she seemed constantly to allow a barrage of attacks on her heart. Angry with Michael for not telling her that he was leaving Egypt. More than anything, she was furious with herself for being caught off her guard, unprepared for what she knew would one day be the inevitable end in their short relationship, for rushing to the ministry and making a fool of herself when she should have just gone home.

  “Brianna!”

  Michael’s voice froze her hand on the door that would take her out into the corridor and down the long stairway to the street. He stood in the doorway of his office. “I’m sure that whatever you bloody heard isn’t nearly enough,” he said.

  “Trust me, it was enough.”

  “While we’re on the subject of my failure to communicate, why didn’t you tell me that Omar accosted you at the consulate function last night?”