Читать книгу Under A Desert Moon - Laura Martin, Laura Martin - Страница 12

Chapter Five

Emma hadn’t slept. No, that was a lie; she felt as if she hadn’t slept. She’d lain awake for hours tossing and turning, trying to banish Sebastian Oakfield from her mind. Then when she’d finally fallen into a fitful slumber, she’d dreamt about the annoyingly charming man. This morning she felt frustrated and unrefreshed.

She couldn’t believe she’d let him kiss her. She grimaced and silently corrected herself—she couldn’t believe she had kissed him. There was no point denying that she had been an active participant in the kiss. The worst part was that she’d enjoyed it, and she knew if he’d pulled her into a darkened corner and furthered the embrace she would probably have let him, she’d been so caught up in the moment.

Groaning, Emma buried her face in the pillow. She wished she could erase the past twenty-four hours—then she wouldn’t have ever met Sebastian Oakfield, and she would never have kissed him. Or spent the entire night reliving that kiss.

With an effort Emma threw back the light sheet that covered her bed and crossed over to the window. She looked out over the rooftops of Cairo and her mood lifted slightly. Yes, she might have done the exact thing she’d promised herself she’d never do again last night, but this morning she was waking up in Egypt, the land she’d dreamed about for so long.

Emma rested her elbows on the window sill and watched the hustle and bustle of the street below. Men were pushing carts of produce and women were carrying baskets. She wondered if they were headed to the famous Cairo market. Emma yearned to be down there with them, to follow them through the windy streets and explore this exotic city. Momentarily she wished she were a man. Then she’d be free to wander the streets at her leisure, not waiting for a suitable escort and chaperone to take her to only the appropriate sights for a well-brought-up young lady to see. She wanted adventure and freedom, not to have exchanged the constraints of English society for those of an expatriate in Cairo.

A light tap on the door made Emma spin around and she smiled as the young Egyptian maid called Dalila entered the room.

‘Would you like to get dressed, miss?’ the young woman asked in accented English.

Emma nodded, knowing the hour was already late and she shouldn’t waste any more of the day shut away in her room, ruminating over the events of the previous night.

‘Were you born in Cairo?’ Emma asked Dalila as she slipped the dress over her head.

The young maid nodded. ‘I’ve never left Cairo, miss.’

‘What do you think I should see?’ Emma asked. ‘I know the pyramids and the new Museum of Antiquities, but, as someone who’s grown up in Cairo, where do you think a visitor should go to get the authentic feel of the place?’

Dalila paused for a moment, considering. ‘The market,’ she said eventually. ‘Not the tourist antiquities market, but the real thing. Where we go to buy our food and spices. You’ll see everyone from the poorest beggar to the richest housewife.’

Emma allowed the maid to fasten the back of her dress and cocked her head to one side. She wondered if she could persuade Mrs Fitzgerald to take her to the market. She doubted it, but it was worth a try.

Making her way downstairs, Emma realised the hour was later than she’d first imagined. The Fitzgeralds had both already had breakfast, but the colonel was still sitting at the table, sipping strong, dark coffee.

‘Good morning,’ he said genially.

Emma liked Colonel Fitzgerald, even after knowing him for only a day. He was a kind old man. The previous night he had saved her from embarrassment by rescuing her from Sir Henry’s unwanted advances. And he had offered to introduce her to a guide who would take her into the wilds of Egypt.

‘I’m sorry I slept so late,’ Emma said, sitting down at the table. ‘I must have been tired after the journey.’

‘Nonsense,’ he said with a wave of his hand. ‘You are a guest in our house, you can sleep in until whatever time you like.’

He motioned to a young man who darted from the room and within seconds returned with plates of food balanced on his arms. He set them in front of Emma with a flourish and she inspected each dish in turn.

‘We can have the cook make you something more English if you prefer.’

Emma shook her head. Everything looked delicious; she didn’t know where to start.

‘This here is flat bread, served with a bean, onion and tomato dip. Or if you prefer something sweet, the honey and nut pastries are delicious.’

The Egyptian footman returned with a steaming cup of strong coffee and placed it on the table. Then he melted into the background, allowing Emma to make a start on the feast in front of her.

‘What are your plans for today, my dear?’ Colonel Fitzgerald asked after a few minutes.

Emma took a sip of coffee before speaking.

‘I’m not too sure. Mrs Fitzgerald kindly said she would take me to see the pyramids next week. Possibly the Museum of Antiquities.’

Colonel Fitzgerald nodded in agreement.

‘A very interesting place. However, I was thinking we might take advantage of the fact that Mrs Fitzgerald has a charity meeting arranged, so we could organise for that guide to take you deeper into rural Egypt.’

Emma’s eyes lit up immediately. She could feel her pulse quicken at the prospect of exploring Egypt properly, with just a guide for company, discovering long-abandoned temples and following in the footsteps of the Ancient Egyptians.

‘He might take a bit of persuasion—he can be a stubborn man when he wants to—but I’m sure you’ll be able to convince him to be your guide.’

Emma was imagining a weathered old Egyptian who knew every inch of his country.

‘And if that doesn’t work, you can remind him he owes you his life.’

Emma frowned. She opened her mouth to question Colonel Fitzgerald then promptly closed it again. Sebastian. He was talking about Sebastian Oakfield. The man who had rendered her senseless with just one kiss. There was no way she could spend a week with him. Who knew what would happen?

Silently she admonished herself. She was stronger than that. Granted, she had allowed the man to kiss her on their second meeting, but now she was savvy to his charms. She would recognise the fiery look in his eyes and that seductive smile and she would put a halt to any further kisses.

Emma gave a tiny nod. She might have fallen for Sebastian Oakfield’s charm once, but she wouldn’t do it again. Her life had already been ruined by one man who had convinced her kissing and intimacy weren’t wrong; she wouldn’t make the same mistake.

‘We must make sure Mrs Fitzgerald doesn’t get wind of your plans. She’ll crucify us both if she thinks I’ve let you go off unchaperoned into the desert.’

Emma felt herself smile weakly. Maybe Mrs Fitzgerald would have a point.

‘Of course I wouldn’t let you go off gallivanting with anyone. I know Mr Oakfield would do anything to protect your virtue. He’s a good man.’

Emma wanted to ask the colonel to expand on this information but didn’t want to seem too keen.

‘He’s helped me out of one or two scrapes myself,’ Colonel Fitzgerald continued. He lowered his voice before saying more. ‘There was one mission for the army Oakfield assisted us with. A group of bandits had kidnapped the daughter of a very important visitor. Oakfield guided us to their camp in the desert and rescued the girl himself. He’s a handy man to have around in a crisis.’

Emma sensed there was more to the story, some further reason Colonel Fitzgerald trusted Mr Oakfield completely.

‘What’s more,’ the colonel continued, ‘the girl became infatuated with him. Kept throwing herself at him. Oakfield didn’t bat an eyelid. One of the most trustworthy and upstanding men I know.’

Emma thought about their kiss on the balcony and wondered what Colonel Fitzgerald would make of it.

‘He really is the best guide as well,’ Colonel Fitzgerald mused. ‘Can’t think of a single other chap who knows the desert better.’

Emma smiled. If he was the best, then he was the guide for her. Her trip into rural Egypt required someone with good knowledge of the country.

‘Then he sounds like just the man.’ She paused, wondering if she should continue. In the end her curiosity won out. ‘What is it that Mr Oakfield does exactly?’ she asked.

The colonel laughed. ‘No one really knows. He acquires artefacts, brokers deals, translates scrolls. He’s a man with many talents.’

Emma pushed a little further. ‘I wonder what brought him to Egypt in the first place,’ she mused.

‘Some family problem, I think. It’s common knowledge he doesn’t speak to his father. I think it all started with a falling out around the time of his mother’s death. Whatever it was, I’m glad he decided to stop here. He’s a good opponent in cards, and a handy man to have around in a crisis.’

A family problem. Bad debts? An illegitimate child? Emma’s mind started throwing out hundreds of different possibilities.

Emma sipped the last mouthful of coffee before standing.

‘When would be a good time to go and see Mr Oakfield?’ she asked.

‘I will be ready in half an hour. Shall we meet at noon?’

Emma ascended the stairs to the first floor. Her room was at the end of a short corridor. Just as she rounded the corner she heard a soft thud followed by a scraping sound. She froze, then forced herself to continue. The door to her room was slightly ajar. She was sure she’d left it closed. Shaking her head, she reminded herself that Dalila or one of the other maids could be inside right now, cleaning the room. Nevertheless Emma found that her hands were shaking as she pushed open the door.

A figure clad entirely in black flowing robes froze as she entered the room. Emma gasped in shock, all the breath leaving her body in an instant. She tried to scream but found the muscles in her throat had seized up. Instead of an ear-splitting scream a tiny croak escaped her lips.

Instantly the figure was on his feet. With a final glance around the room he vaulted over the small table and out of the window.

Finally galvanised into action, Emma rushed to the window just in time to see her mysterious intruder disappear around the corner.

In shock, Emma sank onto the bed and felt her hands start to shake. She hadn’t managed to get a good look at the intruder—the baggy robes had disguised his build, and all but his dark eyes had been covered on his face—but she knew she’d recognise those eyes if she ever saw them again.

Once she had regained a little of her composure she contemplated calling one of the servants, but quickly dismissed the idea. She knew exactly what the mysterious intruder had been searching for, and luckily she had had the forethought to tuck it into a concealed pocket in her skirt before breakfast. Informing the household of the intruder would just open her up to questions of what he could have been searching for.

Emma’s hand closed around the small scroll in her pocket as she reassured herself it was still there. This was her father’s most treasured possession, and he had bequeathed it to her on his deathbed. For years he had studied the scroll, making notes on the accompanying pieces of paper, deciphering the ancient language and piecing together a location from the obscure references. Emma had wondered whether he had planned one final trip to Egypt before he died.

Quickly she stood and straightened out the room. The intruder hadn’t made much mess—there were just a few papers to be straightened and the sheets on the bed to be smoothed.

After a couple of minutes she looked around the room with satisfaction; no one would know anything untoward had happened here.

Grabbing her parasol and closing the door to her bedroom behind her, Emma realised the incident had made it even more imperative that she find a suitable guide quickly. She didn’t want to put the Fitzgeralds in danger. So if that meant begging Mr Oakfield to be her guide, well, she would have to swallow her pride and do just that.