Читать книгу In The Sheikh's Marriage Bed - Sarah Morgan - Страница 10

SHE was in huge trouble.

Emily glanced frantically around her, searching for an alternative escape route. But there was none. And already the men were closing in. Before she could move, one of them made a grab for her bag and another dragged her jacket from her shoulders.

Suddenly she was standing in the dusty streets wearing nothing but her thin cotton dress and a pair of ridiculous shoes.

For a moment she stood still, breathing rapidly, frozen with fear. And then some of the fear melted away to be replaced by anger. She was a visitor to a foreign country. She should be treated with respect and courtesy.

‘I’m English.’ She spoke slowly and clearly. ‘Give me my things back.’

They leered at her and, acting on a sudden impulse, she flew at the man who’d taken her bag, kicking him so hard with one of her shoes that he gave a yelp and doubled up in pain and surprise.

‘Finally I understand the origin of the term “killer heels”,’ Emily muttered, snatching at her bag and making a run for it.

Her triumph was short-lived. Temporarily stunned by her surprise attack, the man’s two comrades suddenly came to life and grabbed her bodily. Her dress tore, she lost the bag and crashed awkwardly to the ground, wincing as something cut into her ankle.

‘Ouch—!’ Gritting her teeth against the pain, she lifted her head, furious and ready to fight—and then she saw a fourth man striding towards them, his robes flowing back from his powerful frame.

He was taller and broader than the men who surrounded her and walked with a grim sense of purpose that made Emily shiver. His head was covered by the traditional gutra and she caught a glimpse of fierce black eyes before he strode forward and snapped something in a strange language, one bronzed hand resting ominously on the folds of his robes as he scanned the scene.

Friend or foe?

Emily held her breath, her eyes fixed on his hand. She knew instinctively that the folds of his robes concealed a weapon. Would there be a fight? But those long, strong fingers stayed still as his eyes flickered slowly over her attackers.

One by one they fell back, at first resentful and then visibly intimidated by the menace in that dark gaze and the physical power and authority that pulsed from his masculine frame.

And then they turned and ran, taking Emily’s bag and jacket with them.

Emily clutched the torn neck of her dress and started to shake, her eyes fixed on the man who had caused their flight.

Without uttering a word, her rescuer bent down and scooped her into his arms.

‘What are you doing?’ Taken by surprise, Emily thumped his shoulder with her fist and made contact with rock solid muscle. ‘Put me down!’

‘Be still!’ He tightened his grip on her, carrying her as if she weighed nothing, striding purposefully through a network of narrow, dusty streets until he finally came to a halt in a secluded doorway.

‘Are you hurt?’ He snapped the question in perfect English and to her horror Emily felt the mortifying burn of tears.

It was just the shock, she told herself, struggling to restrain the impulse to sob against his broad shoulder. Now that she was safe she suddenly realized just how close she’d been to real danger. If he hadn’t arrived when he had—

‘I’m fine,’ she lied, glancing around her dubiously. ‘You can put me down. Why have you brought me here? It looks more dangerous than the main street—’

‘You were drawing too much attention to yourself,’ the man said harshly, but he lowered her to the ground with surprising gentleness, muttering something under his breath as he glanced down.

‘You are bleeding.’

Emily followed his frowning gaze and suddenly realized why her leg was hurting so badly. Blood was pouring from a deep cut on her ankle.

‘Oh—I must have cut it on something when I was attacked.’

‘Which would not have happened had you not been walking in an unsafe area.’ He gave a sigh that spoke volumes and then squatted down so that he could take a closer look. In an impatient gesture he moved her skirt and slid strong fingers over her ankle. ‘No wonder you are injured,’ he growled. ‘These shoes are ridiculous.’

‘I totally agree, but they’re the only pair I brought with me,’ Emily protested, wincing as he slid the shoe off and examined her bruised ankle. ‘I wasn’t exactly planning on having to run for my life when I packed. Ouch, you’re hurting me!’

‘You should be thankful that it is only your ankle that is hurt,’ he said, his tone blisteringly unsympathetic as he finished his examination. ‘I don’t think it will need stitches. Next time you try to escape I suggest you select your foot-wear more carefully.’

Emily’s eyes widened and she looked at him closely for the first time. ‘How did you know that I was escaping—?’

With a jerk of his hand he removed something from his neck and bandaged her foot deftly, stemming the flow of blood. Then he lifted his gaze to hers and she fell into those fierce dark eyes. The breath jammed in her throat as she recognized him.

‘Oh—no—it’s you!’

He inclined his proud head, his mouth set in a hard line as he surveyed her. ‘Indeed. I trust my mode of dress meets with your satisfaction on this occasion, Miss Kingston.’

Staring up at him, Emily lost her ability to breathe normally. She’d thought he looked good in a suit, but it was nothing compared to his appearance in the traditional robes of his countrymen. How could she have failed to recognize him?

Even in the dusky light he was extravagantly handsome and he held himself with an arrogance that spoke of centuries of breeding.

No wonder the other men had run—

‘Clearly I should have locked you in my tower after all,’ he observed in a chilly tone, rising to his feet in a fluid movement and glancing left and right down the narrow street. ‘It would have been safer for everyone. You could do with forgetting your fairy stories while you are in Kazban, Miss Kingston. This particular prince is not about to play his part according to the book. If you’re expecting Prince Charming, then you are doomed to disappointment.’

‘I never went a bundle on Prince Charming,’ Emily confessed shakily, her eyes still stuck to his face, watching hopefully to see if there was some softening of his attitude towards her now that he knew that she was serious about escaping. There didn’t seem to be. He was grim-faced and furiously angry.

‘Then let’s take a look at reality. A large number of people have been put to a great deal of trouble on your behalf,’ he bit out, his dark eyes glittering with impatience as he stared down at her. ‘My presence was required in the palace this evening but because of your foolhardy activities I have been forced to risk giving offence to those whose good relations are essential for maintaining peace in this area.’