Harry almost grinned at the mulish expression on her face. It was one he was intimately acquainted with; the lady had made up her mind.
“I’m afraid it’s not for sale, Mr. Drovetti. For any price. I’m taking it to my friend, the Bey, to go in the new museum he’s planning.”
The Italian’s face fell, but he seemed to accept the refusal with good grace. “Ah, well. A noble sentiment, my dear. But do tell me if you change your mind. I have a collector who would be most pleased to obtain it.”
He sent Harry a suspicious look, as if warning him to be on his best behavior. Harry sent him a superior sneer in return.
“I bid you good night.”
Harry let out a snort as soon as Drovetti had gone. “That was too easy. Did you see the look on his face? Pure avarice. He wants that necklace, and he’ll do anything to get it, you mark my words. We need to be on guard.”
Hester nodded. “I fear you’re right. Still, forewarned is forearmed, as they say.”
Harry sent her a smug glance. “Ready to admit how glad you are that I’m here?”
“Never. I can look after myself, thank you very much. I’m not such a ninny that I’m going to leave this lying around the place for him to steal.” She lifted the necklace and refastened it around her neck. “There. He’ll find it difficult to steal now.”
She rose, slipped into her tent, and returned with a large linen bathing sheet. “I need to wash. All that scrambling around dusty tombs has left me filthy. I’m going to the oasis. You can stand watch so no one disturbs me.”
She didn’t wait for Harry’s agreement. She simply headed off down the path toward the water. Harry swore under his breath. High-handed little minx. He wasn’t her servant, forced to obey her every command.
And yet he scrambled after her.
At the water’s edge he discovered a set of steps and a low wall had been built to allow easy access. He eyed the inky surface with misgiving. “Aren’t you worried about crocodiles?”
“Don’t be silly. There are no crocodiles in here. Only a few fish, and they’re harmless enough. It’s human interference I’m concerned about. I usually have Suleiman stand guard for me, but you’ll have to do.”
Hester slipped behind a large date palm and Harry heard the ominous rustle of clothing being removed. He experienced a flash of alarm. “You’re not goingcompletelyin the water are you? I thought you just meant to wash your face.”
“Of course I am.” Her tone was impatient. “I need a bath. And, ruffian though you are, I trust you’re enough of a gentleman to afford me some privacy and not peek.”
Harry snorted. Her belief in his willpower was clearly stronger than his own. He was a healthy, red-blooded male. Did she really think he could stand with his back to the water the entire time, knowing she was naked or practically naked, right there next to him? Honestly, she would try the patience of a saint, and he certainly wasn’t in that category.
“I bet your precious Suleiman peeks,” he said.
More rustling. Harry tried very hard not to imagine which piece of clothing she was removing now. What was she wearing under that damned too-tight shirt that showed every gorgeous curve? A corset? Surely not; it was too hot for such things. Stays? He imagined her untying the ribbon at the shoulder. Slipping down the cotton of her shift to reveal a creamy expanse of skin. Beautiful, soft, sweet-smelling skin.
His brain went a little fuzzy, and he bit back a groan. He’d been without a woman for far too long.
“I doubt it,” Hester said matter-of-factly, breaking into his erotic reverie. “The poor man’s a eunuch. I suspect he’s not particularly interested in seeing me, or any woman, naked.”
Harry winced in sympathy even as he said, “He’s still a man, Hester. How can you be so naïve? A man will takeanyexcuse to look at a naked woman, whether or not he’s had his bollo—”
“Oh, hush!’ she scolded. “Have you turned around?”
Harry exhaled a put-upon sigh. “Yes.”
He heard scampering footsteps and then the splash of water as she entered the oasis. He crossed his arms over his chest and rolled his eyes upward, praying to whatever gods might be listening for patience.
Clearly the powers that be had decided to punish him by placing a pithy, prickly termagant in his life. And then they’d exacerbated the aggravation by making him want her. He’d prayed his infatuation would fade over time, but the feeling hadn’t abated. If anything, it had grown worse. He’d lusted and despaired over Lady Hester Morden in equal measure for years.
It was almost completely dark now, the shadows deep purple and indigo. But an impossibly large moon and a smattering of stars silvered everything in a pale halo, and Harry ground his teeth and tried not to think of the way the moonbeams would highlight her cheek, her arms, the luscious curve of her breasts.
He’d never seen her naked, of course, but he’d imagined it a thousand times. Water droplets would chase each other over her peaked nipples and down the long slope of her spine. He imagined his tongue following those droplets, licking the wetness from her skin…
His breeches had become uncomfortably tight. He readjusted himself and refused to look. He was no voyeur. No randy youth. He was Orpheus; Eurydice would be dragged back to the underworld if he so much as glanced around. He clenched his fists against temptation.
This, surely, was the most exquisite torture ever devised. If he hadn’t shown himself a bloody hero during the war—and he had a drawerful of medals back home to prove it—then he’d definitely done so now. Hester was like the oasis: a welcome miracle, refreshing and beautiful. And he was parched for a taste of her.