“That doesnotcount as a kiss,” she rasped unsteadily.
He chuckled, then coughed, then laughed again. “Your face! I’ve never seen a woman so surprised. And of course it doesn’t count as a kiss. When I kiss a woman I don’t want her thinking she’s about to die. Unless it’s from pleasure, of course.”
The look he sent her was pure wickedness, and Hester felt a flush suffuse her entire body. She belatedly recalled that she was only wearing her shift and stays. A shift that, like Tremayne’s shirt, had presumably been rendered practically transparent.
A glance down her body revealed her worst fears. Her legs, stomach, and even the valley between her thighs were clearly visible. She sat up with a gasp and plastered her hands over her breasts.
Tremayne chuckled again at her mortification and clambered to his feet then offered her a hand up, which she ignored.
“Come on, Morden. It’s not as if I haven’t seen a naked female before. I swear I’m not about to molest you. Let’s go get our clothes.”
Chapter 9
When they returned to the village, it was to discover that Drovetti had indeed already left. The locals reported him taking the trail back toward Alexandria.
Harry followed Hester into her tent and stopped dead, staring aghast at her belongings. “Good God. How much luggage do you need, woman?” He strode to a packing chest containing her portable medicine kit and writing slope and shook his head. “How long will it take you to pack all this up?”
“A few hours, perhaps? I usually have Suleiman to help me.”
Harry groaned. “I don’t suppose you’d consider leaving it and—”
“You suppose correctly. I’m not going anywhere without my maps, or my clothes, or any of my belongings. Those charts are Uncle Jasper’s life’s work. I’m not simply—"
“Drovetti already has a good hour’s head start on us. We don’t stand a chance of catching him unless we leave right now.”
“Yes, we do.”
Harry raised a skeptical brow. “Oh really? How?”
“We can take a short cut.”
Harry sank down onto the edge of her cot and ran his fingers through his hair. “A short cut,” he repeated dryly.
Hester rummaged through the pile of papers on her desk and found the one she sought. “Yes. Drovetti’s following the old trade route through the desert. It’s not very direct. It meanders back and forth, keeping to lower ground.”
She unrolled her map and beckoned him forward, pointing with her finger. “Uncle Jasper and I charted several Berber caravan routes which cut through the hills. If we take one of them, it will considerably shorten our journey. We can catch up with Drovetti and steal the necklace back before he reaches Alexandria.”
Tremayne stared down at the paper and nodded slowly. “And you’re certain this is accurate enough not to get us lost? The maps we used in the army were always promising shortcuts to somewhere or other, and what looked like a nice mountain path usually ended up being an impassable goat track or a rocky stream instead.”
Hester shot him an offended look. “Of course I’m certain. This is the most up-to-date map ever produced of the region.”
Harry gave a resigned sigh. “All right, then. Let’s get packing.”
In the end, it took them less than an hour to stow everything away. Tremayne proved astonishingly efficient. Hester spoke to one of the locals and arranged for the larger, nonessential items such as her campaign desk, writing slope, portmanteau, tea set, rugs, and several trunks of clothes to be conveyed to the home of Sir Henry Salt, the British Consul in Cairo.
She retained only a single change of clothes, Uncle Jasper’s charts, and her medicine kit, which she secured neatly in saddlebags on the back of her mount.
Tremayne eyed the animal with intense dislike.
“A camel? Must you be so eccentric? What’s wrong with a horse, for goodness sake?”
Hester patted Bahaba’s wooly cheek. He had ridiculously long eyelashes, like a girl.
“This is Bahaba. He’s incredibly stubborn and impossible to control, but despite his irritable nature, I’m quite fond of him. He’s dependable. And he’s not a camel. He’s a dromedary. He has one hump, see. Camels have two.”
Harry patted the arched neck of his horse, and the animal tossed its head proudly and shivered under the caress. Its dark coat had a velvety sheen in the sunlight, and its muscles twitched with restrained impatience. Hester had to admit that the animal was a great deal more attractive than smelly old Bahaba.
“This is Makeen,” Harry said, his voice soft with pride. “I’m told that means ‘strong’. He’s an Arabian: intelligent, spirited, fast as the wind.” He scratched the horse on its forehead, between its large, liquid eyes, and the animal snickered in delight. “I bought him in Alexandria, and I don’t think I can bear to sell him again. I’m going to have to find a way to get you back to England, aren’t I, my handsome boy?”