She rose perfectly to the bait. Her cheeks flushed pink, and her eyes flashed with temper.
“We are not lost.”
“Are you saying mapmakersneverget lost?” he pressed. “I find that very hard to believe.”
She sent him an exasperated glance. “Everyone gets lost at some point in their lives, Tremayne. But I usually don’t get lostagain.” She tilted her head and then sent him a smile that made his heart thud heavily in his chest. “Actually, there’s something quite nice about getting lost sometimes. One finds all manner of exciting things.” She waved the parchment at him. “After all, what is a map if not the potential for adventure, a chance to discover new worlds? It is freedom.”
He decided to argue, just to be contrary. “A map is alie. Think about it. Every map is subjective; you select what to put on it. Only the information that is essential to fulfill its particular purpose is included—here in relation to there. It doesn’t tell the whole story. It is the world reduced to points, lines, and textures.” He shook his head, as if he found her view of the world woefully lacking.
As expected, she glared at him as if he’d just kicked a kitten. He bit back a smile. What he wouldn’t give to have all that righteous fury in his arms, in his bed. He cleared his throat and sent her a smile sure to irritate.
“There’s nothing for it,” she said. “I shall have to strangle you.”
He bit back a laugh. “Oh, you will, will you? And how do you propose to do that? I’m bigger than you. And stronger. And far more versed in hand-to-hand combat.”
She sent him a serene smile. “Oh, where there’s a will there’s a way, Tremayne. The gods of poetic justice will surely grant me victory.”
Harry decided he’d be a fool not to check his socks for scorpions and his coffee for arsenic when they stopped to make camp. He wouldn’t put it past her to poison him, the ungrateful wench.
It was just as well she had no idea of the power she held over him. He’d probablylether strangle him, if only to feel those hands on his skin. It would be the work of a moment to hook his legs behind her ankles and sweep her feet from under her. She’d fall to the ground—he’d cushion her fall with his body, of course—and then she’d be in his arms, with those glorious curves he’d glimpsed beneath her wet undergarments pressed against him—
She clicked her tongue and said something in Arabic. The dromedary, Bahaba, sank to the ground, folding its legs beneath it with a deep grumble of annoyance. She dismounted with far more grace than Harry imagined he would manage in the circumstances. He fanned himself with his hat and tried to cool his errant thoughts.
“If my estimations are correct,” she said, “which I assure you theyare, then we should catch up with Drovetti first thing in the morning. It will soon be too dark to continue, however, so I suggest we camp here for the night.” She raised her brows at him in blatant challenge. “Unless you have any objection?”
Harry shook his head and kicked his boot out of the stirrup. “No objection at all, Lady Morden. I bow to your superior knowledge of the terrain.”
She sent him a suspicious look, as if she couldn’t decide whether he was being sarcastic or not, but she decided not to argue. Many men of his acquaintance would have been loath to let a woman take charge, in any situation, but he spoke nothing less than the truth. Not only did he trust her competence, he found it irresistibly attractive.
Chapter 10
Hester couldn’t stop herself from sneaking glances at Harry across the fire, even though she tried not to. With a spurt of self-directed irritation, she picked up a handful of pebbles and tossed them, one by one, towards a larger stone she’d designated as a target.
She was restless and impatient, and she didn’t know why. No, that was a lie: shedidknow why. It was the presence of the man sprawled on a blanket across the fire from her, stretched out on his side like a sated Roman senator, his elbow resting on his saddle, his long, lean body relaxed and yet still curiously alert in the flickering shadows.
They’d pitched her tent on one side of the rocky gorge and eaten a selection of cold foods she’d brought from the oasis. Olives and dates, figs and honey. The Ancient Egyptians had eaten the same in honor of Ma’at, the goddess of truth and balance, to remind themselves that the truth is sweet.
Hester forced herself to be truthful. Watching Harry eat had been an exercise in self-restraint. Her eyes had been constantly drawn to his tanned fingers, to his mobile lips as he placed a morsel into his mouth. The fascinating muscles that flexed at the side of his jaw as he chewed. The sinews of his forearm as he took a sip of water from his pouch.
What was wrong with her? She’d found the man attractive before, in the formal eveningwear of London’s ballrooms. He was devastating in a black jacket and white cravat. But she found him even more attractive here, beneath the milky starlight, ruffled, unbuttoned, and sexily disheveled. Her fingers itched to touch the hint of beard that had appeared on his cheeks. Would it be soft, or prickly?
The remnant of a poem told to her by one of the Bey’s wives flitted through her brain, an echo from some ancient text or other.
Man of my heart,my beloved man,
your allure is a sweet thing, as sweet as honey.
You have captivated me,
of my own free will I will come to you.
Hester threw another stone.She was pathetic. Yearning for a man who didn’t want her. He might have offered to marry her two years ago back in London, but that had only been because society expected it of him. He’d acted recklessly, kissing her at that fete, and as tempting as it had been to say yes, she’d known that only heartbreak could come from such a rashly issued proposal.
He would have come to resent her, to hate her for trapping him in a loveless—or, at least, one-sided—marriage. He didn’t love her. He might find her amusing and a tolerable, if eccentric, companion, but he certainly didn’t cherish any deeper feelings for her.
She was a realist. She’d seen plenty of examples of marriages of convenience in theton. An arrangement like that was not for her. It would have broken her heart to watch Harry take a mistress mere months after the wedding.
If only he weren’t the embodiment of her ideal man.