Page 61 of Kismet

If he’d not been so stubborn, he could have avoided this entire scenario. He could have returned her to Marrakech when Jamal had advised him to. He could have trusted Allegra to keep his identity a secret. It would have been easy to disappear into the wilds of the Moroccan landscape where Shaftsbury couldn’t find him, even if the reasons for doing so no longer existed. He could have done all of that, but he’d chosen not to. Now he was to pay a price that was as high as the one he’d paid the night of James’s death.

Taking care not to disturb her, he extracted himself from her arms and dressed quickly. Without looking at her, he moved to the entrance of the tent. His hand fisted around a portion of the wool flap, and he paused to look back over his shoulder. God help him. She was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen, and he was a bastard for doing what he was about to do to her. He drew in a sharp hiss of air and left the tent.

The Amazigh were preparing for the worst, and the path to the command post was busy despite the early hour. Ahead of him, he saw Hakim standing in front of the command tent. Standing beside him was an Englishman. He steeled himself for what was to come as he came to a halt in front of the two men.

“Newcastle.” His cousin extended his hand in greeting. “It’s been a long time.”

“Shaftsbury.”

Not caring that his response was abrupt he ushered the man into the command post with a sharp hand gesture. He didn’t bother to extend any of the usual civilities. There wasn’t time, and the last thing he wanted to do was befriend the man taking Allegra away from him.

“I believe Hakim has explained why I sent for you?” He arched his eyebrows at the Viscount and waited for a response.

“He indicated Allegra has been here with you for the past month and not in England as I was told. He said she was in danger, and I needed to take her to England today. What I don’t understand is why you didn’t bring her back to Marrakech when you first rescued her.”

He ignored Shaftsbury’s unspoken question and retorted with one of his own. “How familiar are you with Moroccan politics, cousin?”

“I know that the French and Spanish share jurisdiction, while the British Foreign Office watches.” Shaftsbury shrugged at his limited knowledge.

“True, but the Amazigh control the land, and for the past five years I’ve been working under my Amazigh name to form treaties meant to unite the Amazigh as a nation. If the French discovered my nationality, they would take great offense to an Englishman negotiating alliances. They might even suggest Her Majesty’s government was behind my efforts, which would cause problems as well.”

Understanding lit Shaftsbury’s dark gaze. “And my arrival in Marrakech compromised you.”

“It did.” He jerked his head in an abrupt nod.

“But that still doesn’t account for why you held Allegra here.”

“If I’d returned Allegra to Marrakech, you might have started asking questions in the wrong places,” he snapped with suppressed irritation. He didn’t remember his cousin being quite this annoying the last time they’d met. “And I wasn’t about to let anything endanger the treaties.”

“So now you are.” There was just a hint of sarcasm in Shaftsbury’s voice, and he sent the man a hard look.

“The treaties are in jeopardy because Nassar is preparing for a war, and he’s prepared to kill anyone who gets in his way.” He folded his arms across his chest. “One of my men will guide you to Othmane where you’ll be able to catch a train to Safi. I’m also sending Sheikh Mahmoud’s daughter and Allegra’s maid with you as well.”

“How far is Othmane from the camp?”

“A little more than two hours. You stop for nothing. If a horse goes lame, then leave it. No matter what happens, you don’t stop. Is that clear?”

“You make this sound as if it’s a matter of life and death.”

“It is,” he ground out between clenched teeth. “If Nassar’s men find you, your chances of survival are slim.”

“What about you?” Puzzlement furrowed the Viscount’s brow as he shook his head.

“Me?” He shrugged. “I’m staying here.”

“You can’t be serious.” Shaftsbury stared at him in stunned outrage. “These people aren’t your family.”

“Family isn’t limited to blood,” he bit out fiercely. “The Amazigh took me in when my own father rejected me. They’ve shown me more love and kindness than my own father did. They’re my family now.”

“That may be, but it doesn’t change the fact that you have responsibilities in England. Your father is gravely ill, and he’s been asking for you.”

Turning away he strode to the open doorway of Khalid’s tent. “The last time I saw my father, he made it perfectly clear he never wanted to see me again. I’m more than happy to grant him that wish.”

“Good God, man, he’s dying. I don’t even know if he’s still alive, but he wouldn’t have asked for you if he didn’t really want to see the only son he has left.”

Furious at the way his cousin was pushing him, he whirled around and stalked his way across the carpet to put himself within inches of Shaftsbury’s face. “I’ll say this one time, and one time only. My father is already dead to me.”

“And so is your brother.” His cousin’s face was a forbidding mask as he glared back at him. “But if he was alive—if he asked you to at least listen to what your father had to say, would you refuse him? Are you willing to abandon the responsibilities that your brother can’t accept?”