Page 9 of The Lady and the Desert Scoundrel

The landscape showed a myriad of sandy dunes, with rocks in the distance. The navy blue sky contrasted with the tawny sand lit by the rising sun. The long caravan weaved around the dunes to keep on flatter ground.

Valiant, that’s the only thing he could make of her and her last night’s attempt. She seemed to have a knowledge of what she did.

“How did you think you could run away in the middle of the night, far in the desert?” His curiosity got the best of him, but he kept his tone low and detached.

“Straight east, I’d find Gabes.”

Surprise sprouted in him with her sharp wit.

“In the night?” He challenged

“The North-Star would be on my left. Mid-morning, I’d have arrived.”

She did have some education, something unknown in his country.

“If you hadn’t encountered any outlaws in the way.” He taunted. “Or scorpions and snakes.”

“I’d take my chances.” She defied, even if the notion gave her the shrills.

“Brave, indeed.” He ironized. He’d never forgive himself if he allowed her to fall in such ruthless hands.

“How did you learn all these things?”

Her shrug registered on the corner of his vision. “School, My father. The travellers’ accounts in our library.”

“How very bookish of you.” He drawled.

In England, she strove to hide her blue-stocking tendencies. Here it didn’t matter. “As much as my origins don’t mean anything to you, your opinion doesn’t signify the least for me.” Her neutral tone didn’t give away the edgy concept his opinion of her might matter, after all.

She didn’t witness his sardonic lopsided grin, but she certainly heard it.

“Touché!” He conceded, none too willing.

This woman lay completely beyond any of his standards. He’d never know how to deal with someone who had equal or more knowledge than him. Her sense of independence, her single-mindedness stood far from his ideal when it came to women.

He’d had his share of concubines. When the time came, his father encouraged him to choose one at his expense. And he’d enjoyed himself with a couple of them through the years. He’d never had any complaints, as far as he could tell; some of them expressed sadness with the parting. Those women were illiterate, of course. The females in his circle were taught to read, write and count in order to manage a household and write letters to their merchant husbands. A woman like Lady Lucinda was definitely out of his depth. Reason enough to keep his distance. If only his body understood that.

Surreptitiously, Lucinda traced the directions, the landscape. A midnight flight wouldn’t be wise now. The further they rode, the harder it’d get. She had a vague idea the sea shouldn’t be far, but how close exactly, she had little measure. She’d have risked yesterday, but today, she’d have to travel along. And stay put for a while. Her second day away. Her absent gaze fell to the sand grains moving with the camel’s step. How would her chaperone deal with this? Adriana and Mrs Croft must be sick with worry. Right now, few options were available. After last night, she was certain Tariq would keep double watch on her. If you never try, you never know, she sighed.

Lucinda entered the just readied tent for the night, happy for the respite, a day in the sun made her face and neck rather sunburnt and the discomfort burned hotter in the shade.

She stopped in her tracks. Tariq stood already in it, his now bare head bent over his sac and his arm deep into it. The fading sunbeams dimmer under the canvas, made his sleek hair look darker. He hadn’t shaved in two days and the shadow of his stubble lent him a mysterious air.

As his eyes strolled over her, his attention focused on reddened skin, his brow pleated, his cognac glint hard. “Why the darn didn’t you dress the clothes I told you to?” Tendrils of her dried dates-coloured hair fell around her face.

“Why on Earth would I do it?” She defied

He paced towards her. “Because they’re more appropriate for this weather, that’s why!”

“Well,” she shrugged, “you didn’t explain this and I didn’t see a reason to do something only because you said it.”

His cognac beams darted vexation. “I don’t have to explain a damn thing!” He pointed at her. “You are supposed to obey!”

She breathed humourless ironic grin. “Never!” His arrogant stance irritated her more than she could tell. He must be the only man on the planet capable of burning her up!

Her answer did it. He fumbled with something in his sac and cast it aside. He strode to her, a pocket knife in his hand. Her eyes widened, and, before she had time to prevent his hand, he tore the dress’ neckline. Her left shoulder bared.

In a reflex, she pushed him away and the knife fell on the carpet. “How dare you?” She breathed in fury.

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