He was too furious to care what happened to him. Dropping his hand from the tagelmoust, he snapped, "Go ahead and do your damnedest, Juliet. You always did."
Raising her gaze to her men, she made a quick gesture and they left the room. The older Uzbek went with obvious reluctance, until Juliet said in Persian, "Do not concern yourself, Saleh. The ferengi and I are well-acquainted. Please send in warm water, bandages, and ointment, and perhaps tea as well."
Still seething, Ross said, "Your friend Saleh is quite right to fear that I might wring your neck."
Juliet brought her gaze back to him as she unwound the veil, which was easily six yards long. "Nonsense," she said calmly as she tossed the length of dark fabric on the divan. "You might be tempted to commit mayhem, but you are too much of a gentleman to do so, no matter how richly I might deserve such treatment."
It did not improve Ross's temper to acknowledge that she was right. Even on that devastating night a dozen years ago, he hadn't laid a hand on her, and his anger now was a pale shadow of what he had felt then. "What was the purpose of that little charade?" Yanking his shirt on again, he glowered at his wife. "Are you intending to hold me to ransom? That would be redundant, considering the size of the allowance I've been giving you for the last twelve years."
Sharply Juliet said, "I never asked for money. You were the one who insisted on giving it."
"As my wife, you are my financial responsibility." Ross's gaze traveled over her. It was impossible to tell that the body beneath the layered robes was female. If she'd continued to disguise her voice and wear the tagelmoust, he would never have guessed her identity. "Besides, I was worried about just how you might choose to earn a living if I did not support you."
She caught his insulting implication and colored. "Ross, I apologize for indulging my warped sense of humor."
"Is that what that little scene was—a joke?" he said, unmollified. "Your sense of humor is more than warped. It has become downright malicious."
"Were you frightened?" she asked, a note of surprise in her voice. "You did not appear to be."
"Only a fool would not be frightened when surrounded by men who are armed and probably hostile," he said dryly, "but I didn't think that groveling would improve my situation."
She bit her lip. "I'm sorry. I behaved very badly."
"I seem to bring that out in you."
Juliet looked as if she wanted to snap an angry reply, but the entry of a small servant girl caused her to hold her tongue. The girl carried a tray with medical supplies and tea, which she set on a low circular table before bowing and leaving the room.
The interruption gave Juliet time to regain her temper. "It is true that you bring out the worst in me," she said as she poured a cup of steaming tea, then stirred in a spoonful of sugar. Handing Ross the cup, she continued, straight-faced, "I was a model of demure, maidenly propriety before I met you."
That was such a blatant falsehood that Ross choked on his first sip of tea, torn between fury and reluctant amusement. "Your memory is deficient, Juliet," he said when he could speak again. "You were the devil's daughter even then, you just lacked the experience to fully express your natural outrageousness."
"You are less of an English gentleman than I thought, or you wouldn't mention that." She offered a fleeting, hesitant smile.
The smile made Ross's heart lurch oddly. How typical of Juliet to be simultaneously infuriating and disarming. After treating him like a slave being graded for value, she had turned around and remembered exactly how he liked his tea.
His anger began to fade, which was fortunate, for he would need all his wits about him to deal with the impossible female. Suddenly weary, he sat down on the divan.
Juliet brought over the tray of medications, then perched next to him. "Take your shirt off again," she said, her voice matter-of-fact.
Ross flinched when she made a move to help him. Her touch had disturbed him earlier, when he had not known who she was. Now it would disturb him even more. Showing his skin to a doctor would have been one thing; doing the same with his estranged wife, with whom he had had a passionate, obsessive relationship, was quite another.
But his injuries did need tending, and under the circumstances, modesty would be ridiculous. Mastering his disquiet, he pulled off the shirt. "You arrived in the proverbial nick of time today. How did that happen?"
"I learned that a European with only two servants was in the area, and that a band of Turkomans had also been sighted," she explained. Moistening a pad of fabric, she started gently cleaning grit and dried blood from his lacerated left wrist, which had sustained the worst damage. "I decided to intervene before the idiots ended up in the Bokhara slave market."