Silk and Secrets(70)

She had thought that over time, being around Ross would become easier. Instead, every day was harder than the one before. Today her sexual awareness of him had sizzled to a dangerous new level. If she continued like this much longer, she would incinerate.

No, she would not. She would do whatever was necessary, no matter how hard it was. It was Juliet who had insisted on accompanying her husband on this trip, and having done so, she must abide by the consequences.

In another ten days they would reach the city of Bokhara and she would not be constantly in Ross's company. Surely matters would improve then.

Unfortunately that thought was of no help at the moment, so with deliberate brutality Juliet reminded herself how hopeless the situation was. Yes, she desired Ross to the point of distraction, but desire was only part of a deeper yearning.

Far more than passion, she craved the love and acceptance she had found only in his arms, and that she would never know again, for his love was long gone, destroyed by Juliet's own actions. Even if Ross was willing to bed her, which was by no means certain, all she would find would be a fleeting sexual satisfaction that would be paid for by utter emotional devastation. The knowledge sobered her as nothing else could.

Juliet had fled to this private spot because she needed to be alone, but when she regained her control, she realized that she would be a fool to waste this opportunity to bathe. Swiftly she removed the clothing she had worn day and night for the last two weeks.

Releasing her hair from its long braid, she stepped into the water. It was pleasantly cool and felt wonderful, caressing her skin like liquid silk. She waded out to shoulder depth and ducked under the surface to wet her hair, then began scrubbing her scalp with her fingertips.

She could have happily spent the rest of the day in the river, but if she was gone too long, one of the men would come looking for her, so she washed as quickly as possible. After climbing back onto the bank, she used her mantle to roughly dry her skin and hair, then dressed again. A pity she didn't have fresh garments to wear.

After donning her robe, she sat down on crossed legs and began combing her fingers through her wet hair. Working the snarls out was a time-consuming business. It would have been more practical to cut her hair for this trip, but she had been unable to bring herself to do that. Ross had always liked her hair long, and leaving it uncut was like a secret gift to him, one he would never know or care about.

As Juliet began rebraiding her hair, she wondered what her husband really thought about her. Though he was always considerate, even kind in an impersonal way, she suspected that he viewed her as a regrettable piece of ancient history, a nuisance for whom he still felt a reluctant sense of responsibility. Apart from that experimental kiss at Serevan, he had shown no signs that he still found her attractive.

His disinterest was fortunate, for she doubted that her willpower would last long if he were to make a serious attempt to bed her. That, as she told herself—repeatedly—would be disastrous.

She was so absorbed in her thoughts that at first she missed the sounds of footsteps behind her. At the last moment she heard the soft rustling and steeled herself to face Ross, though if she was lucky it would be Saleh.

It was neither Ross nor Saleh. Instead, Murad called out, "Jalal, where are you? We are leaving now."

She whipped her head around just in time to see the young Persian emerge from the tall rushes. Murad's mouth dropped open as he stared at her face and copper-bright hair. His gaze shifted to her familiar black robe, then back to her face. Incredulously he asked, "Jalal?"

Juliet scrambled to her feet, mentally cursing in every language she knew. Her brief carelessness had negated all their attempts to keep her identity from Murad; she might not look like any woman he had ever met, but the lad was not a fool.

There was no help for it. She must enlist him in the conspiracy, since the alternative was to drown him in the river. Murad was very loyal to Ross, and she was reasonably sure that he could be trusted.

Dropping her gruff tone and heavy accent, she said in fluent Persian, "Is there any chance I can persuade you that the Tuareg all have red hair and pale, feminine faces?"

The evidence of his eyes confirmed, Murad exclaimed, "No God but God! You are a woman—a ferengi woman!"

"So I am," she agreed. "But on a journey such as this, it seemed wiser to travel as a man."

His dark eyes narrowed. "Does Khilburn know?"

"He knows," she said dryly. "I happen to be his wife."

Murad thought about that for a time. "But you joined us at Serevan. If you are his wife, how did you come to be there?"

"I am the mistress of Serevan and have lived in Persia for many years, apart from my husband. Saleh is my seneschal there," she explained. "But the amir's prisoner is my brother, so I wished to accompany Khilburn to Bokhara."