Silk and Secrets(88)

"Your implied threat of what you might do if I hogged all the hot water terrified me," she explained with a straight face. "I'll wash my robes later. By the time they are clean, the water will not be fit for human use."

She was running her fingers through her hair to comb the worst of the tangles out. Thick red tresses fell halfway to her waist, and even wet, they glowed like dark fire. It had been a mistake, he realized distantly, to give her a cotton robe of such light fabric. The material clung to her damp skin, making it clear that she wore nothing underneath and was no longer flattening her breasts. She had grown in that area over the last dozen years.

As she crossed the room to perch on the divan, several inches of robe trailed on the floor, giving the highly inaccurate impression that she was frail and delicate. Slender, yes; frail, definitely not. Not a woman who could defeat a burly camel driver in a knife fight.

Before his staring could become too obvious, he went into the bedroom, stripped off his clothing with sharp, tense movements, and climbed into the tub. The warm water felt wonderful and helped loosen his tight muscles. As he started washing his hair, he thought wryly that he would be better off if the water were cold—though even chunks of ice floating in the tub would not be enough to cool the fire in his veins.

* * *

After Ross had finished bathing, Juliet washed her clothing, wrung out the garments, then hung them up. In the bone-dry desert air they would be wearable by morning. Then she joined Ross in the sitting room. He was sprawled full-length on the cushioned divan, hands folded under his head. He had also changed to a loose Asiatic robe, a striped dark blue that emphasized the tousled gold of his hair.

When she entered the room, he gave her a brief smile before returning his idle gaze to the ceiling. He looked drained, which wasn't surprising. She was exhausted herself, and she hadn't had to converse with the amir or endure that grueling interview with the foreign minister.

There was an irresistibly domestic air about the evening that made it seem as if sharing that wide rope bed would be the most natural thing in the world. Thank God Ross had iron willpower. As Juliet studied the long, lean length of him, she would not have given a ha'penny damn for her own.

She settled down on the floor several feet away from her husband, modestly tucking her cotton robe around her feet and ankles. The deep, crimson-patterned carpet under her was a beauty. She guessed that it had been made by the Tekke Turkoman tribe. They might be marauders, but they made wonderful rugs.

Absently she began combing out her damp hair in the feeble hope that doing so would straighten some of the wild curling. "What do you think of what the amir said this afternoon?"

Ross frowned. "Nasrullah's reasons for executing Ian seem trumped up. He was certainly an official British representative. God only knows what the amir considered spying."

"I can't imagine Ian converting to Islam, either," Juliet said sadly. "I suppose they just invented random excuses to justify murdering him."

"Perhaps the nayeb can tell me more in the morning, but my guess is that the recent British defeats in Afghanistan are the real reason he was executed," Ross said slowly. "With the British forces in retreat, the amir probably decided that it wasn't necessary to curry favor with the ferengis, so he put Ian to death." He sighed. "If the British had won, your brother might be alive now."

"So Ian paid the price of empire," Juliet said bitterly. "The damned bloody British empire."

"It's a great waste," Ross said quietly, "but Ian knew what he was doing. Did I tell you that I saw him several years ago when I was in India? He took a month's leave and we spent it roaming the hill country together. He loved the army, you know, and he accepted the risks of the life he had chosen."

"He should have stayed an officer rather than letting himself be sent on a diplomatic mission." Her mouth twisted. "You had seen him much more recently than I. Even though I had buried myself at Serevan, it never occurred to me that I would never see Ian again. I always thought that someday we would surely get together and tell each other all of the mischief we'd made, just like we used to do..."

For a moment her voice broke. Then Juliet shook her head, hard. It was her own fault that years that passed since she had seen her brother, and she had no right to allow her grief to further burden Ross. With an effort, she asked in an even voice, "What happens now?"

Ross shrugged, his unfocused gaze never straying from the plaster ceiling. "The amir will summon me for another audience in a week or two. With luck, he will give permission to take Ian's body back to England and we will leave as quickly as possible."