"That at least is true."
Ross cocked an amused eyebrow at her. "I am not averse to using the truth if it will serve. At any rate, my statement mollified the amir a little, which is surprising in light of the general belief that he poisoned his own father. After allowing that aged parents should be respected, he asked in a hurt voice if I would rather leave Bokhara without honor and in disgrace, or with honor and filled with favor.
"Naturally, I expressed a preference for leaving with his majesty's favor—it seemed the politic thing to do. Nasrullah said that if I was patient, I would soon be free to go with his blessing. Then he spun on his heel and disappeared through the curtains and my audience was over. Shahid was most disappointed to have to escort me back here."
Juliet buried her face in her hands, her body shaking with chill even though the night was warm. Ross had been lucky tonight, but it sounded as though Nasrullah might just as easily have ordered his execution. Luck never lasted forever. "Do you think the amir will grant you permission to leave?"
There was a long pause before Ross said in a neutral voice, "He has nothing to gain by keeping me prisoner."
That was true. But since the British had suffered setbacks in Afghanistan, Nasrullah might equally decide that he also had nothing to lose by executing his "guest"—and it was well known that he despised Europeans.
Raising her head, she said in a choked voice, "Tell me the truth, Ross. You think we're going to die here, don't you?"
He met her gaze without flinching, and in his stark eyes she saw that he had accepted the likelihood of his own death. "I almost certainly will," he said quietly, "but you and the rest of our party won't be stopped if you try to leave. I think you should all go with the next westbound caravan."
Perhaps Saleh and Murad should, but Juliet could not imagine abandoning her husband while he was alive. She looked at him hopelessly, her throat tight.
Ever since they had met in Persia, she had held herself away because she could not bear to become intimate while knowing that he would inevitably leave her. There could be no future for them, for if by some chance Ross did want her back as a wife, she would be forced to make an impossible choice between living a lie or revealing an appalling truth that Ross would never forgive her for.
But now they truly had no future. The shadow of death had narrowed time down to this instant, this infinitely precious shower of moments. What did consequences matter when life could be measured in hours or days? "Time is running out, Ross," she said, her voice laced with anguish. "Let's not waste what little we have left."
The atmosphere changed, becoming as charged as the wind before a storm. Ross became utterly still, his brown eyes shocked and wary.
For a moment Juliet thought he did not understand her oblique words, or, infinitely worse, that he was rejecting what she offered. Burying all her pride, she said, "You have every right to despise me. But if for tonight you can pretend to forget the past... if you still want me, for passion or solace or even anger..." knowing that she was doing this as much for herself as for him, she stretched out a pleading hand. "I am yours to do with as you will."
She did not know whether she could bear it if he refused her—but he did not. Face taut, he wordlessly reached out and caught her hand in his.
As soon as their fingers touched, all the passion that simmered between them flared to stunning life. They came together with fierce inevitability, mouth to mouth and body to body, with none of the hesitation of new lovers.
It had been mad to speak of forgetting the past, for recognition of Ross's touch was imprinted on every fiber of Juliet's being. She would know his kiss anywhere, in the darkest night, the most distant land. Dizzy with reunion , she felt as though they had stepped off a precipice and were falling out of control into some strange new land.
An instant later she realized that they were literally falling, tumbling the short distance from the divan to the Turkoman carpet, with Ross absorbing most of the impact when they hit. They stayed locked together as they rolled across the floor in a flurry of fabric and tangled limbs, coming to a halt at the foot of the bed.
Neither would interrupt the embrace, for bruises were unimportant compared to the overwhelming need to meld into one space, one flesh. Violent emotions demanded violent expression, and they kissed feverishly, their bodies grinding together in a frenzied attempt to unite.
They were tearing at each other's clothing when Ross abruptly went still, then pressed his face against Juliet's neck while he inhaled in ragged gulps. When his breathing had slowed a little, he pulled away and stood. "I've waited a dozen years for this. We're going to do it right." Bending over, he grasped her hands and effortlessly lifted her to her feet.