“No!” The outraged injunction burst from Emily’s lips.
She’d been watching the begum in a sort of stupor, unable to credit that the woman would actually try to kiss Gareth in front of her-his majoress. Once the spell had been broken, she had no difficulty in continuing, “No, no, no!”
Reaching out, she caught the begum’s arm and bodily hauled the woman upright-away from Gareth and his lips.
At least his lips had been edging back, away from the begum’s, but what the devil was he thinking, to let her get so close?
Emily glared into the begum’s shocked face. “That is not the way it is done-not anywhere in Europe.”
The begum frowned-a frown that rapidly converted to a scowl. “I have heard it is common that married ladies indulge with gentlemen not their husbands. And that the gentlemen may be married or not-that for them marriage says nothing. Is this not true?”
The words were a challenge, one Emily knew well enough to meet head-on. “Yes, but as in all things, as a foreigner you’ve missed the subtleties, the nuances.” She drew breath, shot a sharp glance at Gareth hoping he’d have the sense to remain silent, then locked her gaze once more with the begum’s. “Not all married ladies indulge with gentlemen not their husbands, and not all married gentlemen indulge with ladies not their wives. Only a percentage, in some circles a very small percentage, of married people seek…er, entertainment with others not their spouses.”
The begum’s expression darkened, tending moody. She glanced at Gareth. “This is true?”
Before he could answer, Emily stated, “Yes, it’s true.” The instant the begum looked back at her, she continued, “And in your case, when attending a European court as the bey’s wife, you will need to maintain the strictest level of decorum, if on no other count than self-defense.”
Confusion, and a touch of concern, flared in the begum’s eyes.
Aha! Emily thought, and plowed on, “You will need to be on guard against any would-be seducers, for the only European gentlemen, married or not, who would approach the wife of a visiting potentate with a view to dalliance would have only one thing on their minds-either to discredit your husband by creating a scandal-you know how men are-or to learn more about your husband’s business through you.” Frowning, she tilted her head. “Or perhaps to blackmail you.”
She refocused on the begum. “Well, that’s more than one thing, but you can see the danger.”
Abruptly realizing her approach had been less than complimentary, she hurriedly added, “It would be totally different if you were there unofficially, not linked to your husband but just as yourself.” Pausing to draw breath, she added sincerely, “You are a very lovely woman, after all, and I’m sure you would find many gentlemen willing to dally with you, but”-she shook her head-“not this time. Not while you are traveling as the bey’s wife.”
The begum’s expression had grown increasingly despondent as Emily’s lecture had progressed. The silence lengthened as she stared at Emily, then she glanced at Gareth. “You-”
“Neither the major nor I dally with others.” Emily made the statement definite, definitive-it was true enough over recent times. She didn’t look at Gareth, but caught the begum’s eyes as she turned back to her. “I should perhaps add that in European cultures it is customary for the gentleman to make the first approach.”
“But…” The begum looked thoroughly disgusted. “What use is that? One might be waiting forever.”
“Indeed.” Emily managed not to glare at Gareth as she said it. “However, now we’ve told you-warned you-about dalliance in our societies, I believe it’s getting late, and we should thank you for your hospitality and return to our guesthouse.” She shifted to unwind her legs from their cramped position.
The begum made a distinctly unladylike sound. “So,” she grumped, “although I will walk in your ballrooms and drawing rooms, I will still be as cloistered as I am here at home.” She looked up as Emily managed to get to her feet. The begum narrowed her eyes, then pointed at Emily. “Aha! Now I understand the reason for your gowns-why you dress so, all covered up, when you go into your society. Why outside your home, you dress like a nun, rather than a wife.”
Emily bit back the information that they dressed in the same manner in the home as out of it.
With fluid grace, the begum rose in all her barely clad beauty. She waved her hands. “Let me see this gown. I have not one like it.”
Emily slowly pirouetted. She glanced at Gareth as she did. He’d risen as she had, but his face was, even to her tutored eyes, an impenetrable mask. She had no clue what he was thinking.
The begum frowned, then met Emily’s eyes as she faced her once more. “So I will need to get my seamstresses to make up gowns like this, or my husband will be displeased and made ashamed when we reach the European courts?”
Emily hesitated, misliking the calculating gleam in the begum’s dark eyes, but with no alternative, she nodded.
The begum smiled. “In that case, Majoress Hamilton, you will be doing me a great service if you will exchange gowns with me. We are much of a height and size-as a great favor to me, you will swap gowns, will you not?”
Emily tried not to look at the diaphanous creation the begum was draped in. Alongside the calculation, there was something else in the begum’s eyes-a need to take something from this meeting. Something positive she could show others…Emily had heard that the begum lived in the harem, that she was the first wife, true, but just the first among many…
Emily nodded. “Yes, of course.”
Jaw clenched, teeth gritted, Gareth followed Emily through the gate into the courtyard of their guesthouse. With a brusque nod, he farewelled the captain, pushed the gate shut, and latched it.
Striding after Emily as she crossed to the salon door, he picked out Mooktu in the shadows, raised a hand in acknowledgment, but didn’t slow. Not knowing how long they would be at the palace, the others had divided the watches for tonight between them. He didn’t need to concern himself with that tonight-besides, thanks to Emily, they now had the begum, traditionally the city’s ruler in her husband’s absence, firmly on their side.
Emily’s cloak fluttered as she gathered it about her and climbed the shallow steps into the salon. Embroidered silk ankle cuffs and tassels peeked from beneath the cloak, and an ankle chain glinted in the moonlight, before she released the cloak and the gloom within swallowed her.
Every muscle locked tight, Gareth grimly followed. He’d never been so grateful for a lady’s cloak in all his life. While Emily and the begum had retired to swap clothes, foreseeing the result and the danger therein, he’d hunted up the eunuch and asked for the cloak, left at the too-distant entrance, to be fetched.
Luckily the eunuch had returned with the cloak before Emily had reappeared. When she’d finally followed the begum, rendered reasonably presentable by Emily’s gown, into the room, he’d sucked in a breath, held it, and tried not to react. At all.
A superhuman feat, one he hadn’t achieved.
But Emily’s blushes had abruptly focused him on something other than his own pain. He’d shaken out the cloak and held it up. She’d all but dashed across the room, anklets tinkling, to take refuge beneath the soft woolen folds.
Once covered, her chin had risen; her confidence had returned. She’d taken her leave of the begum with genuine smiles and courtesy all around.
The subject of gowns apparently united all women.
Still holding the cloak about her, Emily started up the guesthouse stairs. She glanced back as he stepped onto the lowest tread, smiled fleetingly in the moonlight. “That ended a great deal better than I thought it would.”