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‘I don’t know,’ I shot through the gap. ‘Offhand, I can think of about fifty people who would be more likely to stand in front of my bedroom door in the morning. What in God’s name are you doing out there?’
‘Standing guard.’
‘Standing guard?’
‘Yes. On Ambrose Sahib’s orders.’
‘What for?’
‘To protect you from anyone who might wish to come
inside to do you harm.’ A snort came from beyond the door. ‘Although I must wonder whether the reverse would not be more practical.’
‘Get out of my way or I’ll brain you with my parasol!’
‘My point exactly.’
Feet shuffled outside. The way was clear. Buttoning up the last few buttons of my dress, I pushed open the door - and there he was: big, bearded and beastly as ever. Karim was just missing a bonnet, a fan and a plain brown dress to make the perfect young lady’s chaperone. I refrained from mentioning that to him, however.
‘Why exactly are you here?’ I demanded. ‘Don’t tell me that Mr Ambrose is afraid Captain Carter would sneak to my room at night to sing love ballads to me and ensnare me in a web of passion?’
Karim’s face remained as impassive as a block of wood with a big beard.
‘It is not for me to question the Sahib’s instructions.’
‘No, of course it isn’t. So, you are going to follow me around everywhere from now on?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is there any way I can get rid of you?’
‘No.’
‘What if I bribe you?’
‘No.’
‘What if I knock you over the head?’
‘No.’
‘What about if I start taking my clothes off?’
A slightly unusual tactic, I admit, but one I had actually employed with success in the past. Only…that had been in the wilderness of the Amazonian jungle, not in the hallway of the most lavish British manor house north of the River Trent. I had a feeling that Lady Samantha would be less understanding of my semi-naked state than the nice Indian tribe we had visited back then. I wouldn’t do it. Not here.
Still…Karim didn’t need to know that, did he?
His eyes widened. ‘You would not! Not even you would dare…not here, no!’
‘Are you sure?’ Suggestively, I played with the top button of my dress. ‘You’d better run, if you want to preserve the innocence of your eyes.’
For one long moment, he wavered, torn between his duty and escaping the clutches of yours truly - then his face set into even grimmer lines, and he crossed his arms in front of his chest.
‘Do your worst, woman who is worse than ifrit. I have orders from Ambrose Sahib. I shall not go.’
Damn!
Uttering some very unladylike curses - in Portuguese, just in case someone was listening in - I started marching down the hall, followed by my new, bearded, sabre-swinging shadow. This was intolerable! I was going to make someone pay. And I knew just who had the deepest pockets around here…
