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She turned to him, her hands on his shoulders. In the darkness of the carriage his eyes glinted at her, challenging, his lips parted.
‘Yes, Sam?’
His hair was thick and silky warm against her fingers, her lips tingling with the need to feel it, to feel him. She could taste the memory of their kiss in the dark, feel the texture of his mouth on hers.
Her husband’s mouth...
‘Edge... Kiss me...’
His hands sank deep into her hair as she whispered against his lips, holding her there, pressing her closer.
‘Don’t stop.’ The words rumbled between them and then were lost as the kiss deepened.
When he finally drew away, setting her back on the seat with a muffled curse, it took her a stunned moment to realise they’d reached the Carmichaels’ house in Cairo.
* * *
At the top of the staircase she turned towards her room, but Edge caught her hand.
‘This way. My room tonight, Madame Wife.’
Heat flared through her—a mix of fear and anticipation. Her palm was hot and damp against his and the coward in her wished she could somehow jump ahead ten years to a time when everything had smoothed out, she had smoothed out into a calmer, more sensible person who was content to be content. Who wasn’t scared.
He closed the door behind him and she stared at the bed.
Years ago she’d stood just so in her husband’s room. Beyond the windows she’d seen the roofs of Venice and a sky tinged with the setting sun and known she’d made a horrible mistake for all the worst reasons.
Right now she didn’t know anything but that the bed was enormous and that Edge was standing right behind her as if ready to push her off a cliff. Surely there was a chasm between them and the bed that would be impossible to cross. It was not at all possible they would in a matter of moments be in it. Together.
All those kisses, that heat, that hope, would end in...that.
‘What is it?’
She tried to answer him, but couldn’t.
‘Are you worried?’
She swallowed and nodded.
‘Are you tired? Would you rather sleep?’
Sleep? She would never sleep again in a million years. She swallowed again and shook her head.
He took her hand and drew her towards a door at the side of the room. It led to a small parlour with a desk and a cushioned mastaba bench under the window overlooking the inner garden. Jasmine vines poked in through the carved shutters, the scent powerful and soothing.
‘Sit.’ He eased her on to the bench and moved away and she almost grabbed for his hand again. God, she was behaving like a terrified virgin. He must think her ridiculous.
He returned with a glass of brandy and she sipped it, grateful to have something to hold in her hands. The cushions shifted as he sat beside her.
‘What will you do when we reach London?’ she asked hurriedly.
‘Search for Rafe. Hopefully he will have presented himself at Greybourne or at least alerted the lawyers of his return. Once I ascertain he is well I will beat him to a pulp for dragging me halfway around the world. If he isn’t there, I shall have to find him. You know that, don’t you?’
‘Of course. I would do the same.’
‘Yes, you undoubtedly would. What will you do when we reach London? Will your brothers be there? It would be preferable if you stayed with them rather than a hotel until I can make arrangements.’
‘Of course we shall stay at Sinclair House. But...should we not go see your family?’
‘We just have. They stood behind us at the ceremony and are hopefully enjoying the consul general’s champagne as we speak.’
‘I didn’t mean Janet and Poppy. When was the last time you saw your mother or sisters?’
He swirled his brandy and a trickle skimmed over the rim on to his finger. He switched hands and licked off the liquid and Sam caught herself leaning forward. Then his words snapped her back to reality.
‘Four years ago.’
‘Four?’
‘You sound shocked. I left England not long after Jacob died. Or rather after Rafe removed me to Cumbria.’
‘You make it sound like you were a piece of furniture.’
‘Close enough. I don’t even remember being removed.’
Sam let that sink in, her heart aching, and grateful he was telling her this. There was nothing in his voice, neither heat nor coolness. He might just as well have been telling her about geological formations, but she knew there was a whole kingdom under that bland layer.
‘I’m so glad he was there when you needed him.’
He smiled at the floor, shifting his shoulders. He’d taken off his coat and cravat and she could see his muscles move under the linen, the taut tendons of his throat, the warm colour of his skin. He smelled of the forest, not the desert—deep and cool and inviting.
