Lady Emily's Exotic Journey by Lillian Marek Page A

over her to protect her. It had been very brave and gallant.
    But then something else had happened.
    She should have been feeling bruised and crushed under him, but she didn’t. She had liked the feel of his body lying on hers. She had liked it very much. She could not remember ever having liked anything quite that much, certainly not in quite that way. It felt right somehow. In fact, she had wanted to pull him closer.
    His mouth had been just above hers. She could feel him breathe, and she could have sworn he was about to kiss her. Or she was about to kiss him. Perhaps both.
    Then David had startled them into awareness by shouting at the captain. She did not know whether to bless him for that or curse him.
    All she knew was that when Lucien sprang away so abruptly, she felt bereft. She had lost something she had not even known she wanted.

Seven
    Someone must have been watching for them, because when they arrived in Mosul, Mr. Rassam, the British consul, was at the dock to greet them. It was one of the odder moments of their journey. Mr. Rassam was a native Assyrian, an olive-skinned gentleman sporting the kind of fiercely exuberant black mustaches Emily had seen on many of the Ottomans. At the same time, he was dressed in perfectly proper morning clothes, complete with a black frock coat and a black silk hat.
    He was the only one so properly dressed.
    She and Mama and Julia were all still wearing their Turkish garments and were enveloped in the blue robes that seemed to cover all the women in this part of the world. Those robes were beginning to feel a bit stifling under the hot afternoon sun, but Lucien had warned that the robes were necessary any time they were out of doors, and that the black veils would be a good idea as well. The men had left their heavy cloaks behind with the cold in the mountains and were wearing loose brown jackets, trousers, and boots, along with low-crowned broad-brimmed brown hats to protect them from the sun. They looked thoroughly relaxed.
    Nonetheless, Mr. Rassam greeted them with punctilious formality, and Lord and Lady Penworth responded in the same manner. It was amusing, really. Her parents might have been at a diplomatic reception at Buckingham Palace for all the attention they paid to their somewhat disreputable attire. Emily hoped that this did not mean that the restrictions of society were closing in once more and the adventures were over.
    However, it was probably just as well that Mr. Rassam had come to meet them. Mosul was far larger than any of the other towns they had seen after leaving Constantinople, much too large for Irmak to simply wave his firman and expect everyone to jump. And David Oliphant had never been here before. Without Mr. Rassam present to meet them, they would have had to rely on Lucien to guide them, and Emily did not want to rely on him—or have her family rely on him—at present.
    She was feeling decidedly ambivalent about Lucien at the moment. Ever since that—that what? That rescue? That half embrace? That almost-kiss? Ever since that whatever-it-should-be-called, he had been avoiding her. True, she had tried to avoid him at first, but by the time they stopped for the night, she had gathered together her courage and her manners and tried to thank him for protecting her. But he had brushed her thanks aside as if it embarrassed him.
    Did he regret almost kissing her? And if so, why? If he regretted it because her father was a marquess and he was just an adventurer, well, that was foolish of him. Admirable, perhaps, but foolish.
    If, on the other hand, he regretted it because he thought she was too forward and was trying to trap him, then she was thoroughly insulted. She was Lady Emily Tremaine and while she might not be the most beautiful young lady in English society, she had more than enough suitors already and certainly had no need to entrap anyone.
    At the moment, what she wanted most of all was some privacy to think about all of this. She