Lady Emily's Exotic Journey by Lillian Marek Page B

was uncertain about his feelings, but also about her own. She had never felt quite this way before, and she needed time to think about it all. One would think that desolate mountains and wild rivers would provide not just privacy but solitude, even isolation. But no, they had all been thrown together so completely on the journey thus far that a thought could not cross her mind without someone noticing and commenting.
    â€œAre you not feeling well?” Papa was looking down at her in concern.
    That was precisely what she meant. Could she not even ignore her surroundings for a moment without comment? She put on a cheerful smile. “I’m fine, Papa. Just a bit tired.”
    He patted her on the shoulder. “Well, there is no need for you to worry anymore. Mr. Rassam tells me that he has a house prepared for us, and we should be settled there in no time at all. All safe and sound. No need to worry anymore about Kurds.”
    Kurds were the least of her worries, but she probably should not say so to her father. She managed to smile again, and noticed that Lucien was helping David deal with their baggage. Keeping his distance, as he had ever since the shooting. Well, if he could keep his distance, so could she. Was he as confused as she was? She certainly hoped so. She disliked this uncertainty, especially this uncertainty about her own feelings.
    Everything was somehow topsy-turvy. No one was behaving normally. She was keeping a tight rein on herself while Julia was relaxed and laughing, Mr. Rassam, who was an Assyrian, was dressed like an ever-so-proper Englishman while Papa looked almost like a ruffian in his slouch hat and loose coat. People were shouting all around her, and she could not understand a word.
    Nothing seemed familiar. Even the faces of the servants who had been with them all through this journey—Nuran, Safiye, and Zeki, who was Papa’s manservant—blended so well into the crowd that they seemed like strangers. Irmak was barking orders at his men as usual, but without his usual confidence. The troopers seemed to be swaggering, the way men do when they are unsure of themselves.
    Emily felt unsure herself. She allowed herself to be bundled along, settled on a donkey, a rather odiferous donkey, and led through noisy squares where everyone seemed to be shouting and then down dark, narrow, silent streets—alleys, really. These were lined with buildings protected by heavy doors and with mere slits for windows. Nothing penetrated here, not the clamor of the squares, not the glare of the sun. An unwelcoming place, but then every town they had entered had looked unwelcoming, built to defend the residents rather than to greet newcomers.
    She was tired. It had been no mere excuse when she told her father so. Last night she had found it difficult to sleep. No, not difficult. It had been impossible to sleep, and it had been equally impossible to get up and pace around to relieve her restlessness. That would have had her parents hovering over her in concern and asking questions she couldn’t answer. So she had spent the night tossing and turning and reliving the attack. No, not the attack. She had to stop trying to hide from her own thoughts. What kept her awake was the memory of Lucien’s body. And the memory of her own body, reacting in a way she didn’t understand. What had happened to her?
    She felt herself flushing every time the memory returned, and it kept returning. She didn’t know what was wrong with her. It wasn’t as if she had never been close to a man before. Well, not in that position, of course. Blast! She could feel that flush rising again, and she was grateful to be wrapped in the voluminous blue cloak that hid her face as well as her body.
    Emily had been close to other men. Of course she had. When she danced, there had always been partners who pulled her too close. And there had been gentlemen who tried to embrace her—two gentlemen, anyway. One