Free Lady Emily's Exotic Journey by Lillian Marek

attach himself to Lord Penworth’s party mainly as a matter of safety. He was willing to deal with danger when it presented itself—and it had presented itself often enough over the past few years—but he was not such a fool that he must seek it out. Traveling with an English nobleman would provide a measure of safety. Enough safety, he expected, to make the trip almost boring.
    When they set out, he had assumed that he would be riding with Oliphant, and he had looked forward to the trip. Oliphant was, perhaps, a bit stiff and cautious, always careful to be proper. But once he relaxed, he was an intelligent companion. Conversation with him was usually interesting, and he was grateful to have such an amiable companion for the journey.
    Lady Emily had been a surprise.
    Oh, he had been pleased to encounter her at the embassy. She was pretty enough and full of life. It was enjoyable to flirt with her. Even once he discovered that she would be one of the party going to Mosul, he had not expected anything beyond a mild flirtation. That was the most he had ever enjoyed with the ladies of his acquaintance in France, who were interested in no conversation more profound than the latest gossip. As for the women of the Ottoman Empire, they were no different from the ladies of France, too ignorant to converse on any topic. Were the English different, or only Emily?
    From where he stood at the edge of the camp, he could see the three ladies. They did not sit on the ground, but the troopers had fashioned seats for them from the saddles and bundles of something or other. The firelight was dancing over Emily’s face as she turned this way and that to make sure she did not miss anything. They all wore scarves over their heads, but he could see a few locks of Emily’s hair peeking out as if impatient to be free.
    He had never known someone like Emily. There were women with whom one could enjoy an interesting conversation in the salons of Paris, but these were artists or courtesans or married women of scandalous reputation. Emily was indubitably a lady, and an innocent young lady at that. She was something outside his experience. In France, someone like her would be so closely chaperoned that she would never be allowed to exchange more than a few platitudes with a man outside her family. They would try to turn her into Mlle. Fournier, and that would destroy her.
    Did Emily even know any platitudes? He had certainly never heard her converse about the weather other than to laugh about it when a storm tried to blow them off a mountainside. Nor had she fussed about the damage the dust was doing to her wardrobe. Come to think of it, he could not recall her ever making a fuss about her clothes.
    She had looked quite lovely in the gowns she wore in Constantinople, gowns that were assuredly in the height of fashion and without doubt the sort of thing she was accustomed to wearing. A trifle mussed, to be sure, with her hair trying to escape its pins, and never quite so elegant as her maman and Lady Julia. But attractive. Most attractive. Yet she had not hesitated to don Turkish garb, and in that she looked quite adorable. As she did now, sitting by the fire.
    He stared at her for a few minutes longer, watching her hands wave about as she recounted some tale to her mother. He turned away and walked off into the darkness along the riverbank. He felt restless. It was doubtless the enforced inactivity on the raft. He walked quickly, or as quickly as it was possible to walk in the dark. Not really dark, not with the moon and stars providing their light. There were cliffs on one side, a wall of blackness, true, but on the other side was the river, wide here, and rippling with moonbeams.
    He stopped to watch the river. There was something fascinating about water. One could watch it forever. A river was always changing, always new, full of surprises.
    Emily was like that.
    When they first set out and he found himself riding beside her, he had