The Sheik Retold(2)

"I am Diana Mayo," I answered back in French. "I came here to see Monsieur Jonnart, the governor-general."

"Diana Mayo? The English heiress?" He stepped closer, regarding me with renewed scrutiny. He reeked strongly of both garlic and disbelief. "She is dead these two months."

I laughed hysterically. "Au contraire, monsieur. Though others may have done their best to achieve my demise, I am very much alive."

"C'est incroyabale!" He shook his head. "No English woman could survive in that wasteland!"

"I speak the truth!" I cried. "I am Diana Mayo. The governor-general knows me personally. We met in Paris only a year ago at an Embassy soiree just after the signing of the peace. My brother and I came to Algiers at his express invitation. If you still do not believe me, there are at least a dozen people in Biskra, citizens of my own country, who can positively identify me." I took a deep breath, willing a demeanor of cool authority that I seemed to have lost. "Now, monsieur, I demand to see Charles Célestin Auguste Jonnart, the governor of this backward province."

He smiled slowly, revealing two gold teeth. "I'm afraid that is not possible, mademoiselle. Charles Célestin Auguste Jonnart has been recalled to Paris on official diplomatic business."

"When does he return?" I asked with growing impatience.

"He does not. Another has been appointed in his stead."

My stomach sank. "Then please tell me who acts in his stead?"

He puffed his chest and raised a hand to twist the end of his waxed moustache. "The acting governor-general of this backward province…would be me, mademoiselle." He completed the introduction with a curt bow. "I am General Jean-Baptiste Eugene Abel at your service."

I closed my eyes on an inward groan. Damn! Why hadn't I listened to Jim? It seemed I was defeated even before I had begun! I wondered if the new governor would have me quietly carried out of the building or dragged through the streets as a madwoman.

Neither, it seemed.

His gaze flickered over the two legionnaires shifting restlessly on either side of me, looking as uncertain as I felt. He waved them away with an irritated gesture. He then stepped back to motion me into his office. Large and opulently furnished in gilts and silks, it was a fascinating meld of Ottoman Empire and ancien régime.

"S'il vous plait." He waved me to a low Turkish divan. "Come and sit, mademoiselle. I shall call for coffee and then you shall recount to me all that is the cause of your great distress." He smiled and settled his girth into a large leather-covered chair. "I wish to know precisely how such a delicate English woman managed to survive alone for months in such inhospitable conditions."

He lit a cigarette and then offered his case to me, but I didn't care for the scent of the cheap Gauloises tobacco, having become accustomed to the rich aroma of pure Turkish Murads.

"I am not so delicate, nor was I alone," I replied. "I was abducted and held captive."

"Were you indeed? I suppose these savages demanded a ransom for your release?" he asked before taking a long draw on his cigarette.

"No, he did not."

"He?" His brows rose as he blew a wispy cloud of grey smoke.

"Yes. My captor wanted nothing monetarily."

"Is that so?" He was silent for a long moment as his beady black gaze swept over me. The unspoken implication and his lascivious leer sent a profusion of heat to my face.

Nevertheless, I forged on. "As it turns out, my abductor inadvertently saved my life."

"How do you mean, mademoiselle?"

"It is my belief that my own brother may have intended to kill me."

"You believe your brother has intrigued against you? And where is he now, this brother?"

"He is in New York, or perhaps Newport. He has a perfect alibi, of course, but I have evidence to support my suspicions."

He nodded slowly and then pursed his lips. "Then your captor was an accomplice in this nefarious plot?"

"No. It is not as simple as that."

"Alors! This is fascinating indeed. I wish to hear this tale en totalité, but first I shall summon my scribe to record this story. After which, I intend to send an urgent dispatch to the British Embassy in Paris."

He stubbed out his cigarette and then his gaze narrowed on me with a disconcerting intensity. "As to your abductor, I shall deal with this heathen dog, this barbaric batard, personally. You must tell me, Mademoiselle Mayo, who was the perpetrator of this…this…outrage to your person?"

And in that moment I knew.

It was not the details of my intended murder that had captured his interest. No, he didn't care at all about me. He desired only to know what I knew—specifically, the name and location of the force behind the simmering unrest—my captor and my lover—Sheik Ahmed Ben Hassan.





CHAPTER TWO


Biskra, an oasis town in Northern Algeria-two months earlier I was desperate for some air after hours in the stifling ballroom. My jaw ached from smiling and laughing, and my mind had grown numb from the effort of polite conversation. Aubrey had long ago drifted off to the card room, leaving me looking out over the dancers without my normal enthusiasm. I cared nothing to dance tonight, but rather was possessed with a strange feeling of detachment. Although I'd looked forward to the party for days, I found myself increasingly edgy and eager for my departure. Biskra had been very gay for a time, but I had grown bored. My thoughts were already far to the south, drifting over the barren Sahara.