The Sheik Retold(3)

Craving just a breath of cool night air before returning to my social duties, I stood beside the open terrace doors leading out into the hotel gardens. The strike of a match and a brief flicker of light caught my attention. Leaning against a nearby pillar was a man in European dress, but with the dark complexion and indolent air of a native. He had lit a cigarette, a particularly rich blend of tobacco. Pure Turkish, I suspected. He inhaled of it with an air of arrogance as he gazed through the open window into the ballroom filled with inanely chattering people. He looked as bored as I felt—until his gaze fixed upon me.

Our eyes met. Even in the darkness, his face was arrestingly handsome. His eyes were black and penetrating, holding mine with an expression of disdain, before his mouth twisted into a sneer. Erect and proudly poised, I matched his display of scorn with a supercilious lift of my brow. I thought he would come to me then, as soon as I acknowledged him, as most men did, but instead, he cast his gaze heavenward and exhaled a series of lazy smoke rings.

He was probably one of those who resented all the well-heeled Infidels who had turned Biskra into a favored holiday spot after the war. Aubrey and I were amongst that exclusive set of globe-trotters who lived out of our massive steamer trunks and claimed the entire world as our playground.

We were truly an incongruous pair of siblings, Aubrey and I, opposites in almost every possible way. Nearly two decades my senior, Aubrey was the by-product of my father's first marriage, the one he made under duress to satisfy his family. The union ended as badly as its inauspicious start, but our father's second marriage to my mother was for love. Unfortunately, they both passed away when I was very young, which left Aubrey responsible for raising me—an aberration in itself. I was a motherless girl left to the tender mercies of a brother who was frankly horrified at the charge that had been thrust upon him.

For the first few years of my life I was left in the exclusive care of nurses and servants who spoiled me indiscriminately. Then one day Aubrey came home from a long tour and fixed on my training, which he modeled rigidly after his own. Dressed as a boy, treated as a boy, I learned to ride, shoot, and fish—not as mere amusements, but to enable me to later take my place as my brother's companion. With that end in view, my upbringing had been Spartan, with no allowances made for my gender or temperament.

Aubrey's air of weariness was purely an affectation. In reality, he was as hard as nails, and intended that I should be the same. He treated me as a boy, and wanting to please him, I never behaved otherwise. I threw myself heart and soul into the arduous life he'd mapped out for me until I was physically able to take up the role for which he had always intended me. From that time on, I set out with him on our ceaseless travels. Six years of perpetual change, of excitements and dangers— which had led us to North Africa. But it was here that I had finally decided to chart my own course. Tomorrow would begin my new independence, and my eagerness was the source of my unrest tonight.

Gazing out into the gardens, I heard a trio of familiar voices. Although I clearly recognized them, they hadn't taken notice of me.

"Are you going to try your luck?" asked a red-headed Englishman whose name I have forgotten. I couldn't help overhearing and quickly realized to my amusement that Aubrey and I were the subject of their discourse.

"I sure am not." The lone American in the group, a chap named Henry, bit off the end of his cigar with a little smile. “The haughty little jade turned me down flat early in our acquaintance. Said straight out she had no use for an American who could neither ride nor dance. I don't blame her of course," he added a rueful laugh, "but her extreme candor still rankles. No, Sir Egotistical Complacency has gone off to play bridge, which suits me much better. He's not a bad chap underneath, if you can swallow his peculiarities, and he's a capital sportsman. Doesn't give a damn if he wins or loses. I suppose it matters little with a banking account the size of his."

"So you say?" remarked Jim Arbuthnot, a young regimental officer on holiday. "Yet only a few nights ago, he took quite a fit after losing. Ordered a bottle of brandy and disappeared for the rest of the night. Personally, I've never taken to gaming. I find dancing much more amusing and less expensive, so I suppose I shall go and take my chances with the fair sister."

Henry pushed him forward with a mocking laugh. "Go then! Run along, foolish moth, and get your poor little wings singed."

Fearing I would be seen, I shrank back behind a potted palm. The dark gentleman flicked a gaze at me and then stubbed out his cigarette with a smug smile. He intrigued me, this stranger. Yet when I looked back to the pillar, he was gone. I frowned but then dismissed him from my mind to turn back to the party. Only a moment later, Lieutenant Arbuthnot appeared at my elbow.

"This is luck, Miss Mayo. Am I really fortunate enough to find you without a partner?"

Ah, Jim. I sighed. I hadn't managed to evade him as I'd hoped. Such a decent fellow, but I wished he would just give up on me and seek his luck elsewhere. I forced a smile and prepared my excuse. "I hadn't planned to dance until everybody else was started."

"But they are all dancing." He gestured to the crowded floor. The band was playing a popular new Fox Trot called Gypsy Girl. "Please let's not miss this ripping tune."

I protested, "But I've already turned down so many partners tonight."

"Just one dance," he urged.