Captive Bride

Chapter Twenty-two

TWO months had passed since Philip sent her away. Christina tried desperately to put him out of her mind. But she thought about him constantly. She prayed each day that he would change his mind and come for her. But he didn't come. She couldn't sleep. She lay awake every night wanting him, craving bis hands on her, missing his body next to hers in bed.

Christina had seen no one since returning, except Kareen. She liked Kareen instantly the first time that John brought her to their small rooms. Kareen asked no questions of her, and soon they became good friends. Christina knew Kareen was in love with John, and she was glad John loved her in return. They spent many days together, and finally Christina confided everything to Kareen—everything except Philip's real name.

She hid her unhappiness from John, but when she was alone she spent her time remembering and crying in her room. She neither went out nor received visitors, using the excuse that she didn't feel well, which was actually the truth. It was much hotter in the city than it had been in the mountains. She suffered in the stifling humidity and the bad ventilation of the small apartment. She often felt dizzy and sick.

Christina knew she had to start living again, so she finally consented to receive the officers' wives for tea.

At first they chatted politely about the weather, the opera, and the servant problem. But then the five middle-aged women started gossiping about people Christina didn't know—and didn't care to know. She mechanically turned them off with thoughts of Philip, but her attention returned when she heard her name spoken.

"As I was saying, Miss Wakefield, my husband was one of the men who helped search for you," the heavyset woman said.

"So did my James," another woman chimed in.

"We were all so worried when you couldn't be found. We thought surely you must be dead after so long," added another woman, biting into a delicate little cake.

"And then you showed up perfectly safe and unharmed. It was like a miracle."

"Tell us, Miss Wakefield, how did you manage to escape?" the heavyset woman asked pointedly.

Christina stood and moved away to stand facing the mantel. These women only wanted to worm information out of her so they could retell it all over the city and criticize her.

"I would rather not discuss it if you don't mind," Christina said calmly, facing them again.

"But dear, we're all your friends. You can tell us."

"I would have killed myself if it had been me," one of the ladies remarked distastefully.

"So would I," replied another.

"I am sure you two value your lives cheaply. For myself, I prefer to go on living," Christina remarked coldly. "You call yourselves friends—you're nothing but a bunch of gossips. I have no intention of telling you anything. I want all of you to leave this house—immediately!"

"Well! Listen to Miss High and Mighty. We came here to offer our sympathy, and you act as if you're proud of what happened to you—of being a dirty Arab's captive. Why— you're nothing but a—"

"Get out of here—all of you!" Christina screamed.

"We're going! But let me tell you this, Miss Wakefield. You're used goods now! No decent man will ever consider marrying you after you've laid down with a filthy Arab. Mark my words!"

Christina didn't tell John about the incident when he came home. But he already knew.

"They made you cry, didn't they, Crissy?" he said softly, taking her face in his hands. "You must not take it to heart. They're just a bunch of jealous biddies."

"But what they said was true, John. No decent man will ever marry me now. I'm dirty!"

"That's ridiculous, and I don't want to hear you talk like that again," he scolded her. "You underestimate your beauty, Crissy. Any man would give his right arm to be married to you. Hasn't William Dawson been here to see you a dozen times? If you'd just get out and start living again, you'd find yourself swamped with proposals! Why don't you come to the opera with Kareen and me tonight?"

"I don't want to intrude upon your evening with Kareen." Christina sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping forward. "I'll read a book perhaps and retire early."

"Crissy—I can't stand what you are doing to yourself," John said. "More times than not, when I come home your eyes are just as red as they are now. You've tried to hide it, but I know you still cry for that man. He's not worth your tearsl Lord, I would kill him if I could lay my hands on him!"

"Don't say that, John!" she said wildly. She grabbed his arms, her fingers digging into them with uncommon strength. "Don't ever say that again! He's made me suffer, yes, but it's my load to carry. He's not entirely to blame, for he never knew I loved him. He thought he was giving me what I wanted—freedom. Swear to me you'll never harm him!"

"Calm yourself, Crissy," John said, shocked by her outburst "I'll probably never run into the man."

Christina's voice was urgent, and tears stood in her eyes. "But you might meet him someday. I must have your word that you won't hurt him!"

John hesitated, looking into his sister's pleading face. He would never meet this Abu, so there was no harm in giving Crissy his word as long as it made her happy. Then an idea came to him.

"Ill give you my word on one condition—that you stop torturing yourself over that man. Get out and meet new people. And you can start by coming to the opera with me tonight!"

A sudden calmness came into Christina's face. She relaxed and let go of John's arms.

"All right, John, if that's what it takes to secure your word. But I still think you'd enjoy yourself more if I weren't along."

"Let me be the judge of that." He glanced at the clock on the mantel. "You have less than an hour to make yourself ready." He grinned when he saw her dismay. It was very little time to dress for her first night out in six months. "I will have Mrs. Greene heat water for your bath."

Christina rushed into her bedroom. She picked out one of her London gowns. It was dark-gold satin with shimmering golden braid laced through the skirt and bodice. She chose her sapphires to match her eyes. She felt timid at facing society so soon. But she put her fears aside while Mrs. Greene chatted cheerfully about the opera and how good it was that Christina would finally see it.

True to John's word, less than an hour later they were in the carriage and on the way to pick up Kareen. Christina waited in the carriage while John went up the few steps and rapped loudly on the door of the whitewashed house.

A moment later, Kareen came down the steps on John's arm. She wore a deep-red velvet gown that was stunning with her silky black hair braided into a thick chignon.

Christina gasped when she saw Kareen's large Spanish comb with rubies running across the top. In her mind she saw Philip's quick smile as he presented her with a comb much like it. "It was purchased honestly, my sweet. I had Syed sell one of the horses last month and bring back the best comb he could find," Philip had said, and she had been pleased with the gift. She wished she had kept it now and hadn't been so hasty in leaving everything behind that would have reminded her of Philip. There was no possibility of her ever forgetting him, and some of the items she'd left carried fond memories. Well, at least she still had that horrible note and the Arab clothes she'd been wearing the day she got it.

"Christina—you look as though you're a million miles away. Are you all right?" It was Kareen who spoke, her face filled with concern.

"I'm sorry—I was just lost in thought," Christina answered.

Kareen smiled warmly "I'm so glad that you agreed to come with us. I just know you'll enjoy the opera."

They arrived shortly thereafter, and John escorted them into the old Opera House. As they entered, the many men and women standing about turned to stare openly at Christina and whisper remarks to their companions. The women gave her contemptuous glances and then turned away. But the men grinned lasciviously and raped her body with their eyes. A few young men, who obviously knew John and Kareen, ventured forward to meet Christina. They paid her lavish compliments, but their eyes roved over her body boldly, and she replied tartly to their flattery.

"Miss Wakefield!"

Christina turned abruptly to see William Dawson coming toward her with a huge smile. He was exactly as she remembered him—tanned and athletic-looking. She remembered bis exciting stories, and she wished she had received him when he called so many times.

"It's been so long," he said, taking her hand and drawing it to his lips. "And you're still so beautiful. I hope you have recovered completely from your illness?"

"Yes. I was ah—persuaded to join the living world again," she said. "It's good to see you again, Mr. Dawson."

"William," he corrected her. "We're such old friends, Christina. You injure me by calling me anything but William. Have you an escort?"

"Well—I came with John and Kareen."

"Shame on you, John, for keeping the two most beautiful women in Cairo all to yourself."

"Well, I guess I am a bit selfish when it comes to these two," John laughed.

William Dawson's soft gray eyes rested on Christina. He still held her hand in both of his.

"You'd make me the happiest man in Cairo if you'd allow me to sit with you during the performance, and perhaps take you home afterward. With your brother's permission, of course."

"Well, I—" Christina looked to John for help, but he sent her a warning look to remind her of the promise she'd made. She smiled weakly. "I would be delighted to accept your offer, William. It seems I have my very own escort now—doesn't it, Kareen?"

Kareen nodded with sympathetic eyes. "Yes, and a charming one, at that."

She knew Christina wasn't ready for this. She still carried a broken heart so openly. Kareen wondered how John had managed to talk Christina into coming tonight. It was good for Christina to get out, but she wasn't ready yet to trade polite quips with an escort.

On the way home, Christina listened absentmindedly to William's story of some adventure in the wilds of Texas. She couldn't recall anything about the opera, except impressions of brightly colored costumes and loud music. Her thoughts had wandered every time she'd glanced at the comb in Kareen's hair. Couldn't she forget Philip even for a little while?

"We're here, Christina."

She was glad she'd agreed to let William bring her home. John would want to be alone with Kareen for a while, and she'd have been in the way.

"Would you like to come in for a glass of sherry, William?" she said, feeling guilty about the many times she'd refused to see him.

"I was hoping you'd ask me just that."

Inside, Christina went directly to the liquor cabinet, but William came up behind her and pinned here there with one hand on either side. He poured two sherries, then stepped back to hand her one.

"I'd like to toast this moment. How I've dreamed of it," he murmured. His eyes caressed the bosom revealed by her low-cut gown.

"I hardly think it worth toasting, William," she said nervously.

Christina moved away and sat down in John's favorite chair for what little protection it offered. She suddenly remembered that Mrs. Greene was visiting friends and would probably stay the night.

"You're wrong, Christina," William said, taking her hand and pulling her to her feet. "Tonight will be a night to remember for both of us."

Suddenly he pulled her into his arms. His lips found hers and bruised them in a demanding kiss. Christina felt shocked and repelled. How had she let herself into this situation? She pulled her mouth away, but he still embraced her, pressing her body against his.

"William, please—let go of me." She tried to speak calmly. But she knew she was alone with him, and fought a rising panic.

"What's wrong, Christina?" He held her at arm's length, running his gray eyes boldly over her body. "There's no need to act the coy virgin with me."

"You're too bold, William Dawson," Christina replied coldly, jerking out of his grasp. "You have no right to take such liberties with me."

"I haven't begun to take the liberties I intend taking."

William reached for Christina, but she ran to put the big chair between them.

"I must ask you to leave," she said curtly.

"Is that any way to act, baby doll? I'll take good care of you. I'm not a rich man, but I can certainly afford a mistress. After a while, if you're a good little girl, I might even marry you."

"You must be crazy!"

He laughed. She could see the lustful desire in his face. He shoved the chair aside and moved forward with his arms outstretched. Christina turned to run, but it was too late. William grabbed her around the waist and jerked her back against him.

His wicked laughter infuriated her. His hands explored her breasts and belly while she struggled to get free.

"Do you like it rough? Is that what you're used to, baby doll? One more man isn't going to matter after all those stinking desert outlaws you've spread your legs for. Tell me —how many were there? And which one sired the bastard you're carrying? I'm sure the little fellow won't mind if I sample his mama's goods."

Christina froze at his last words. She stood perfectly still. Not even a breath escaped her, and the words kept ringing in her ears. Bastard you're carrying—bastard. A baby!

"So you've decided to be reasonable. Well, you'll enjoy having a man after all the scum you're used to."

Suddenly Christina burst out laughing. It had been a long time since she'd heard the sound of her own laughter. William swung her around roughly and shook her by the shoulders.

"What the hell's so funny?" he demanded. But she laughed hysterically, tears running down her cheeks.

And then they both heard the sound of John's carriage pulling to a halt in front of the building.

"You bitch!" William whispered furiously, pushing her from him.

"Yes," she replied gaily. "I certainly can be a bitch when the situation warrants it."

"I'm not through with you yet—there will be another time," he said coldly.

"Oh—I doubt that, William."

John walked into the room, his eyes going first to Christina's amused face, then to William's scowling expression. He wondered briefly what had happened, but refrained from asking.

"Still here, William? Well, it's early—care to join me in a drink?"

"Well, I—"

"Oh, go ahead, William," Christina cut in playfully. She hoped he was squirming. "I'm going to retire, anyway. It's been a most unusual evening. Not quite enjoyable, but informative. 'Night, John."

She turned and went to her room. She closed the door, leaned against it, and could still hear the men in the drawing room.

"What did she mean by that last remark?" John asked.

"I have no idea."

Christina pushed herself away from the door and twirled around and around, just as she used to do when she was a little girl. Her skirt floating around her and pins flying from her hair, she continued twirling until she reached her bed.

She fell backward onto it, giggling in sheer delight. She felt her belly with both hands, searching for proof of William's words.

There was only the slightest little bulge—no.proof at all. Had William only presumed her pregnant because she'd lived four months with a man?

Christina jumped off the bed and quickly lit the lamp. She ran to the windows overlooking the street and snatched the curtains closed. Then she tore off her gown and chemise and stood perfectly naked before the full-length mirror in the corner.

She examined her body, but could see no change. Turning sideways, Christina pushed her stomach out as far as it would go, which wasn't much, and then sucked it in. There was her proof. Her stomach wouldn't go in as far as it used to. But she frowned, for that could just be added pounds instead of a baby. After all, her appetite had increased this last month. She had to think this out

She blew out the light and crawled into bed, pulling only a light cover over her unclad body. It was funny. Now that she could wear a nightdress again, she no longer wanted to. She was used to sleeping with Philip and having no clothes between them.

But if she were carrying Philip's child, there had to be other signs. It hit her like an explosion. All the signs were there, but she had put them aside with excuses. The dizziness, the nausea, she had blamed on the weather. She had missed her monthly time twice, but had reasoned it was because she was so unhappy. She had missed her time before, when her parents died.

She had made excuses because she was afraid to let the idea of being pregnant even enter her mind. But now she was overjoyed to have something to live for. She would have a baby—a baby that would remind her of Philip forever. Nobody could take that away from her.

But how far along was she? She was late right now for the third month, so there were only six months to go. Six beautiful, joy-filled months until she gave birth to Philip's son. She knew she would have a boy, and he would look just like his father.

With that happy thought, Christina turned on her side to sleep, a smile on her lips and her hands gently cradling her stomach.