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‘He was doing his duty,’ Cleo said. ‘What will they do to them?’
‘They will be prisoners. And much safer out here than in a plague-ridden city under siege, believe me.’
‘You lied to me.’
‘No, I never did, except about my profession. I am not an engineer. I deceived you, yes. Played with words, yes. I asked you if you would believe me if I said I was an American, but I never told you I was.’
‘I suspected you were a spy,’ Cleo said bitterly and sat down where she could see his face, try to read the lies he would doubtless tell her now. ‘I thought I should tell Laurent.’
‘Why didn’t you?’ The look he gave her was oddly intent.
‘He would have tortured you. I couldn’t have that on my conscience.’
‘Thank you for that. I am not a spy. An agent would be a better description, a courier sent to collect two individuals.’ He turned to call instructions in Arabic to the boatmen. ‘There’s Elkatta. Moor there on the west bank.’
‘Collect us? Father and me? But why?’
‘You don’t know?’ Quin raised one eyebrow quizzically. ‘No, I really believe you do not.’
‘I saved your life.’
‘Yes,’ Quin agreed. ‘Twice, if we count not throwing me to Laurent’s tender mercies. And I am grateful for that, but it is not only soldiers who must do their duty.’
‘What the blazes is going on! Turn back to Cairo this instant!’
‘Keep calm, Sir Philip,’ Quin called back in such soothing tones that Cleo itched to push him overboard. ‘We are going downstream as far as the main British base at Elkatta. Much safer there.’
‘British! What’s happened to the French?’ her father demanded. ‘What’s happened to my correspondence?’
‘Give me strength,’ Quin muttered, then raised his voice to shout to the other felucca. ‘We are in the middle of a war, sir. I suggest there are more important considerations than a few letters. The safety of your daughter, for one.’
‘Much you care for that,’ Cleo said and found herself ignored as Quin began to help the men drop the sail. They were heading into shore, towards a landing stage and beyond it, rows of orderly tents and a bustle of activity around some mud-brick houses.
‘Hold off,’ Quin called to the steersmen as half-a-dozen soldiers, muskets at the ready, formed up on the landing stage. He cupped his hands and hailed them. ‘Lord Quintus Deverall and party. Sir James Houghton is expecting us.’
Lord Quintus? He is a lord? Cleo stared at the tall figure, dressed like a sailor off some small coastal trader, who sounded so authoritative and so, damn him, in control. I thought him the bastard son of an American landowner and here he is with a title. How much can I believe of anything he has told me?
A non-commissioned officer strode on to the dock. ‘My lord! Sir James sends his compliments and asks that you tie up alongside and come ashore.’
‘You had better pack your things away,’ Quin said. ‘I imagine you don’t want the soldiers doing it for you.’
‘How considerate.’ He did not so much as wince at the bitterness in her voice.
It was the work of a few minutes to stuff the items that were loose back into their bags. It took rather longer to fight the tears of anger and, she had to admit it to herself, fear. Quin had told her to trust him and she had. He had given her hope and now she was caught up in something she did not understand and had no control over.
Such a fool to trust. Surely she had learned by now that men could be relied on to do only one thing and that was seek their own advantage and their own desires? She had liked Quin, wanted him, come perilously close to... Close to liking him too well. Cleo scrubbed at her eyes. She had not wept when she had realised how little concern Thierry had for her, she had never wept however tired and trapped she had felt after her mother died, and she was not going to start now.
The boat bumped against the quayside as she emerged from the cabin, bags in hand, a loose scarf over her hair. Quin raised an eyebrow at the combination, but she ignored him and allowed the very young officer who arrived at a run to hand her ashore. After months of dressing like the village women she felt positively indecent with a bare head and short sleeves.
‘Miss Woodward. Welcome to Elkatta. We have a—’
‘Madame Valsac,’ Cleo interrupted him.
‘Oh. Yes, right... If you would like to come this way, there is a room.’ He peered behind her. ‘And your woman, ma’am?’
‘I have no one with me,’ Cleo said. ‘Please take me to my accommodation.’ She dumped her bags at his feet and showed her teeth in a smile that made him take a step back.
