Sins of a Rogue: Conrad Chronicles 2 by C.K. Mackenzie

Author:C.K. Mackenzie [Mackenzie, C.K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Emelia Publishers
Published: 2022-01-20T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Fourteen

Paul squinted at the sun rising high over the mountaintops. The constant breeze that had followed them from the coast chilled him now, but he suspected it had less to do with the dropping temperatures and more to do with his company.

His numb fingers clenched the waxy residue on the bottle, still full, though it tempted him. Called to him like the sirens of old, the seductive voice of rich red wine he could already feel sliding down his throat. Warming his belly.

Christ. One day. A single day with Appleby and months of sobriety disappeared like fairy dust.

Paul adjusted his hat so it blocked more of that disgustingly bright sunlight. Until last night, he hadn’t a drink since leaving Bombay. He and John had run out of wine only a couple days into their less-than-distinguished flight, and Cairo hadn’t a single drop of wine. Not that he’d found, anyway, and he spent considerable time searching.

With Kaya so ill, drinking on The Cyprus Rose hadn’t even occurred to him. Once in Sicily, despite the abundant temptation, Paul had again resisted. It hadn’t been easy—more than once, he’d spent their coin on a bottle of wine. But he hadn’t taken a drink. Not one.

The couple times Kaya had caught him, she never censored him. Well, “caught” wasn’t the right word—yes, it was. He’d always hid it from her. Hid how desperately he craved a drink. Just one.

They never spoke of his drinking, one of many topics they avoided, but Paul knew she wanted to ask. At meals, Paul always left the wine untouched. Each time, he’d taken Kaya’s hand instead, and they continued on their way. Every single time.

Until last night.

Appleby had expected him to drink. Expected the drunken layabout he’d been in Bombay. The man who charmed his way into and out of trouble. Paul all too clearly remembered that man. He hated him with a loathing that choked him.

His entire being rebelled at the very thought of becoming him once again.

Maybe not his entire being. The clawing, clenching need for a drink had lured him into its clutches.

Christ, now he was overly dramatic.

Paul closed his mind’s eye against Kaya’s face, the trust and love that had shone in her eyes when they parted.

The Paul that Harry Appleby knew drank wine as quickly and as easily as the rivers flowed. No. Paul refused. He could do this; he needed to. If for no other reason than for Kaya. She believed in him.

The Paul who drank and stole and profited off others’ expense died in the desert between Bombay and Cairo.

Unfortunately, Appleby had not died, physically or metaphysically, and was walking with him through town now.

“What are you doing here, Harry?” Paul swept his gaze over the landscape. A beautiful panorama stretched out before them, mountains and streams, distant villages nestled high in the mountains. An endless blue sky.

Kaya’d want to sketch this, and he half wished he’d brought her here first, before Appleby tainted the view.

“This is far too provincial for your tastes.

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