Night of a Thousand Stars by Deanna Raybourn

Author:Deanna Raybourn [Raybourn, Deanna]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Harlequin
Published: 2014-10-01T00:00:00+00:00

Twelve

“But you’re dead!” I exclaimed. It sounded stupid even to my own ears but he was gracious enough to smile.

“Dead is a relative term out here, Miss March.”

The application of a few cold water compresses and copious amounts of new wine seemed in order, and I watched as they assessed the damages. Sebastian prodded a cracked rib or two and a bruised solar plexus while Starke had a bloody lip and a spectacular bruise coming up on his cheekbone. He also had a dislocated finger which he forced back into the socket in a manoeuvre that left me feeling queasy.

“You ought to have taken notes,” he told me as he wrapped a cloth soaked in cold water around the swelling digit. “It’s a useful skill to have out here.” His eyes were a peculiarly opaque shade of brown, uncanny and not particularly attractive.

“Miss March isn’t in our line of work,” Sebastian said quickly.

Starke gave me an appraising look, blinking furiously. “Do pardon me, Miss March. This isn’t the most pleasant thing to watch.” He reached into his pocket for a small tin and flicked it open. With a deft gesture, he levered something out of his eye, holding it out for my inspection. It was a piece of glass, the centre of it painted a muddy-brown. He removed the other and blinked again, shaking his head a little. “God, I hate those things.” He peered at me again, thoughtfully, and I saw that his eyes were actually the most startlingly beautiful shade of blue. Little wonder he was forced to disguise them. No one, having seen them, would soon forget Gabriel Starke’s eyes. He tipped his head as he studied me. “Not in our line of work? You surprise me, Slightly. She looks like she might like an adventure.”

I dimpled at him, and he smiled back, a pirate’s smile, and I passed him a plate of nut-studded pastries. “Eat these. You’ll need to keep up your strength.”

“Don’t mind if I do,” he said, helping himself to a handful. Sebastian sulked in the corner.

“Those were mine,” he said pointedly.

“Don’t begrudge me, lad,” Starke said calmly. “I haven’t eaten in two days. I just got in from the Badiyat ash-Sham.”

“The desert?” I asked, my ears perking up. I had read of it in the Baedeker guide. The vast stretch of desert reached from just beyond Damascus to the border of Mesopotamia. Within it lay Crusader castles and ruined monasteries, desert oases, and the fallen glories of Palmyra.

“The same,” Starke said. “I was with our friend Hamid,” he added to Sebastian.

Sebastian unbent a little. “How is he? It’s been a long time.”

“He is well. Another wife, this one even prettier than the first two,” Starke told him. He turned to me. “Our friend Hamid is a Bedouin chieftain.”

“A sheikh! How marvellous. Can we meet him?” I asked Sebastian.

“No,” he said sternly. “Gabriel, I’m trying to get Miss March out of Damascus and back to safety, but she’s reluctant to go. I don’t need you swanning in here with tales out of Arabian Nights to make it more difficult.

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