The antechamber was very small, and as it was very hot outside, it was stifling within as well. She realized that he was studying her from across the confines of the room. “What is it, Alexandra?” he asked softly.
She hesitated. “Please stay away from Zoe. She is dangerous, especially to you. If you were ever caught with her, you would be executed immediately.”
“I would be executed immediately if I were discovered right now, with you.”
Alex met his gaze. Her eyes slipped. He was half-clad, bare from the waist up. On other men, it made no difference. On Blackwell, it was a circumstance impossible to ignore. Faced with Blackwell, of course Zoe could not help herself.
“If Jebal were to discover us now,” Alex said thickly. “I might be able to persuade him to be merciful. Being”—she swallowed—“as we have done nothing wrong.”
He turned his back on her. But Alex had glimpsed his eyes. He was fighting the heat that coursed between them too. “In his world, we have done everything wrong, and you are too intelligent not to know it There would be no mercy, not for myself, and perhaps not for you. I think you should go back to your own chamber, Alexandra.”
Alex was hurt. There was no avoiding her own feelings, her own heart. She had the worst sense that they were never going to get over this terrible misunderstanding, that he would never trust her, never believe the truth. His will was so strong, his mind already made up.
The stakes were so high. The stakes were a lifetime as lovers and friends, as man and wife. The stakes were their rightful, God-given destiny.
But Alex did not know what to do.
She did not think she had the courage to go up to him and embrace him, holding him tightly the way she wanted to.
The door crashed open, interrupting her thoughts. Alex was only relieved for a split second, for Murad ran into the room, red-faced, disheveled, and perspiring.
“What happened?” Alex cried in alarm. Blackwell also whirled.
“I was ambushed,” Murad cried. “Alex, two janissaries were waiting for me to leave Neilsen’s.”
“Ohmygod,” Alex whispered, sharing a glance with Blackwell.
Blackwell strode to Murad and gripped his arm. “Are you all right? Did they harm you?”
“I am unhurt, but ashamed,” Murad said.
“They jumped youafteryou gave Neilsen the letter?” he asked.
Murad nodded. His silver gaze returned to Alex. “I have failed you. I am so sorry!”
It was then that Alex realized that his hands were empty. “Oh, no! My things! My passport—the lamp!” The oil lamp, which she would probably need—to return to the future alone.
“Everything is gone, Alex,” Murad said. “They stole everything.” He swallowed, shooting a look at Blackwell, who stared. “Someone has all the proof of your real identity.
Alex blanched.
Zoe bolted the door to her bedchamber.
She ran to her bed, a huge, draped, canopied affair, and dumped the contents of the sack upon it. Zoe pawed through the items on her bed. The gold tube caught her eye, but it took her a moment to figure out how to open it. She finally pulled it apart and blinked at the bright pinkish orange color inside. What on earth was it?
Holding the tube up, she squinted at it, then accidentally twisted the base. The phallic-looking pinkish-orange object grew in size, slowly emerging from the gold tube. It took Zoe an instant to realize that it was a stick of rouge. Very pleased, she dabbed it on her cheeks and lips. She must ask Zohara about this.
Then two small books caught her eye.
Zoe threw the tube aside, opening one of the books. She was disappointed. There was hardly any writing inside, mostly strange diagrams. Then she discovered Zohara’s picture on the very first page. It was the most amazing portrait Zoe had ever seen. The likeness was incredibly exact. How had an artist rendered such an amazing portrait? It was a masterpiece.
Zoe wondered what was written in the books. But she could not read more than a smattering of her own language, so she set the two books aside. She would consider asking Jovar to translate them, but she hated giving him the power of knowing whatever was written inside those two books. Zoe’s intuition told her that the information was vitally important.
Zoe returned her attention to the objects on her bed. The metallic blue oil lamp caught the sunlight entering her room, shimmering almost strangely. Zoe felt the briefest stabbing of fear, and then she pounced upon it. Holding it aloft, her pulse racing, she stared at it, trying to understand why it was so important to Zohara. It was strangely warm in her hands.
She could not even begin to guess its significance.
The lamp seemed to grow warmer.
