Read Online The Cobra & the Concubine (Khamsin Warriors of the Wind) by Bonnie Vanak - Free Book Online Page A

I’m Kenneth."
    "Yes, Your Grace." A smile touched the secretary’s mouth.
    Kenneth brushed at his jacket lapels. "Any more wires from Egypt?"
    "One arrived this morning." Zaid offered the cable.
    Kenneth’s chest sunk. He busied himself with adjusting his tie. "What’s the latest news?"
    His secretary read aloud de Morgan’s report from the Dashur excavation. Kenneth’s hands stilled on his cravat as he digested the information, a scrap of fabric found in the sand where the necklace had been stolen. Indigo fabric from a desert tribe called the Khamsin. De Morgan said four Khamsin had visited just before the necklace vanished. Jabari, Rashid, Elizabeth and Badra.
    He held his voice steady as he dismissed Zaid. Then, lost in thought, Kenneth paced restlessly.
    Could Jabari have stolen the necklace?
    Perfect revenge for how he’d insulted the sheikh upon leaving Egypt. But Jabari honored ancient Egyptian ruins. This made no sense. Deeply disturbed, he reached for a china bowl filled with lemon drops. He popped one into his mouth. It was quickly gone, and hunger still pulled at him. He descended the polished staircase and headed for the kitchen. At the door he paused, remembering Flanders’s instructions. Ring for anything he wanted.
    To hell with the damn bell. Why couldn’t he simply get a piece of fruit instead of all this pomp and ceremony? He wanted to peel an orange with his own fingers, inhale the citrusy tang, feel the juice spurt into his mouth as he bit down, not be handed it quartered into delicate pieces.
    Kenneth pushed open the kitchen door and stopped cold.
    His French chef stood at the trestle table, glowering at a sobbing kitchen maid. A large section of raw red beef lay on the cutting board like a sacrifice. He wanted to heave. Instead, he stared at the cook, who suddenly noticed his presence. The man snapped an order and everyone else in the room bobbed their heads.
    "Why are you screaming at her?" Kenneth inquired evenly.
    A nervous tic showed in the cook’s plump cheek. ‘Truly, Your Grace, it is nothing for you to be concerned over a mere matter of personnel. I was dismissing the girl."
    Instinctively, Kenneth assessed the matter as he spotted the girl’s rounded belly. He studied the maid. Her red-rimmed gaze held his, pleadingly.
    Kenneth thought of the legions of servants standing ready to do his bidding, tailors measuring his private parts, and a social secretary fussing over proper protocol for a duke. His thoughts turned to London, the frozen mist and this girl wandering those dank streets, begging for work, her feet shuffling slowly, her cheeks growing gaunt, despair in her eyes.
    Anger simmered inside him. How could this society so easily dismiss a woman carrying an illegitimate child when far greater sins existed on their very front doorsteps?
    "You will not dismiss her," he said with quiet authority.
    Pomeroy’s beady eyes bugged out. The little hairs of his thin mustache quivered. He sputtered like butter on a hot skillet. Kenneth watched with interest; the effect was quite comical.
    "But Your G-Grace," the cook stammered.
    "Simply because the poor girl is in an unfortunate circumstance, you would toss her out on the street?"
    Pomeroy stuttered some more. His face grew more crimson than the beef sitting on the carving board.
    Kenneth went to the maid, who scrubbed her face with her stained apron. "You’re not leaving. I won’t lose good help."
    "Thankee, Yer Grace," she whispered, twisting her chapped hands. "’E said ’e would marry me—and then ’e run off."
    "Everyone makes mistakes." Kenneth thought of Badra, his own bitterest mistake, and of her refusal of marriage.
    Hot blood infused Pomeroy’s face. He looked ready to explode. "Your Grace, I must insist ... you must not allow her to remain here. It sets a poor example for the staff."
    Kenneth turned to the kitchen maid. "Can you cook?"
    She bobbed her head. "I cooked for me family, Yer Grace. Simple fare, but—"
    "Good.