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inquiries. According to a reliable source, she was”—he averted his eyes and swallowed, obviously having great difficulty getting out his next words—“sold. To a powerful sultan in the province of El Jadida.”
    For the first time Ash understood why his brother had set up camp in this godforsaken desert. El Jadida was on the coast, less than three days’ ride from where they sat. “You have an army of men at your disposal. Why should this concern me?”
    “Because you know the lay of the land, the history, the language, but you’re not bound by the ties of convention or politics. My duties as a director of the Company put me in an extremely awkward position. I can’t afford to jeopardize everything we’ve worked so hard to achieve in this region by storming some sultan’s palace. Why, I can’t even send a note to this sultan without engendering hard feelings all around, not just toward the Company but toward England herself.”
    “Ah! Now there’s the Max I remember. More concerned about his own future than his bride’s!”
    “My future is her future! Do you think I’m enjoying sitting here on my hands while she suffers God-only-knows-what degradations at the hands of those barbarians? But I know that if I have any hope at all of giving her the life she deserves, especially after this incident, it will take every ounce of influence I’ve earned through decades of hard work and sacrifice. I can’t afford to throw all of that away in a moment of rash desperation when there’s a more viable solution sitting right in front of me.”
    While Max visibly struggled to contain his temper, Ash took a long drag on his cigar, pondering the novelty of being considered a solution instead of a problem. He had escaped his brother’s orbit long ago with little more than his pride intact, and he had no intention of being pulled back into it. Despite what Max claimed, there were other men who were far more suited to such an undertaking. Honorable men who would consider it a privilege to risk their lives to earn the much-sought-after approval of the Earl of Dravenwood.
    “How much?” Ash asked coolly.
    If his brother was startled that he would demand payment after Max had just stopped a firing squad from blowing off his head, Max betrayed no sign of it. “Name your price.”
    Ash arched a surprised brow. Max’s frugality, except when it came to his own comforts, was legendary. His management of their dwindling family fortune had saved them all from the poorhouse. His rapid rise through the ranks of the East India Company had enabled the Burke name and its accompanying titles to flourish while others of their rank were being forced to do the unthinkable to survive by selling their family estates or marrying brash American heiresses without a drop of noble blood in their veins.
    Ash pretended to ponder Max’s words for a moment, then named a price so ridiculously exorbitant his brother would have no choice but to refuse him.
    “Done,” Max said, drawing a book of cheques toward him and dipping his pen once more into the inkwell. “And this is only half of it. I’ll double the amount you asked for once the job is completed to my satisfaction.”
    Ash’s mouth fell open. The lit cigar hung on his bottom lip for a precarious moment, in imminent danger of tumbling into his lap. The very notion of his brother putting a woman before his precious profits was unthinkable.
    Max signed the cheque with his customary scrawl, then slid it across the desk toward Ash. Ash took it and fingered the expensive vellum, marveling at the surfeit of zeros. “Wouldn’t it be cheaper to just forget about this woman and find another bride?”
    Max slammed his fist down on the desk, startling Ash. It wasn’t like his brother to betray his passions. For most of their adult lives, Ash had suspected Max didn’t have any. But now the cool gray smoke in Max’s eyes had cleared, revealing the smoldering embers beneath. “There is no other