Alysson would accompany her uncle only because she refused to be left behind. But the real contention between them was rooted in her determination to travel beyond the settled areas. After visiting the prospective property, Alysson wanted to journey further south, into the interior of the province. She had been eager for such an expedition for years. She'd once seen the works of the painter Delacroix, who had traveled through Algeria. Ever since, she'd longed to explore this rugged country for herself. Her Uncle Honoré, on the other hand, couldn't care less about exploration or adventure.
Alysson didn't understand his attitude, any more than he understood hers. "Don't you wish to know anything about the land you mean to setde?" she asked curiously.
Honoré shook his head with adamance. "No. Absolutely not. I cannot see how it will make the least difference to my vineyards whether or not I see the desert. Very likely such a journey will prove detrimental to my health, and yours, too, my dear. And I am not the least interested if the natives can stand on their heads or dance naked on their camels. They can keep their barbaric customs to themselves."
"Uncle, they don't stand on their heads . . ." Her exasperation nearly got the better of her. Trying another tack, Alysson softened her tone to a plea. "What about our bargain? Come, Uncle, you must give me due credit. I have been a perfect angel for ages. I've allowed Gervase to pay me court, just as you wanted me to—"
"You have not agreed to marry him."
It was Alysson's turn to frown. "That was not our bargain."
"Perhaps. But how can you fall in love with the fellow if you do not see him for months on end?"
"We will only be gone for a few short weeks, Uncle. And I've told you before, this journey will have no bearing on my decision to marry Gervase."
Honors gave her a penetrating look. "If I refuse to go, no doubt you will proceed without me."
"I wouldn't like to act against your wishes, but yes . . . I would consider making the trip alone."
"Well, I suppose I cannot let you travel such a distance by yourself." His dark eyes took on a mischievous gleam. "Perhaps then it is fortunate that I have already made the arrangements."
Alysson stared at her uncle at length. As the truth slowly dawned on her, her lips curved into a smile. "You, mon oncle, are a complete fraud. You meant to go all along."
Honoré chuckled, looking pleased with himself. "Do not tell Gervase, I beg you. He will not be happy that I am abetting this flaw in your character."
"No, of course not. He can blame me for corrupting you." Preferring not to dwell on Gervase's concern, she let her eager thoughts race ahead to the morrow. "We should get an early start in the morning, if you can bear it."
"I have already promised I would, have I not?"
"Yes," Alysson said, "but I wasn't sure you meant it."
"Only for you, my dear, would I drag myself out of bed at an obscene hour to journey into the wilderness."
"It isn't the wilderness, Uncle. The Plain of Algiers is not so different from the farmland in France."
"So you say." Honoré again scowled at her from beneath his heavy brows. "Just do not expect me to chase tigers or elephants or some such thing, the way your Uncle Oliver does."
Honoré's gruffness never fooled her; she leaned forward to kiss his cheek. "I won't, I promise."
"I should never spoil you the way I do."
Not denying the charge, Alysson flashed him a conspiratorial smile. She might have been neglected as a child by her parents, but she'd been spoiled from birth by her army of servants, and later, after her parents' deaths, indulged by her uncles, especially Honoré. He had become the father she'd lost, and she loved him dearly. "You do spoil me most dreadfully, best of my uncles—and you enjoy every minute of it."
He chuckled fondly and patted her hand. "His Highness seemed much taken with you this evening," Honoré observed, a satisfied expression on his face.
Diplomatically Alysson refrained from answering as she recalled the past half hour. Not only had His Royal Highness overlooked the stigma of her mundane birth and the unelevated circles in which she'd been raised, but he had sought her out to discover her opinion of Algeria, and engaged her in conversation for a Ml ten minutes.
Alysson was well aware of the honor he'd paid her. He was the son of the king of France, the Governor-General of Algeria, while she was a mere bourgeois Anglaise. Her father had been a common merchant—but one clever and lucky enough to make a fortune serving with the East India Company. That no doubt was her prime attraction to the prince; he wanted her to invest some of her great wealth here in Algeria.
Skeptical amusement played about Alysson's mouth as she glanced over her shoulder at the tall double doors in the middle of the long room. They were open to the night, but covered with gauzy curtains that trapped in the heat. "I think I will take a tarn about the courtyard where it is cooler. Will you come?"
"Not now, my dear. I believe I shall seek out the fellow who was telling us about his vineyards."
"If Gervase inquires, tell him I shall return in a moment."
Honoré allowed her to go, but with an admonition not to forget she was the guest of honor and remain away too long. Giving her champagne glass to a passing waiter, Alysson lifted the hem of her full-skirted evening gown, an airy, silken confection of white mousseline de soie, and made her way out onto the narrow terrace.
Like the house she and her uncle had let for the duration of their stay in Algiers, Gervase's home was built around a central courtyard. Before her, the long flight of stone steps led downward to a profusion of oleanders and palms and lotus trees that were occasionally illuminated by torches set at intervals. For an instant, when one of the shadows stirred, Alysson thought someone might be down there in the garden—one of the guests, perhaps. But when she caught no other sign of movement, she dismissed the idea.
The evening was warm, even though summer had long ended, for Algiers enjoyed a Mediterranean climate. After the heat of the great chamber, the soft breeze was cool on her bare shoulders, the air redolent of lemon blossoms and jasmine and that inexplicable mystery that hung in the African night. Alysson closed her eyes, drinking in the sensations: the smells of the East, the whisper of fountains, the rustle of tall date palms.
How different and yet how similar to the India where she had been raised. And how different it would be to experience a strange new land in the company of Uncle Honoré, rather than her Uncle Oliver.
Older than Oliver by twenty years, for one thing, Honoré was a staid, middle-class Frenchman who preferred the comforts of home and hearth to wandering the globe. Her British Uncle Oliver, on the other hand, was a world traveler with a passion for adventure, a bachelor who fancied himself a great explorer.
She had seen a good deal of the world with her Uncle Oliver during the past three years. At seventeen, when her schooling had finally ended, Alysson had persuaded Oliver to let her accompany him on his journeys. With him she had visited czars in Russia, hunted tigers in India, penetrated the fascinating deserts of Arabia. He treated her more as a son than a daughter, but she never complained; they were kindred spirits, fellow adventurers at heart. She liked wild places and exotic new cultures as much as he did.
Places like Algeria. Excitement bubbled inside her like champagne at the thought of the morrow. Tomorrow, with Uncle Honoré, she would set out on a new adventure.
A soft footfall behind her interrupted her reverie. Alysson turned to find Gervase de Bourmont regarding her with a quizzical frown.
"Your uncle said I could find you here, my love," he said in French.
Alysson smiled in welcome. "I grew overly warm inside and stepped out to enjoy the breeze."
"I understand you have persuaded Honoré to undertake an expedition into the interior.'' The disapproval in his tone was unmistakable.
Alysson didn't respond to his comment, not wanting to spoil the pleasurable moment with a dispute. Turning, she gazed down at the garden below. "Your home is very beautiful, Gervase."
He came to stand beside her, his expression grim. "It will be your home as well if we are married. Alysson," he added abruptly, not giving her a chance to reply, "I do not want you to attempt this trip. It is bad enough that you must accompany your uncle to visit his holdings without dragging him all over the province."
"Gervase, do you know how you sound? You are already acting the demanding husband."
"I think I have the right to question your actions."
"To question, perhaps, but not to forbid," she said, trying to keep her tone light. She couldn't be offended by his proprietary attitude. Gervase felt responsible for her, she knew, but his concern stemmed from a desire to protect her, rather than any need to keep her under his thumb.
"I won't forbid you outright, coquine, but surely you must see this is foolhardy."
He spoke with the familiarity of long acquaintance, calling her "minx" as he'd done since she was a mere girl. Indeed, they had known each for years, ever since the first summer she'd spent in France with her Uncle Honoré. Though, to be truthful, Gervase had paid little attention to her then, when she was a headstrong hoyden of fourteen.
Alysson glanced up at him. Gervase was an exceptionally attractive man—tall, athletic, dark-haired, with a dashing mustache and blue military uniform that most women found extremely appealing. Alysson thought so, too, and yet . . . He was gallant and handsome and the dearest of friends, but just the least bit staid when it came down to it. She had hoped she would feel differently about him here, where the opportunity for daring exploits and courageous feats was far greater than in France. A colonel in the French army, Gervase had recently been posted to Algeria as head of the Bureaux Arabes, the French system of governing the natives.
It was Gervase who had persuaded her Uncle Honors to consider expanding his enterprises to colonial Algeria—and Honoré who had insisted that Alysson come along on the visit. Uncle Honoré very much wanted to see her safely married. He didn't approve of her traipsing all over the world with her Uncle Oliver, or exposing herself to the dirt and disease of London hospitals with her other uncle, who was a physician.
For Honor's sake she had agreed to consider seriously Gervase's marriage proposal. She desperately wanted to repay her favorite uncle for his many kindnesses to her. Over the years Honoré had given her so much, providing her a refuge from the lonely confinement of boarding school, treating her as a cherished daughter, making her feel wanted and loved. Loved for herself, not her vast fortune. From her first moment in England, she'd either been fawned over for her wealth or snubbed by her blue-blooded peers.
Her uncles had been her salvation. She'd taken the advice of a stranger and tried to earn their attention and affection. Alysson counted herself immensely fortunate to have managed it, to have found a place in her uncles' hearts. With them she felt a sense of belonging, of family, a feeling of shared hopes and dreams and destinies. Especially with Ho- nor£.
And now he was requesting something in return—for her to consider marriage to a man she had long admired and respected. It was the only thing Uncle Honoré had ever asked of her.
And she did truly care for Gervase.
That he counted on her acceptance of his suit, however, was wishful thinking on his part. More than once she'd told Gervase that she wasn't ready for marriage. She was scarcely twenty, after all. But he was so certain he could change her mind.
Alysson wished she could be as certain. She wanted to feel more for Gervase than deep friendship. She wanted to fell in love with him. Yet it would be cruel to give him false hope. She had promised her uncle, though, not to refuse Gervase's proposal outright. Still, she would be glad to begin the journey tomorrow and thus put some distance between them. Perhaps the separation would give her the opportunity to examine her feelings and come to a definite conclusion about her future with Gervase.
Gervase was apparently thinking about her departure as well, for he shook his head in protest. "I would accompany you if I could, Alysson, but duty compels me to remain here. I don't care to think about what could happen to you without me to protect you."
"There is no reason for you to be so concerned, Gervase. The escort you intend to provide will surely be adequate."
"I can ensure your safety better here."
"Your men will be armed, as will I. And you know I am an excellent shot."
"Still, I would prefer that you remain in Algiers." He gave her a reproachful glance. "I confess I don't understand why you insist on taking such a grave risk."
Alysson felt a twinge of exasperation. In Gervase's opinion, no woman should have such a fondness for travel as she did. But she couldn't change simply because he held such straightlaced notions about how a woman should behave. "What is the risk? You said yourself that the war is over."
"It won't be entirely over until Abdel Kader surrenders. And even then, some of his followers will no doubt try to carry on his Holy War."
She had no need to ask what Gervase meant. Long before she'd come to Algeria, Alysson had heard of the Berber religious leader, Abdel Kader. Fifteen years ago he had united the Berbers and Arabs in a Holy War against France. Indeed, the handsome, dashing, romantic sheik had once been all the rage in the salons of Paris. But that was before the war had turned so brutal.
Not that the Arabs were the only ones to blame for the savagery. Since invading in 1830, the French had committed their fair share of barbarities in their effort to conquer this proud nation. From what she had gathered, even Gervase's own father had been guilty of unforgivable excesses. General Bourmont had been involved in the initial invasion seventeen years ago, and was reported to have encouraged the most violent actions in putting down the rebellious natives.
Gervase was very different from his father, thankfully. Different from most of his countrymen, for that matter. He was far more sympathetic to the plight of the Arabs. Gervase had arrived in Algeria barely six months ago, but he seemed to have a far more humane understanding of how the French should play their role as conquerors. It was for that reason she thought he would prove to be an admirable administrator of the Arab Bureau.
Still, she felt Gervase was overly concerned about her visit to the interior. Only last year Abdel Kader had been driven into neighboring Morocco with his followers. And the atrocities committed on both sides had finally come to an end. No longer were the French colonists being killed and burned from their homes as in past years; the natives in the northern provinces had finally been subdued by the powerful French army, and the Plain of Algiers was once again safe for Europeans, protected by the Armee d'Afrique. Some settlers had even moved further into the interior to carve domains out of swamp and arid wasteland.
No, if she had thought the risk too great, she never would have considered making the journey. She herself would not have minded the danger, but never would she gamble with Uncle Honoré's safety. As it was, she felt guilty enough simply for planning to deprive her uncle of his comfort for the few weeks or so that it would take to visit the outskirts of the Sahara. At least the heat of the desert would not be quite so unbearable now that it was October.
When she didn't agree with Gervase's estimation of the risks, though, he made a gesture of impatience. "Alysson, will you listen to me! There are untold dangers in the interior—bandits and slave traders and hungry nomads, fanatical Arabs who refuse to admit the war is over . . . even deserters from our Foreign Legion."
"Chand will be with us."
"That is not a comfort to me in the least," Gervase said tersely. "Chand is devoted to you, obviously, but he is hardly the appropriate servant for a lady. I cannot like it that you will have no female chaperone or attendant to care for you."
Alysson sent her prospective fianc£ a warning glance, unwilling to countenance any criticism of her faithful Indian servant. "Gervase, perhaps you didn't know, but I owe Chand my life—several times over."
Realizing then that her tone had become overly sharp, she softened her next words and gave him a disarming smile;
sweetness and logic would be more effective in coaxing Gervase out of his ill humor. "Chand has been my friend as well as my servant. I think you can safely trust him to take good care of me. Besides, you forget that I am an Englishwoman. The English have far less to fear from the Arabs than do the French."
But Gervase wouldn't accept this argument. "The Arabs hate all infidels," he replied, shaking his head. "And I cannot—"
"Gervase, you are worrying needlessly."
The sigh he gave held regret. "Perhaps."
At length he shrugged, his features relaxing their tautness. "It is just that I don't want any harm to come to you. And I am selfish, I suppose. The next month will be unbearable with you gone."
He reached for her hands then. Drawing her near, he gently pressed her fingers to his lips. "Do you realize how very much I love you, coquine?"
Lord of Desire Page 3