Most important, she felt a thrill run through her body whenever he touched her. Just the memory of his touch brought the thrill to her.
It was indisputable. She could not deny that she was attracted to him physically as well as mentally. But the crux of the problem remained. Was he attracted to her as well?
When he had landed on top of her on the raft, he had seemed as surprised as she was, and not simply by the collision. That stunned look on his face had come after they had caught their breath. Ever since, there had been a constraint in his behavior. The freedom of their journey was missing.
At the same time, there was heat in his eyes now when he looked at her. She was almost certain of it.
She stood up abruptly and began pacing across the roof. This was ridiculous. She knew she was pretty. Not a beauty like Julia, but quite pretty enough so that young men had frequently found her attractive. But she had always known when it happened. She hadn’t cared, but she had known. Why was she so unsure of Lucien’s feelings about her?
Was it because she was attracted to him?
That had never happened to her before, and it was thoroughly muddling her thinking.
But the muddle was not enough to hide certain facts from her. Facts that her sensible self could not ignore.
Lucien was an adventurer. He was wandering from place to place. He had cut his ties to his home in France and he had no interest in establishing new ones. He wanted no chains, no responsibilities.
She, on the other hand, had a family, and that family was not just important to her but a vital part of her. She could not imagine turning her back on her family, cutting herself off from them forever. When she had dreamed about her future, she had dreamed of a new family, true, but still a family like her own in a safe, stable home.
How could she be thinking about a man who had no interest in a home or family, whose dream was to travel toward ever-vanishing horizons, with no ties that might hold him back?
This attraction could lead to nothing permanent. But that knowledge didn’t prevent this infernal longing that possessed her. She wrapped her arms around herself in an effort to force it down. An unsuccessful effort.
If marriage was out of the question, could she have an affair? A month ago she would have said that she would never consider such a thing, but now the thought was there. It had appeared, tempting her.
No! She could never shame her family that way. They would not cease to love her, but they would be disappointed in her. They would pity her.
It would be too humiliating.
But still, there was this longing, this hunger.
She leaned against the parapet at the rear of the roof and stared down into the garden as it was slowly swallowed up by the lengthening shadows.
*
She was silhouetted against the light, a glorious halo turning her into a goddess, a creature from another world in that instant flare before the sun finished its descent and darkness fell. Lucien stood there motionless, stunned by the powerful mixture of unfamiliar emotions that flooded through him.
It was as if he had never seen her before. She was—not beautiful, but more than beautiful. She was full of light and life. She was joy.
How had he not realized that before?
In that instant, all the lies he had been telling himself shriveled up and dropped away. He saw the truth. They were not copains. She was his woman. He did not want her as a friendly companion. He wanted her in his arms, in his bed, clothed in that dark honey hair and nothing else. He wanted her, desperately, hungrily, and he had to have her.
He must have made some sort of sound because she turned to face him, but then she too remained motionless, her expression hidden by the darkness.
As if in a trance, he prowled across the rooftop until he stood before her. His arms wrapped around her, and her hands lifted until they touched his shoulders. They did not push him away, nor did they embrace him. They simply fluttered briefly, like butterflies, and then settled. He smiled.
Carefully he lowered his face to hers, slowly and deliberately, until his lips brushed hers once, twice, and a third time before they came to rest. It was his intention, if he could be said to have anything as clear as an intention, to be gentle. He was not certain of her reaction and he wondered if he might frighten her. Then her lips softened beneath his, and all his conscious thoughts vanished. An irrational, insatiable hunger roared through him. Could he have devoured her, he would have done so.
He pressed her back against the parapet and slipped his leg between hers. His hand cupped her buttocks and pulled her up against him. Despite the layers of petticoats, she had to be able to feel his desire. His mouth slipped across her cheek and down to her neck. Her skin was so soft, so soft. He pushed her bodice aside, down over her shoulder, until he could reach her breast. He breathed in the scent of her, jasmine and woman mingled together. His tongue teased her nipple until she moaned softly and arched against him.
He smiled in satisfaction before he returned to her mouth. She opened to him, offering all her sweetness, and reached her arms around him to pull closer.
Yes, this was what he wanted. This was what he had been longing for. This. This.
He pulled her still tighter against him, seeking to unite them into one being. Without ending the kiss, he began lifting her skirts, those ridiculous miles and miles of skirts, until at last he reached the soft silk of her calf, her knee, her thigh.
A door slammed, the reverberations penetrating into his consciousness. Into Emily’s as well, for she froze in his arms. He could feel her draw away, not only physically, and he wanted to cry out in protest at the loss.
“What do you want?” Her words were a hoarse whisper, as if they pained her. He could feel her breath, coming in gasps against his chest.
“You know what I want. I want you.” His voice was rough, almost angry. “You want me too. Do not deny it.” He tried to pull her back to him, but this time she resisted.
“No.” She turned her face away. “No, I will not be your…your diversion. Your pleasant interlude in Mosul.”
“No! No, that is not what I want.” How could she say such a thing? Did she think him a man of no honor?
“What else can you mean? You will soon be off to Samarkand, to the Gates of Jade, to somewhere else. You know you will.”
“And you will come with me.” Yes, of course. That was what he wanted. “You must come. We belong together. We can find Samarkand together.” His voice softened, and he caressed her cheek gently with his fingertips. With a smile, he bent to kiss her again.
But she did not smile in response. She pushed him away and shook her head. “No.”
No? She could not mean no. He would not believe it.
“You cannot be afraid. Do not tell me you are afraid.” He tried to make his voice teasing. “I will not believe it.”
But she was still shaking her head, still not smiling. More than not smiling. She was looking sadly disappointed. “I am not afraid of the journey. But I would be a tie, an obligation. You do not want any obligations, remember? You do not want any ties to hold you back. Perhaps you do want a companion on your journey, a temporary companion. But I will not be that temporary companion. I want more than that. I must have more than that.”
She pushed him away and ran across the rooftop, disappearing down the staircase.
His cry of protest died on his lips, and he realized that he was still holding out his hands to where she had been. Slowly he dropped them and stood there, alone and bereft in the darkness.
*
Emily managed to get to her room without meeting anyone and without collapsing. The room was both dark and empty, exactly what she wanted. She straightened her bodice and lay down on the bed, hoping that no one would come looking for her.
Thank goodness she had not encountered her mother or Julia. Either one would have wanted to know what the matter was, and she did not want to have to explain. Or they would have known, one look at her and they would have known ex
actly what had happened, and she did not want to talk about it. She couldn’t explain what she did not understand herself. If she had been confused before, it was nothing to the turmoil she was experiencing now. It was all too shattering.
What on earth had she just done? Had she lost her mind? What was wrong with her? How could she have been so incredibly stupid?
Lucien had been kissing her with more passion than she had ever dared imagine. He had awakened longings she had not even known existed. She had been swept along in a whirlwind of sensation, carried toward a destination she did not know but a destination she knew was the one she sought. Every nerve in her body had been crying Yes! Yes!
And then that damned door had slammed. Before she realized what she was doing, the blasted interruption jarred her into being sensible.
Sensible. Practical. After all, she was sensible, practical Emily Tremaine. She knew what was expected of her. She had done what had to be done.
No. She hadn’t been sensible or practical. She had simply been stupid.
This was the man she loved—she could not deny that. Not anymore. She had fallen in love with Lucien. The man she loved had swept her into a passionate embrace. His desire had been unmistakable, and she had responded with equal fervor. They were on the verge of—she wasn’t sure exactly what they were on the verge of, but she knew it was what she wanted. It was what she had been wanting for ages, even if she hadn’t realized it.
And what had she done? Had she been brave and courageous? Had she charged ahead fearlessly? Had she even stepped ahead nervously?
No. She had been sensible. She ran away. Because he had not promised a future filled with certainty. But who could ever promise that? The future was always uncertain.
The man she loved offered her passion and adventure, and she ran away.
She was the stupidest woman in all creation.
*
Mélisande was unable to believe her eyes. She had gone up to the roof to find Lucien. He had come to escort her home, of course, though why he had thought to find her on the roof, she could not imagine.
She had been about to call out to him when she realized what she was seeing. He was kissing Lady Emily. Lady Emily!
No! That was all wrong! He was not interested in Lady Emily. He was going to marry her, Mélisande Carnac, and he was going to take her to France.
She had it all planned.
It was absolutely necessary.
In a mixture of fury and despair, she fled, slamming the door behind her. She ran, and kept running, down to the courtyard, past the doorkeeper, out into the street. She had not even wrapped her blue cloak about her, so that her head and face were uncovered. People frowned at her as she ran past, and some of them shouted, but she did not care. She ran and ran until she was back in her father’s house. She hesitated for a moment, but the cook looked up and seemed about to ask her something. With a shake of her head she dove into one of the store rooms. There, behind a crate of pottery shards, she curled up and sobbed.
When she was all cried out, she began to think.
It was not fair for Lady Emily to have Lucien. She already had everything any woman could possibly want. She was rich and safe, and she had all the clothes and jewels she wanted. She had even been to Paris and could go there again any time she chose.
Lady Emily did not need Lucien, but Mélisande did. Without him, she would be trapped here in Mosul forever. She would grow old and ugly and be buried under the dust of all these stupid broken bits of worthless pots. She swung her arm at the crate, but it was too heavy. Not only did she not knock it over, but she bruised her hand.
Tears of anger came now, and she stood up to pace back and forth across the narrow space. Her hand hurt, and she sucked at the bruise. The space was dark and dusty and small, like her life. She wanted to run, but there was nowhere to run.
Slowly her thoughts began to tumble into some sort of order. Lady Emily was at the center of her difficulties. She did not need Lucien. She was an English lady who already had everything. She had no business trying to steal Lucien.
She would be leaving soon, but it might not be soon enough. She might not be gone before Lucien was planning to leave, and he still did not know that he needed to go to France, not to Samarkand or whatever foolishness was still in his mind. Lady Emily was distracting Lucien, and so long as she did that, he would not realize that he needed to marry her, Mélisande, and take her to France.
The distraction had to stop.
Lady Emily must be removed.
Fifteen
Although she was well covered by her blue cloak, and her face was hidden by the black veil, Mélisande did not deceive herself. These two knew who she was, but that did not really matter. They worked as diggers for her father from time to time, the most casual of the casual laborers. No one would trust them with any but the most menial tasks, for they were both lazy and dishonest. Everyone knew it.
They were perfect for her purpose.
She had found them sitting, half-asleep, behind the crates they were supposed to be loading onto the rafts, and their first reaction had been to excuse themselves. She waited. Eventually their fanciful tales of weariness and exhaustion on behalf of the French lord who employed them, accompanied by sly glances at the woman they obviously knew to be his daughter, wound down.
Then she told them what she wanted them to do.
They looked uneasily at each other, then at her, then back at each other. Truly they were ugly men. Dirty, scrawny, with ragged beards. The taller one, Hadad, had teeth that stuck out, making him even uglier.
It was the shorter one, Karif, the one who was missing the tip of a finger on his left hand, who spoke first. “A foreign woman? But is she not the daughter of the visiting pasha? The one who is a friend of the sultan himself?”
“What is it to you who her father is? She can vanish as easily as the daughter of the Greek merchant who vanished last year.”
They shared a look again, and Karif said, a bit regretfully, “We had nothing to do with that.”
Hadad added, “Twenty pieces of gold was the reward offered for her return.” In response to Mélisande’s frown, he shrugged apologetically. “Such things are known. Many people searched for her.”
She made an impatient noise. “This one need not return, so there is no need to hide her.”
Karif looked at her through narrowed eyes. “It is not a question of hiding her or not hiding her. Her father is a man of great importance. He has soldiers from the sultan at his command. There will be a great search, and many questions will be asked. No one will worry about how the questions are asked of poor men like us.”
She narrowed her eyes in return. She was not accustomed to negotiating with such creatures. They were servants, and she had always given them orders. This situation was different, however. That she could see. They were as lazy and greedy as she had thought, and as lacking in scruples. But perhaps they were not as stupid as she had thought. Not when their own safety was in question. It would be necessary to negotiate. Just like buying melons, she thought bitterly. Her life was spent haggling with peasants.
“How much?” she asked.
Hadad shrugged—he seemed much given to shrugs—and lifted his hands. “A man who would do such a thing, who would make the daughter of an important foreign pasha disappear, he would have to disappear himself.”
“Indeed,” said Karif, nodding in agreement, “it is a dreadful thing to contemplate. A man would have to flee the city, leave his home and his friends.”
“That would indeed be dreadful for a man who had a home, who had friends. But for men who have neither?” Mélisande allowed scorn to tinge her voice. “For such men, a change of city would be no hardship. And a change with gold to ease the way…?”
“One hundred pieces of gold,” said Hadad.
She laughed in scorn.
Offers and counteroffers went back and forth. Truly, it was no different from buying melons. The sums were higher. That was all.
It was as well they had agreed to that price. Ten gold pieces was as much as she could lay her hands on. As for the rest, well, once they had stolen Lady Emily away, they would be in no position to come about demanding payment, would they?
The problem was finding a way for them to get close enough to Lady Emily to capture her. She never wandered about alone. She was always surrounded by family, friends, servants—people who would protect her.
It would be up to Mélisande to lure her away, to get her close to the wharves along the river. It should not be difficult. Lady Emily was a trusting and curious fool. She would soon learn the price of folly.
*
Irmak walked along the river with two of his men, returning to their quarters after a rather lengthy night. The morning mist hovered over the water, drifting up to sneak ashore and find its way into the alleys, much as the morning fog did in Constantinople. At the wharves, the rafts were loaded, ready to begin the journey downstream. Once they were gone, perhaps this Lord Penworth would be willing to depart from this dismal city and continue his journey to Baghdad.
Baghdad would be the end of the journey for Irmak and his men. They could then return to Constantinople, and perhaps be sent someplace where they could see some action. Irmak had no complaint to make about Lord Penworth and his family. They made no unreasonable demands, they caused no difficulties. They even behaved sensibly.
He had been worried at the start of the journey. It was a difficult trek for civilians, and not one normally made by wealthy, pampered ladies. He had expected complaints, demands that would be impossible to meet, tantrums, and tempests. He had been pleasantly surprised.
Admittedly, the women rode and spoke with the men in outrageously bold fashion, but it appeared to be their custom, and it did not create any of the difficulties he had feared. In addition, the women had won his admiration by their coolness under fire when those lunatic Kurds had fired on them.
Lady Emily's Exotic Journey Page 14