Chapter 4

Chapter Four

T hose three little words reached into him like they never had before, pulling at everything inside him that could fill with blood.

He was lost in memories of the little girl he'd once known, perhaps his best friend, as he watched the movements of Alara's lips as if they were narcotic, lulling him into a haze. As a girl she'd challenged him; now he felt captured.

She was still talking, her bright eyes fixed on him, serious as ever, and unyielding in her conviction that she had a right to her own position.

"You obviously don't remember me very well. My family does not adhere to these absurd British practices of treating women like cattle. I have a reason to be here, and I will not simply leave at your order. Indeed, I can't imagine why you would try to give me orders at all. We have not seen each other since we were children."

He leaned his head as close to hers as he dared. That rich scent threatened to carry away his reason; it was a fight not to close the distance between them and touch her. Not just her hand; her cheek. Her lips.

"I'm giving you orders for a reason, Alara. You truly don't seem to grasp how dangerous it is for you to be here unescorted. Even without... other considerations."

Other considerations were looming by the punchbowl. Waresham, disheveled hair and a torn military coat speaking to the man's burst aspirations.

Not a month ago the man had expected to be a rewarded officer by Napoleon's side. Now he was no doubt finding society had little room for traitors.

Where had the girl in blue fled?

Alara's eyes swept the room right after his, like a queen surveying her subjects. "I suppose your other considerations are the young woman with red hair? Or perhaps the one in blue? You have so many considerations to manage, Lord Harman. You'll excuse me if I tend to myself."

"You can't stay in this bedlam."

Alara would rather melt through the floor than let this man see her cry.

"I am fully aware of the leers," she told him, holding her head as high as she could. "I suppose other British women have practice in ignoring them; so will I. They are not half so mortifying as you presuming to know me after all this time..." She would not cry. "...so much time without a word between us."

"Damn." With the size of his body he hustled her towards a more quiet spot. There was nowhere to be alone, not down here among the dancers and drinkers, but as they drew closer to a pillar below the galleries, and his masked eyes fixed on her in their shade, the rest of the room faded away. "Alara, I had no idea you had not sailed to Istanbul. I'm sorry."

Surely he didn't think that was kinder. "Why be sorry? We had no reason to exchange news."

That made something flare in his dark eyes that was hot, and from a tarnished-lace pirate who had nothing in common with the boy she'd known, it was alarming.

"Yes, we did." His voice grew faster, urgent. "We had reasons. My childhood is a blur except for those afternoons in the valley, tracing tree roots and trying to calculate the volume of clouds. Those were the best moments. Weren't they for you?"

She couldn't slow her breathing. What did he want her to admit? That she had thought about him all this time? Wondered where he was? Why he hadn't come to call?

He didn't wait for her to decide. "We still have reasons to speak, and that's why I can't let you stay. You're too sweet for this kind of party. You can't imagine what will happen as the night wears on and more liquor flows and..." He growled at himself and clenched a fist. It was so large. "You're far wiser than I, you always have been, but this isn't a place for the wise."

"How can I be too sweet when all these other ladies are here?"

"They're not ladies."

"Nonsense. My aunt is at the card table over—Well, I can't see her, but she's here. Her ticket came from the dowager Duchess of Talbourne; the lady's reputation is impeccable. And surely the sponsors?—"

He crowded closer so he could say what he had to say without too many people overhearing. There was still the faint possibility, horrible as it felt, that one day he'd need a vote from someone whose secrets he was about to reveal. "This is Lady Gadbury's party. She is holding it partly to snub her old lover, who recently dropped her to be married. That's her on the dais, dressed as Victory." He pointed to a beautiful woman with high-piled curls, wearing a daring Greek chiton; Alara wondered if her chemise really matched the color of her skin, or if she truly was bare underneath. "I promise you at some point this evening, somewhere in this building, perhaps in one of the private galleries over our heads, her dress is coming off."

Alara put a hand over her mouth.

"There's a fellow here with two young lovers he'll likely entertain in another gallery. They never speak in public, for fear of slander of the younger two—both men, and heirs to titles. That fat old rumpot there is trying to convince young women to go behind the stage curtains with him, telling them that if they are nice to him, he might make them his mistress. There's an heiress just married, with her husband; looks like they might not even make it to the galleries." He gestured slightly toward a couple wrapped around each other in obvious, oblivious passion. "And over there are two ladies—I believe they are both ladies—kissing each other."

It was like Binbir Gece , the Thousand and One Nights. She saw nothing, while he saw licentious stories everywhere. She wanted him to explain them all, and had no words to express such a thing. She felt her face grow hot as she only asked, "There are three gentlemen?"

" Alara. "

"Very well, I do see that there is... more here than meets the eye, but none of that has anything to do with me." She had to appeal to his childhood feeling for her, if any remained. "Truly, Lord Harman, I must meet more of the men here. I have no other option."

His growl of frustration had a very curious effect on her. Under the silk of her gown, against her stays, she felt her nipples tighten. More humiliating evidence that betrayed her real interest in him.

"It has everything to do with you. I'm only telling you what I know will happen. If you keep wandering about in that gown?—"

"Those stories don't affect?—"

"—you stay here, and they will. "

All at once the size of him blocked out the rest of the room, his rough black coat, his wide hat, and Alara found herself pressed into the pillar at her back by a tall, hard length of man. He groaned as he pressed into her softness, groaned the very last quarter inch of air between them before his lips captured hers in a kiss that destroyed the rest of her words.

All those years dreaming of this man, and she'd never imagined his taste, his smell. He smelled of dried lavender and gunpowder, and it surrounded her along with the hard strength of his arms as he pulled her from the pillar into him, his body, his breath.

She didn't know how her mouth had opened for him, how he had convinced her instantly without words to let him taste her lips, her tongue, the slow motion of him holding her in a grip as sure as his relentless arms, which had wrapped around her now and pulled her so close she couldn't have breathed if she wanted to.

She only knew how she melted against him, feeling softer than ever before against his muscle, his heat.

When she could think again, his lips moved against hers as he said, very softly, "Every love story has to do with you."

And just when Alara was prepared to listen to him explain, for as long as he wanted, what that meant, she saw his eyes flick away.

Turning her head, she saw the woman in blue coming back toward the dancing.

He could do that, say that , and then look for someone else.

"I would rather remember the way you used to be," she said, trying to keep her voice from shaking, "than learn any more about you now."

She stepped back, forcing him to open his arms, just as her aunt appeared through the crush carrying two porcelain cups.

"There you are!" Mrs. Griffiths' voice was high and cheery, and Alara hoped she hadn't seen what had just happened. "I brought you some punch."

Finding an offer of alcohol nearly as startling as Harman's kiss, Alara took it. She'd never tasted it; doing so would feel like a declaration, a break.

Like having to decide between the future her mother had picked for her, and her own.

"Mrs. Griffiths." The man who'd once been her dearest heart's desire and was now a complete stranger rounded on her aunt as if prepared to fight. "You must take Alara out of here at once."

"Nonsense," said the woman stoutly, moving to stand next to her. "Alara deserves a bit of fun before she sails."

"Sails?"

"Yes," Alara managed to say. It was as though his kiss had stolen all the breath from her and left her heart pounding, desperate for air. Her legs felt as though she might drop, and there was a liquid heat in her belly that was unfamiliar. She felt hungry.

She didn't want food.

Gathering what she could of her wits, she finished the thought. "Yes, I'll be sailing soon for Istanbul. I don't expect—" The reality choked her. "I don't expect to return."

"That can't be true."

Why should he doubt it? He knew nothing about her life, nothing about her. He'd stolen her breath, taken control of her body, and now he wanted to send her home while he pursued the various women in whom he had a real interest.

Was he going to kiss them the way he'd kissed her?

Would he do more?

To distract herself from the thought, she sipped from the cup in her hand.

It was sweet and acrid at the same time. The flavor on her tongue was complicated. It didn't feel like sin, any more than had Lord Harman's kiss; and that alone was enough to make her wary.

This was a perfect, an only opportunity to sail through London society without chains. She couldn't do everything she wished tonight if she fell into any traps.

That kiss had been a trap. Perhaps the punch was too.

She didn't intend to drink any more. "Madame," she said to her aunt, "perhaps you'd introduce me to some gentlemen you know."

"Of course," said Mrs. Griffiths, and Alara followed her away from the stranger she used to know.