Lady Emily's Exotic Journey (13 page)

No. He had nothing to do with this. He had started to suggest a better, more balanced arrangement of crates on one of the rafts before he caught himself. It was not his place to make suggestions or approve arrangements. None of it was his responsibility.

He fled the heat of the waterfront for the shadowy coolness of his favorite cafe. Everyone knew of his connection to Carnac and to Lord Penworth, so he found himself bombarded by questions about the shipment. One group of men wanted to know if it was true that the crates were filled with gold and precious jewels. He scoffed at that notion, but someone else insisted that it was true.

“The Cadi himself saw the gold,” said one fellow, “and insisted on his share before he would allow the crates to be packed.”

“Not just gold, but precious gems—rubies and emeralds,” said another.

But there were others who dismissed such talk as fantasy. Lucien was about to agree when one of them said that it was not gold but demons that filled the crates.

Lucien laughed incredulously.

“No, no,” insisted an old man. “There are ancient genies and afreets that inhabit the stones. Their cries and curses have been heard at night.”

When he laughed at that, several of the men in the cafe assured him that there was great danger in removing such things from the place where they had been buried. “The demons, they have been let loose now,” one man insisted. “There will be great danger for those who travel with them.”

The bazaars and the coffee houses were filled with talk of Carnac's shipment, and the town seemed divided between those who believed the tale of gold and jewels and those who were convinced by the warnings of demons and afreets.

Neither logic nor scorn made any impression. Finally Lucien could take no more of such nonsense and stalked away. He wandered around for a while, but the heat of the day had been absorbed by the stone walls and the narrow streets seemed airless, suffocating. It was time for him to leave this place.

He should decide where he wanted to go next. Did he really want to travel the Silk Road? Perhaps he had enough of arid deserts and bare mountains. He could go to… He could go to any place on earth, but he was finding it difficult to think of a place he wanted to be.

That accursed letter from Bouchard. No matter how much he tried to ignore it, it kept returning to his mind. Was it not enough that La Boulaye had killed his father? It had been a succubus, draining him first of hope and then of life. Was he to be its victim too? He had escaped once. To return would be insanity. Nothing could be done so long as his grandfather ruled there, and his grandfather was inexorably draining the estate, feeding his vanity. Perhaps the old man was weakening now, perhaps he was dying.

And perhaps he would rally the instant Lucien appeared and trap him there forever to serve the glory of La Boulaye.

He did not want to think about it. Besides, it was doubtless time for him to collect Mélisande. Another who wanted to be a responsibility, and another situation where he was powerless to help. At least he could see her safely through the streets.

Perhaps he would see Emily. He had not had an opportunity to talk with her since the visit to Oliphant's relatives. No, that was not true. He had been avoiding her. Why had he been avoiding her?

Because she had become a problem, he thought, disgusted with himself. He was afraid to see her, afraid to face her. She was his friend, and he had liked being with her. All through their journey it had made him happy to be with her. But something had changed.

Not Emily. She was still forthright, honest. She made no demands.

No, that was not quite right. She never told him lies. That was it. Not even polite lies. Was there anyone else who never lied to him? Anyone else he could trust this way?

But there was more than that. She had begun to haunt his dreams. He would awaken in the middle of the night, tangled in a sheet, thinking she was there beside him, naked and welcoming. Even now, walking down the street, he could close his eyes and see that dark honey hair spread out across a pillow.

He burned for her. He wanted to sink his hands in that hair, drown in those blue, blue eyes, bury himself in her.

He stopped and slammed his hand against a wall. An Arab who had been coming in the opposite direction looked warily at him and crossed to the other side of the street.

What was he going to do?

The view was spectacular. As the sun sank behind the mountains, the sky turned to gold and the mountains themselves deepened into purple. From her seat under the awning on the rooftop, Emily feasted her eyes on the magnificent sight. It was more glorious than anything she could have hoped for, infinitely more dramatic than any sunset she had ever seen at home.

On a nearby rooftop, someone was singing, one of those chants that sounded full of mournful longing. A girl longing for her lover? More likely a woman preparing the evening meal. But still, the music seemed full of meaning.

She tried to give herself over to the enjoyment of the moment, to empty herself of all thought and simply lose herself in sensation.

It wasn't working.

Admiring the scenery was no more useful than worrying about Julia's romance with David. No matter what she tried to think about, she always ended up thinking about Lucien. Blast the man. It wasn't as if thinking about him clarified anything. Her thoughts kept ending up in utter confusion.

She had enjoyed his company on their trip to Mosul, more than she had ever enjoyed the company of a young man. That much she could safely acknowledge. She could even understand it. He had talked with her as an equal, never assuming she was a helpless ninny. If he asked her a question, he listened to her answer, as if he were interested in her thoughts. And if she asked him a question, he answered her. He did not pat her on the head and tell her she need not worry about such things.

He had not been cautious, as if fearing to offend the daughter of the powerful Marquess of Penworth, or obsequious, hoping for some benefit from the acquaintance. He had not been deliberately charming or flirtatious, assuming that a few compliments would dazzle her, enabling him to get his hands on her dowry.

In short, he had treated her like a friend, rather the way her brothers treated her, although they were apt to be more patronizing than he was.

Had she been thinking of him as a brother? Was that why she had not been aware of him as a man at first? She knew he was a man, of course. She wasn't a complete idiot. But that knowledge had been submerged somehow.

Perhaps it was because she had not considered him as a potential suitor.

He wasn't, of course. She knew that. She could hardly marry a penniless adventurer. Her parents would never allow it. More importantly, and, humiliating as it was to admit, he had never behaved like a suitor. He had never given the slightest indication that he was looking for a wife. Well, of course he hadn't, because he wasn't. An adventurer went off adventuring. He didn't settle down with a wife.

He never even gave any indication that he thought of her as a woman. For that matter, she hadn't felt much like a woman while she was wrapped up in all those Turkish garments, completely enveloped in one of those ubiquitous blue capes.

Now she was dressed in her own clothes, so naturally she felt like herself again, like a woman. Only not quite like herself. The memory of a hard body pressed against her, the memory of his leg between hers had changed the way she saw herself. Her own reactions surprised her. She was noticing things about herself, about her body, that she had never realized. She was feeling things in places she had never thought about before.

It was more than those few minutes, seared into her memory though they were. Ever since then, her awareness of Lucien had changed as well. On the way to the excavations, she realized how well he rode, almost as one with his horse. When he lifted her from her horse, she realized how surprisingly strong he was. When he dined with her family, she could see the lively intelligence in his face. She knew that he was not particularly handsome. She was not blind. That did not matter. He seemed so vital, as if he were more alive than anyone else in the room, and that was far more attractive than mere handsomeness could ever be.

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 exactly 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.