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“There’d be no need to explain,” Varian ground out, “if you hadn’t brought up the curst topic in the first place, you sarcastic little know-it-all. You wanted to make a fool of me in front of your cousin, didn’t you? You wanted—”
It struck him then what was wrong. She wasn’t in a temper at all, only pretending to be. That’s why she hadn’t bitten him. In a rage, Esme was incapable of thinking, only acting, instinctively.
“You want me to banish you to the harem,” he said in a dangerously quiet voice. “You have been deliberately goading me.”
The color drained from her face, and she backed away.
“What vexes me most,” he went on, “is that you know precisely how to do it. Until our paths crossed, no one had ever caused me to lose my temper. There’s scarcely a human being in England, France, or Italy who’s heard me raise my voice. I’ve never deluded myself I was a good man. I had thought, however, I was a civilized one. By God but you bring out the worst in me.” His voice rose. “What in blazes are you? What demon spawned you?”
There was an agitated knocking at the door. Varian strode across the room and wrenched it open. It crashed against the wall, and Fejzi winced.
“A thousand pardons, oh bravest of princes,” he said shakily. “I would not for worlds disturb you, but I am the slave of my master and must do his bidding.”
Christ, he must have run to Ali and back. “What does your master want?” Varian inquired tightly.
“I am to assure you no harm will come to the Red Lion’s daughter. She is as dear to his highness as if she were his own, for she is Jason’s flesh and blood, who was like a brother to him. All this last week, the Vizier’s wives have with their own hands sewn garments for the girl. If she does not come, they will weep grievously, and the other women with them. This the master cannot abide, for the tears of females are so many daggers in his affectionate heart. He asks you to indulge the women, that there may be peace in the harem.”
Indulge the women, indeed. Manipulative devil. Still, it was the custom of the place, Varian told himself. More important, it was where Esme wanted to be.
He exhaled a sigh. “The Vizier is a genius, truly, if he can keep peace among three hundred women. I can’t do so with only one. “He shot Esme a murderous glance, then shrugged. “Take her if you must. But don’t blame me if the harem breaks out in revolution.”
Fejzi dared a feeble smile. “Ah, well, she is the Red Lion’s daughter.” He turned to Esme. “Come, little warrior. You will not make war in the harem, will you?”
She uttered an impatient “tsk” and moved to the door. “I’ll wish to see her again later,” Varian said, forcing his gaze back to Fejzi.
“I shall convey your request to his highness.”
“It isn’t a request.”
Fejzi’s smile faded. “As you wish, my lord.”
***
Ali leaned back on his divan and laughed, his round belly shaking like pudding. “A face and form like Apollo and the temper of Zeus. I heard him shouting and wondered if he’d kill the wench before you returned.”
Fejzi’s smile was thin. “He is abominably insolent, highness.”
“Aye, I watched through my telescope as you approached. I saw it in his bearing. And other things, of course,” Ali added, fixing Fejzi with his piercing blue gaze.
“The Lion of Janina sees everything.”
“When I see for myself. You’d rather I settled for rumors or the clumsy explanation of that thickheaded oaf, Bajo. You all must think I’m in my dotage. All I hear these last days is how beautiful the English lord is. More beautiful than Byron, they say, and no cripple, either. When they don’t speak of the lord, then it’s the boy. Surely Jason’s son, they whisper, a red-haired youth with old, wise eyes. These wonders come to my realms, and I’m not to clap eyes on them but hustle them away to the coast?”
“No, highness. That would be unthinkable,” Fejzi said resignedly.
Ali slowly raised himself to a sitting position and swung his legs to the floor. Dropping his hands on his thick thighs, he eyed Fejzi reproachfully. “Today I watched the Englishman ride into Tepelena in all his bold arrogance, and I laughed with pleasure. A moment ago, I laughed again, to hear of his fury with the little spitfire. How long has it been since I laughed, Fejzi? For how long has my heart lain like a stone coffin within me? Three weeks it’s been since my Red Lion was cut down, an Englishman brave as a Shqiptar. Scarcely has this happened when another Englishman arrives with a red-haired boy, Jason’s kin. It’s a sign from heaven.”
“Or from the other place,” Fejzi muttered.
Ali’s expressive face eased back into a smile. “So it may be. I fear no devil. Am I not everlastingly surrounded by them—and my cousin the prettiest devil of them all?”
He looked away, toward the window, where the sky was darkening. “Tonight I play with two beautiful devils. One fair, the other dark. Well, we’ll see. The game will be interesting.”
Chapter Fifteen
The Vizier was shorter than Fejzi, and fatter. He’d probably been handsome once. His complexion was fair, his forehead broad above the bushy brows, his nose well-shaped. With his great white beard and twinkling blue eyes, one might easily take him for somebody’s jovial grandpapa.
Ali Pasha proved to be lively, talkative, and amazingly good-humored. His was the sort of disarming manner that could lead the most cautious men to betray themselves. Even Varian was tempted to succumb. But a charmer himself, he recognized quicksand when he saw it. He knew that throughout the exchange of elaborate courtesies he was being minutely examined…and all too accurately sized up.
Fejzi interpreted during supper. The man’s linguistic abilities were superior to Petro’s but not nearly as good as Esme’s. She had full command of English vocabulary and used it with both assurance and, too often, unnerving accuracy. Fejzi, however, could scarcely keep up with Ali’s rapid speech, and the Vizier grew increasingly impatient during the lengthy meal.
Finally, declaring they would take their coffee and sweets privately, he waved his courtiers from the room.
Before he, too, departed, Fejzi softly told Varian, “I am to fetch the boy now. His highness did not wish the child to be gawked at and made uncomfortable by the court, but he does desire to see and speak with him. The girl comes in a moment, to interpret for you.” He gave Varian his thin half-smile. “It is not seemly, but she is skilled in languages, and Ismal—” He hesitated, looking to Ali.
The Vizier gave another impatient wave of his hand. Fejzi hastily left the room.
“Ismal speaks English well enough, but his hearing fails him sometimes,” Ali said in slow Greek. “I want no misunderstanding. Fejzi is slow, and when frightened, stammers and stutters. Most annoying.”
“What has he to be frightened of?” Varian asked.
“What do you think?” Ali looked toward the entryway. “What do you think, little warrior?”
Varian’s head swiveled in the same direction, and a heavy fist seemed to drive into his solar plexus.
He saw undulating waves of dark fire streaming over Esme’s slim shoulders and down upon the sea-green silk bodice. His glance slid swiftly down the silken gown to her tiny waist and the supple curves of her hips.
Swallowing a groan, he hastily looked away, and hoped his countenance didn’t betray him to the old man watching with such fiendish interest. All the same, at the moment, it was an effort to recollect that Ali existed. Even while Varian looked politely to the Vizier, all his concentration was fixed on Esme.
He felt her approach, saw a shimmer of green silk as she moved past him, the dress whispering against her slim body…where his mouth wanted to be, and his hands. Heat set his loins aching. Gad, he was pathetic. The girl donned a frock, and he went to pieces.
The rustling of silk seemed to thunder in his ears as she paused a moment, then sank down on his left, onto a cushion.
Ali said something else, and this must have vexed her, for Esme answered
tartly in a rapid stream of Albanian. Varian tensed. She was trying to get herself killed, the sharp-tongued little witch. But Ali only raised his eyebrows in exaggerated shock and laughed.
Varian mustered the courage to look at her. Her face was flushed and her green eyes flashed militant sparks.
“What was that about?” he asked. His voice sounded weak, strained.
“Nothing. A lewd joke, unworthy to be repeated. He’s heard disgusting gossip, that is all.”
Varian wanted to pursue the matter, but a servant entered, bearing a heavily laden tray. A moment later, Percival appeared, his face white as a sheet, though otherwise remarkably composed, considering he had just entered the private chamber of an acknowledged madman, a monster whom even the Sultan feared.
The monster stared at the boy a long, tense while. Then his blue eyes filled with tears. He put out his hand and, after a brief hesitation, Percival took it.
Ali said something, his voice broken.
