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She didn’t blame him, not one bit, though it was so mortifying to be ordered to keep away as if she carried a vile disease. But that wasn’t why. He was being civilized. He didn’t want to be tempted to hit her, or throttle her. Another man, goaded as he had been, would have knocked her clear across the room the instant he walked through the door, and she would not have blamed him. What an unspeakable harridan she’d been! Detestable, stupid, ugly, rude, vicious. An animal.
But she wasn’t. She had some honor. She owed an apology. And the truth. Not all, for she couldn’t bear that. But some, at least.
She folded her hands and directed her gaze to the carpet. Near her right foot she saw a tiny colored maze of intertwined squares, vivid against the maroon background. She fixed on it.
“I lied to you,” she said, “Repeatedly. I exaggerated how long it would take to repair the ship and understated the difficulties in reaching Tepelena. Though I’d have gone alone if I had to, I knew I would encounter fewer problems traveling with an Englishman.”
“You used me,” he said.
She winced, “Yes.”
“You might have used me more kindly.”
The reproach made her look up guiltily. His eyes were dark, filled with shadows.
“I did not want you to like me,” she said, wringing her hands. “I did not want to like you. That would make everything so much more difficult for me…for what I had to do.”
“What did you have to do?” he asked quietly.
His dark gaze caught and held her, while her heart pumped crazily. Dear heaven, why did he ask that? Didn’t he believe the reason she’d given him in Berat—that she must wed Ismal? Hadn’t she feigned well enough a few hours ago?
“Be-because of Is-Ismal,” she said.
“What about him? What had you to do?”
It didn’t matter how gently he asked. There was only one way to answer—with the lie she had so carefully contrived. This man would abandon her here. She’d made it impossible for him to do otherwise. She’d no need to tell him the whole truth, to watch his expression harden into revulsion, his soft voice chill with disgust. Yet her soul cried out for truth, for it cried out to him, to release her, punish her—she didn’t know what she needed. All she knew at this moment was that she was sick with despair, and the lie would surely kill her.
“I had...I had...” The words stuck in her throat. She wasn’t a coward, yet she was so afraid. Of what? Losing him, when he’d been lost to her from the start?
“Tell me, Esme.”
She closed her eyes. “I had to kill Ismal.” She said it quickly, and though the words came out in a strained whisper, it was not so fast or so low he couldn’t hear it. The sound was too loud in her own ears. She felt cold and ashamed, though to seek revenge was no shame. That, however, he couldn’t understand. He’d see her as a cold-blooded monster who mindlessly pursued a man all believed innocent—a man they all believed loved her and wanted desperately to wed her. Oh, why had she said those terrible words?
“Little fool.” His voice, too, was low, but it lashed her. “Reckless, passionate little fool.”
“Varian—”
“Hajde,” he said.
Her gaze snapped to him. He held out his hand. “Hajde,” he repeated.
Her heart slammed hard against her chest, and her whole frame shuddered in response. But his low, beckoning voice called to her in her own tongue, and body and spirit answered at once, though tremblingly. Slowly, Esme moved to him and put her hand in his. His long fingers closed over hers, and he drew her nearer. Capturing her other hand, he tugged until she stood intimately close, her silken skirt brushing his trousers. Her breath came in short, strained gasps.
“You can’t kill him, Esme,” he said, “and I can’t kill him for you.”
Her heart seemed to splinter into a thousand shards. “Oh, Varian.” She pulled free of his hands, threw her arms about him, and buried her face in the warmth of his coat. “Don’t hate me,” she pleaded. “Please don’t hate me.”
Strong arms wrapped round her, crushing her against his hard body. He pressed his mouth to her neck for one long, achingly warm moment. Then he lifted her up and carried her to the sofa, where he gathered her onto his lap. “Hate you. Oh, yes,” he growled. Then his mouth sank down upon hers.
She had expected rage and revulsion, but his kiss was shatteringly tender, for all its heat. She wept within at its sweetness, just as she wept for the heart he had stolen from her so easily. She’d been a fool to imagine she could keep it from him, just as she’d been a fool about everything else.
When he raised his head at last, Esme hid her face against his shoulder. His fingers played in her hair, then slipped down to caress her breast, lightly, barely touching the thin silk. Even under this feather touch, her flesh stirred in aching answer. She shivered. His hand moved to her hip, only to rest there, yet its warmth washed through her belly.
“Ah, Esme, what’s to be done with you?”
His voice was as gentle as his touch, and she answered helplessly, just as her body had. “Don’t leave me.” It was but a tiny, muffled cry against his coat, yet too audible in the room’s stillness.
A long silence.
“You’re upset,” he said at last, “and I am taking advantage. Gad, what a blackhearted swine I am—and the boy just upstairs.” He kissed the top of her head. “Thank you for telling me the truth. I wish...I wish I were the sort of man you could have told it to sooner. ‘My lord,’ you’d have said, ‘I must avenge my father’s murder. Would you be kind enough to offer me your protection en route?’“
Esme peeked up doubtfully at him from her hiding place. “And what would you have answered?”
He smiled. “I should not have answered, but leapt immediately upon my white charger and gone out to slay the evil prince. If I were that other man. But I’m not. I’m Edenmont, lazy, selfish, and utterly useless. I can do nothing but take you away.”
This was more than Esme could bear. He not only seemed to understand and would not abandon her, but also blamed himself. “You are none of those things,” she said. She sat up fully, her eyes filled with all the admiration and gratitude she felt. “You tried to do what was right—what everyone knew was right, except me. This night Ismal offered you an immense bribe to abandon me, yet you refused it.”
He shook his head, and one thick black lock shook loose to dangle rakishly at his eyebrow. “Don’t make me out to be noble, Esme. I’m not. Just stubborn, and exceedingly selfish. Percival may be furious with you at the moment, but he’s made up his mind you’re leaving with him. If you don’t, he’ll plague me to death. In any case, Ali has made his position very clear: you’re leaving tomorrow for Corfu, one way or another. If I chose not to take you, he said he’d send you with an army. I agreed to take you, though I warned I might need the army to accomplish the feat. He expressed his sympathy. He said you reminded him of his mother.”
“Ali?” This was incomprehensible. “He wants me gone—yet he let Ismal—”
“Make his touching speech, just as he let me make an ass of myself. Ali Pasha has a peculiar sense of humor—and a terrifying gift for judging character.” While he spoke, Varian absently stroked her hair. “For the first time, I could understand why your father stayed to work for him. The Vizier is half mad, a sadistic fiend by all accounts, yet he has Satan’s own gift for manipulation. And he knows what he’s about.”
He fell silent, while his long fingers continued their soothing caress, drawing the tension from her scalp, from her very being.
“I’m sorry about your father,” he said after a moment. “It’s clear you loved him very much. I wish I could have met him. I wish he were, here for you—instead of a numskull knave of a lord and a confused twelve-year-old boy.”
Esme forced her voice past the burning obstruction in her throat. “You are not a numskull,” she said, “and Percival is much less confused than I have been. You have both been far kinder than I deserve, but I shall try to ma
ke it up, I promise. I shall be so obedient and good all the way to Corfu that you will not recognize me.”
“By heaven, you do go to extremes, don’t you?” He smiled.
So sweet that smile was, warm as the sun. When he looked so, he could make a dying weed blossom into brilliant blooms. His touch could do the same. In the shelter of his arms, her tormented brain had quieted.
“I want to go with you,” she blurted out. “I would go anywhere you say, Varian. This night I thought you’d leave me. I thought you would go from my life—and worse, that we would part in misunderstanding and anger and lies. Instead, you were patient and helped me unburden my heart. Now it is filled with gratitude. Those are merely words, but I shall prove it. Only wait and see.” She swallowed. “No wonder all the women love you.”
