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He raked his hands through his obsidian hair, cut with bluish streaks in the firelight. “What can you promise, then?”
She crossed her arms, lowered her head, buying time. She rose her eyes and met his again. “Nothing.” She said with finality.
They stared at each other for a long time. The fire played on his rugged face, making his cognac eyes shine brighter, the fire lending a rakish glow to his manly features.
“Tariq.” She called and paused when his marvellous eyes lifted to hers. “Sooner or later you’ll go back to Tunis.” The possibility of him away from her hurt like a spear in her heart. “Maybe find a suitable woman.” The spear buried deeper as she twisted her fingers together.
As much as his was a polygamist culture, imagining himself touching another woman didn’t appeal to him in the least. In fact, it turned him to ice. “Is this what you want?”
Want? She thought quizzical. What she wanted was to be with him to the end of time. “This is not a question of what I want. It’s a question of tackling reality.”
“We can change reality.” His eyes strolled to her perfect face, to which the fire yielded a fairy shade, her eyes made even greener, her magnificent hair with reddish streaks; the light delineated her body through the diaphanous fabric of her night rail. How was he supposed to stop this mad…yearning for her?
“Yes, but we cannot change our backgrounds, not overnight at least.” Her arms extended along her body and her eyes intent on him.
His hands came to her shoulders, and he pulled her to him, their bodies touching hotly. “You’re the most exasperating woman ever born on this earth!” He muttered as their noses almost touched, their breaths mingled and their eyes locked. “But I can’t help wanting you.” His mouth came on hers with desperation.
Neither could she, Lucinda responded inwardly as her heart swelled with his kisses, with his touch. His presence.
This time they didn’t make it to the bed. They lay before the fireplace, moving in acute surrender.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
She reached London with her maid in a watery sunshine luncheon time. She climbed the stairs to her room in a light pink day dress. Well, now it was a matter of following through
with what she must do. Soon she’d have to talk to her mother.
In her room, Megan undid her baggage as she sat by the window, looking at the garden, her eyes absent. Her memory replayed the last week so vividly it became hard to accept it ended.
Tariq wasted no time. Before dawn he’d gotten up, taken his belongings and ridden his Arab stallion to London, with Aziz. He had a house to find and rent.
Still in Tunis, he had received a letter from Pietro Graziani, apologising and willing to make amends. So he’d sailed his ship to Syracuse and met the old man. He’d given up the idea of demanding a payment for the losses Graziani had caused him. Presently, he needed something else. He’d asked for a recommendation letter to one of Pietro’s acquaintances in London. The missive would afford him to go into society and to rent a house in town. He’d build connections, they’d be useful, he reckoned. Due to his European tutors, he had a notion of the mechanics of their culture. With this accomplished, he’d sailed his ship north impatiently.
Thanks to his strategy, by mid-afternoon he was comfortably installed in a house in the same fancy neighbourhood as the Lancefields. He stood at the balcony of his bedroom and regarded the park. Yes, right. Comfortably could be a matter of discussion, he much more preferred rugs and cushions and low-platform beds, richly adorned by fine silk curtains and…and her.
If someone had told him he’d cross half a hemisphere to a cold and wet land as this because of a woman, he’d have laughed out loud at their faces. But she wasn’t any woman. She was Lucinda, his Princess of the Desert. His most inadequately perfect match. In every possible way. Without her he became like a…carcass, a shadow of himself. Her defiance and determination brought spice to his life. Away from her he… Blast! He fell in love with the woman! There was no denying it! These mad emotions that lacerated his guts could only be love. He hadn’t even realised it. Damn it! He deemed he’d been immune to it, being this so foreign a concept. But he found himself wrong. He didn’t have immunity against it and now she’d crept into his blood, his heart, his mind. He was lost! They were. Because he wouldn’t give her up, no, sir. Ever!
It hit him why he craved her with so much despair. By physical contact with her he expressed his love. It’d been a carnal act, as much as a manifestation of his feelings. When she lay in his arms, it was as if all of him got consumed, assuaged. Dissolved.
He turned from the window as Aziz came in with the correspondence.
The Duchess of Gosforth’s annual ball stood as the highest event of the season. Everybody who was anybody would attend. Naturally, the Lancefields had received an invitation.
The Earl and the Countess arrived with Lucinda, her siblings being still underage. Lucinda had chosen a dark green velvet evening gown that contrasted with her ivory skin and gave a special spark to her eyes. She climbed up the entrance steps bracing herself to a deadly boring night. Little seemed to appeal to her these days, except… But that, him, had to be left behind from now on. She’d have to get prepared for the tasteless life she’d never wanted. Starting with this ball was as good as any other occasion.
As soon as she joined the multitude of people, Olivia Wilmington came to meet her all giggles and secrets. Olivia had been one of her school mates, together with Adriana. “Come, Lucinda! I want you to meet someone.” She hooked her arm to Lucinda’s and walked to where her parents, Baron and Baroness Wilmington, stood.
Coming closer, the group opened and in its middle Tariq. A ball of fire bombarded Lucinda’s heart. Would she ever get peace? She needed to forget the impossible man! It was too late to back away. He’d seen her and his cognac eyes burned on her as if they touched her very skin.
“Oh, my dear Lucinda.” Olivia’s father greeted her. “Come meet Mr Tariq Al-Fadih!”
She blushed, her mind numbed with his presence. She managed to curtsy. “Mr Al-Fadih.” His name came all too breathy for her taste. She wanted to punch him and ravish him at the same time. The man was a strategist!
Without taking his eyes from her, he bowed. “London seems to be full of delicate flowers.” He flattered refined in his silky accented tone like a feather caress on her skin. The other women in the group on the verge of swooning. Lucinda had to make a conscious effort not to roll her eyes. So he made an impression on the ton. She had nothing to do with it, but something acid spread inside her, and she prayed it wasn’t jealousy with the reaction of the other women.
A few more pleasantries exchanged and Lord Wilmington walked ahead to introduce Tariq to other acquaintances.
Olivia turned to her exhilarated. “We have a barbarian among us today! I was speechless when he came to our house with a letter of recommendation from Adriana’s father!” She giggled even more.
