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Lucinda still tried to recompose herself and barely drew breath, let alone speak.
“Imagine him taking me to his exotic land to live in a tent, or wherever they live!” Olivia sighed dreamy. “How romantic it’d be!”
Lucinda wondered what her friend would say if she revealed she’d been to his country and slept in tents, treaded the desert, seen his home and that they’d… Oh, no! Don’t go there! She would tell nothing, naturally. If possible, she’d say reality came in much less romantic colours.
They headed to the ballroom, as crowded as they came, where the orchestra played. A gentleman invited Olivia to dance and Lucinda stood on the fringes watching the couples swirl on the dance floor. As a waltz began, she smelled his sandalwood scent before she saw him.
“Lady Lucinda.” His formality didn’t lessen the effect of his voice on her. “Would you give me the privilege of this dance?” He extended his hand to her. Touching a woman in public would feel awkward every time he did it because it was so different from the custom in his country. But this presented a unique chance to be near her and he’d grab it.
Was the man crazy? Lucinda inquired indignant. Didn’t he know they would be playing with fire? If they so much as crossed eyes, they ignited, if they touched they’d go up in flames! Her heart jumped, her skin felt feverish. But she had to accept the dance invitation, or she’d incur in unforgivable rudeness as he very well understood. So she curtsied, plastered a smile on her face and offered him her gloved hand.
Tariq would never get used to women squeezed in ungraceful English attire, but he had to admit she was beautiful tonight. He only wanted to take her to his rented house, snatch off her dress and have her all night. He had been aware that, if they touched, they might lose control. The temptation arose too great though, he mused as he took her in his arms and they twirled around the ballroom in a haze of enchantment.
They moved as if in a cloud floating with the tune, her head bent back, his bent down, their eyes locked, their expressions captivated. The multitudes of people vanished and only they remained enveloped in the waltz. Lucinda’s heart flooded of a melting sentiment that overtook her mind and her body altogether.
Suddenly the waltz ended, and they had to descend from heaven. Lucinda blinked several times, trying to find lucidity in her fogged mind. She curtsied blindly and turned to look for refreshments.
Tariq ended up no better. Her nearness took him off balance and made him crave more, crave everything. As he left the dance floor, Lord Wilmington approached to introduce him to more people, whose names he’d never remember.
Lucinda gulped down her refreshment and rushed to the ladies’ in search of a modicum of respite. And got none, obviously. The girls twittered abuzz with the barbarian, weaving all kinds of comments and fantasies that enraged her to no end! The only solution was to leave their blabber.
This behaviour from her countrymen shamed her. They had no knowledge or respect for different cultures and their people. Worst still, she must admit she had been the same before traveling the desert with Tariq. Travelling proved to be an eye-opener, being it the reason she had become so keen on it.
She sailed back to the ball, intending to find Olivia, but her attention spotted Tariq talking to one of the most beautiful widows
London had ever produced. Beautiful and full of affairs. Wheat blond hair, slim, sky blue eyes, and meaningful glances at him. Lady Easton stood too close to him, touching him with her fan at every tiny opportunity. A massive attack of jealousy hit her. This stomach of hers churned, and she feared getting sick and shaming herself in front of the whole of London ton. The need for fresh air urgent. She rushed through the throngs of people to the double doors, pale and trembling.
Tariq would never understand why anyone would deem this woman beautiful. She had the strangest and most unbecoming colouring and too pale skin. It seemed to him unnatural and unappealing. The woman openly flirted with him. He liked to be the hunter and that’s why Lucinda aroused him to combustion; she made him chase her round the globe. His attention detected said lady passing by, her behaviour uncharacteristic. He happily excused himself and followed her.
Lucinda rested her hands on the parapet, head bent down, breathing hard. She tried to abate nausea and her foreign feelings. Someone approached, sandalwood scent coming first. He placed his hands on her upper arms.
The moment he touched her, a rush of hot contempt replaced the malaise, and she turned to him, eyes shooting fury. “What are you doing here?”
He searched her with his darkened eyes. “Checking if you are well.”
“As you see, I am.” She answered brusquely. “You may go back to your flirtatious blonde!” She turned her back to him again, trying to hide her feelings and regretting her outburst.
He laced her waist, leaning hotly on her back. “You’re jealous, my jewel.” He whispered in her ear, causing her skin to tickle all over, not disguising his satisfaction at the fact. His savant lips grazed her neck up and down, turning her into a living torch.
“Of course not!” She denied the undeniable. Her voice came hoarse and seductive
Then he pulled her tighter as his eager erection nestled on her back. “Can you feel it, Lucinda?” He breathed in her ear. “It comes for you. Only you!” He nipped the curve of her neck and her head fell on his shoulder, giving him more access. “The idea of touching another woman disgusts me.” His hand moulded her slim waist on the velvet fabric of her green dress. She gasped and arched more for him.
Her proximity made him as fiery as she. As much as he did not use to behave like this in public places, her presence challenged his social posture. He didn’t bear the idea of spending the night away from her. He needed her as he’d never needed any woman in his entire life. “Come to me tonight, Lucinda.” He murmured with urgency. “I’ll send a carriage.” His other hand delineated her pert hips and thighs over the impending fabric as she sighed with yearning.
Should anyone discover them in this compromising situation, it’d be an un-mendable scandal, she predicted, and reality crashed back on her. With extreme difficulty, she put distance between them. “Unfeasible.” Her voice hardened by her determination. “This is London; everybody watches closely what everyone’s doing.” She looked up at him regretfully, his head bent down, cognac eyes intent on hers. “No one can see us here.” She tore her eyes from him. “Excuse me.”
After that, she danced with anyone who asked, in a foolish attempt to forget his tantalizing invitation. And not allow her mind to fantasise how it’d be to lie down in his bed and let him pleasure her as he always did so skilfully.
As predictably usual, sleep eluded her that night, her body burned for him and she imagined herself walking the dark streets bare foot just to find relief in his arms.
Tariq had watched her leave the ballroom’s terrace. To count every milk-sop who held her in a dance, wanting to shout to whoever would listen that she was his alone. He went home in a state of frustration. It took all his will power not to go to her house, climb her window and sate the both of them. His mood next morning built in the foulest possible way.
Next morning Lucinda got up after a badly slept night populated by steaming dreams about him. Breakfast over, she concluded that if she stayed home, she’d go mad with frustration. Trapped and feverish, she decided to take a stroll at Oxford Street, maybe buy a ribbon or two. After calling for the carriage, she dressed a cream day dress and left her house. She’d go alone, the ride was safe enough, there being a big probability of her meeting acquaintances at the shops.
Lacy gloves in her hand, she entered the carriage distractedly as it started with a nudge. It’d take about fifteen minutes to get there, so she leaned back and watched the streets pass by her window. In less than five minute’s ride, the carriage turned in a driveway and stopped by a strange door as she started to put on her gloves. About to ask her driver what the matter was, Aziz opened the door and gestured for her to step down on the drive. Gloves forgotten, she stared at him quizzically.
“Aziz!” Her brow pleated at the strange situation. “What’s happening?” She asked in Italian since he didn’t speak English.
