Lady Of Fire (9 page)

Beginning to wonder if Lucien had been given quarters elsewhere, she felt a rush of relief when she peered into the last room. Though he faced away from her on a pallet against the far wall, she knew it was him from the width of a bare back crossed with shadows. Only Khalid was as large.

She considered the first obstacle—the covering down around Lucien’s waist. As children, Rashid and she had stolen into the eunuchs’ quarters one night and found the first—and last—of the men they had happened upon completely bared. Alessandra had hoped to find Lucien in a similar state, but she would have to venture within to have her answer. More disconcerting, his covering must be drawn back. Could she do it without awakening him?

She eyed his tapered hips, the wide expanse of back and shoulders that swelled with muscle, told herself she did not feel any of the sensations that warmed her, reminded herself to whom she was betrothed.

I do this only to gain the answer denied me,
she reminded herself.
Naught else.

Naught else?
a voice derided, questioning her restlessness that had grown since Lucien’s arrival. Before, she had been able to stifle it sufficiently to bring it under control. Now, his glance that seemed to see into her soul, his touch that made her lose her breath, his kiss—

Naught else!
she rebuked and raised her gaze to Lucien’s uncovered head that was mostly in shadow. What color was his hair? It looked somewhere between yellow and brown. Having only been exposed to dark and red hair, she longed to see it better. And she would if she could finish what she had begun.

Returning her gaze to his back, it struck her that the shadows upon it were not uniform as they should be were they thrown by what she had assumed were the lattice coverings. A glance left and right confirming this window, unlike her own, was not fit with lattices, she wondered how his back came to be criss-crossed with dark lines.

The answer struck, though surely not as fiercely as the whip that had scarred him.

As if her own back burned with the cruel punishment, she imagined the pain of such torture and better understood the anger she had glimpsed when she had asked how he had become a slave.

It nearly made her abandon her quest to know if he was a eunuch, but she had not come this far to leave the question unanswered.

She placed her hands on the windowsill and carefully hoisted herself onto the ledge. Crouching there, she watched Lucien to ensure she had not disturbed his sleep. When the breath moving his shoulders remained constant, she lowered to the floor and crept forward.

Squatting at his feet, she peered up his body into his shadowed face. He continued to sleep.

She eyed the narrow space between pallet and wall and wondered how she was to move him onto his back without awakening him. If she lightly stroked the soles of his feet—

She gasped, for neither could she blame nonexistent lattice coverings for what moonlight revealed. Sliding her gaze down the vertical groove that ran the length of his right foot, then across the horizontal groove, she identified that which had been burned into the bottom of his foot—a crucifix.

For what purpose? Was it an English custom? Her mother had not spoken of it and certainly did not bear the mark herself, but that one would daily tread upon a symbol of one’s faith seemed sacrilegious. It disturbed her, and combined with the possibility of awakening him, tempted her to abandon her quest.

She wavered, then slowly straightened and turned away.

The air stirred at her back, and a muscled arm fastened around her waist. As she was swept backward, she pressed her lips to keep from crying out, instinctively knowing she had more to fear from those outside the room than the man who had seized her.

She landed on her back upon his pallet and was immediately pinned beneath him.

“You could wake a sleeping baby,” Lucien growled, his eyes glittering above her.

“Get off,” she wheezed.

He raised himself, though just enough to allow her to draw air deep. “For what are you here, Alessandra?”

As she could conjure no believable excuse for intruding upon his privacy, there was only the humiliating truth. “That I might learn whether or not you are the eunuch you claim to be.”

The coarse breath that moved the hair at her brow ceased, and she felt his disbelief. Or was it disapproval?

When he finally spoke again, it was with reproach. “You are too brazen, a danger to both of us.”

His words chafed. “As neither my mother nor you will speak to me in truth, I determined to discover it myself.” The moment the words were out, she wished them back in, for they were childish.

“You truly believed you could learn the state of my body without awakening me?”

What had roused him? Her gasp when she had seen what was burned into his foot? “I had but to draw back the cover to know,” she said. “Had I not changed my mind, I would have succeeded.” She shifted beneath him in an attempt to move him off her.

He clamped his legs tighter on either side of her. “You would not have, for I am not so foolish to sleep bare knowing I shall need every moment should death come calling in the night.”

She frowned. “You wear trousers?”

“Indeed.”

At this moment, it was of great comfort.

“And I was awake long ere you entered my room.”

Alessandra snorted. “That I do not believe.”

Despite the dim between their faces, she saw his eyebrows rise. “It would have been better for you to climb the wall than to use the gate.”

She startled. Was it possible one could sleep so lightly to have heard that slight creak of hinges? If he had caught it, had the guards?

“Did you know it was me?” she asked.

“Only when I caught your scent at the window—attar of the orange blossom. The others prefer roses or jasmine.”

Why did it both excite and alarm her that he knew her smell? She pressed her hands to his chest. “Please, Lucien, get off.”

“Lucien?” Was that a smile in his voice? Likely, for when they had kissed, he had demanded she speak it rather than his eunuch’s name. He lowered his head and his lips brushed her ear. “Has no one ever warned you of the dangers of playing with fire, Alessandra?”

His words and warm breath kindling that which she had only ever felt with him, tempting her to turn her mouth to his, she said, “I wish to return to my apartment.”

“Without discovering that which you came for?”

She would have affirmed it, but he pressed his mouth to a place just beneath her ear. “Oh,” she breathed.

He kissed her jaw, drawing her nearer the flame she would be a fool to pass her fingers through. But fool that she was, she turned her face and touched her lips to his.

Lucien hesitated. He had told himself he would only teach her a much-needed lesson, but the taste of her made him want more.

Just a bit further,
he promised himself. And angled his head to better fit his mouth to hers.

She gasped into him, and that small, feminine sound moved him nearer a place he did not mean to go.

Only a bit further,
he told himself. And deepened the kiss.

She parted her lips.

Not much further,
he silently intoned. And felt the pained hunger of one long denied sustenance.

More gasping, pressing nearer.

Far enough, Lucien.

Sinking nails into his chest, sliding hands into his hair.

Too far! Cease now, else you will not only provide the answer she seeks but ruin her.

He stilled. Would he ruin her? Though her mouth was inexperienced, she claimed she was no longer a maiden.

You but seek an excuse to go where you should not, Lucien de Gautier!

He lifted his head, and when she opened eyes that drank in moonlight, asked, “With how many men have you been?”

“I…” A whimper escaped her. “Pray, do not stop.”

She was too desperate—as of one who tastes the sweet and, having no experience with the consequences of overindulgence, gives herself over to it. “The truth, Alessandra.”

He felt the scrape of her fingernails across his scalp as she curled her fingers into his hair. “Only you, Lucien.”

Then otherwise virtuous. He pitted the wants of the flesh against his honor—as well as Sabine’s threat to see him emasculated if he violated her daughter—and drew back. “We are done.”

Her arms tightened around his neck. “Why?”

Hearing the hurt in her voice, he said gently, “Such a gift should not be given lightly. ’Tis for the man you wed.” Though he was to ensure that man was not Abd al-Jabbar’s son, to allay her suspicions about his purpose here, he added, “If we do not stop now, Rashid will know he is not the first to lie with you. And should—” He clenched his teeth, chastised himself for nearly pointing out that if she too soon grew large with child, it would go worse for both of them. Had he spoken it, she would have proof he was not a eunuch.

Hearing her swallow, knowing she choked down tears, he touched her face. “I will not make more a mockery of our faith than already I have done.”

“But—”

“Shh!” He closed a hand over her mouth, turned his head, listened. But whatever had piqued his senses was either gone or had never been. Cursing himself for allowing the feel of her to make him forget the danger pressing in on all sides, he removed his hand from her mouth. “You must return to your apartment.”

Alessandra searched his shadowed face. Though her heart beat wild with the fear of being caught with him, she was more inclined to weep. She had thought she knew herself, but where this man was concerned, she felt foreign. There was no reason to wish to be with him or risk her relationship with Rashid whom she adored. And yet, with each passing day since Lucien’s arrival, Rashid became more the brother he had once seemed, rather than the man that the young woman she had grown into had dreamed of wedding. So what did she feel for Lucien?

Desire,
she told herself. And for this, Jabbar quickly married off his daughters and was displeased with Sabine’s delays in wedding her own daughter to Rashid.
Naught but desire.

Alessandra pulled her arms from around Lucien’s neck. “Forgive me. It is my shame that I am no better than the others who would use you for the same purpose.”

“You are not like the others,” he said low. “Were you, I would not touch you.”

Then he thought it more than desire that drew her to him? She longed to set him right, but the air of urgency with which he moved off her reminded her that this was not the place or time to speak of such things, nor to satisfy her curiosity over his scars and the cross burned into his foot.

When he gripped her arm and raised her to standing, she saw he did, indeed, wear trousers—yet another reminder. “I
will
know the truth of you, Lucien,” she said as she set to ordering garments gone askew.

“Of what use would I be in a harem were I not a eunuch?” he said.

She lifted her gaze up his muscular chest. “Do you know my mother wishes me to go to England? That she opposes my marriage to Rashid?”

“I am but a slave. Why would she discuss these things with me?”

Alessandra searched his face upon which moonlight shone, traced the scar with her eyes, then with the hand she lifted between them. He jerked, and though he did not put distance between them, she heard the sharp breath he drew.

“Why do you answer my question with another?” she asked. “To avoid speaking the truth?”

She was to receive no answer, for the door was thrown wide and a light thrust inside the room.

Alessandra swung around to face the two who stepped inside.

“What do you here, Alessandra?” her mother demanded, face bright with anger.

“I…” Alessandra glanced at Lucien. Finding him expressionless, she looked to Khalid for help, but his usually placid face evidenced he was no less furious than her mother.

Sabine strode forward, pushed her daughter aside, and stepped so near Lucien she had to drop her head nearly all the way back to peer into his face. “I warned you. Now you will suffer the consequences.”

Alessandra placed a hand on her mother’s arm. “He has done nothing wrong. I came to speak with him, that is all.”

Sabine’s head snapped around. “In the middle of the night?”

“I could not sleep.”

“And so you stole out the window of your apartment? Tell me, Daughter, what could not be said in the light of day? What requires that you stand so near him? That you touch him?”

What was there to say that would not be a lie yet acceptable enough to cool her anger? Unfortunately, all Alessandra could lay claim to was the blame. “Whatever you think happened, Mother, the fault is mine. Is it not I who came to him?”

Sabine looked from her to Lucien, back again. “Are you still virtuous, Daughter?”

It was so blunt a question Alessandra caught her breath. Had Lucien not had the good sense—the honor—to stop, it was a question her mother would not have to ask.

She raised her chin. “You think I would shame you by giving this eunuch what is to be my husband’s?”

Her mother stared. “Answer me.”

“You can be assured Rashid will find me untouched on our wedding night.”

“I would know now,” a smug voice spoke from behind Khalid.

They all turned toward Leila who had draped herself against the door frame, her expression triumphant. Worse, beyond her stood Rashid, his face a mask of torment as he stared at Alessandra.

Regret burned through her. She had betrayed and hurt her friend, the man she was to wed.

Leila straightened, sauntered past Khalid, and placed herself before Alessandra. “On the morrow we will send for the physician. And you had best be chaste, for not even your mother can prevent the punishment due a whore.”

Sabine shoved Leila aside. “There is no need for a physician. My daughter speaks true.”

Smiling broadly, Leila brushed the sleeve of her robe where Sabine had touched her. “Soon, we will know for certain.” She turned her attention to Lucien, and her eyes glowed appreciatively as she swept them up his bare torso to the bronze hair touching his shoulders. “What punishment for this eunuch, Khalid?”