Lord of Desire (72 page)

Unable to bear the anguish in his tone, Alysson drew back and raised her fingers to touch his cheek comfortingly, holding his gaze with her troubled one. "He didn't force me, Gervase. I . . . went to him willingly."

There was another long pause while Gervase regarded her in haunted silence.

"So you
see . . .
I can't marry you."

"You must, Alysson," he said finally, quietly. "You will likely be shunned by society, otherwise."

In response, she stepped back and shook her head. "I am well accustomed to being the subject of gossip and censure. What society says or does
has
never carried much weight with me. The only people whose good opinion I care about are the ones I love. And those people—my uncles- mean to stand by me."

"As I will.
I trust you know that. You will always have my good
opinion . . .
my love."

Alysson felt her throat tighten with unshed tears. She had not expected Gervase to be so generous, that his love for her ran so very deep. He was still willing to marry her, even after her damning confession that she had acted the wanton with the stranger who had carried her off. Gervase was offering to give her the protection of his name. He was prepared to face the dishonor and disgrace that would surely follow once the scandal of her abduction became known. Despite his apparent willingness, though, she could never allow him to make such a sacrifice.

She reached for his hands and held them in her own smaller ones. "I would be grateful to keep your friendship, Gervase. And I am
honored,
believe me, that you still want me for your wife. But I cannot accept your proposal."

His face assumed a wounded look. "You
do
hold me to blame, is that it? I can only try to make it up to you—"

"No, of course I don't blame you!
Not at all.
I told you that."

"I can be a good husband to you,
coquine,"

"I have no doubts on that score. But I very much fear I could not be a good wife to you . . . not the kind of wife you deserve."

"Zut!"
He pulled away from her, breaking the contact between them. In agitation he ran his hand through his dark hair. "I won't accept your refusal! I intend to change your mind. All I need is time to persuade you."

"I won't change my mind, Gervase."

"How can you be certain? You once were willing to give me a chance."

Alysson hesitated. She did not want to say the words that would only cause Gervase more pain, but it was perhaps the only way he would accept her refusal.

"Because I love him," she answered quietly, and was rewarded by the unmistakable, unbearable look of defeat in Gervase's dark eyes.

She loved, and was unloved in return. That was the bitter truth that Alysson tried desperately to ignore during the following days.

Blessedly the self-protective numbness shrouded her heart and dulled her grief somewhat. For several minutes at a time, she managed not to think about Jafar, about the passion they had shared, the intimacy, the rapture, the impossible situation.

She even had hopes that the pain might diminish over
time, that
someday she might learn to forget her fierce Berber lover. But if she thought this wished-for memory loss might happen any time soon, she was destined for disappointment. Too many events conspired to remind her of Jafar.

The first was the unexpected visit the next morning of the wife of the British Consul in Algiers, Lady Jane Wol- verton. The lovely, golden-haired Lady Wolverton was one of the arbiters of European society in the country, and Alysson recalled meeting her at several functions two months before.

When presented with the lady's card, Alysson's first inclination was to have Chand declare her "not at home." But curiosity got the better of her—that, and sheer contrariness. If Lady Wolverton had come to torment her about her scandalous conduct, she would not let the challenge go unanswered.

Apparently, though, condemnation was the last thing on the lady's mind. She had called for the purpose of extending personal invitiations to Alysson and her uncles to a supper and muscale for the following evening.

Expecting something entirely different, Alysson looked at the woman with blank astonishment. "Did Colonel Bourmont put you up to this?" she asked.

Lady Wolverton graciously overlooked the rude bhintness of the question.
"Actually, no, my dear.
I am not well acquainted with your charming fiancé, but naturally I have included him on my guest list.''

"My lady, please forgive me for correcting you, but the colonel is not my fiancé. We are not engaged, nor do we plan to be."

Lady Wolverton raised an eyebrow at this revelation, but blithely let it pass. "I am so looking forward to have you attend my entertainment, Miss Vickery. I long to hear about your exciting adventures—how your party was set upon by bandits, and how you were rescued by an elderly French couple who took you to their homestead, how you enjoyed their hospitality until your Uncle Larousse could come for you. How romantic it must have been!"

Alysson couldn't decide if the lady had gone mad, or if she was simply trying to help—for whatever obscure motives of her own.

"Forgive me again, my lady," Alysson said wryly, "but with all the tales that are sure to be circulating about me, no one with an ounce of intelligence would believe that rapper."

"Well, if anyone can carry it off, I daresay I can," Lady Wolverton retorted with a warm twinkle dancing in her blue eyes. Her smile faded slightly at Alysson's bewildered silence.
"I
'm sure
I
don't need to tell you, my dear, that the best course is to show your face in company as often as possible, and to allow your engagement to Colonel Bour-
mont
to stand for the time being. You can always quietly end it later, once the rumors have died down."

"I suppose," Alysson agreed slowly, "that might indeed be the wisest course."

"Excellent! Hold your head high, I say, and never, never apologize. Well then, it is settled. I shall see you and your
uncles
tomorrow evening at my party.
"

She rose then and swept across the room in a rustle of silk, but paused at the arched doorway to glance over her shoulder. "Oh, yes, perhaps I should mention that the Duke of Moreland is a firm friend of my husband, and that we both have known his charming grandson for ages. Good day, Miss Vickery. I look forward to welcoming you in my home. *'

With another attractive smile, the lady made her exit, leaving Alysson with her mouth hanging open and her thoughts spinning. The oblique reference to Jafar had both startled her and roused painful speculation. Did he have a hand in Lady Wolverton's kind attempt to protect her name and reputation? It would be so like Jafar to act with generosity and refuse to take the credit.

Alysson forced herself to attend the musicale, flanked by all her uncles and Gervase. As it turned out, the ordeal was not as bad as she feared, thanks to Lady Wolverton's skill at manipulation and persuasion of the very society Alysson had once disdained. Just as her hostess had predicted, the ladies veiled their claws and expressed profound exclamations of sympathy for Alysson, while the gentlemen vowed with renewed fervor to protect their womenfolk and rid the land of the scourge of bandits. Alysson would have laughed at the absurdity of it all—if she could have found it in herself to feel anything as light as laughter.

Shortly her scandal was overshadowed by reports from the front lines. The day after the musicale, the news spread like a desert sandstorm through the European and Moorish community alike that the rebel Berber leader, Abdel Kader, had been forced to flee Morocco, driven out by the Moroccan and French troops, back across the river into Algeria.

That, too, served to remind Alysson of Jafar, and arouse her fears. Had Jafar had gone to the defense of the valiant Sultan of the Arabs? Had he joined the defiant Algerines to ride against the superior French forces? Was he even now- lying wounded and helpless on some battlefield? Her apprehension mounting daily, she seni Chand to scour the Arab coffee shops and barbershops to discover any scrap of information available about Abdel Kader's movements. And she asked Gervase to keep her informed of events, as well.

Otherwise, Alysson tried to distance herself from the world. .

She found herself sitting hour after hour in the courtyard, staring down at the twisted handkerchief in her hands. One corner bore the initials
NJS,
initials she had always wondered about until now.

She knew, of course, that she ought to plan her departure from Algeria, but she couldn't bring herself to consider it. Indecision, passiveness, lethargy—all characteristics normally foreign to Alysson's nature—seemed to be her constant companions now.

Her Uncle Oliver had invited her to sail the Caribbean with him, but she was no longer anxious to travel the world in search of adventure. Nor was she enthusiastic about retreating to London, where her Uncle Cedric meant to return at once. Not only were his services needed at his hospital, but he was only weeks away from completing his treatise on the mode of communication of cholera through contamination of drinking water.

As for her Uncle Honoré, he declared his intention of remaining in Algeria for a time, to Alysson's great surprise. After the ordeal he had been through, she had expected him to rush home at the first opportunity. But he still intended to establish his vineyards. He had experienced and survived the worst this land had to offer, Honoré declared, and fur
thermore, he felt safe enough, now that he had the protection of one of Barbary's most powerful
amghars.

When Alysson quizzed him, Honoré said he'd been given letters of safe conduct by Jafar. She couldn't understand why Jafar would countenance a Frenchman settling on Algerian soil, unless perhaps it was his way of making amends for involving Honoré in his affairs. But she was pleased for her uncle. He planned to remain a few more months at least, he said, but she was welcome to accompany him to France when he finally returned.