Lord of Desire (77 page)

"I wanted to stay, Jafar, but I was afraid—for your sake.
I didn't want
to come between you and your tribe, to cause more trouble for you. I saw how you were tried for showing mercy to Gervase, and i couldn't bear the thought of harming you further. I still can't. Are you certain your tribe won't object if you marry me? I thought you had to marry for political reasons."

"I still do. But you must understand the Berber concept of politics. Until now I couldn't offer you the marriage you deserved without betraying my duty. But if I ally myself with Bourmont, then my taking you to wife would not be compromising my responsibility as
amghar
to strengthen our tribal alliances. By Berber law, it is permissible for an
amghar
to marry outside tribal affiliations, even with an enemy, in order to extend the range of possible allies.
Not only permissible, but encouraged.
In this case, it would be highly advantageous for me to form an alliance with you, a foreigner who has the ear of the head of the Arab Bureau."

She hesitated. "Is that why you want to marry me, to use me as an
alliance?"

She said it lightly, with a hint of exasperation, but Jafar caught the uncertain note in her voice and smiled grimly. "Come here," he commanded brusquely, not waiting for Alysson to obey before pulling her into his arms.

He lowered his head then, taking her lips with a determination that left her reeling and totally reassured. His mouth retained the same possessiveness, the same hot fierceness it always had whenever he kissed her.

By the time he finally ended the kiss and allowed Alysson to draw breath, her cheeks were flushed and her lips swollen and tender. Yet she didn't care. She wanted his fierceness, his jealous passion. Indeed, she hoped the savage nature of his lovemaking never changed.

Jafar smiled in satisfaction as he surveyed her dazed expression, his own eyes gleaming hot and dangerous. "I do not kiss my allies like that,
Ehuresh,
or take them as lovers."

"I should hope not," she said with a small, shaky laugh. "That was . . . very persuasive."

Making a futile attempt to regain her composure, she smoothed the disheveled folds of her gown. Abruptly Jafar's gaze dropped to the neckline of her bodice which demurely covered the swell
ot
her breasts but left a tantalizing display of silken skin naked to his view. Desire flared up in him swiftly, uncontrollably, as he remembered the taste of those taut peaks, that sweet flesh.

Yet when the increased volume of revelry from the crowded ballroom finally registered, Jafar shook himself. Releasing Alysson entirely—if reluctantly—he eased away so he wouldn't have to touch her and face such temptation.

"I would like nothing more than to carry you away from here,
Ehuresh,"
he said huskily, "to undress your exquisite body and make love to you all night long . . . but I expect it would be best if I first sought out your uncles and gained their permission to wed you."

Having focused on the opening part of his provocative comment, Alysson had difficulty finding the voice to contradict him. "That isn't necessary, Jafar. I don't need my uncles' permission to marry."

"Even so, I would prefer their blessing."

"I expect they will be glad to give it. Their biggest concern is for my happiness. I imagine if you give your word that you won't abduct me again or make me your prisoner of war, they will be willing to accept you as my husband and welcome you into the family."

The lightness of her tone seemed to lift a great burden from Jafar's heart. "I suppose,"
he
returned dryly, "I could swear to behave in a civilized fashion."

"Not too civilized, I hope," Alysson murmured. She didn't want Jafar to change. He was a man as proud and as fierce as the lions that roamed his mountain retreat, untamed and unlikely ever to be tamed. And she wanted him to remain that way. No doubt in the future she would frequently find him arrogant, difficult, possessive, dominating, and entirely infuriating, as she had in the past, but she wouldn't trade that future for all the riches in the world.

"Still," he was saying, "I want to assure them I intend to care for you to the best of my abilities." Jafar hesitated again, his amber eyes showing that vulnerability that so touched her heart. "I cannot promise you anything but an uncertain future, Alysson. I can only swear that I will do everything in my power to make you happy."

Finally allowing herself to believe in his sincerity, that

Jafar loved her, that this moment was truly real, Alysson raised her lips again to touch his briefly, tenderly. "That is more than enough," she vowed softly. "I don't want empty promises for the future. I only want you."

The love reflected in her eyes, shining clear in the moonlight, filled him with a tenderness that threatened to shatter him. It took every ounce of willpower Jafar possessed to direct his thoughts back to the present.

"I must go and find your uncles," he repeated in a husky rasp, "so that we may discuss the bride price. Which one will drive the hardest bargain, do you think?"

Alysson shook her head, not understanding his insistence. "Jafar, you don't have to pay for me to become your wife, I tell you."

"Ah, but I do,
Ehuresh.
It is our custom . . . and I don't want your uncles thinking I want you only for your fortune."

She laughed softly again, this time with genuine amusement. "I'm certain they'll realize it is no such thing. As much as you despise foreigners, your marrying me could only be because of love."

"What is important to me is that you realize it."

Her eyebrows rose in surprise at his quiet tone. This humility was quite unlike him. She'd never known Jafar to lack that overwhelming confidence bred into him by generations of fierce rulers. Yet, after considering, she thought perhaps it might be wise to take advantage of the unprecedented moment.

"I do have one misgiving of my own," Alysson remarked slowly. Despite the casualness of her tone, she was immediately aware of Jafar's sudden tenseness. "I think," she explained, tilting her head to one side as she looked up at him, "I could perhaps learn to address you as 'my lord,' but I honestly don't know if I could ever bring myself to call you 'master.' "

His tension fading, Jafar gave her a smile that was one part tenderness and three parts seduction. "That was a foolish declaration that never should have been made—besides which there's not an ounce of truth in it. By Berber custom, I may be your master, but you rule my heart,
Ehuresh. "

"Is that so?"

"Indeed, and I intend to spend the rest of our lives proving it to you."

Her throat suddenly tight, Alysson gazed back at him with desire glimmering in her eyes. At her melting expression, Jafar inhaled a sharp breath. When she looked at him like that, with such naked longing, his blood quickened with such a rush of hunger that he wanted to take her right then and there. He wanted to bury himself so deeply inside her that neither of them could tell where the other began or ended.

Helplessly, despite his stated intentions, Jafar reached for her again, his fingers closing possessively on her arms. "Ah,
Ehuresh,"
he whispered, his warm breath caressing her mouth, "can you not see how very much I love you? What power you hold over me? You can conquer me with a glance, vanquish me with a smile from your sweet lips,
crush
me with the merest frown—"

“Jafar, do you mean to shower me with meaningless flattery, or will you behave like a man of action and kiss me again?"

At her challenge, he laughed, and the laughter stayed inside him as he lowered his head once more.

It was a long time before either of them remembered their initial intentions of gaining a familial blessing for their passion, and a longer time still before they rose together and, hand in hand, went in search of Alysson's uncles.

Epilogue

Paris
,
1852

F
ollowing his wife into their plush hotel suite, Jafar tossed his chapeau on a side table and began peeling off his gloves. With fond tolerance he watched as Alysson shed her own outer garments and restlessly threw open the windows to look out over the vibrant French metropolis. It was obvious she was still excited and keyed up after the day's revelry. Yet he himself was feeling the exhilaration of the moment after so many years of striving fruitlessly to negotiate his sultan's release.

Events after the war had not gone as he'd hoped. Abdel Kader's surrender had been followed within a few weeks by a revolution in France and the end of King Louis-Philippe's reign. The new French government, in violation of the promise to allow Abdel Kader to seek refuge in a Muslim country, instead had imprisoned him and his family in France for nearly five years. During the entire interval, Jafar had spared no effort to free the emir, efforts which included persuading his ducal grandfather to petition the French emperor.

But now Abdel Kader's treacherous detention on French soil was finally at an end. At the invitation of Napoleon III, Jafar and Alysson had journeyed to Paris for the celebrations and to pay their respects to the Arab leader. Alysson claimed to be enjoying herself, yet this was only the third day of parades and ceremonies, and already she was professing an eagerness to return to Algeria.

"How stuffy this room is," she exclaimed now, drinking in the crisp fall air. "I hadn't realized how much I've grown accustomed to fresh air.
Or how much I would miss home."

Jafar smiled to watch her, his heart too full to vouchsafe a reply just then. He'd grown to love her more deeply with each passing day, if that were possible. In the intervening years of their spirited marriage, Alysson had presented him with two beautiful children—a son and a daughter—whom they'd left behind in England with his delighted grandfather. Both had inherited their mother's passion and independence, and Jafar loved them all the more for it.

"But I'm pleased we came," his wife was saying. "Otherwise, I might never have met your sultan. You never told me what a compelling man he is, Jafar.
Or how humble.
I felt so . . . special in his presence, like I was the only woman in the world."

"Perhaps because you are so special, my heart."

Alysson glanced absently over her shoulder, her thoughts still on the events of that morning. She'd finally had the opportunity to meet the charismatic Berber chieftain, Abdel Kader. A handsome and intelligent man, he was surprisingly young—in his mid-forties—with an incomparable grace and a fascinating smile that reminded her somewhat of Jafar. Alysson could very well see why her husband had been willing to follow him into battle, and why the French officials paid him such deference and attention now. Even Uncle Honord had been impressed. She'd felt inordinately proud when Abdel Kader had called Jafar "brother."