Chapter 11 #2
He moved toward her; she tensed. “How did you come to be captured?” he demanded, pausing directly in front of her. “How long have you been in Tripoli? No one in the United States knows of any American women held in captivity here. Who is your master?”
She spoke thickly. “My master is Jebal.”
Xavier could not help it He was jealous.
He had traveled around the world enough times to be an utter realist. This woman lived in the harem and she was a slave.
She was exotic and beautiful. Jebal had to have used her; others probably had, too.
A decision was made before he was even aware of making it.
He would attain her release—or escape—along with that of his men and himself. “Have they hurt you?”
She took a breath. “It’s been difficult,” she said. Her eyes never left his face. She gazed at him with an intensity that was almost unsettling.
And her eyes continued to make his heart hammer as if he were a nervous schoolboy. “Vera, I am so sorry for what has happened. On behalf of my country, my government, I apologize. I want you to know that you have a friend and ally in myself.”
“You are truly a hero,” she whispered.
“Hardly.” He laughed slightly. “How were you captured?”
Her hands slid down the folds of her tunic, on her thighs. Xavier froze. She wet her lips. “It’s a long story.”
“I have time. All night, in fact,” he added harshly. He hadn’t meant to say that. Thoughts he no longer had a right to were creeping back into his mind.
“I was on my way to Gibraltar,” she said slowly. “To meet my husband.”
“You’re married.” Disappointment overwhelmed him.
There were high spots of color on her cheeks. “He’s dead. He died while I was en route.”
“I’m sorry,” he lied.
“It doesn’t matter.”
“The corsairs seized you?”
“Yes.”
He continued to regard her. It was easy to do. He couldn’t seem to get enough of her face. Finally he sighed and walked to the open windows, raking a hand through his hair. How this woman must have suffered. It was his duty as a man and an American to protect her now, to keep her safe and well.
He turned. “Why were you in the bedestan today?”
She swallowed. “I heard about you. I came to see you.”
He thought that he blushed. He recalled very well the embarrassment of being publicly viewed by a jeering crowd while stark naked.
It was hard to keep a stiff upper lip when one’s pants were down.
“What you did was dangerous, was it not? Or does Jebal allow you to wander outside of the harem clad as a man?”
She smiled slightly, for the very first time. “He would kill me if he knew.”
He liked her smile and he smiled, too.
Her smile disappeared. “I’m used to freedom. Being a … slave … is hard.”
He wanted to know details; specifically, he wanted to know about her and Jebal. But such a question would be crude, and the details were none of his business. “Shall we sit? Are you hungry? Thirsty?”
She nodded.
He took her arm to lead her to the cushions. But the moment he touched her skin their eyes collided, and instantly veered away. He made sure not to touch her again, gesturing for her to sit. He was strangely breathless.
Of course, he hadn’t had a woman since leaving Boston. That was the reason for his inexplicable interest in this woman. For his current arousal.
She slid down onto the cushions, sitting cross-legged. He found his gaze wandering—immediately he tried not to look.
She shifted, tucking her legs beneath her, clearly realizing what she had done and what he had seen. Xavier was grateful. He poured her a glass of lemonade. When she accepted the glass their fingers brushed. Tingles raced up and down his spine.
He clenched his fists, acutely conscious of how close they sat to one another and the fact that she enthralled him. He could not remember having had such an immediate reaction to a woman before. “How long have you been in Barbary?”
“Fourteen months.”
He watched her sip the lemonade. “And no one knows. There has been no word. I do not understand this.”
“Neilsen lodged a protest when I was first brought here.”
He could not manage a response. He had found himself staring at her mouth. He should have accepted one of the other slave girls.
Her gaze shimmered. Hesitating, she reached out. Xavier tensed as her hand settled on his hard, bare forearm. “You are an incredible man,” she said huskily. “Just the way I thought you would be.”
He swallowed. “I’m not sure I understand.”
“It doesn’t matter.” Their gazes remained locked.
He looked past her bare shoulder at the pile of cushions, an image of her on her back there, with him on top of her, forming in his mind. He forced it aside. “Am I going to be able to see you again?”
“Yes. But it will be difficult. I’ll find a way.”
Xavier did not like her bold statement. “Perhaps I will have some degree of freedom in the next few days. How can I get word to you? I will think of a way for us to meet again.”
“It will be easier for me to arrange a rendezvous,” she said. “I am familiar with the palace, its inhabitants and customs.”
He stared at her, amazed, because no woman had ever told him what to do before.
She flushed. “I’m sorry. I just thought …”
“You are right,” Xavier finally said, reluctantly. “And you are very brave. Brave as well as beautiful.”
She hid a small smile, looking down. Her hands were clasped in her lap.
Xavier stared. He was a heartbeat away from giving in to the beast within himself. To seizing those hands, pulling them up, pushing her down. And placing his own hands there. He took a deep breath. “I need to meet with Neilsen,” Xavier said.
“Maybe I can help.” Her eyes were bright.
“No. I don’t want you taking any unnecessary chances.”
She smiled. “I don’t break so easily, Xavier.”
His expression softened. “Have you ever been told that you speak somewhat strangely?”
“Yes. Murad knows this palace intimately. He can get word to Neilsen.”
“Murad, the other slave?” She nodded. “He is free to come and go?”
“Not exactly. But he has more freedom than I do.”
“What, exactly, is your relationship with him?” Xavier asked curiously. He had seen the bond between them. They were close to the same age, as well, and Murad was a very handsome young man.
She did not respond at first. “We are both slaves—we are both friends.”
He was having the strangest thoughts. Did she and Murad comfort one another as they remained together in captivity? It would be so natural. He was, again, jealous. Xavier could not understand himself.
He stood up. Not trusting himself to remain so near her. “It is getting late.”
She quickly stood, not giving him a chance to help her up. She was, he saw, incredibly agile and graceful, almost moving like a man. Except that she was one hundred percent female and his body knew it.
“You must be exhausted and I’m being thoughtless.”
He smiled. “Hardly.”
She didn’t walk by him. Her gaze was level with his chest. It lifted slowly.
He could not move, he could not speak.
Her mouth opened, but no words formed immediately. “My heart … is beating overtime.” She laughed nervously.
Their gazes locked. And Xavier wondered if he really could keep his hands to himself. “So is mine.”
She was immobile. Moving neither toward him nor away. “I know,” she whispered.
He had to move away from her. His jaw flexed, his shoulders stiff, his pulse pounding, Xavier paced across the room. He stared grimly out of the windows into the starry night. Who was this woman? Why was she affecting him so?
He faced her. “Have we met before?”
“Not exactly.”
“What does that mean?”
Her mouth opened; she inhaled. “I’ve been to Blackwell House.”
“When?” he demanded.
“You weren’t there. No one was home. I mean, I walked by.”
“You’re from Boston?”
“New York City.”
“You were visiting friends in Boston? Relatives?”
She was worrying the tassels dangling from her vest. “Yes. Friends.”
He stared. Something was awry. And she was unhappy. Why? Because of his questions? Or because he hadn’t kissed her? “Whom were you visiting in Boston?” he asked.
“What does it matter?”
“I am certain that we must have met at least in passing. Somewhere, sometime.”
“No.”
“Perhaps I know your freinds?”
“I don’t think so,” she whispered.
His gaze roamed her face. She was upset. He was being a cad. This woman was a captive, which was abominable, and he was interrogating her. “I’m sorry.” He forced a smile and strode toward her. “I don’t know what overcame me. I did not mean to upset you, Vera.”
She didn’t move, her back against the door, her green gaze glued to his face.
It was the most natural thing in the world. The most awkward, the most tense. His hand lifted, cupping her smooth ivory cheek. She stood very still, like a doe caught in gun-sights, immobilized.
“I would never hurt you,” he heard himself say.
“I know,” she whispered. A tear slipped from her eyes.
“Why are you crying?”
She swallowed, unable to speak.
“You are not alone anymore, Vera,” he whispered. “Trust me. I am here, and together we will get through this, I swear to you on all that I hold dear.”
“Yes,” she breathed. “Ohmygod, Xavier.” She faltered. Another tear trickled down her cheek.
“Please con’t cry,” he said. “I am a complete coward, you see. A woman’s tears terrify me.”
She smiled, her eyes wet and luminous.
His palm still cupped her cheek. Xavier knew he must remove it, but his thumb stroked the edge of her jaw. In another moment, he would kiss her.
She knew it too. Silence enveloped them, thick and hot. Xavier could hear his own racing heartbeat, and possibly hers as well.
He dropped his hand. He was, after all, a gentleman, and proud of it. “Good night, Vera. Let us plan to meet on the morrow.”
Her bosom, barely contained by the vest, heaved. “Yes. Tomorrow. Good night.”