‘Of course they would.’ His hand slipped up and cupped the back of her head. ‘Your hair, Dorian. Your eyes—you’re different. Everything about you is different.’
He was different, too, she thought suddenly. She had never known a man like him, a man at home in two such different worlds. She had never known a man who looked like him, either, with a hard masculinity that seemed only to enhance his beauty. Because he was beautiful. That tall, regal bearing. The handsome face, with its faint layer of dark stubble. And his eyes—she could see them clearly now. She had thought they were black, or even brown, but they weren’t. They were something in between, a dark, midnight hazel that—that…
Say something, she told herself. Say anything.
But it was Jake who spoke, his voice low and intimate.
‘Do you really want to be with me?’
It seemed hard to draw breath into her lungs. She had been afraid of being left alone when she’d made her admission, wondering who—or what—was in the woods. But Jake’s whispered question had given her words an entirely different meaning and suddenly the air became charged with electricity.
That he’d still try and play such a game in the midst of danger infuriated her.
But that she felt herself responding to it infuriated her even more.
‘I—I…’ She drew a deep breath. ‘Of course. That way, I can get some background information about—about the people in this place. For my articles, I mean.’
Jake’s face changed to stone. ‘How conscientious you are,’ he said coldly. He lowered her to her feet and stepped back. ‘Stay here and don’t move. Not an inch, do you understand?’
‘But—how long will you be gone?’
His smile was quick and humourless. ‘As long as it takes,’ he said, and then, like a shadowy ghost, he melted into the trees and vanished.
* * *
In truth, he wasn’t gone very long at all. And when he did reappear he seemed to materialise out of nowhere.
‘Here,’ he said, dropping a bundle of clothing in her lap. ‘Get those things on, and be quick about it.’
She frowned. ‘What is all this?’
‘What does it look like?’ he snapped. ‘A skirt and blouse. A shawl. And a pair of sandals. Come on, will you? We’ve only another couple of hours of daylight.’
She rose slowly. ‘Where did you get this stuff?’
‘From one of the village belles.’ A cool smile twisted across his lips. ‘Not your style, hmm?’
‘But why? My clothing is torn, but it’s still wearable.’
Jake laughed. ‘I know this is going to break your heart,’ he said, ‘but truthfully I didn’t give much thought to whether or not your outfit needed replacing.’
‘Well, then…?’
‘You look different from the women we’ll see.’
That was what he’d said just a little while ago. But the words had had a softness then. Now, it was an indictment.
‘We haven’t seen anybody yet.’
‘We will, once we reach the mountains, and the fact that you don’t speak either Pragavic or Barovnian—’
‘Barovnian?’ She shook her head. ‘Why would anyone expect me to speak that?’
‘I can take care of that by saying my wife is mute,’ he said, ignoring her. ‘But the rest is impossible.’
Dorian’s eyes widened. ‘Mute?’
‘Maybe we can get away with the colour of your hair and eyes,’ he said thoughtfully. ‘My country is small, and has been invaded often.’ His eyes swept over her and a look of faint distaste settled on his face. ‘But there’s no way to explain your Western clothes—especially that trouser suit.’
‘Jake, for heaven’s sake—why will you have to make excuses for anything once we get to Barovnia?’
‘We’re wasting time,’ he said in clipped tones. ‘Change your clothing.’
‘But—but you haven’t explained anything.’
He caught hold of her shoulders. ‘Dress yourself, Dorian, or I’ll do it for you.’
Their eyes met and held. A flush of anger rose along her cheeks and she shrugged free of him.
‘You really belong in this part of the world,’ she said coldly. ‘It suits you perfectly.’
His smile was grim. ‘Does it?’
‘Oh, yes. All that charm is just a cover-up, isn’t it? You’d much rather give a woman orders than anything else.’
‘You’re wrong.’
Dorian tossed her head. ‘I don’t think so.’
‘But you are.’ He laughed softly as he reached out and caught her face in his hands. ‘Giving a woman orders is sometimes necessary, but there are other things I much prefer doing.’
Colour flooded her cheeks again. ‘I wonder,’ she said evenly, ‘does Jack Alexander know what kind of cold-hearted bastard you are?’
Jake’s smile vanished, like a light suddenly extinguished.
‘He knows all there is to know about me, Dorian.’
‘And he still wants you around?’ She grimaced. ‘But then, why wouldn’t he? He’s probably the same kind of rat you are.’
‘No.’ His voice was very soft, almost a whisper. ‘He isn’t. He’s far worse than I am.’ He looked at her for a long moment, and then he let go of her and turned away. ‘You have two minutes to get out of what you’re wearing and into the clothes I’ve given you.’ He glanced down at his watch. ‘Two minutes, Dorian.’
She stared at his back, at the straight spine, the arrogantly held head, and she knew that he meant what he said.
Her fingers flew over buttons and hooks, until her khaki suit lay at her feet and she was dressed in the soft black wool skirt, embroidered blouse, and dark leather sandals Jake had brought for her.
The clothing fitted well enough; it was even handsome, in its own way. Why, then, did it make her feel so uncomfortable?
‘Thirty seconds, Dorian. Twenty. Ten—’
‘I’m ready,’ she said quickly.
Jake turned around, his gaze moving slowly over her. She felt it linger at the slight swell of her breasts visible in the scooped neckline of the blouse, felt it feather across the narrow waist of the skirt. When he looked up, he was smiling.
‘Yes,’ he said softly, ‘yes, you’ll do. You’ll do fine.’ She watched as he buried her khaki suit and shoes underneath a rock. ‘Now, let’s see that foot.’
She started to tell him that her foot would be OK in the thick-soled sandals, but one glance at his determined face and she knew it would be useless to argue.
‘It’s fine,’ she said, propping her foot on his knee as he knelt before her.
Jake pulled a strip of soft flannel from the sack, made a pad of it, and slipped it between the sole of her foot and the sandal. His hands were strong, yet surprisingly gentle. Without warning, she thought of how they would feel on her breasts…
‘All right.’ He rose quickly. ‘Let’s go. I don’t think we’ll cross anyone’s path until morning, but, if we do, remember who you are.’
She stiffened, reacting as much to the unexpected vision of a moment ago as to his air of authority.
‘This is ridiculous,’ she said. ‘I don’t have to—’
‘You are mute.’ His voice was harsh. ‘And you are my wife. Do you understand?’
‘No, dammit, I do not understand.’
‘There’s no time for e
xplanations. Just do as you’re told.’
‘Why?’ Her eyes flashed green sparks. ‘Because that’s how the men of your country treat their women?’
Jake’s eyes narrowed. ‘That’s as good a reason as any.’
‘Well, I have news for you, Jake Prince. You may belong in this part of the world, but I don’t. And I am not your woman. I—’
She cried out as he reached for her and pulled her into his arms. His mouth dropped to hers and he kissed her with a harsh, unforgiving passion that left her breathless.
‘You are what I say you are, until we reach Kadar,’ he said when he lifted his head. ‘Is that clear?’
She blinked back the angry tears that rose in her eyes. ‘Absolutely.’
He gave her a long, steady look, and then he nodded and turned away.
‘Let’s go, then,’ he said and, after a moment, because there really weren’t any other choices, Dorian fell in behind him.
CHAPTER SEVEN
DORIAN blotted her forehead with a corner of her shawl, spat out a mouthful of dust, and did her damnedest to keep up with Jake.
None of it was easy. The shawl was getting soggy with sweat, she felt as if she’d swallowed half the dirt road, and Jake—Jake was marching along as if he didn’t care whether she could stay with him or not.
No. That wasn’t exactly true. He’d asked her, when they’d started, if her foot felt all right, and he’d asked the same question half a dozen times since in a way that implied that he expected her to be the worst kind of burden.
‘It’s fine,’ she’d kept saying, which was true enough. The improvised pad, and the thick leather sandals, had solved the problem. Eventually, he’d stopped asking. Now, he simply glanced back from time to time, checking her presence the way you would check to see if a stray dog was still following you.
‘Let’s go, let’s go. Can’t you move any faster?’
She glared at his sweat-soaked back. No, she thought, not without wings. I’m exhausted and sweaty and I hate you for what you’ve done to me, dressing me in this—this cheap costume out of a bad operetta, treating me as if I were your property, making veiled references to danger ahead when the truth was the danger was long past, and all because you’re determined to make me look and feel foolish.