Percival gazed gravely at him. “The feminine constitution is delicate, sir, and you must recollect she’s recently suffered any number of shocks to her tender sensibilities.”
“Tender? Sensibilities? Your rocks have more sensibilities. There’s not a delicate bone in her…Damnation.” Varian turned abruptly to the window.
“I know she appears strong,” Percival said, “and altogether rational. But I assure you, she isn’t. When the men came, she nearly swooned, and I was obliged to take her out to the courtyard for a brisk walk in the fresh air. Then she became hysterical—”
“Percival.”
“Indeed, she must have, sir, because she was carrying on about curses, of all things. She said she was a curse to everyone, and that everyone she loved got killed, and I’d be killed, too, if she stayed with me. She said the best thing she could do was marry her worst enemy, because she could get rid of him without lifting a finger. Then she laughed and ran back into the house. So naturally I felt obliged to run after her. I was concerned she might injure herself. It was obvious she was not in her right mind.”
She is not right in the head.
Varian swung round to face the boy, who composedly met his suspicious scrutiny. “You expect me to believe that your cousin is a candidate for Bedlam?”
“Oh, no, sir. I hope I didn’t imply she was insane. The symptoms would be much more obvious, I should think. Even you would notice. I meant only that the strain of recent weeks has been too much for her, and being a female, and therefore delicate, she’s unable to think logically.”
Varian winced. He’d certainly contributed to unhinging her, hadn’t he? Yet how calm she had been, even after he’d dragged her from the cart and berated her in the most hurtful way he could think of. He’d expected her to scream back accusations, tear him to pieces with that razor tongue of hers. She’d not behaved normally, had she? Not normal for Esme, that is. Too quiet, too coldly quiet. Was it because she’d slipped into a twisted world of her own? Was that why she had been so chilly and distant all this last, interminable week? He eyed Percival warily.
“Do you know,” Varian said, “I am convinced that between you and your cousin I shall not have a particle of wit remaining.”
Percival bowed his head. “I’m dreadfully sorry, sir.”
“I let you convince me to come to this madhouse of a country, and I have let her persuade me repeatedly to courses of action against my better judgment. Today I made her a promise, which you now indicate I can’t keep. I promised I’d help her remain with her own people. I promised,” he repeated angrily.
“Yes, but it doesn’t count, does it, if she was lying? That is to say, she didn’t mean to lie, I’m sure. Very likely, she didn’t even realize she was lying. I mean, you might consider her an amnesiac, mightn’t you, in a manner of speaking? When she recovers, she’ll probably have forgotten the whole thing.”
“It’s not that simple, my boy.” Varian exhaled a sigh. “There are twenty-two men in the other room, sent by Ali Pasha to escort us all to Tepelena.”
Esme ruthlessly shoved her elbow into Petro’s fat gut and pushed past him into Lord Edenmont’s bedchamber.
“Are you mad?” she demanded. “You cannot take that boy to Tepelena.”
His lordship paused in the act of pulling off his boot. “Ah, I might have known,” he said. “I can only be grateful you held your tongue before the others.” He looked past her to the doorway, where Petro groaned, clutching his belly.
“Go away, Petro,” he said, “and be thankful she didn’t aim for your privates.”
The door slammed shut, cutting off a stream of Turkish curses.
Varian yanked off the boot and tossed it next to its mate. Then he gave Esme a long, slow survey that made her face unpleasantly warm.
“Most gracious of you to change for supper,” he murmured. “But I daresay you decided you had frightened them sufficiently with your first explosion upon the scene. Twenty-two strong men nearly fainted dead away at the sight of you.”
Esme winced inwardly. She’d never thought what a hideous spectacle she must have looked, her hair filled with straw and dirt and her scrawny frame lost in the too-large goatherd’s garments. She’d traded the red frock she’d got in Poshnja for the clothes. Percival hadn’t made any remark, and so she’d forgotten her ghastly appearance—until she burst in upon Ali’s men and saw their mouths drop open.
“I did not come to listen to your ignorant jokes,” she said. “I came to see if you had taken a fever, for surely you must be delirious to accept Ali’s invitation. You cannot take my cousin there.”
“No, my dear. I’m taking you there, as I promised. Percival is simply a necessary adjunct. I can’t leave him here.”
“You said you would not let me go alone. I shall not be alone. I shall have twenty-two men to escort me.”
“More like thirty,” he said. “Ali’s men, plus myself and Percival, plus Agimi and Mati and the rest of our escort. If, that is, they decide to accompany us. I left it up to them.”
His calmness was not encouraging. Esme tried another tack. “Varian, please—”
“Don’t even think of wheedling,” he interrupted in that same maddeningly calm voice. “I’ve had quite enough of the Brentmor brand of managing for one day, thank you. Go to bed. We’ll be making an early start tomorrow.”
She wanted to strike him. She wanted to dash his thick English skull against the stone wall. She told herself to wheedle anyhow, but rage and panic ruled her tongue. “You great, reckless fool! You cannot take Percival to Tepelena!”
He lifted one dark eyebrow a fraction of an inch, but his gray eyes remained blank as stone.
So had he been when she burst into the roomful of men earlier. He’d sat, listening to Fejzi repeat Ali’s invitation and relay the Vizier’s condolences upon the loss of her father, and never once had Lord Edenmont’s cool expression changed. He was every inch the English lord, incurious, unmoved, his face a polite mask. When the others had finally done with their endless speeches, he hadn’t troubled to respond to their flattery, or even express his gratitude for the honor proffered him. Instead he appeared bored, and answered coldly that he would inform them of his decision after supper.
His insolence, predictably, earned their respect. He behaved like a sultan who condescended to endure the ennui of being pestered for favors, and they treated him accordingly. He could have bade them to the devil, and they’d have had to accept it. He was a lord and a British subject besides. All the same, he’d bowed to Ali’s wishes in the end. Esme still couldn’t believe he could be such an idiot.
He didn’t deign to answer now, only continued to regard her in that supercilious way. He made her feel very small, every inch a barbarian. She lifted her chin.
“You cannot take Percival to Tepelena,” she repeated. “I shall not permit it.”
“Don’t be tiresome, child. Go to bed.”
“I am not a child!” she cried, stamping her foot.
“You’re behaving like one.”
Esme marched across the room to him. “Must I do all your thinking for you? Do you understand where you are going? Ali’s court is dangerous, intrigue everywhere—corruption, debauchery. To such a place you wish to take my young cousin?”
“If it’s all right for you, I don’t see why it isn’t for him. He is a male, after all, not possessed of delicate feminine sensibilities.” Varian unwrapped his neckcloth and threw it aside in his usual careless, lordly way.
Esme automatically retrieved it and began folding it while her mind worked feverishly for the words and tone to pierce this stone wall of indifference.
His sharp oath startled her. He got up and tore the neckcloth from her hands. “Drat you, Esme, don’t do that! Stop picking up after me! You’re not my bloody servant!”
She stared up at him.
He stared back, and the air about them throbbed with tension, as though a storm threatened in the surrounding hills. The storm was all in his ey
es, though, dark as a lowering sky.
His hands caught in her hair and pulled her head back, and his mouth crashed down upon hers, hard enough to make her stagger.
He had seemed so coolly composed a moment ago, but she understood now it was only seeming. His mouth was hot and punishing, and his hands dragged angrily through her hair. She felt a surge of relief, then a surge of shame for it.
Esme tried to shut him out, but his onslaught was too sudden. His fierce kiss was a lightning bolt that crackled through her and left her will in ashes.
All the suppressed longing of the last week rushed through her and heated into need. She grabbed the lapels of his coat and held on tight, as though she feared he’d escape.
The kiss lasted but a moment, and when his mouth released her, she nearly cried out in frustration. He slid his hands to her shoulders, then down, to clasp her arms, but more gently. She didn’t want gentleness. She wanted to be crushed and conquered. She wanted to be driven beyond conscience and reason.
“Little liar,” he said. “You want me.”
It was no use. Esme closed her eyes tightly, then slowly bent her head until it touched his chest.