The Lion's Daughter (Scoundrels 1)

“I should hope I am not so tactless as to say so to a man possessing several hundred wives. I might hurt his feelings.”

“Aye, but mine are of no account. I knew it,” she grumbled. “I knew he’d not paid you yet. You’d not say such a thing to me if he had. No, you would pretend it was the dearest wish of your heart.”

“Good heavens, you do think I come cheap, don’t you? That wounds me, Esme, truly it does. You think I agreed to wed you for a mere thousand pounds? My dear girl, I should not agree to shackle myself to Aphrodite herself for anything less than twenty thousand. In gold,” he said. “And I should test every coin with my teeth.”

“I heard Ali say it. I heard him tell Ismal.”

“Then you heard him lying. A whore I may be, but a precious expensive one, I promise you.” Varian looked toward the window and frowned. “A thousand pounds. The very idea. I have never been so insulted in all my life.”

Esme didn’t respond. Obviously, she was turning the matter over in her mind. Just as well. Varian had his own riddle to solve, and it had to do with tomorrow. And the next day. And the day after. His mind recoiled automatically, as it always did from that gloomy prospect, the future.

He gave his attention to the window instead, to the sounds coming from below. He’d heard laughter a short while ago, when she was berating him. The laughter had stopped, and the singing had recommenced. A stringed instrument of some sort now accompanied the pipe.

He heard Esme sigh.

“What are they singing?” he asked.

“Nothing. A love song.”

“I understand hajde,” he said. “But none of the rest. What is the chorus? Shpee-mee—”

“Shpirti im. My spirit, soul. ‘Come, my...my heart.’” She made a small, weary gesture. “The man, he—oh, he calls to the girl in love.”

“Ah, well, love. Men will say anything, won’t they?”

A taut pause.

“Varian.”

He didn’t look around. He felt the mattress move as she crept toward him. She stopped abruptly part way.

“Varian, will you swear you did not agree to wed me—for any price?”

“Don’t be silly. A gentleman swears on his honor. I haven’t any.”

“Then why did you risk your life for me? If the men had not come, we would both have died. Why did you do it?”

“I don’t know. I wasn’t thinking at the time. I assume I was seized by a fit of insanity. They seem to occur frequently in your vicinity.”

She crept closer. Varian felt her light touch on his shoulder. He turned his head slowly. Esme was on her knees beside him. The skirt of her thin night rail had hiked up past her knees. Varian hastily looked up and locked with her intent green gaze. “Tell me something,” she said. “Anything. Lie to me, please.”

“I’d better not,” he answered softly. “You’re so overset at present, you’re likely to believe anything.”

“Yes. I will.”

“You’ll even believe I love you.”

Her hand tightened on his shoulder. Varian quickly pulled it away, wanting to break free and flee from the terrible words he’d uttered. From her, before he destroyed her. He didn’t move, didn’t release her hand.

Her fingers slid between his, and she brought their twined hands to her bared knee. The room grew fearfully hot, stifling.

“I’d better leave,” he said thickly.

Her lower lip trembled. “You always say that. You always go.”

“For your own good.”

“Nay. You do not want me.” She extracted her hand from his. “I am so ashamed.”

“You’re tired and overwrought. You’ve had a terrible experience.”

“This is terrible.” Her voice was low and unsteady. “Always I find death before me. I stare at him fearlessly, because I am a warrior. If I set my mind to it, I could kill you. But I cannot win this struggle. I cannot make you touch me as a man touches a woman.”

“Don’t be so cruelly absurd,” he said tightly. “I’ve touched you that way far too many times.”

Too many times…and never enough.

Varian’s gaze trailed from her trembling mouth to the smooth white skin above the neckline of her night rail, down to the small curve of her breasts to her tiny waist…down to his own hand, still resting upon her knee and itching to stroke, caress.

He drew in a painful breath. “I want you. I need you. I’m sick with it. Oh, God, don’t listen to me. Don’t…don’t do this, Esme.” The flesh beneath his hand was so smooth, so firm. Even as he warned her, his fingers moved longingly up her thigh.

Her head bent closer. The scent of the sea yet clung to her hair. It was sweet and fresh, like her silken skin. “You’re so beautiful,” he said softly. “It’s not fair.”

She murmured in her own tongue.

Varian told himself to leave. Just stand up and walk away. Instead, he caught her by the waist and drew her to him.

He gazed into eyes dark and deep as an evergreen forest. “Just one kiss,” he breathed. “Just one.”

Her slender arms wrapped about his shoulders. “Yes. Just one.”

He wanted only one sweet taste of his fierce, innocent nymph. He’d nearly lost her. A kiss was all he asked. It would be enough. It must be, he told himself as his mouth gently covered hers.

Her body swiftly melted against him. Her taut breasts pressed against the silk of his robe. Her mouth was parting for him, so warm, calling him into her depths.

All the world he knew became fragrant with the sea, sweet with the taste of her. She was young and fiercely alive as he’d never been. He tasted the rushing river and the evergreen forest in her kiss, and the turbulence, too, of the mountains where the gods yet lived. He wanted to possess that vibrant spirit and be renewed…and he knew he was wrong. It wouldn’t be that way. He’d taint and weaken her.

He broke free of her mouth, only to find he was too base to break free entirely. Her scent, irresistible, called him back. He trailed hot, needy kisses to her throat and felt her body yearn toward his, pro

mising rapture. He heard muslin whisper coaxingly against silk, and he answered, yes, because he was weak.

He found the ribbons of her gown, swiftly loosened them and pressed his mouth to the fragrant warmth of her breast. She gasped softly, then twined her fingers in his hair and pressed him closer. He trailed his tongue lingeringly along the taut flesh, to the hard, trembling peak, where he tasted and teased, letting the heat build in him as he felt it build in her. Her breath came faster, uneven.

He was hungry, and the wicked heat within urged him to haste, but he wanted to burn forever. He was aware he must stop soon, too soon. But not yet. He’d make this too-brief moment feel like forever. He’d make her forget her grief and anger, and for that short time he’d forget, too: fear and shame and the dreary haze of tomorrows stretching out before him.

“Only you,” he whispered against her skin. “Only now.”

“Yes.”

Varian looked up. Her eyes were dark, lost. Her hair streamed over her shoulders, garnet gleaming against the pearl of her skin. The gown had slipped down past her waist.

He’d seen her so before, and the memory had taunted him ever since: slight and pale and so achingly fragile outside, so strong and passionate inside. She was wild and young and shatteringly beautiful. How could he not hold her close, possess her just for this moment, when at any moment she might slip through his hands? Yet everything precious he’d ever held had slipped through his hands...to lay shattered, forgotten as he raced heedlessly on to the next moment. The next and the next…tomorrow.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered.

“You won’t.” Her full mouth curved into a hint of a smile. “Try. See if you can.”

“No. Tell me no instead.”

“Yes.” Esme kissed his forehead, then his cheek. He turned his head to capture her mouth. She eluded him, and he gasped when he felt her warm lips at the nape of his neck. She pushed his robe aside and made a tantalizing path to his shoulders, then down. Her fingers strayed to his chest, teasing where his heart beat crazily, and her touch sent heat roaring to his vitals. He tore her hands away and swiftly bore her down.