In response, Jafar closed his eyes. He was not pleased that she had brought up Zohra, yet he was too sated to be annoyed. And in fact, the thought of Alysson being jealous of his past affairs was distinctly gratifying.
"Am I your woman, Jafar?"
A curiously passionless frown crossed his face as he reflected on her question. For some time now, he'd known that in many ways Alysson was a kindred spirit, as isolated by fate as he was. But only this morning had he come to realize another truth. The aloneness that had been such an integral part of his existence since the death of his beloved parents faded whenever Alysson was near. She filled an emptiness in his life that he'd never acknowledged until now. As he'd stood there shaking with fury at Zohra's machinations, he'd finally understood the possessiveness he felt for Alysson. He wanted the right to protect her, to share her love, her future. He wanted to father her children. He wanted to become the center of her universe, the way he feared she had become the center of his.
But no man could take those rights. They had to be given freely.
"If you were truly my woman," he answered quietly, cryptically, "you would not want to leave here."
"What does that mean?" She searched his face. "Do you expect me to say I want to be your captive?"
Jafar sighed. It meant that she would have to make the choice to stay, that he wanted her to come to him willingly, of her own volition. But so far Alysson had shown no indication that she wanted to remain here with him.
When he didn't reply, Alysson bit her lip, still tender from his savage kisses. "Tahar told me that you must marry a noblewoman from another tribe."
"Yes." He sighed again. "I have no alternative but to marry for political reasons. It is my duty as amghar to strengthen my tribe's alliances through marriage."
"Oh."
The quiet disappointment he thought he'd heard in her voice made Jafar's heart skip a hopeful beat. But perhaps he was reading too much into her tone. Even strong evidence of a woman's jealousy did not mean she held any deeper feelings. Feelings such as love.
Jafar's jaw tightened. In truth, how could Alysson learn to love him after all he'd done to her? He'd seduced her, taken her innocence. He'd shamelessly tried to rouse her desire and make her forget her love for another man. In the first goal at least he'd been successful. He had a certain power over her, he knew. One that went beyond their captor- captive relationship. The attraction between them, the desire, was too strong for her to deny or resist. Her presence here in his arms just now proved that.
But while he could compel her desire, he couldn't force her love. She might be drawn to him for the moment. She might be unable to deny the fierce physical attraction between them. But desire was a fleeting, insubstantial basis upon which to build a future.
As for her question, he could not make her his "woman." She would never remain here as his concubine. And he would not insult her by asking it of her.
But what of marriage? His religion allowed him to take up to four wives, and yet he knew Alysson well enough to realize she would never be content with second place.
And he could not offer more. His first wife would of necessity come from a neighboring tribe. He could not put his own wishes, his own needs, ahead of his people's.
Nor could he in good conscience ask Alysson to spend the rest Of her life here, with him, in this savage land. Merely the idea was impossible. What could he offer her but war and strife? What future besides a lifetime sentence in a strange land, amid a strange culture? Even if he could wed her, there was every possibility that he might be killed in the war. And what then? She would be cut off from all she held dear.
No, the truth was, she would be better off without him, among her own kind, with a man who could offer her a safe,
secure future.
With Gervase de Bourmont.
Involuntarily, possessively, Jafar tightened his hold on Alysson. The thought of his blood enemy taking what he'd just been given, of any other man enjoying the intensely satisfying ecstasy of making love to her, of unleashing the fascinating energy in her sweet body, the delicious warmth, made Jafar's blood boil. But he had to face that eventuality. He had to force himself to view the circumstances unemotionally.
It was in his power to determine Alysson's fate. He could keep her here indefinitely as his prisoner, or he could give her her freedom. He could put her happiness before his own. He could allow her a future with the man she professed to love. He could send her back to Gervase de Bourmont.
There was little standing in the way now. Yesterday he'd received a message from his chief lieutenant Farhat, reporting that the negotiations with the French government were proceeding satisfactorily. The exchange of prisoners would soon go forth. Once that occurred, there would be no compelling reason to keep Alysson and her uncle as a bargaining advantage.
And the letters he'd written to certain highborn English friends of his grandfather should bear fruit any day now. He was almost positive he could make Alysson's return to Algiers less traumatic, that he could manage to protect her name and reputation enough so that she would not suffer too greatly.
Now it was only the matter of his own selfishness, Jafar reflected caustically. Yet how could he bear to send her back?
"Jafar? Do you . . . have you chosen a bride yet?"
Jafar felt an ache center in his chest. Next to the decision about whether to grant Alysson her freedom, the last thing he wanted to think about was his future bride. He wanted to forget entirely the existence of such duty. At the moment he wanted simply to enjoy the pleasure of having Alysson warm and willing in his embrace.
"I do not wish to discuss it, chérie."
"What if I wish to?"
He opened one eye to glare at her in mock menace. "Hush, or I will beat you."