Even so, her allegation had struck an unwelcome chord within him. Jafar took a shuddering breath. His body was throbbing, yet his desire suddenly was not quite so fierce as it had been a moment before.
Willing the savage heat of his blood to cool, he slowly drew his mouth away from her sweet breast. Just as slowly he straighted to stare down at her. "I have never had to force a woman, chérie. And I am not forcing you now.''
It was true, Alysson thought with shameful comprehension. She had responded to him with a wantonness that was mortifying. "No . . ." she whispered.
His faint smile was humorless. "How ignorant you English ladies are kept. You don't even recognize desire when you feel it."
With a sound that was almost a sob, she pulled out of his arms. Had she been less upset, she might have felt surprise that Jafar let her go so easily, but all she could think of was what she had done, what she had allowed him to do.
How could she have forgotten Gervase? How could she have betrayed him so? She was considering marriage to him, for heaven's sake. Gervase had given her his love, his trust, and here she was welcoming another man's caresses! A savage stranger, no less!
Wanting to flee, to hide, Alysson began desperately searching through the pile of clothing for a robe to cover her nakedness. She found an embroidered caftan and dragged it on, overlapping the front edges and holding it protectively about her. When finally she turned to face Jafar, her bearing was tense, her expression wary.
His features were impassive but for the wry curve of his mouth, the only indication of the frustrated desire he was feeling. "There is no need for you to defend your virtue so ferociously, mademoiselle."
"No? Am I supposed to simply stand here then and calmly accept my ruination?"
He shrugged, an unconcerned gesture. "If you will only think on it, you will realize you have already been ruined in the eyes of your society, simply because you've been abducted by a 'savage Arab.' Your mere presence here in my camp, alone in my tent with me, will condemn you."
"That isn't so," Alysson replied doggedly, her voice shaking.
"Is it not? Do you think me unaware of your people's standards?" His low-pitched voice dropped a register. "Do you truly believe your Frenchman would want you now, after you have known my kisses? That he would still be willing to marry you?"
"It will not matter to Gervase that you have kissed me!" she cried, though she wasn't as certain as her adamant denial implied.
Jafar's look, as well as his tone, became cool. "If I were to take you for my own . . . if I were to lay you down, there on my bed, and settle myself between your sweet thighs . . . he would mind. Very much, I think. No civilized European, including the colonel, would marry you after that."
Alysson stared at Jafar i
n shock. It was a moment before she recovered enough from his implied threat of rape to force a response past her dry throat. "No . . . you're wrong . . . Gervase would not desert me."
"Oh, Bourmont will come for you, certainly. His honor demands it. But if he manages to avenge your capture and attain your freedom, he will toss you away as something soiled."
"You are q-quite mistaken. Gervase loves me. He wouldn't care if you did . . . ruin me."
When Jafar raised an eyebrow in disbelief, Alysson lifted her trembling chin and stared back at him defiantly.
He felt a spark of reluctant admiration for her as she stood there, proud and quivering. She was absurdly brave, Jafar thought, to deny him what he wanted. And he did want her . . . wanted her with a fierceness that surprised him. Yet he was civilized enough to want her willing.
With a cynical twist of his lips, Jafar shook his head. If he were one of his ancestors, he would not have stopped simply because she protested. He would have made her his personal slave, forced her to serve his physical needs, used her beautiful body for his pleasure . . . and hers. He would not have equivocated at rape.
And by his tribal laws, he would have been entirely justified, seeking revenge in that manner on his enemy, the colonel. But raping an innocent hadn't been his intent when he had taken her captive. His vengeance did not extend to debauching quivering virgins. She was a maid, untouched, and no matter how fiercely he wanted revenge on her fiancée, no matter how much he wanted to succumb to the fire in his Berber blood, he wouldn't take her innocence without her consent.
Yet it didn't mean he wouldn't do everything in his power to gain that consent.
"I think," Jafar said mildly, "that you overestimate the colonel's tolerance. If you were my intended bride, I would kill any man who touched you."
"Your bride?" Alysson replied scathingly. "Thank God that isn't even a remote possibility."
His smile this time held genuine amusement. "It is obvious no man has awakened your woman's body, ma belle. You know nothing of the delights of the flesh, or you would not willingly forgo my caresses."
His audacity astonished her. "You arrogant savage! The only way I would endure the caresses of a barbarian like you would be if you forced me."
"Oh, I will have you, my sweet, but it won't be by force." His tone was casual, speculative even, but Alysson had the terrible conviction he was making her a promise. "You will submit to me of your own free will."
Her fingers curling into fists, she faced him rigidly, nearly shaking with fury. "You are obviously quite mad! I will never submit to you!"
"Indeed you will, chérie. You will call me master . . . and lover. You will not return to Bourmont a maiden."