Page 45 of Kismet

The soft words sent a tremor through her. Lord, but the man had a voice that could convince her to indulge in the most delicious of sins. He used it to coax her, tempt her. This was the man she feared, this charming seducer. With just a word and a smile, he’d adeptly eroded her self-control. It was a struggle, but she maintained her composure and arched her eyebrow at him.

“Why do I think you spent your childhood sweet-talking your nanny out of just about anything, including trouble?” she said with a light, teasing laugh.

“I won’t deny being the apple of her eye. And yes she did forgive most of my sins.” He sent her a wicked look of amusement.

“And your parents? Were they as forgiving as your nanny?” She smiled, curiosity lighting her lovely face.

It was a simple question, yet far more complicated than it seemed. Shaheen paused for a long moment, the bitterness of his childhood rising up to rake through him with a physical pain.

“I never knew my mother, and my father—” He grimaced. “My father and I didn’t care for each other, so we avoided each other’s company.”

“I’m sorry,” she said softly as she looked up at him. “It must have been difficult to grow up without a mother.”

The sympathetic gleam in her eyes cracked something inside him that he didn’t think could be touched. He’d bottled up every terrible childhood memory, and yet with a simple statement she’d reached down inside him and tugged those emotions to the surface. Emotions he didn’t want to feel. Damn it to hell, she’d actually gotten him to speak about his childhood. Not even Jamal had ever been able to get more than two or three words out of him when it came to his days as a child at Pembroke Hall. It was time to change the subject.

“Do you have family?” he asked.

“Yes,” she nodded. “A niece. She just finished her schooling.”

It was just enough information to satisfy the curious, and yet it was vague and nondescript. Like him, she didn’t give up her secrets easily. Still, it told him more than he’d known before.

“What’s she like?”

“Cordelia?” Surprise flitted across her face as a smile curved her mouth. “She’s beautiful, charming, thoughtful, sweet, and highly intelligent.”

“Like her aunt,” he said softly as he breathed in the scent of jasmine drifting off of her.

“Cordelia is nothing like me,” she said in a tight voice. “She won’t ever be touched by the darkness I’ve seen.”

The change in her was instantaneous. She was a tigress determined to protect her cub. Suddenly, it was quite clear to him why she was so protective. She was giving her niece what she’d apparently never had in her own life. Someone who cared. He understood that all too well. The urge to pull her into his arms and just hold her welled up inside him. The unexpected need to comfort her—protect her—made his muscles stiff and wooden.

He didn’t move. If he did, he’d have no choice but to wrap his arms around her. This was something completely different from lust and desire. It was an emotion that bored its way deep into his soul. And if he didn’t take care, it would change him forever. Even if he’d allowed himself to give in to the impulse, she didn’t give him the chance to do so.

“Excuse me, I think I’ll retire for the evening,” she said in a strained voice. As she headed back toward the tents, he quickly caught up to her. Gently, he pulled her to a halt.

“It wasn’t my intent to stir up painful memories, Allegra.” He cupped the side of her cheek in his hand. “I have my own demons, and I won’t begrudge you yours.”

She closed her eyes and stood frozen in front him, the pressure of her cheek heating his palm. Her mouth parted slightly, and a soft sigh whispered past her sweet lips. Unable to help himself, he lowered his head and brushed his mouth across hers in a gentle exploration. She didn’t object. Instead, she leaned into him, and the white-hot taste of her fanned through him with lightning speed.

With a groan, he tugged her into his arms as the desire he’d suppressed for weeks exploded inside him. Soft, yet eager, her mouth parted beneath his allowing him to taste its inner sweetness. She tasted of pomegranate—tart and sweet in one stroke of his tongue. Christ Jesus, she tasted wonderful. Smelled wonderful. The jasmine soap he’d acquired for her bath scented her skin in a subtle way. It tantalized his senses, until every part of him ached for her, craved her.

Hard as iron, he longed to slide into her slick heat and have her sheathed tightly over his cock. The image pulled a low growl out of him as he deepened their kiss. In response, a mewl of pleasure escaped her and she melted into his embrace. It was a spontaneous display of emotion that told him this was the woman behind the mask. This was the Allegra he’d been looking for. Triumph surged through him as he dragged his mouth across her jaw to her soft earlobe. He nibbled on the small piece of flesh, delighting in the moan that parted her mouth.

“Say it, Allegra,” he murmured into her ear. “Tell me what I want to hear.”

She whimpered as his hand slid up over her waist to cup one breast while his thumb flicked over a stiff nipple. “I—”

“Shaheen, where are you?” Malik’s voice had the same effect as a bucket of water dousing them.

The moment the boy’s cry broke through the darkness, Allegra quickly jerked away from him. With a groan of frustration, he tried to keep her close, but she evaded him. As Malik called out again, she put several feet between them, her expression filled with the remnants of passion, confusion, and alarm. Shaheen stretched out his hand to her, but she swatted it away and raced back toward the camp.

Allegra hurried past the campfire, pretending she didn’t hear the greetings called out to her by those sitting around the fire. She needed a quiet place to think—to understand what had just happened. For the first time in her life, she’d blindly responded to a man. No warning to take care. No voice in the back of her head controlling her reactions, guiding her as to what her lover needed from her. She’d simply kissed him back, her emotions completely in control of her body. If Malik hadn’t interrupted them, she would still be in Shaheen’s arms.

The realization tugged the air out of her lungs as she lurched into the tent’s dark interior. What had she been thinking? Nothing. That was the problem. She’d allowed her guard to fall and instinct had taken over. Her emotions had been in control, not her head. Dear lord, she was out of her mind.

It was incredibly foolhardy to even think about becoming emotionally involved with the man. Particularly when she was on the verge of welcoming him into her bed. And she was on the edge of the abyss where Shaheen was concerned. She knew she would not be able to resist him for too much longer. The challenge was to keep her emotions in control and not forget that their liaison would eventually end. Emotional entanglements were unacceptable, She’d learned years ago that caring for people meant nothing but betrayal.

She sank down onto the pillows that made up her pallet. Not since the night Arthur had died had she felt so lost. The memory of that night washed over her as if it were simply a matter of days not years since the terrible event. The scandal had been horrifying, not because Arthur had died in her bed, but because of the lies the attending physician and coroner had spread. Lies that had guaranteed her ability to provide for Cordelia.

Dinner had been a quiet affair that evening, just the two of them. When Arthur had complained of being tired, she’d encouraged him to stay the night. Arthur’s habit of sleeping in the nude had only sealed her fate the next morning. When the attending physician and the coroner arrived, they’d assumed Arthur had died while in the act of copulation. A heart attack—brought on by vigorous activity. The peaceful, happy expression on Arthur’s features had only added to her mystique.

The next day, every London paper had blatantly or slyly commented how Arthur had died a happy man. In hours, gentlemen callers had inundated her home. For weeks, she’d hated Arthur for feeding her to the wolves, and her grief forced her to retreat from the world, seeing no one except a few old friends and the Prince of Wales.

Bertie had been a friend of Arthur’s as well, and he seemed to understand the depth of her loss. He’d consoled her and sought to protect her when Lady Bledsoe’s lawyers had tried to take her home and possessions. With Bertie’s help, she’d found a skilled barrister who’d dealt with the court case, but the scandal had taken its toll on her.

In some ways, she understood Lady Bledsoe’s malicious hatred. Made a laughingstock of the Marlborough Set, the woman had to live with the gossip about her husband suffering a fatal heart attack in the arms of his mistress. It could not have been an easy thing for Lady Bledsoe to bear. But it had been no more than her own sorrow.

She curled up into a ball, clutching a pillow to her chest. Arthur had been the first person since her mother and sister that she’d allowed herself to care about. In the almost two years they were together, he’d seen to it that she had lessons in every possible subject. She’d been his creation, molded to be the ultimate companion. And when he’d completed his task, he’d died.

The knowledge he’d given her hadn’t eased the pain of his death, but it had enabled her to wear the illusionary mantle of courtesan extraordinaire. She’d not wanted the title, but when her dying sister had appeared on her doorstep with Cordelia, she’d had no choice. So she’d cloaked herself in the illusion and hidden her true self behind its façade.

Not once since Arthur’s death had she allowed herself to care too deeply for any man. It had been her rule. A rule she’d invoked to insulate herself from further heartache. But it had also kept her from giving any of her lovers an uninhibited passion. She’d never opened herself up completely to any man. She’d never let them see the woman behind the courtesan. It kept her heart safe. Safe from the pain of loving someone only to lose them. It explained why she’d actually given Charles’s proposal consideration. She didn’t love Charles, but his proposal represented a stability and sanctuary she’d never known. The allure of it made her vulnerable. If she were to love, it would be the end of her. And that she couldn’t allow.

Her destiny was to remain free and independent without emotional entanglements. She was a courtesan. A woman who catered to the needs of the men she was with. Courtesans didn’t find love. They only found their next patron. With a quiet sigh of resignation, she tucked the pillow close to her body and lay still in the dark.

Could she risk choosing him? Did she have the determination to keep her emotions in check where he was concerned? It was a troubling question because it was one she didn’t want to answer. She shuddered. Her indecisiveness where he was concerned revealed far more about herself than she wanted to admit.