Page 10 of Kismet

His gaze narrowed and the mocking amusement in his dark-eyed gaze became a hard, bitter gleam. “If you think to impress that fact on me by using Hakim as an example of your allure, think again.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“I’m sure you’ve already learned the boy is worth a king’s ransom.”

“I don’t know—”

“Your protests fall on deaf ears, ma belle. The boy might be infatuated with you but I’ll not allow you to use him to prove your point.”

He had to be referring to the young man who’d not left her side since their introduction. The boy was the reason she’d come out onto the patio in the first place. As charming as the young man was, she’d needed an escape from his effusive compliments. She knew the boy was already infatuated with her, but she would never encourage him. Younger men had a habit of demanding more of her than she was willing to give. Namely her heart. She shook her head and glared at him.

“This is absurd. I—”

“Hakim is uneducated in the rules of your game. Stay away from the boy or you’ll answer to me.” Cold fury hardened his features, and she ignored the flicker of fear sliding through her.

“I answer to no man,” she snapped fiercely.

“In this matter you will.” The menace in his words scraped across her spine like an icy dagger. “The boy’s my charge, and I’ll not have you toying with him.”

“You should learn the rules of my particular game as you refer to it, monsieur. I never welcome schoolboys into my bed.” She struggled to keep her tone even as she sent him a baleful look. “How I earn my living doesn’t determine my personal conduct.”

His hand whipped out to stop her as she turned to walk away. He didn’t speak—he simply studied her intently. It was easy to see he was uncertain of her, but it mattered little. She’d experienced the condemnation and contempt of far too many others for this man’s opinion to make any difference to her. The sound of mocking laughter whispered through her head, but she ignored it.

“Surprised, monsieur?” she said coldly as she peeled his fingers off her arm. “Don’t be. You’re not the first to think me unprincipled simply because of my profession, and I doubt you’ll be the last.”

With as much dignity as her anger allowed, she walked stiffly toward the doors leading back into the palace. Compared to the shadows of the patio, the light of the drawing room was blinding. As her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she fought to control the myriad of emotions raging inside her. Anger, disappointment, pain, and humiliation all converged to make her long for a home. A place where she could go to nurse the wounds he’d inflicted on her.

She was no stranger to contempt, but it always stung when she encountered it. For some inexplicable reason, the man’s scorn—God, she didn’t even know his name—had cut deeper than she was accustomed to. The knowledge dismayed her. Why should she care what the man thought?

Her hands clenched in fists, she dragged in a deep breath. She would not let him upset her. Slowly, she forced herself to release the emotions holding her tense and rigid. She was enamored with the romantic imagery of a desert sheikh. It was the only explanation for the way she was feeling. She would be back to her usual self by bedtime.

Lying to herself was never a good idea, but this was one time when she took comfort in doing so. From across the room, her gaze met Isabelle’s. Concern furrowed Isabelle’s forehead as she moved quickly toward her. When her friend reached her side, Isabelle wrapped one arm through Allegra’s.

“Where on earth have you been? The Sultan was asking for you.”

“On the patio,” she answered quietly. “I needed a moment to myself.”

“Well, perhaps that’s a good thing considering Charles arrived a short time ago.” Isabelle took a quick glance over her shoulder.

“What?” she gasped in dismay.

“He’s a friend of one of Brant’s officers. They came late. I’m so sorry, Allegra. I had no idea he was in Marrakech.”

She winced. What were the odds that Charles would choose to visit Morocco at the same time she had. Remote, she was sure. Had he followed her here for some perverse reason? She raised her hand to massage her temple in a vain effort to stave off the beginnings of a headache. She should never have allowed Isabelle to convince her to come this evening. Her friend’s grip on her arm tightened and she saw the Viscount Shaftsbury moving toward them.

The solemn expression on Charles’s face surprised her. It had been a long time since she’d seen his face free of bitterness or anger when he looked at her. When he stopped in front of them, he bowed politely.

“May I offer you my sincerest best wishes on the occasion of your marriage to Major Hastings, Isabelle. I hope you’ll be very happy.”

“Thank you.” Isabelle’s tone of voice was cool, yet polite, as she bobbed her head in his direction.

Charles turned his head toward her. “How are you, Allegra?”

“Well enough.” She greeted him with a sharp nod.

“Might I have a word with you?”

His question made her glance at Isabelle, who squeezed her arm in a silent word of caution. Her circle of friends was a small but loyal one, and the protective gleam in Isabelle’s violet eyes warmed her heart. If Isabelle were to have her way, Allegra was certain her friend would drag her away as quickly as possible. Any other time she would have followed her friend’s lead, but something in Charles’s face told her to grant his request. With a light touch on Isabelle’s hand, she offered her friend a small smile.