On a Long Ago Night (22 page)

jasmine drifted in from a garden through a high latticed window,

along with the tinkling of a fountain. Everything was so exotic,

foreign, different. She felt lost, not only a stranger in a strange

land, but a stranger to herself
. She
felt exotic. Anything could

happen. Her imagination took flights she'd never anticipated

whenever she looked at Diego Moresco. She even felt beautiful

when he looked at her. Which was why her gaze inevitably went

back to his. His honey-colored eyes held hunger in them. For a

moment she thought the hunger might be for her, rather than greed

to possess this silver sword he'd told her of.

What nonsense! Yet
—
her body grew hot and tight, and there

was a needy ache deep inside her whenever he looked at her. And

looking at him
—
it made her feel like her bones were going to melt,

made her heart thrum, and addled her senses. She wanted to touch

what she looked at, and looking back was something she grew

bolder at each time. Looking at him was becoming a craving that

she knew could only be of a carnal nature. She had never

experienced this sweet feverishness with Derrick, not even when he

held her in his arms and kissed her. Diego Moresco had not kissed

her, yet she could imagine what it must be like
.

Derrick had told her she was beautiful, and she had known it

to be a fond, indulgent lie. She was a healthy young woman with

good teeth and an expensive wardrobe. She wore spectacles. She

was tall as a man, with large feet, and red-haired, besides, when

the fashion was for delicate little dark-haired sylphs. Yet for some

reason, Diego Moresco, by doing nothing at all but focusing his

attention on her, made her
feel
beautiful. No
—
he made her feel…

desired
.

Perhaps it was the Arabic clothing. All the layers and veils

lent any woman an air of mystery. Perhaps they automatically

made a man wonder what was hidden beneath all that

concealment. Would even Derrick look at her as though she were a

woman and not an heiress if he saw her dressed in veils?

What an unkind thought! And where had it come from?

Honoria glared at the pirate as though he had put the thought in

her mind, and then realized that he was patiently waiting for her to

do as he bid. That was all he wanted of her. She was desired all

right, but only for her intellectual abilities! Unreasonably angry,

she snapped, "I won't do it."

The sudden crushed hope on Diego's face sent a pang of guilt

through her. But for what? And for whom and why? Honoria was

so confused for a moment that her vision swam with dizziness,

sending the room spinning around her. When the dizziness ended

she discovered that she was on her feet, and furious.

"I won't do it," she proclaimed loudly. She brought a fist

down hard on the tabletop. "I won't!" She wasn't even quite sure

what it was she wasn't going to do. Everything? Nothing?

Diego was on his feet as well. "You must." He pointed at the

paper. "It is my will."

She glanced at the much-folded paper. "If it's your will, then

you know what's in it. No doubt you have made a large behest to all

those you have left widowed and orphaned."

He looked confused for a moment, then laughed harshly.

"Word games. And whom did I leave you to in my will, do you

think?"

"A camel merchant, perhaps," she snapped back. "I'm not

worth very much."

"You're worth everything to me."

There was something fervent in his tone and eyes that

terrified and thrilled her.

Her laugh was as shrill as his had been harsh. "I'm worth

fourteen drachma."

"You are priceless." He looked surprised and blushed like a

boy. Then his expression darkened. His voice held a dangerous

edge when he said, "I order you to obey me."

For the faintest flash of a moment, she had found Diego

Moresco
—
endearing. Now she reacted with fury and pride, more

to staunch the fearful attraction. She was so very, very confused.

"You what!" she shouted back. "How dare you
?"

He was suddenly beside her, holding her close. She had no

idea how it had happened, or why her arms were wrapped tightly

around him as well. "I don't want
… I
don't
… I
want
—"

"I do not want to," Honoria told her father, and they were not even

discussing James Marbury, for once. She was on her way to a royal

ball, dressed in a turquoise gown that Cousin Kate assured her set

off her flamboyant hair in a most spectacular fashion. She had not

yet taken off her spectacles, and would not until the Pyneham

coach reached the entrance to Buckingham Palace. That was not

likely to be for a while, as the coaches were lined up three deep and

stretched along the street for at least half a mile. Though the

Pyneham coach was decorated with the crest of a duke, their coat

of arms carried no more privilege than any other on their way to

see the Queen. Honoria was perfectly content to wait out the traffic

snarl; she'd brought a book with her and the interior of the coach

was comfortable and quite well lit. She was never in any hurry to

carry out her social duties, especially now that her scandalous past

was likely to step up and ask for a waltz, rather than to be merely

suspected and decently whispered about behind fans.

Her father moved restlessly on the seat opposite her, probably

impatient at having to wait in line to reach the palace entrance,

since he did not look annoyed with her. "I don't blame you, my

dear," he answered her protest. "I wouldn't want to become a lady-

in-waiting to the Queen, either, but think of the advantages."

The Reform Party did not have much access to the young

monarch at the moment. An appointment for her to such an exalted

position as the Queen's attendant would be quite a feather in the

Reformers' cap, she supposed, an indication that the Reformers

were not completely out of favor.

"It would be excruciatingly boring," she pointed out. Honoria

folded her hands in her lap and attempted to be her most reasonable

and logical self while the carriage rolled forward a foot or so. "Her

Majesty is—uh—" How to say this politely? "Fond of the more

melodramatic plays. And of having maudlin light fiction read to

her. I am not sure I could manage to stay awake during such

entertainments, sir. Snoring in the royal presence would be most

unseemly."

He waved her first sally away. "Boredom would be a small

price to pay for helping to bring the plight of Her Majesty's poorer

subjects to her attention. You are well known for your good works,

my dear. You would be a shining example among a court of

frivolous girls."

Honoria did not feel any particular need for her charitable

work to be an example, or even noted. There had been speculative

jests made about contributions she had made to several institutions

that aided fallen women. She pointed out as gently as possible, "My

reputation is not quite so unsullied as should be expected of a royal

lady-in-waiting."

He nodded. "I have spoken with Baroness Lehzen and have

assured the Queen's dearest friend the truth of the matter myself.

Her approval of you is essential if you are to serve the Queen."

She tilted her head curiously to one side. "Indeed, sir? What

have you told that paragon of Germanic virtue?"

"I told her what happened, of course. That the ship that was

returning you home from Majorca after your mother's death was

commandeered to help transport troops and supplies to the attack

on Algiers. That you were inadvertently present during the fall of

the corsairs' stronghold, but that you certainly had no contact with

any of the pirate scum who infested the city. That, yes, your

betrothed was also on board the same ship and subsequently broke

off the engagement, but that was hardly due to any unsavory

circumstances. That no honor was besmirched; rather, it was your

grief for your mother that drove a wedge between you and Captain

Russell."

It was a good story, a believable one. She had spent many

pounds in the effort to make it so. No one but she, her loyal maid—

and two men who were likely to be present at Buckingham Palace

tonight—knew the truth. And only she and James Marbury knew

the complete truth, though no doubt they had different versions of

it. Truth was a very malleable thing. Gossip even more so, and

almost as cruel. There had been much speculation about her

adventures in the decadent fleshpots of the East, all with no more

evidence than that she had been in Algiers when the city fell to the

French. When the malicious whispers had gotten back to her, she

had retired from society in the hope of keeping any scandal from

touching her father. She could tell by looking at his tightly

clenched jaw now that she had not been able to protect him

completely.

Lord knew how he would respond if he ever knew the truth.

She feared it might bring on a stroke as well as breaking his heart

utterly.

"You've led a blameless life," her father proclaimed, bringing

a fist down on the thickly upholstered carriage seat for emphasis. "I

will see you honored with a place at court."

She kept her voice steady and gentle. "I seek no such

honors."

He ignored her. "As soon as you are married to James

Marbury, I will push harder for your appointment."

"Married?" She hated women who squeaked like mice, but

did it herself more and more of late. "Another reason you wish me

married is so I can have the shield of propriety that comes with

being a matron rather than a maiden. It suits your politics as well as

your paternal and dynastic aims to see me leg-shackled to a male of

your choosing."

"Precisely," he responded with a wide smile. He seemed to

think she approved of the cleverness of all these machinations. "We

have a great many canny, frugal folk in our bloodline, my child. I

think I might have some knowledge of getting the best bargain for

the least amount of effort."

"It might be a wise bargain, sir. You may even see me

married," she conceded grudgingly. Perhaps she should latch onto

some fortune hunter to prevent this Marbury match everyone

seemed to think was a settled fact. "But I still doubt the Queen will

have me as an attendant."

"And why do you doubt it, child?"

"Because she is a woman, sir, with all the vanities our gender

is prey to." The carriage moved forward again as Honoria finished,

"And no woman as tiny as our little majesty is going to have a

lady-in-waiting who towers a foot taller than she. No one," she

reminded, "stands taller than the Queen of England."

Before he could make any rejoinder, she added, "Oh, good,

we've reached the entrance."

"May I have this waltz?"

"I knew it," Honoria muttered under her breath.

James saw the light that came into Honoria's eyes as Derrick

Russell reached her one step ahead of him, and requested to dance

with her a second before James spoke. He hoped the light was one

of battle rather than welcome, but couldn't tell by the amiable

expression on her face. He had watched her for the last several

hours as she moved through the ballroom with stately grace, always

close by her father's side, always faintly smiling, gracious and

correct to all. There was an alert, intelligent dignity in everything

she did that he thought as regal as any queen's. But, then, being a

future duchess was not so far from a queen, he supposed.

And who was he to aspire to the hand of a duchess?

The son of a viscount, and his noble Spanish lineage went

back a thousand years further. He had as much right to be in the