Lord Stanton's Last Mistress

‘Was he why you were in Alexandria and why you won’t tell us your name?’

‘If you wished to know my name you only had to ask. My name is Alexander, but my friends call me Alex.’

She knew he was doing precisely what he had accused her of doing—distracting her from her quarry and with an offer empty of any real value, but it worked. Her mind wrapped itself about the sound and colour of his name, her mind filling with its fire. Alex.

‘Alex.’

He breathed in, deep and sharp, and for a moment she surfaced from her internal fog, worrying something had jogged his wound, but as she reached forward instinctively he caught her hand and they froze.

She waited for him to release her wrist, but his hand slid under hers, raising it. A lock of his hair, touched with gold from the afternoon sun streaming in the narrow castle windows, fell over his brow as he leaned forward. It was like a picture from a book—the gallant knight bowing over a maiden’s hand. Until his lips skimmed over the back of her hand and came to rest just above her knuckles. She had once scalded her hand boiling herbs and it had also taken her a shocked second to realise she was in agony and snatch her hand away. She tried to do so now, but he just tightened his clasp.

‘What are you doing?’ Her voice wavered a little and he looked up and she saw danger in his eyes, an intent concentration, like a hawk hovering over a field mouse, wondering whether it was worth the plunge. But his words were almost casual.

‘Thanking you. Is showing gratitude not acceptable on Illiakos?’

‘Not like that.’

‘That’s a pity. Perhaps you should have let the lie lie. You were right your married status was an effective barrier to flirtation. Now there is nothing to stop me from telling you I find myself fantasising about what you look like under that curtain, is there?’

‘You would only be disappointed. I am not in the least remarkable.’

‘I have had a little experience with women, my dear, and though I don’t know what you look like, believe me when I say that you underestimate yourself. And if I were your brother I wouldn’t make do with that lug Yannis napping on a bench outside the room.’

The humour that did so much damage to her resolve transformed his eyes from ice to the colour of thunderclouds, but even though his hold softened, she was no longer trying to escape it. His hand encompassed her wrist, his fingers marking her thudding pulse. She knew he couldn’t see her, but she felt he saw right through her, not merely through the veils, but through her skin, to the flow of blood in her veins, to her very thoughts, chaotic and forbidden.

She tried desperately to regain her advantage as his nurse.

‘I will have you know I do not need Yannis to see to my welfare. I can see to it myself, so you had best tread carefully.’

A glint of mischief sparked in his eyes and his hand tucked hers into his as if it was the most natural thing in the world to sit there, hands clasped.

‘Or what?’

‘Or...’

She couldn’t think of anything. Not just a reasonable punishment, but of anything but the surprisingly sweet mischief in his eyes and that sense of rightness in sitting there with him, his fingers caressing the core of her palm and sending shivers of heat up her arm, her body aligning, readying to be his.

‘I don’t think I would mind any retribution you could deliver, you know.’ His voice rasped over nerves that were already dancing. The mere thought that he might feel the same attraction was as intoxicating as his touch. He was probably just playing with her as he no doubt played with all the women he claimed to have experienced. But in her mind a common bond of need had snared them both, inescapable.

‘I would never wish to hurt you,’ she replied, her own voice just as hoarse at the depth of that truth. The mischief in his eyes doused immediately, the shadows under his cheekbones becoming even more pronounced. When he spoke now his voice scared her, it was deep and raw, as compelling as an edict from the gods.

‘Take off the veil. I need to see you.’

She shook her head—it wasn’t just that he would see plump and drab Christina James, the daughter of an English doctor, but that he would see her thoughts in her eyes as clear as spring water. This was a game to him, but it wasn’t for her. He was clever and watchful and she would not be able to hide her feelings and then she would see not just disappointment but pity.

‘No.’

‘Damn it, take them off. I won’t do anything, I promise. I just want to see you.’

‘I can’t.’

‘Of course you can. This is madness. Someone like you shouldn’t even be here, locked into a servant’s life. Look, I am almost well enough to leave. Come with me.’

‘What?’

‘There is a whole world outside these walls and those veils. It’s obvious in everything you say that you are fascinated by it. I’m asking you to come discover it with me.’

‘You’re mad.’

‘Probably. A little. Well, more than a little. But I mean it. I know some of the things I do are dangerous, but I would arrange it so that you are never at risk and if anything happened to me you would have everything you need; you would never have to depend on anyone ever again. If anyone is unsuited to be at someone else’s beck and call all their lives, it is you. All that passion in you will bubble over one day and burn everything in sight. I can show you how to set it free. Take off your veils, Athena.’

She dragged her hands away and stood, stumbling backwards. Waves of heat and ice rolled through her and her lungs felt as tight as if a boulder was pinning her down.

‘Stop it. This is my home! My family!’

He struggled to his feet, his hand braced against his side, and she felt tears burning on her cheeks at the clashing currents of fear and concern and need.

‘You would rather remain a servant here?’ he demanded and she clasped her hands together.

‘I am not merely a servant. I would never leave the King and Ari; they are all that matter in my life.’

He looked away, the heat disappearing in a flash from his mouth and eyes as if it had never been. Like this he looked more than ever like a statue and it was hard to reconcile this stony façade with the appealing charm and that almost boyish need of just a moment ago. One of them had to be a lie, didn’t it?

‘It hardly matters,’ he said after a moment. ‘Fantasy is so much more rewarding than reality, anyway. But if you wish men to respect your boundaries, I suggest you refrain from flirting with them.’

‘I don’t flirt.’

‘More fantasy, darling. A dangerous one, too. Someone with your temper would do better to face your flaws or one day that meek little handmaiden act will go up in a ball of fire and then all hell will break loose.’

‘You don’t know me!’

His mouth flattened.

‘I know your kind.’

‘My kind?’

‘Yes. Clever, quiet, with everything tucked in tight until it explodes and takes everyone with it without thought of the consequences.’

The maelstrom of unfamiliar emotions gathered round a single core of fury and she clung to it with savage relief.

‘You are arrogant and presumptuous and annoying, and I am tired of sitting here in these horrible veils while you taunt me. I will tell the King you are perfectly able to travel and I hope he puts you on the very first ship off the island.’ She switched to Greek, stalking towards the door. ‘Yannis, open the door, I am coming out!’

‘Wait!’

But she was already through the door, shoving a surprised Yannis aside. She stripped off the veils and left them in a heap in the corridor.

* * *