choose to take to bed.”
She laughed, rolling her eyes. The man had the morals of a camel. Not in her whole life had anyone ever spoken such candid filth to her. Her reaction was purely self-defense. “I happen to know that you have a mistress. So, you’re quite safe from me and my cap.”
He’d crossed his arms. His heavy sleeves covered his hands. “You mean Yasmeen?” He gave her a wicked smile that did not reach his eyes—a perfect sphinx version of his usual grin. If he was disconcerted that he was a familiar topic among the ladies at the consulate, it didn’t show. “It seems that you have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know anything about you. Except that you’re a photographer.”
“A very good one, too.” She released her turbulent exhalation. How many people in her life actually knew her? “I like the sunrise and the way the air smells in the morning. I love roses. I miss the rain.” She’d left her self-extolment a trifle seraphic, for she was also a member of the temperance society for city children. She’d marched in London with the ladies of suffrage, had seen the inside of more than one gaol, and, after having had her most recent publication banned in England, found herself exiled by her family to Egypt. Now, for someone who was supposedly in love with another man, she was experiencing myriad feelings that she didn’t understand. “And I think that you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen,” she finished by saying, and watched the mockery slide from his gaze. “They’re not quite blue. They are…”
“Gray, ashen, stormy?”
“One might even say they’re very nice to gaze into.”
“And what do you say, Miss Donally?”
“I say that it’s unfortunate you only want what you cannot have, Major.” She’d seen the way he’d looked at Alex on more than one occasion. “But I suppose, wanting what you cannot have gives you a reason to remain angry with the world.”
The silver gaze he fixed on her didn’t waver, and where his formidable authority had lent him only certitude moments ago, she now glimpsed something else in his expression that defied description. It pleased her that the intrepid Major Fallon was human after all.
The sound of an approaching horse intruded. Her heart began to beat harder. Her body double had arrived and, at any moment, a servant would be walking into the tent to announce his arrival.
“I don’t suppose I’m going to get that kiss after all?” She just had to be cocky. It was in her nature: when things got tough, she turned into an ass. Clearly not amused, Major Fallon pushed off the desk and walked to the cot, where he retrieved a rifle.
“You aren’t going to shoot me, are you?”
“Now there’s a thought that never crossed my mind.”
The servant entered then, bringing the guard with him. Their places now exchanged, Brianna listened to the Arabic discourse. Excluded by virtue of her ignorance, she glanced briefly at Major Fallon. Her gaze traveled from the tensile strength of his hands as he spoke, the rifle gripped in his hand, before rising to his profile, and found him watching her.
For an instant he held her pinned with his gaze, and she forgot the other men in the tent. “The moon is waning, so the light won’t help you much tonight.” His voice was sure, in control again, having relegated whatever had just passed between them someplace else. “Abdul will be waiting for you when you get to the edge of the camp. The gray horse is yours,” he added. “The Arabian is valuable and probably once belonged to some sheikh before she ended up where she did. You might find that you want to keep the mare.”
The horse was hers by right of conquest. She’d not asked about it before because she was unsure of her emotions on the topic. The Arabian was one of two horses that Major Fallon had been unwilling to leave at the watchtower oasis. There was something undefined about a man who had no qualms in killing another human
She laughed, rolling her eyes. The man had the morals of a camel. Not in her whole life had anyone ever spoken such candid filth to her. Her reaction was purely self-defense. “I happen to know that you have a mistress. So, you’re quite safe from me and my cap.”
He’d crossed his arms. His heavy sleeves covered his hands. “You mean Yasmeen?” He gave her a wicked smile that did not reach his eyes—a perfect sphinx version of his usual grin. If he was disconcerted that he was a familiar topic among the ladies at the consulate, it didn’t show. “It seems that you have me at a disadvantage. I don’t know anything about you. Except that you’re a photographer.”
“A very good one, too.” She released her turbulent exhalation. How many people in her life actually knew her? “I like the sunrise and the way the air smells in the morning. I love roses. I miss the rain.” She’d left her self-extolment a trifle seraphic, for she was also a member of the temperance society for city children. She’d marched in London with the ladies of suffrage, had seen the inside of more than one gaol, and, after having had her most recent publication banned in England, found herself exiled by her family to Egypt. Now, for someone who was supposedly in love with another man, she was experiencing myriad feelings that she didn’t understand. “And I think that you have the most beautiful eyes I’ve ever seen,” she finished by saying, and watched the mockery slide from his gaze. “They’re not quite blue. They are…”
“Gray, ashen, stormy?”
“One might even say they’re very nice to gaze into.”
“And what do you say, Miss Donally?”
“I say that it’s unfortunate you only want what you cannot have, Major.” She’d seen the way he’d looked at Alex on more than one occasion. “But I suppose, wanting what you cannot have gives you a reason to remain angry with the world.”
The silver gaze he fixed on her didn’t waver, and where his formidable authority had lent him only certitude moments ago, she now glimpsed something else in his expression that defied description. It pleased her that the intrepid Major Fallon was human after all.
The sound of an approaching horse intruded. Her heart began to beat harder. Her body double had arrived and, at any moment, a servant would be walking into the tent to announce his arrival.
“I don’t suppose I’m going to get that kiss after all?” She just had to be cocky. It was in her nature: when things got tough, she turned into an ass. Clearly not amused, Major Fallon pushed off the desk and walked to the cot, where he retrieved a rifle.
“You aren’t going to shoot me, are you?”
“Now there’s a thought that never crossed my mind.”
The servant entered then, bringing the guard with him. Their places now exchanged, Brianna listened to the Arabic discourse. Excluded by virtue of her ignorance, she glanced briefly at Major Fallon. Her gaze traveled from the tensile strength of his hands as he spoke, the rifle gripped in his hand, before rising to his profile, and found him watching her.
For an instant he held her pinned with his gaze, and she forgot the other men in the tent. “The moon is waning, so the light won’t help you much tonight.” His voice was sure, in control again, having relegated whatever had just passed between them someplace else. “Abdul will be waiting for you when you get to the edge of the camp. The gray horse is yours,” he added. “The Arabian is valuable and probably once belonged to some sheikh before she ended up where she did. You might find that you want to keep the mare.”
The horse was hers by right of conquest. She’d not asked about it before because she was unsure of her emotions on the topic. The Arabian was one of two horses that Major Fallon had been unwilling to leave at the watchtower oasis. There was something undefined about a man who had no qualms in killing another human
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