Indiscreet (12 page)
Foye laughed. The soft sound rolled over her. "Indeed it is not"
"Do you miss England?" she asked.
"Sometimes." He worked very hard not to crowd her on the wall, which she did appreciate, but here and there the stone wall was crumbling away and they were forced closer together. She did not entirely mind. "You?"
"I miss Oxford and Godard's friends and the students who used to call. But there's a great deal I do not miss." She shrugged. "As you might imagine, I was very glad to leave England."
"I suppose you were, Miss Godard."
"It was an unpleasant time." She shrugged again. They had reached a part of the barbican wall that trended upward into the hill on which the castle was built The going was more difficult and in places vegetation and time had done their worst Foye put a hand to the back of her arm when she stumbled, only for a step, at a rocky section. Her heart jumped at the unexpected contact She kept walking, willing herself to calm down even as her pulse raced. It was nothing. Lord Foye had done nothing but make sure she didn't fall. He meant nothing, one way or the other, by the contact.
But she could not stop herself from thinking that they were alone and wondering if she would want to cling to I him again, if he decided to kiss her after all. He wouldn't though. Such thoughts were nothing more than silly fancy.
When they came to a section where the wall had almost entirely crumbled away, they stood at the edge of the break for an awkward moment until he said, "Will you allow me to assist you across?”
Sabine nodded. "Yes, of course, my lord.”
"Foye."
"Foye," she said.
"Ready?" She nodded and he picked her up, one arm behind her knees, the other around her middle back. His I arms were rock hard. "Are you all right?" he asked.
She nodded even though she wasn't sure she was. Being held so tightly made her breath come hard. Foye's arms tightened around her, and he stepped across the gap in the wall.
"You see?" he said when they were over. His voice was low and soft in her ear. "There is an advantage to keeping company with a beast of a man. You may be easily lifted over obstacles that would otherwise stop you from your goal. We are across and the victors in the battle."
He did not release her, not until he'd taken a third step. He ought to have put her down already. Why hadn't he? She looked at his face, and their eyes met with a shock that ran from her chest to her low, low belly. She wanted this, she'd thought of this—his arms around her, this closeness. With him. Perversely, now that the moment she'd been longing for was here, she was terrified of what might happen.
He set her down close to him. Too close, and yet, Sabine thought, not close enough. She didn't ease away from him, though she could have. Though he expected her to. He left his hand on the side of her hip. She suppressed the urge to whisk away the curls dangling over his forehead.
"Safe and sound," he said.
She couldn't help herself; she reached up and swept away the wayward curls. She stopped, on her tiptoes, with her fingers on his forehead. "Your hair is so very soft, Foye." She brushed away a few more curls. "It doesn't look it, but it is."
He reached up and took her hand in his. She'd never put on her gloves, so her fingers were bare. Slowly, he brought her fingers to his mouth and kissed the back of her hand. His lips touched her bare skin. "Sabine," he whispered, "what am I to do with you?"
"What is it you want to do?"
He did not step away, and, God help her, she trembled with anticipation. He tipped his head to one side. 'To make up my mind about you." The skin around his eyes crinkled when he smiled. "Am I too beastly for you, Sabine? Or is that something you can overlook?"
She was aware that the future of her relationship with him, whatever that was to be, hung in the balance now. Her whole life was about to change, and this time the choice was hers. Her chest felt tight She could hardly breathe. "You and I will continue to disagree on that, I think."
Foye slid his hand from her hip upward to her ribs, coming to a rest just beneath her breast. She swallowed once. His eyes, such a lovely blue, stayed on her face. He grimaced. "I have no angel's face for you to adore."
"Yes, you have." A breeze caught at her hair again, but she ignored it
His fingers tightened on her. "Then, again, I must ask, what am I to do with you?"
"Kiss me again?"
"A deplorable idea." But he brought her close and kissed her anyway. Briefly, but his mouth opened over hers, his lips caught at hers, and she could not help feeling this was nothing like the kiss they'd shared before. This was gentler, sweeter. He drew back. "What else?"
She tried to take a deep breath and couldn't The air caught in her lungs. She licked her lips. There were no words, just a nameless emotion building up in her and leaving her without any words to express what she felt "What are you asking, Foye?"
He drew in a long breath and put a hand on her shoulder. "Damned if I know." They both stood very still. Waiting. He placed his hands on either side of her face and kissed her again. Longer this time. Far more assertively. Enough that she swayed toward him and threw one arm around his neck. Her art case banged against his leg, and after a bit, he set her back and took the case from her. He set it down. "Sabine, please, if I might be so bold with you as to call you that Allow me to speak my mind. Please."
She nodded. Foye took a step closer until there were only inches between them. His finger brushed the top of her neck and slowly down until it rested on her collarbone. "Very well, then."
His smile melted her. "Perhaps," he said, "I don't wish to speak."
"Then what are we to do?"
"This." He used his finger to brush away the strand of hair that had escaped her hairpins and traced a line from behind her ear to the nape of her neck. He stood close enough to her that her cloak and skirts were trapped against his legs. He bent his head over her so that his breath warmed her skin. He pressed his mouth to the side of her throat, just beneath her ear. 'Tell me what you want from me," he whispered.
She wanted this. She wanted him to kiss her again and again. "Foye. I want you, Foye."
"Even though I'm an old man compared to you?"
"Stop that"
"You have me, then, Sabine." Slowly, he drew back. She was crying, tears slipping silently, wetly, down her cheeks. "Sabine." He peered into her face, searching for something there. "My God, what are these tears?"
"I can't leave Godard," she said. Her heart broke for want of him. She whispered, as her heart shattered, "I won't."
"Hush," he said. His hands tightened on her. "I've not asked that of you."
"Then what?" she said, still crying. "Nothing? All this between us and you want nothing at all?"
He bent down and kissed her again, and Sabine clung to him in case this was the last time he ever wanted to hold her again. He wasn't so gentle this time when he kissed her. Heat pooled in her belly and between her legs and still be kissed her. When he stopped, she held him tight and he said, "I'll wait for you, Sabine. Don't you know that? For as long as I need to."
Chapter Eleven
Buyukdere,
May 26, 1811
May 26, 1811
Three fifteen in the afternoon. A private courtyard at the home of Mr. and Mrs. Charles Faber. A fountain in the middle of the courtyard cooled the afternoon heat. There was a pond with tiny golden fish and finches in the almond trees. Inside the house, any number of people were having tea and listening to Miss Anna Justice play the pianoforte.
Sabine sat on a stone bench knowing full well she was nothing but the worst kind of coward. She ought to be inside helping Mrs. Lucey in her scheme to bring together Lord Foye and Miss Justice, only she couldn't face either of them. She felt she was deceiving Mrs. Lucey. She was. Foye wanted nothing to do with Miss Justice, but he was in there now pretending.
Dozen of finches flitted about in the almond trees planted in the courtyard. She listened to them calling to each other and to the fountain burbling, but neither sound blocked out the noise from within the house. Miss Justice was still playing the pianoforte. She was very good. Not just competent Ah. And now she was singing.
A high stone wall enclosed the courtyard to which she'd escaped—she could likely cross the entire length in twenty steps. Probably fewer. Behind her was the corridor that led here from the house. There was a bend in the passageway so that if she were to look, she would not see the house. She could easily imagine she was entirely alone here with no need to rejoin the others and pretend all was well with her when it wasn't.
She did not wish to feel as if her heart was no longer her own, yet that was her predicament. She was not, however, required to give in to those feelings. She didn't dare. Strength of character belonged to her, and with that asset, she could move through her life outwardly unchanged until Lord Foye returned to England or she and Godard left Buyukdere. Perhaps in ten or twenty years she and Foye would be together. Or he would have forgotten.
She crossed her forearms atop her thighs and stared into the pool, watching for a flash of piscine fin in the water. If she'd known she would find fish here, she would have brought bread crumbs. The sense that time was passing too quickly set her nerves on end. She would have to return soon. Godard would be asking after her. She'd have to go back inside and watch Foye with Miss Justice.
"Sabine?"
She stood, turning, knowing already who it was before she saw him standing in the doorway. His voice reverberated in her ears. She curtseyed to him and held out her hands. Her heart broke all over again. "Foye."
He walked into the courtyard. As ever, she could not guess his thoughts when he was somber, as he was now. His expression was pleasant "You seem very deep in concentration. Am I intruding?" he asked.
"Never," she said. She could not stop the rush of heat through her body nor the leap of her heart.
"You looked so thoughtful." He pulled her into his arms, and she raised up for a kiss. "We haven't much time. They'll miss us both before long, and I have a question to ask of you." He kissed her. But he sensed something had changed, and he set her back. "Is everything all right?"
"No." Her heart pounded. How wretched this was, to be so affected by anyone. No matter how often she told herself to be happy for whatever moments she had with him, her thoughts kept rushing to the future that must separate them.
He didn't say anything, and neither did she. The silence was... not precisely uncomfortable. Then they both spoke at the same time, overrunning each other.
"What is your question?"
"What is it, Sabine? What's—"
"Hold me, Foye. As if you'll never let me go."
"—happened?"
He obliged her, and she threw her arms around his neck and kissed him until he was kissing her back. Again, though, he set her back. "What's wrong, Sabine? Tell me and I'll try to make everything better."
They ended up staring at each other, and Sabine's head filled with the memory of them on the barbican wall at Buyukdere Castle. "Not yet," she said. "You first What is your question?"
"The other day, you said you wished to sketch me."
Sabine studied him, trying to work out why he cared to bring up a comment she'd made almost as an aside. "Yes, I did say that I suppose I ought to be flattered you even recall."
He gazed at her. "I recall every word you said that day."
"Do you?"
"I want you to take my likeness, Sabine. As soon as you can manage the time away from your uncle." He hooked a thumb in the pocket of his waistcoat.
She nodded and blinked back tears. There was no more time.
"Excellent." He grinned. "When is the next time he goes to the baths?"
She opened her mouth to speak, then realized she had no idea what she ought to say, only that she did not want to tell him yet
"Now what," he said in a low voice, "is going on in that clever mind of yours?"
"I want to draw you. I do. I would in a heartbeat if it were possible. But I cannot"
"Why not?"
She clasped his hands in hers and brought them up to her mouth to kiss them one at a time. "Godard and I are leaving Buyukdere tomorrow."
Chapter Twelve
May 26,1811
About five o'clock in the evening. The Godard rented house in Buyukdere. While a modest home, the house did boast a partial view of the Bosporus. Much of the interior was in disarray since the Godards were preparing to leave for Nazim Pasha's
pashalik
in Kilis.
pashalik
in Kilis.
"Sir Henry," Lord Foye said in a voice that sent a shiver down Sabine's spine. She did her best to suppress the reaction. She did not want to start crying and have to concoct some explanation as to why she'd grown so unnaturally fond of Buyukdere that she couldn't bear to leave. She bent her head over her writing; she was working on the Egyptian section of Godard's book. Supposedly. If she'd written half a line, she was fortunate.
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