The Lion's Daughter by Loretta Chase Page B

what Petro has been telling you. I'm sure
it's a hideous exaggeration —”
    “He
said you were addicted to females, and that they all throw themselves
at you shamelessly, and so you've had your pick of Italy's most
beautiful women. I understand Italy has many such,” she said
expressionlessly.
    “I
have not been a monk, precisely, but —”
    “Therefore
I am not surprised you can be charming. I was surprised only that you
are poor.” Esme did not want to reflect further upon the series
of mouths he'd kissed — and
not in joke — or
the voluptuous bodies his smooth, long fingers had caressed — and
not recoiled from.
    “I
am penniless,” he said. “That's no exaggeration.”
    “Then
it is one thing we have in common,” she said.
    “I
doubt it raises your opinion of me, however.”
    “My
opinion is of no consequence.”
    “If
it weren't, I shouldn't be going to all this bother to tell you what
a pleasant fellow I really am. I wish you would pay attention, Esme,
and stop distracting me,” he complained. “There was a
point I wished to make, about two centuries ago, before you detoured
into my promiscuity.”
    “I
beg your pardon, efendi.” Folding her hands, Esme gave him her
full attention — and
found it very difficult to suppress a smile. With that aggrieved
expression on his face and his black hair tousled every which way, he
looked like a sulky schoolboy.
    “I
was trying to explain,” he said reproachfully, “that I'm
    not
naturally bad-tempered. It's the fleas and the dirt. Even those I
could endure stoically enough if I could be assured of regular, hot
baths and fresh changes of clothing. But to sleep in the same filthy
clothes I traveled in all day, then to wake and spend another filthy
day in the same foul garments, while the vermin continue to feed and
breed upon me — well,
it does make me wild.”
    She
did smile then, though she looked away. “Ah, Varian Shenjt
Gjergj, you call yourself penniless,
yet I cannot imagine such a life as you live. Hot baths whenever you
wish, and always clean clothes. I doubt even the most pampered of a
rich man's concubines knows such luxury. If this is what you are
accustomed to, it is not surprising that our journey makes you cross.
I shall try to be more understanding in the future.”
    “You
think I'm childish, all the same,” he said. “Shall I tell
you what it's like, and let you judge whether it's childish to want
such things?”
    “As
you wish,” she said with a shrug. “It is too late to go
back to sleep. The others will rise soon.”
    “Then
let me charm you. Let me paint you a picture.” He unfolded his
long body to lean back on his elbows, and closed his eyes.
    Then
he began to speak, his voice soft and dreamy as he described a
luxurious room, the floors laid with rich carpets ... coals glowing in the hearth ... an enormous copper tub, smooth
and deep, filled with steaming water. There was soap, sweet with the
scent of herbs and flowers, and a maidservant gently washing her.
There was Esme, luxuriating in the scented warmth ... then rising from the water like
Aphrodite ... soft,
thick towels enveloping her. He painted Paradise, but it was more
than a painting. The words and his dreamy tone seeped into her very
soul and made her ache with longing.
    She
didn't realize she'd closed her eyes until the low, smoky sound of
his voice abruptly ceased. Opening them, she found him staring at her
very strangely, the smile gone. She flushed and looked away.
    “Oh,
Lord,” he murmured. Then he scrambled up and strode out of the
tent.

    Chapter 7

    IGNORING
THE MEN STARING AT HIM IN SLEEPY astonishment, Varian stomped toward
the river. En route, he nearly collided with Petro, who'd emerged
from behind a bush, hastily arranging his trousers.
    “What
is wrong, master?” he cried as Varian thrust past him.
    “Nothing.”
    “But
you are angry, master. Is it the child? Y'Allah, what has the little
wretch done now?” Petro asked, trotting