Page 49 of Barbarous

The tightness between her thighs made her dizzy and she pressed her knees together, as if such pressure might stop the dreadfully titillating sensations. But it only sent teeth-gritting pleasure surging from her sex to the rest of her body.

“Stop. It.”

The sharp words focused her scattered wits. Daphne inhaled deeply, held a breath, and then slowly released it, an action that had often saved her sanity in the months following Malcolm’s attack. In a few moments she was less agitated, if not exactly calm.

The woman’s hair had been a fiery copper and her skin milky white. Could she be a European whom Hugh had caused to be dressed like a woman from a harem? It was even possible she was an Englishwoman, perhaps a local prostitute, someone he’d engaged after he’d visited his ship? Daphne groaned, her brain whirling. The only thing she knew for certain was that they’d been holding each other like lovers.

How could she ever have believed there was anything growing between Hugh and herself? He’d merely entertained himself with her because she was the only woman in the vicinity. And she’d been so eager for his attention and so . . . so . . . easy.

Anger joined mortification and shock and Daphne could almost feel her heart hardening in her chest. She hated him. She’d been an idiot to delay going to London, which she’d only done until she could conceive of a way to tell him the truth, to give him back his inheritance. Then she could take the boys and—

You are lying to yourself, Daphne.

“No.” She shook her head and whispered. “No, I’m not.” Daphne groaned and closed her eyes.

Yes, she was. And she didn’t need her nagging inner voice to tell her that. She hadn’t lingered at Lessing Hall for the correct answer to appear in her head—there was no correct answer. There was only the unavoidable, unpalatable truth. A truth she would tell him tomorrow. Yes. Tomorrow she would end it all—her blind, foolish infatuation and her decade-old deception.

Daphne exhaled, suddenly—and bleakly—calm, now that she’d made a decision. She should thank him for what he’d done tonight rather than blame him.

Yes, she should thank him and be very, very, very grateful his actions had brought her to her senses before she’d done something inexcusably foolish. Something like fall in love with him.

Chapter Thirteen

Hugh had to bite his tongue to keep from yelling. How the hell was he supposed to explain this to Daphne? He glanced down at the source of his troubles, the silent woman on the settee.

Euphemia Marlington’s kohl-blackened eyes were speculative. “You are married, Hugh?” Her voice was low and musical, slightly accented from so many years speaking a language other than English.

“No, I am not married.” He shoved his hand through his hair, furious with himself rather than Mia, who’d done nothing wrong.

“She is your concubine?”

“Good Lord.” Hugh closed his eye and shook his head. Just wait until this one hit the ton.

Other than red hair and green eyes, Mia Marlington bore no resemblance to the girl who’d haunted him for seventeen years. She was as beautiful as any woman he’d ever seen and ten times more devious. Not to mention twice as dangerous as a nest of vipers and more exotic than one of his uncle’s rare orchids.

He gave her a tired smile. “English gentlemen don’t keep concubines, Mia.”

“Tsst!” Her sibilant dismissal and smoldering glance caused Hugh to step away and put his uncle’s huge desk between them.

Yes, the girl he’d met all those years ago was gone. In her place was a woman who’d entered a ruthless killer’s harem at fourteen, going from adolescent odalisque to mature, beautiful, and wily concubine. Hugh knew what it took just to survive Babba Hassan’s cruelty; he couldn’t imagine the strength of will she must possess to have actually flourished.

“Well-bred Englishwomen never mention such subjects as concubines in polite conversation, Mia. Nor do they make that hissing noise.”

Lady Euphemia, only daughter of the Duke of Carlisle, regarded Hugh with eyes as old as sin.

“Whatever she is to you, she is very angry. You had better make amends or it will not be safe to go to sleep under the same roof with her.” A knowing smile curved her lips.

Hugh supposed she knew as much about the nature of man as any woman alive, particularly the bad side. No woman ended up surviving a harem—as Mia had done until recently—unless she was as adept at deadly, Byzantine politics as her lord and master. Just thinking of her life among a group of women all fighting for the survival of their male children made Hugh shudder.

“You will come with me to the house of my father,” she ordered before yawning daintily.

Hugh sighed and massaged his temple, which hadn’t stopped pounding since meeting the woman he’d risked his men’s lives to rescue. Only a few hours in Mia’s company made him realize he could not entrust her to anyone else. She was a bloody force of nature.

Delacroix had all but thrown her into Hugh’s arms when he’d stepped aboard the Ghost.

“She is all yours, Captain. And if you know what is good for you—and your ship and crew—you will remove her immediately.” The old sailor had not looked so frazzled since their days under the sultan’s lash.

“Is something amiss?”