On a Long Ago Night by Susan Sizemore Read Free Book Online Page A

attention back to
    the dining room. He had to pass his hand in front of his
    face as though lifting a veil before he actually saw the
    dark shining wood of the furniture, the gleam of silver
    serving dishes, the yellow and blue pattern of the dishes,
    the cream and burgundy striped wallpaper, the botanical
    paintings in their heavy gilded frames, and the slender
    man sitting at the head of the table, watching him with
    quiet patience.
    He realized that he had paused inside the doorway,
    and moved to the sideboard to pick up a plate. "Not a
    million miles, sir," he said. "Only a few hundred." The
    rich aroma of roast pork in wine sauce assailed him, but
    he passed over the heaping platter to take a serving of
    whole grilled fish. "But in a completely different world,"
    he admitted. There was a certain familiarity in the spicy
    scent of a dish of poached pears. The rich scents of
    nutmeg and cinnamon and cumin spoke to him of the
    bazaars of Algiers. He heaped on a double helping of the
    warm fruit.
    His father sighed as James brought his plate and
    took a seat across from him. "It's a hard world to escape,
    isn't it?"
    James ate in thoughtful silence for a while, finished
    off a fresh cup of coffee, then finally replied, "Escape was
    all I could think of for eight years."

    This time it would work — he knew it. It had to, because
    time was running out. He could almost hear his fate
    racing close behind him. It carried a sword, or a gun, or
    a hangman's rope. That was how the French and English
    punished pirates, wasn't it? By hanging them? He almost
    asked the Englishwoman he'd had brought to his quarters
    for a second meeting. Almost, but he was so used to
    keeping discreetly silent that the impulse was caught in
    time. That he had an impulse to talk to a woman at all
    amazed and confused him. Diego told himself that all his
    impulses concerning her were because she was so
    important to his plans. He needed to know about her; that
    was why he had her brought to him again .
    He should have settled matters when he'd talked to
    her the day before, but something had held him back then.
    He'd gotten her name from her, but had given her no
    explanation of what she must do to save herself. She was
    too wildly concerned about the wounded man to respond
    rationally. Diego had seen the Englishman's shoulder
    wound and thought it no grave matter, but had not
    offered her any reassurance. In fact, he'd been annoyed
    that the man she kept referring to as "Dear Derrick" was
    all that occupied her mind when he'd wanted her full
    attention. He'd sent her away after brief questioning.
    Today he had sent for her again. He'd spent the
    night thinking about her, and not just because she was
    crucial to his plan. Some madness from his old life must
    have invaded his thoughts, now that he'd formed an
    escape plan, some fever of the mind that whispered that
    he could have what he wanted. That was the only
    explanation he could think of for the compelling
    attraction
    he
    felt
    toward
    the
    tall,
    red-maned
    Englishwoman who'd haunted him in his empty bed. She
    was not the sort of woman he was used to at all, with her
    proud carriage and bold eyes behind the horn-rimmed
    lenses of her spectacles. It was a pity that her pride would
    be broken before all this was over.
    You have no time for pity, fool, he reminded himself
    .
    "Welcome," he greeted her, and waved her to a seat
    with the same courtesy he would show a guest in his
    home. She stood just within the doorway after the guard
    thrust her inside Diego's cabin and lifted her hands, the
    silent gesture graceful and eloquent. "My apologies," he
    told her in Arabic, "but you must wear restraints
    whenever you are not locked in your quarters."
    Her head tilted sideways and she raised an eyebrow,
    small, economical gestures that spoke volumes to Diego.
    "Why?" she answered him, in Arabic.
    The chains were not necessary, except as a tool of
    humiliation. It was a way to break the pride and will