“Clearly, he is anxious for an answer,” Hazel replied calmly. “But you don’t have to give him one, Emma. At least not yet. It is too big a decision to allow yourself to be forced into making it before you are ready.”
“Oh, I have made it,” Emma said. “I just don’t want to make us all uncomfortable with it.”
Hazel sat on the edge of the bed and regarded her. “Has Selim proposed to you?”
Emma flushed. “No, of course not. But it seems I can’t marry without love, and I don’t love Davitt.”
“Then, should you not tell him so at once?”
“Yes.” Emma sighed. “But I know Mama and Roberta want me to marry him.”
“It is a good match that would keep you close to them.”
“I think I would rather be like you, traveling all over the world with Joe.”
“I’m sure you could come, too.”
Emma smiled. “You know very well I don’t mean with you and Joe. But I’m reaching for the impossible. To him, I’m only Joe’s little sister.”
“There has never been much only about you, Emma.”
“And he is an exile with no home and a different religion. I barely know him.”
“For what it is worth,” Hazel said carefully, “I did not really know Joe well when we married. As it happened, I knew enough. But you need not rush this, Emma. Any of it.”
Impulsively, Emma hugged her.
When she had changed for dinner, she thought rather cravenly of waiting in her chamber until she was sure everyone would have gathered. But in the end, she threw her shoulders back and descended the stairs. After all, it was hardly the first offer of marriage she had rejected.
As she suspected, she found the drawing room empty of all save Lord Davitt, whose face lit up as she entered.
“Miss Sayle!” He hurried across the room to greet her. “I hoped we would find a few moments alone.” He squeezed her hand and led her to the sofa nearest the fireplace. When she sat, he draped himself beside her, turned toward her with his arm along the sofa back. “Dare I hope you have thought about my offer?”
“I have,” Emma said. “And I am aware of how much it honors me and my family. However, I’m afraid I cannot accept your obliging offer.”
It might have been imagination, but for an instant, she thought an ugly shadow crossed his face. But no, a sad smile curved his lips.
“May I know why?” he asked mildly.
“I am a foolish creature, and I have discovered I can only marry for love. While I hope you and I will always remain friends, I find I do not love you as your wife should love you.”
“Emma.” He took her hand once more, and though she was uncomfortable, it seemed rude to immediately snatch it back. “Have you considered that is because you are not yet my wife? When we are one, you will love me. I shall make sure of it.”
She drew her hand free. “Sadly, that is up to me, not you. I hope I don’t cause you pain, my lord, but indeed we would not suit.” She rose quickly, highly relieved when Roberta walked into the room with John.
Normally, Roberta would have scolded her for being alone with a man, but on this occasion, she only smiled indulgently. While John played host, pouring sherry for everyone, Joe and Selim wandered in, deep in conversation.
Almost at once, Selim’s glance sought her out. And she could not resist returning his spontaneous smile.
There is no one else. It has always been Selim…
However, as she hastily looked away, she saw Davitt gazing from her to Selim, and his expression was grim. It did not bode well for a comfortable dinner, but fortunately, Emma had placed her between Standish and John, so there were no opportunities for private conversation with either Davitt or Selim.
And in truth, it was an informal dinner, and as usual, when the family was together, banter and laughter flowed around the table and across it. Hazel had become part of the fun, and Standish, who rarely understood it, accepted it. Selim and Davitt were inevitably dragged into the conversation, and Selim more than held his own as he had during his last visit.
And just like last night, gazing at the lone star, Emma’s reality slipped. She could almost see many such dinners in the future, many such Christmases when the decorative leaves and berries might change, the guests might differ, but the central core would be the same. Her mother, her brothers, and sisters. And Selim.
Selim, who did not believe in the divinity of Christ.
Reality flooded back. She did not underestimate the difficulties. Even the impossibilities, but at this moment, she was truly happy.
Although they waited up until midnight in order to wish each other Merry Christmas, Emma could not face going to bed. Unlaced by the maid, but still dressed with a shawl around her shoulders, she paced her bedchamber, going over the magical evening of warmth and laughter, of music and friendship. She felt full of love for the world and of hope for happiness, for although she and Selim had exchanged no promises, no words of love, he had looked at her.
How he had looked at her. Her body thrilled with heat even at the memory of his eyes.
Restlessly, she pulled back the curtain and gazed up at the clear sky. Yes, there was that star again. In the east. She laughed at herself for imagining last night that it was Selim’s spirit falling to earth. The mist and clouds had merely blocked it, and then she had seen his approaching lantern. Tonight, the sky was clear, and frost glistened heavily on the ground.
Was Selim watching, too? Did he remember her grief last night when she had imagined him dead? Did he know that she loved him? Did he, could he, love her?
Suddenly, it was unbearable to waste more time. She would go back to the terrace, see if he joined her there. She stamped her feet into her boots, snatched up her fur-lined cloak, and left her bedchamber. At the last moment, she grabbed the candle from beside the door.
She hurried along the dark, empty passages, down the stairs to the gallery and the drawing room, which was also in darkness. As she pulled the curtain back, pale light from the stars and the new moon spilled on to her. She unlocked the door and stepped onto the terrace, softly closing the door behind her to keep the cold out of the house.
It was bitterly cold. The frost crunched beneath her boots as she walked toward the balustrade, her gaze on the glittering night sky, her ears straining with hope for any sound that might betoken Selim. It was a cold night to wait very long.
Selim had sat alone in the drawing room by the light of one solitary candle, wondering how so much emotion could be stirred up in him by one young woman whom he barely knew. His friend’s sister who possessed all of Joe’s adventurous spirit, along with her own wit and charm and, he suspected, passion.
Selim was a man of deep passions and strong impulses. They did not always lead to good decisions, as he knew to his cost. Rebelling against his cousin, blaming Joe…not his finest hour. How much damage would he do to this lovely girl by taking her from her family into his own roving life of exile and adventure?
How much damage would he already have done if he left her again?
He wished she would walk through the door, heading, perhaps for the terrace where he had met her last night. And they could talk of things that mattered, and things that didn’t.
The candle burned out, leaving him in total darkness, apart from the glow from the dying fire. He stared into the embers while he thought of his rival, Lord Davitt. For his part, Selim judged Davitt to be amiably small-minded with a sense of entitlement and a tendency toward meanness. Although no man showed to advantage in the throes of jealousy, he thought ruefully, least of all himself.
The click of the opening door jerked him from his brooding thoughts. A ghostly figure, slender and beautiful in the glow of a single candle, drifted across the room, almost touching him as she passed toward the window.
Emma.
His throat constricted. She had come, as he had hardly dared to hope. And just as he had imagined, she drew back the curtain, unlocked the door, and stepped onto the te
rrace. He sat in silence, partly because he doubted he could speak, and partly because he didn’t want to loom out of the darkness and scare her as he had last night.
Only when she had closed the door did he draw a deep breath and rise. He walked toward the French window, avoiding the obstacles of furniture outlined by the starlight and her single candle beyond the glass.
She stood by the frosty stone balustrade, framed in faint, silvery light, almost like the ghost she had thought him last night. But she was far too vital to be mere spirit. Her beauty, her exquisite form delighted him, filled him with hunger. God knew this was no mere spiritual, platonic love, though that was there, too, protecting her from his baser lust.
She is everything.
The knowledge came with a flood of relief, as though he had finally resolved an all but impossible equation. He laid his hand on the door, just as another figure appeared from the steps, bounding across the terrace to her.
Lord Davitt.
The man threw the burning ember of his cigarillo over the balustrade as he went, clearly delighted to find her there. She started toward him with her sweet, spontaneous smile.
Selim froze. All his joy and certainty streamed out of him, leaving him little more than a confused boy.
What right did he have to even ask her to leave her family for a life with him? Did she not deserve a man of her own country, her own religion?
His forehead touched the cold glass. Was Davitt really that man?
Only if she loves him. Only if he loves her.
Chapter Five
At the sound of his footsteps approaching the terrace, Emma turned to him with joy, her heart hammering because she was right, because he had come.
But it was not Selim who moved across the terrace toward her. It was Lord Davitt.
“Oh. It’s you,” she uttered, stating the obvious as she came to an abrupt halt.
He frowned, clearly irritated. “Who did you think it was? The Turkish prince you’ve all made such a pet of?”
“Pet?” she said affronted. “The prince has saved Joe’s life and will always be welcome in my family.”
Davitt waved that aside and seized her hands. “Come, let’s not speak of him. I ask you again, Emma, be mine. Be my wife.”
“I have already answered you, sir. I’m sorry if it hurts you, but I shall not change, however often you ask.”
“You are a stubborn little thing, are you not?”
She did not care for his tone or his touch and tugged her hands to be free of him. But his grip tightened.
“Don’t,” he said harshly. “I do not lose so easily. Willingly or not, you will walk with me alone in the moonlight.”
“Don’t be silly, it’s freezing,” she said, tugging harder. “And I find you offensive. Let me go!” He was already dragging her toward the steps, his fingers now digging painfully into her arm.
Emma’s anger was tinged now with fear. “Release me!”
“Only when you are well and truly compromised, and your family will be glad the offer is still there.”
She dug in her heels, grasping onto the icy balustrade to slow him up. “Are you so desperate for my fortune?”
“Frankly, yes,” he admitted. “But it is the whole package that appeals. I would do anything to have you, Emma, my love.”
“Unhand her. Now.” The voice, deep and angry as she had never heard it, spat the words like bullets from a gun.
Selim. Striding across the terrace, his eyes, even in the dim light, spitting with fury. His sudden command certainly startled Davitt, who almost let her go as he swung back to face the threat.
“Or what?” he sneered. “You bring her family out here? I assure you, it all fits my purpose.”
“No,” Selim said with dangerous softness. His eyes were hard like agates. “Or I kill you.”
He meant it, too, absolutely, which was oddly thrilling as well as terrifying.
But Davitt could not see it. He laughed. “Go ahead and try. The noise will only bring observers, which is just what I want.”
Selim’s hand shot out, grasping him by the throat. Davitt had to release her then, scrabbling wildly at the strangling hand while his other arm swung wildly to strike his attacker.
Emma staggered out of Davitt’s reach. Selim blocked Davitt’s punch with his arm, but he did release his throat. Davitt charged him in pure fury, his fists flying in what would surely be devastating blows. But Selim ducked to avoid the first and blocked the second. His leg thrust forward with devastating speed, and somehow Davitt was on the ground.
Selim landed on top of him, twisting his arms behind his back, then rose, hauling Davitt to his feet. In two paces, he was at the steps, and Davitt, with a cry of more astonishment than pain, went tumbling down them.
Her lips parted in shock, Emma turned her gaze from the empty space to Selim, who stood before her, offering his arm. Wordlessly, Emma took it, and they walked across the terrace and back inside.
Selim closed and locked the door and pulled the curtain across before picking up the tinder box from the table and lighting the candle. Slowly, he turned to face her. “Did he hurt you?”
Emma tried to answer, but the words wouldn’t come. With a sob, she collapsed against him. After the barest instant, his arms closed around her, strong and secure and gentle. She turned her face up to him, pleading, and his mouth claimed hers.
She flung her arms up around his neck, lost in him, in wild, unfurling passion. She had never imagined a kiss like this, so rough and tender, so demanding and sweet. Aching pleasure spread through her whole body, making her hungry for more.
“You cannot marry that…scoundrel,” Selim said fiercely against her lips.
“Of course, I cannot.” She held his head between her hands and took back his mouth.
“Do you love me?” he whispered.
“With all my heart. You know I do. Selim…” She could not ask, could not bear to force an answer.
But it seemed he understood. His thumb traced the shape of her lower lip. “I have always loved you, even when I believed I should not. Your soul speaks to mine.” He kissed her again while his fingers caressed. He held her so close to him, she could feel every thrilling inch of him, feel his strong, drumming heartbeat, his quickened breath. Her world suddenly was very warm, exciting, sensual…
With a soft groan, he released her lips and held her from him. “Tomorrow, we will speak to Joe. Until then…” Determinedly, he placed her hand decorously on his arm, picked up the candle, and led her from the room.
As they rounded the corner from the gallery to the stairs, they came face to face with Davitt. All three of them stopped.
Davitt stared, perhaps sensing the new intimacy he had helped bring to a head. His lips curled into a sneer. “You do know,” he said to Emma, “that his people take several wives? I can only wish you luck.” And with that, he stalked ahead of them upstairs.
Selim and Emma followed more slowly and parted on the landing.
“There is only you,” he said, low. “There will only ever be you.”
She didn’t think she would ever sleep that night. But in fact, with the echo of kisses on her lips and his words wrapped warmly around her heart, she fell into slumber almost as soon as her head touched the pillow.
And she sprang back into happy wakefulness when the maid pulled back the curtains to let low, wintry sunshine into the room. “Good morning, miss! Merry Christmas. Her ladyship says to remind you to be ready for church.”
“Merry Christmas!” Emma replied gaily, slipping from the bed, desperate to see Selim again, to tell her mother and the rest of the family about her happiness.
As soon as she was washed and dressed, she all but danced her way down to the breakfast parlor, humming as she went and calling “Merry Christmas!” to the servants still busy about their work. They all smiled back at her as they answered. As though joy was contagious.
To her amazement, the breakfast room was already full of her family—apart from
the children. Selim was among them. He looked up and smiled at her, rising from his chair as soon as she entered.
She grasped at once that they all knew. For Roberta burst into tears, and her mother gazed at her with such mingled happiness and sorrow that Emma wanted to weep, too.
“Oh, Mama, don’t look like that!” she cried, throwing herself at her mother’s feet. “Joe and Hazel go away all the time, and they always come back! So does John.”
“I doubt I could keep her away from you for very long if I wanted to,” Selim said. “And I don’t want to.”
“But how would it even work?” Roberta demanded, angrily dashing her hand over her eyes, while her husband patted her shoulder. “How would you marry? Would you become a Muslim?”
Their mother brightened suddenly. “Perhaps the prince would become a Christian?”
“Alas, my lady, I could not, in all conscience,” Selim said apologetically. “But I have every respect for your religion and would not expect Emma to change her beliefs.”
“So, will you come to church with us this morning?” John challenged.
Selim met his gaze with quiet understanding. “Of course.”
“You will?” Standish asked in surprise.
“Indeed. It will be excellent practice,” Selim said gravely. “I would suggest we marry according to both rites.”
Emma smiled. “So that no one can doubt us or part us.”
Across the table, Joe caught her gaze. “This is what you want, Emma?”
She smiled. “With all my heart.”
Joe’s lips quirked. “Then you have my permission and my blessing. And God help you, Selim.”
Only as they gathered in the hall ready to leave for church, did they encounter Lord Davitt.
“Ah, Lady Sayle, I’m glad I caught you,” he said civilly. “I wish to thank you most warmly for your kind hospitality, but I have decided my duty should be with my own family this day. I shall be gone by the time you return.”
“Oh! Well, we shall miss you, but of course, we quite understand,” Hazel replied, rising well to the occasion. “Give our best wishes to your family, and have a safe journey.”
O Night Divine: A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales Page 21
