O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,75

passage across the Channel. As you know, it was late by the time I reached Brightoaks, so I was glad to see a light on the terrace. As I came closer, I saw it was you, that some sorrow weighed you down. I didn’t want to startle you, and then you turned to go back inside. I forgot about the mist and how it must make me look. You looked quite ghostly yourself, now I think about it.”

“And in all the subsequent conversation, you found no way to tell me I was wrong?” she asked scornfully.

“After the first shock, I chose not to,” he said frankly. “I thought it was a way to discover if I had a chance with you.”

“How ironic. If you had not chosen that particular way, perhaps you would have had a chance.”

“Emma,” he said reprovingly. “You are not so unforgiving.”

She glared at him, and he cast her a lopsided smile that tugged at her heart. “Come. Will you not cry truce?”

Chapter Three

Selim’s heart beat fast, as it always had for her. Two and a half years ago, he had, with difficulty, walked away from an enchanting young girl. In that time, her beauty had only increased and matured, as though she had grown into it. The essence of that girl, surely, was still there, distilled into something more serious, more mysterious, more desirable.

She was right. It would indeed be ironic—and tragic—if their first encounter after the years apart was to separate them again. Surely it was not in her nature to bear grudges? He remembered her as mischievous, good-natured, fun-loving. There had been little of the haughty English lady about her, then. But she had it now in spades.

A truce did not appear likely.

She said coldly, “I do not recall being at war.”

She sat in rigid silence for some time longer. He concentrated on the road and muddy tracks, casting only occasional glances at the little glacial figure beside him.

At least she had not made him get down. Yet.

“Actually,” she said breathlessly, “I suppose I could have mistaken your gawp of incomprehension for a frozen, ghostly glare.”

Relief flooded him. “Princes of the Ottoman Empire do not gawp,” he managed.

At last, she glanced at him, and her eyes were dancing. “Admit that you gawped.”

“Alas, I gawped,” he mourned, fighting the urge to take her into his arms. “No wonder my cousin, the Sultan, will not allow me to come home. I am clearly a disgrace to the family.”

“You are,” she agreed with just a little too much relish.

“And what, then, are you?”

“Gullible,” she said ruefully.

“You must stop reading those novels so full of ghostly whispers and clanking chains.”

“I suppose it was your sword that clanked,” she allowed. “But what were you about to be whispering out of the mist like that?”

“I was trying not to wake the whole household.”

“I wish I had screamed,” she reflected.

“I am heartily glad you did not! Where are we going?”

“To deliver Christmas gifts to our tenants. It’s the lady of the manor’s responsibility, but Hazel and I are dividing it this year.” She scowled at him. “But I am still angry with you!”

“I am angry at myself,” he assured her. But he couldn’t help smiling, just because he was near her at last. And although she did not say as much, he knew there was hope.

After what seemed a long time, she directed him off the main track to a well-kept cottage. As soon as he drew the tired pony to a halt, she jumped down without waiting for him to help and walked up to the front door.

Selim, who had every intention of accompanying her, got down, took an apple from his pocket, and cut it with the knife from his other pocket. At the cottage door, Emma clutched her reticule very tightly, and it struck him that she was nervous. He had never seen her so before.

Intrigued, he fed the pony half the apple and strolled toward Emma. The door opened abruptly, and a girl about Emma’s age stood there in the dark gown, white cap, and apron of the English domestic servant.

The girl froze in clear surprise.

“Good morning, Alice,” Emma said cheerfully.

The girl swallowed. “I’ll be up directly, miss. By midday, I hope.” In her voice was a peculiar mixture of resentment and stiff pleading.

Ah, this will be the maid with whom she quarreled, the childhood playmate…

“Of course,” Emma said brightly. “You must stay with your father as long as you are needed. I am only here to