O Night Divine A Holiday Collection of Spirited Christmas Tales - Kathryn Le Veque Page 0,81

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 terrace. 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