Page 8 of Be-Djinn At The Beginning

Beatrix sighed. “And there are rules I must follow.”

Sahar watched her a moment, unsure why that sentence made the same sound as his rib cage cracking inside him.

“You mean to go through with your marriage to this…this… man.”

Beatrix fixed him with a wry smile.

“Is that the foulest insult you can imagine?”

“In fact, it is.”

“Are you not a man?”

“I am significantly finer and I am also not the subject of discussion, Beatrix,” he said, looping his arm through hers to guide her back toward the darkness between buildings. “Tell me why you mean to marry him. I know you too well to suppose he has won your heart.”

“What, that old thing?” She laughed sadly, looking down at their feet. “It has always been for sale, cheap to the right buyer. No, Mr. Claybourn does not have my heart, though I’m sure in time he will at least attempt to find it. Put simply, my parents will face ruin if I don’t marry well. My older sisters’ husbands can help but it will not be enough if I remain in the home.”

Sahar watched her face with the barest glow from the bonfire tickling its edges; a face he had never before found so lovely. There was beauty that made him ache from every inch, and sadness that made him desperate to protect her.

“At three and twenty, I am nearly too old to be considered a good match for any man with all his own hair,” she continued. “It was a choice between Mr. Claybourn and being packed off to a convent.”

Sahar shuddered. What a thought.

“But will you be happy?” he asked, trying to gentle his growling voice, to show some care instead of his usual malignant mischief.

Bea avoided looking at his face—one he still hid from her, always giving her nothing while she showed him everything, and shrugged.

“He is a kind man. His friends in town spoke well of him. He doesn’t have the outward appearance of a rake or scoundrel or villain.”

“Much to your dismay, I am sure,” Sahar muttered.

Bea clucked her tongue, looking back toward the bonfire. Her face was burning in the cool autumn air.

Sahar relished this little squirm of embarrassment for only a moment before panic bit its way into his bones again. What good did it do to know her as well as he did if this was the last he would ever see of her? She would go off with some stranger that he could not protect her from. This was her own choice. If she wished it from him, if she said the words… but she hadn’t.

“Please, Jack, let us end as friends,” she said, squeezing his arm. “If I’m to lose your society in two days’ time, let’s at least have a dance and a drink to Hallowe’en. Can’t we?”

Sahar smiled, flashing his bright teeth while in the darkness. That, he could certainly do, and she need not even have asked.

He pulled her by her hands back toward the bonfire in the center of town where drums and fiddles and flutes played over the merry pops and crackles of the flame, and couples twirled around each other, giddy and tipsy.

He clutched Beatrix by her waist and pulled her close, spinning them in a tight circle with their other hands stretched above them before changing directions. What a strange sensation it was to hold her like this. Under his glove, through her stiff bodice, he could still feel the softness of her, the extra curve to her waist and her hips that sent such confusing hunger tearing through him. Were she another woman, he’d already have his face beneath her dress, wrenching out every strangled scream she had to give him. And oh, that thought hit him like a whole cask of wine.

For the first time, possibly ever, Sahar fought to control himself.

As violently as his cock raged against him, his heart was quick to best it each time he saw Beatrix in the firelight, laughing breathlessly, hair swirling about her face, stumbling and snorting with laughter when he caught her.

“I would never have suspected you could dance!” she called over the music as another lively tune started. By then she had lost track of how many they’d played.

“Madam, you wound me to suggest I could be anything less than admirable at any task,” Sahar said, twisting her under his arm before yanking her back in close.

“Truly? Any task at all?” she asked with a hint of a challenge.

Sahar could not help himself. He dipped her low and spoke right beside her ear, a rumble that made all the revels around them become hushed.

“Truly. Any. Perhaps most of all those I dare not speak of to you.”

There, Bea’s laughter stopped. Something hit her deep inside, like an arrow between her hips. It was alarming and painful and intriguing. She wanted to feel it again as much as she wanted to run far away from it. This time, she did dare a look at her friend’s face, searching those dark painted eyes that gave her nothing.