CHAPTER ONE
Constantinople, 1762
A shadow could not hold water and she could never truly love him. That made her the worst choice for a mistress, as if Jonathon Barry needed one at all. He saw a tiny shudder shake her frame and he leaned forward. “Do I frighten you?”
She neither moved nor flinched, nestled behind an eerie façade of composure. The words hung in the air between them and fractured the tentative calm.
Slowly, she lifted her brilliant onyx eyes to meet his, wayward curls masking one side of her face, dirt the other, her expression watchful. “You do, a little,” she said, an odd lilt in her voice.
“I trust that will fade with time and experience,” he offered. She gave a slight nod and turned to study the alleys of Constantinople as the carriage rattled on through the early morning light. He must be a fool. His life was too complicated as it was, even though the war was almost over. He felt her eyes on him, met her gaze and logic dimmed. Lust made his throat dry. He wanted her and now she was his, a slave, won in a gambling den. It didn’t matter. Vivid erotic thoughts clouded his mind. “You’ll become accustomed to me.”
The corners of her mouth lifted in a wickedly uncertain smile. “I learn quickly.”
“Indeed?”
Jaline clasped her hands in her lap. “This morning I watered horses.” She drew a long breath. “Now I’m to share your bed. I understand.” She paused and cocked her head. “Are we going to your ship, Mister Barry?”
“The name is Jonathon.” With a small frown, she looked away. Jonathon glanced down at her delicate fingers. He wanted to take them in his, feel their warmth, their touch. More importantly, he had questions starting with what happened after she left him. Her friend, Faresh had appeared only a few hours later to plead for his help. He studied her as they passed an inn, its lights flickering over her features. “The Lornea is moored in the Golden Horn.”