My Lady's Choosing: An Interactive Romance Novel(83)

“And what about me?” you spit back. “Am I one of these select few?”

“No, chérie. You are one of the blindfolded.” He quickly ties a heavy black cloth around your eyes, then whispers into your ear. “It is safer for you this way.”

The motion of the camel’s gallop causes your body to rub against Fabien’s manly form in a way that makes you uncomfortably aware of the dangerous yet alluring brute…and all that he may offer. With one sense deprived, all others awaken.

“Why did you bring two camels if you were going to carry me with you?” you ask in an effort to distract yourself from the masculine length at his groin that is pushing against you.

“You were meant for the other camel, but I don’t trust you not to try to escape,” says Fabien’s voice. “And I will need two to carry the gold she will pay me for fetching you.”

“Am I worth so much to her? Me, a simple nobody?”

“The one who will come for you is worth it to Madame St. Croix. Though if you ask me, you are the true jewel to be claimed.”

“I am no one’s to be claimed!” you bite back. He responds only with a throaty laugh. In return you settle into a brooding but extremely charged silence.

It seems an age later when finally you stop. The animal heat of the virile body pressed close to you departs, leaving in its place only cool desert air. But there is no time to ponder your chilly situation. From a little way off come strange sounds that you can’t quite place, and then a blazing light that manages to pierce even your blindfold.

A firm, meaty pair of hands pulls you down from the camel with surprising gentleness and removes the blindfold. You gasp in astonishment despite yourself.

Before you stands a beautiful white tent, a dove’s wing against the void of the desert’s nighttime sky. Deep within, a latticed lantern throws exotic patterns against the pale fabric, illuminating a simple dinner laid for two. In front crackles a fire, offering respite from the chill in the air. You are loath to admit it, but you are impressed.

Fabien shrugs his enormous shoulders. “You see I have done this before.”

“I can see that.” You take measure of this powerful specimen of a man. He moves with the sleek confidence of a jungle cat, and yet there is something in his eyes that looks strangely haunted.

“How do you think I have survived this long?” he says, leading you into the tent where you seat yourself.

“You have had a hard life?” you ask as casually as possible, wondering how such a man came to be in work such as his.

“No harder than most,” he says as he eases himself down next to you with an inherent grace. He continues in that strange accent of his, almost French, almost Egyptian. “I was born the illegitimate child of the Chevalier de Mangepoussey, who came with Napoleon on his campaign to Egypt, and an Egyptian princess.”

“So you were brought up with wealth, then?” This would explain his surprisingly courtly manners.

“I was brought up in disgrace!” He glowers back at you, his pale jade orbs lit with strange fire. “My very existence was a scandal and a shame. My family provided a scant education, but nowhere to go in life. It would have been better for them had I not existed at all.”

“I see,” you say primly. “And then you met Delphine St. Croix?”

The Nile-green eyes rise to meet yours.

“Ah, Madame St. Croix…she rescued me in a way,” he says. “Gave me work. Gave me purpose. Gave me her body, if only for a while.”

You shudder and wonder at the thought. He glances at you with a nonchalance that you wish you felt.

“Ah, but chérie, it does not mean anything to her, desire. She sates her appetite only for an evening. You may feed her body, but her heart…her heart is hungry for only one.”

“Evangeline!” you gasp, as understanding dawns. He nods.

“You and I are but pawns in their game. But it matters not to me. I have lived all my life on the outskirts of society, with nothing to do except be a hired thug for those who can pay. I do not expect much out of life.”

At this he stands and walks to the entrance of the tent. The desert wind tosses his dark locks around his face like waves in an ebony sea. His mostly unbuttoned shirt clings barely to the muscular body it struggles to contain.

“I have a contempt for society and all of its rules. In a strange way, it is freedom. You understand?” he says, still not looking at you.

Because he is distracted, you realize that now is the perfect time to escape from whatever Delphine has planned for you. You look around wildly to see what you have to work with. Wine, a dish of flatbread and fuul, a few promising-looking rocks…and a man so beautiful, it takes your breath away.





Time to make your plan.

Are you a lover, not a fighter? Does seducing your way out of this scrape, and getting your jollies while doing so, sound appealing? If so, turn to this page, you hussy, you.

Are you a fighter, not a lover? Does seducing your captor sound a bit too dicey, and would you rather solve this issue using a sharp rock and violence? If so, turn to this page.





You find yourself wondering what it would be like to be entertained by such tempting wickedness and such pleasing physicality.

“I don’t know what to say, Cad,” you whisper.