Sacha stared broodingly at him. "What would you do if I asked you not to carry on with your scheme?"

Galen's stroking hand on the horse's muzzle stopped in midmotion. "I'd consider it. You're my friend, and the woman is your cousin."

"Consider, but not comply."

"You know how important she is to me. You've been to Sedikhan." Galen continued to stroke the horse.

Yes, Sacha knew the importance of Tess in Galen's plan; it only added to his sense of being torn between loyalties. He smiled lopsidedly. "I've often wondered if that was why you persuaded me to go to Sedikhan. Am I a pawn, too, Galen?"

Galen smiled. "Of course that's why I wanted you in my homeland. Do you expect me to deny it? But it's not a pawn you've been to me all these years." He said gently, "I have no greater friend in the world."

Yes, they were friends, companions at arms, closer often than brothers. Sacha slowly shook his head. "Hell, I don't know what to do."

"Do nothing." Galen's hand fell from the horse. He turned and picked up his black coat. "It will be her choice." He shrugged into the coat, and then started toward the door. "Suppose I go and see what she says."

"Now?"

"I thought I'd wait until after we'd supped, but I think I'll have to put you out of your misery. You'll be happier once the decision is made." He grimaced. "And since I stink of horse and herbal salve, you'll know that I'm not trying to sway her with anything but reason." He started for the door. "When that cloth cools, dip it into the bucket of hot water and apply it again. I'll rejoin you after I've talked to Tess.”

The chamber wasn't over luxurious, but at least it was clean. Tess bounced experimentally on the bed and made a face. Hard as the pallet in her cell in the convent. Well, it did not matter. She refused to let anything spoil her last few days of liberty.

She smiled in satisfaction as she untied the ribbons on her bonnet, took it off and sent it sailing across the room onto the cushioned chair by the door. That was better. She had always hated hats, but Pauline had insisted on providing her with dozens of the dratted things as they assembled a wardrobe for her before leaving Paris.

She stripped off her long white gloves and ruffled her hair, sending pins and clips flying before she crossed to the washstand and poured water from the flowered pitcher into the basin.

A knock sounded on the door.

"Entrez," she called as she splashed water on her face. "You've been long enough, Sacha. It will be dark soon, and I'm hungry." She reached for the towel and turned to face him. "And I do want to go back to the waterfront—" Her eyes widened in shock.

Galen Ben Raschid stood in the doorway. "May I come in?"

He didn't wait for an answer as he took a few steps forward and closed the door. He bowed slightly. "It's been a long time. You've grown into a young lady, Your Highness."

"I'm only three inches taller." What a stupid thing to blurt out, she thought in self-disgust. She couldn't seem to form an intelligent thought.

His gaze flicked to the fullness of her bodice. "Sometimes a few inches can make an enormous difference."

She felt an odd heat surge through her, and knew she must be blushing. "I'm waiting for Sacha. I've just come from France and—" Enough of this babbling. "But you must know. Are you traveling with Sacha? I didn't expect to see you again after you left Tamrovia."

"I had every intention of seeing you again." He strolled across the room toward her, moving with animal like grace. He was bigger than she remembered, a giant of a man, and she found herself mesmerized by the flexing of the powerful muscles of his thighs and calves beneath his clinging black trousers. He wore a black silk coat but no cravat, and the top button of his white shirt was unfastened to reveal his strong brown throat. She was conscious of a blatant maleness about him that was shocking in intensity. He looked the same, but he must have changed in some way. All those years ago she had not felt nervous in his presence.

"In fact, I've expended a good deal of effort to see you again." He took the towel from her.

"Your face is wet." He began to gently dab her cheek.

The action was almost servile, yet there was nothing servile about Galen Ben Raschid. He dried her face as if he had every right to touch her intimately. She was quite still as she stared up at him, unable to look away. His shining black hair was tied back in a queue, and his face appeared leaner and tanner than it had been six years before. Yet the power she had sensed still seemed to be running deep beneath his controlled expression. She began to feel an odd breathlessness, and looked hurriedly away from him. "I was washing my face." Another stupidly obvious remark. What was wrong with her?

"Yes." He dabbed lightly at her chin. "You still have the most exquisite skin. Most women lose such a silky glow after childhood."

"Do they?" He stood so close, she caught the scent of horse, leather, herbs, and soap clinging to him, and felt the warmth his body was emitting. She took the towel from him and put it on the washstand. Her hand was trembling, she noticed with no surprise. "How are Apollo and Daphne?"

"In fine health."

"Good. I've often thought of them." She took a step back and asked again, "Did you come with Sacha?"

"No." He smiled faintly. "Sacha came with me. Not very willingly, I might add. He's full of doubts and apprehensions." He moved across the chamber to the chair by the door. "May I sit down?"

"I'm expecting Sacha at any moment."

He looked curiously at her. "You're afraid of me. How odd. It's not how I remember you."

"Nonsense. I'm not afraid of you. I'm merely surprised. I wasn't expecting to see you, and I was caught off guard."

"Off guard?" He repeated the expression thoughtfully. "And are you always on guard?" His gaze searched her face. "Yes, I think perhaps you are. Not surprising, considering the life you've lived." He gestured to the chair by the window. "Please sit down. I'm no threat to you."

"Sacha will—"

"Sacha won't be here until our discussion is over."

Tess hesitated, then moved quickly across the room and sat on the edge of the chair, folding her hands in her lap.

He smiled, started to sit, and then paused. "Yours?" He reached down and picked up her feathered bonnet.

The bonnet looked exceptionally silly and frivolous in his tanned, capable hands. Beautiful hands, she noticed absently. Long, graceful fingers with a certain rhythm of movement as he turned the bit of velvet-and-feather-trimmed confection to look at it from all angles.

"It doesn't look like you."

"Pauline chose it. She said it was all the crack."

"And you believed her?"

Tess shrugged. "It didn't matter."

"No." He set the hat on a table near the chair. "You're not a woman for fuss and feathers. I'd choose something entirely different for you." He sat down and rested his hands on the arms of the chair. "If you were mine."

Her gaze flew to his face, her muscles tensing.

"That frightened you again." He smiled. "A slip of the tongue. We barbarians are regretfully primitive, and possessiveness is one of our uncivilized traits." He leaned forward. "But there's nothing to be apprehensive about. I've learned to control myself so that I'm a savage only when I choose to be."