Alysson glanced up at him. Gervase was an exceptionally attractive man—tall, athletic, dark-haired, with a dashing mustache and blue military uniform that most women found extremely appealing. Alysson thought so, too, and yet . . . He was gallant and handsome and the dearest of friends, but just the least bit staid when it came down to it. She had hoped she would feel differently about him here, where the opportunity for daring exploits and courageous feats was far greater than in France. A colonel in the French army, Gervase had recently been posted to Algeria as head of the Bureaux Arabes, the French system of governing the natives.
It was Gervase who had persuaded her Uncle Honors to consider expanding his enterprises to colonial Algeria—and Honoré who had insisted that Alysson come along on the visit. Uncle Honoré very much wanted to see her safely married. He didn't approve of her traipsing all over the world with her Uncle Oliver, or exposing herself to the dirt and disease of London hospitals with her other uncle, who was a physician.
For Honor's sake she had agreed to consider seriously Gervase's marriage proposal. She desperately wanted to repay her favorite uncle for his many kindnesses to her. Over the years Honoré had given her so much, providing her a refuge from the lonely confinement of boarding school, treating her as a cherished daughter, making her feel wanted and loved. Loved for herself, not her vast fortune. From her first moment in England, she'd either been fawned over for her wealth or snubbed by her blue-blooded peers.
Her uncles had been her salvation. She'd taken the advice of a stranger and tried to earn their attention and affection. Alysson counted herself immensely fortunate to have managed it, to have found a place in her uncles' hearts. With them she felt a sense of belonging, of family, a feeling of shared hopes and dreams and destinies. Especially with Ho- nor£.
And now he was requesting something in return—for her to consider marriage to a man she had long admired and respected. It was the only thing Uncle Honoré had ever asked of her.
And she did truly care for Gervase.
That he counted on her acceptance of his suit, however, was wishful thinking on his part. More than once she'd told Gervase that she wasn't ready for marriage. She was scarcely twenty, after all. But he was so certain he could change her mind.
Alysson wished she could be as certain. She wanted to feel more for Gervase than deep friendship. She wanted to fell in love with him. Yet it would be cruel to give him false hope. She had promised her uncle, though, not to refuse Gervase's proposal outright. Still, she would be glad to begin the journey tomorrow and thus put some distance between them. Perhaps the separation would give her the opportunity to examine her feelings and come to a definite conclusion about her future with Gervase.
Gervase was apparently thinking about her departure as well, for he shook his head in protest. "I would accompany you if I could, Alysson, but duty compels me to remain here. I don't care to think about what could happen to you without me to protect you."
"There is no reason for you to be so concerned, Gervase. The escort you intend to provide will surely be adequate."
"I can ensure your safety better here."
"Your men will be armed, as will I. And you know I am an excellent shot."
"Still, I would prefer that you remain in Algiers." He gave her a reproachful glance. "I confess I don't understand why you insist on taking such a grave risk."
Alysson felt a twinge of exasperation. In Gervase's opinion, no woman should have such a fondness for travel as she did. But she couldn't change simply because he held such straightlaced notions about how a woman should behave. "What is the risk? You said yourself that the war is over."
"It won't be entirely over until Abdel Kader surrenders. And even then, some of his followers will no doubt try to carry on his Holy War."
She had no need to ask what Gervase meant. Long before she'd come to Algeria, Alysson had heard of the Berber religious leader, Abdel Kader. Fifteen years ago he had united the Berbers and Arabs in a Holy War against France. Indeed, the handsome, dashing, romantic sheik had once been all the rage in the salons of Paris. But that was before the war had turned so brutal.
Not that the Arabs were the only ones to blame for the savagery. Since invading in 1830, the French had committed their fair share of barbarities in their effort to conquer this proud nation. From what she had gathered, even Gervase's own father had been guilty of unforgivable excesses. General Bourmont had been involved in the initial invasion seventeen years ago, and was reported to have encouraged the most violent actions in putting down the rebellious natives.
Gervase was very different from his father, thankfully. Different from most of his countrymen, for that matter. He was far more sympathetic to the plight of the Arabs. Gervase had arrived in Algeria barely six months ago, but he seemed to have a far more humane understanding of how the French should play their role as conquerors. It was for that reason she thought he would prove to be an admirable administrator of the Arab Bureau.
Still, she felt Gervase was overly concerned about her visit to the interior. Only last year Abdel Kader had been driven into neighboring Morocco with his followers. And the atrocities committed on both sides had finally come to an end. No longer were the French colonists being killed and burned from their homes as in past years; the natives in the northern provinces had finally been subdued by the powerful French army, and the Plain of Algiers was once again safe for Europeans, protected by the Armee d'Afrique. Some settlers had even moved further into the interior to carve domains out of swamp and arid wasteland.
No, if she had thought the risk too great, she never would have considered making the journey. She herself would not have minded the danger, but never would she gamble with Uncle Honoré's safety. As it was, she felt guilty enough simply for planning to deprive her uncle of his comfort for the few weeks or so that it would take to visit the outskirts of the Sahara. At least the heat of the desert would not be quite so unbearable now that it was October.
When she didn't agree with Gervase's estimation of the risks, though, he made a gesture of impatience. "Alysson, will you listen to me! There are untold dangers in the interior—bandits and slave traders and hungry nomads, fanatical Arabs who refuse to admit the war is over . . . even deserters from our Foreign Legion."
"Chand will be with us."
"That is not a comfort to me in the least," Gervase said tersely. "Chand is devoted to you, obviously, but he is hardly the appropriate servant for a lady. I cannot like it that you will have no female chaperone or attendant to care for you."
Alysson sent her prospective fianc£ a warning glance, unwilling to countenance any criticism of her faithful Indian servant. "Gervase, perhaps you didn't know, but I owe Chand my life—several times over."
Realizing then that her tone had become overly sharp, she softened her next words and gave him a disarming smile;
sweetness and logic would be more effective in coaxing Gervase out of his ill humor. "Chand has been my friend as well as my servant. I think you can safely trust him to take good care of me. Besides, you forget that I am an Englishwoman. The English have far less to fear from the Arabs than do the French."
But Gervase wouldn't accept this argument. "The Arabs hate all infidels," he replied, shaking his head. "And I cannot—"
"Gervase, you are worrying needlessly."
The sigh he gave held regret. "Perhaps."
At length he shrugged, his features relaxing their tautness. "It is just that I don't want any harm to come to you. And I am selfish, I suppose. The next month will be unbearable with you gone."