His manner was easy—he was peeling an orange with a small fruit knife—but his words were earnest and quietly forceful. “For once in your life, Charlotte, listen to reason. You’re in a delicate condition, and I would be a fool to let you cross the desert on horseback. It’s a miracle, in fact, that you didn’t miscarry the first time.” Charlotte sighed. Khalif had a long way to go before he was fully recovered from his ordeal, but he seemed to be on the mend. Patrick was eager to get back to Spain and take command of the Enchantress, since the repairs were surely finished by then. “I don’t suppose it would do any good if I promised to be careful?” she ventured. Patrick folded the knife blade and then popped a section of juicy orange into his mouth. “You’re absolutely right, Mrs. Trevarren,” he said, after a chewing and swallowing process that proved to have a disturbingly sensual effect on Charlotte. “It would do no good at all. For one thing, you don’t have the faintest conception of what it means to ‘be careful.’ For another, your promises are worth two to the penny.”
