Free Only You by Cheryl Holt

it.”
    “Yes, I definitely have.”
    But from how he was assessing her, she could tell that he didn’t mean the landscape.  He was intrigued by her , and she preened under his scrupulous appraisal.
    Neville was the only man who’d ever gazed at her with such searing regard, and she’d relished sending him into such paroxysms of ardor.  His bold and blatant attention had spurred her to consider conduct she’d had no business considering. 
    He’d been madly in love with her, and she’d pretended to feel the same.  She must have been a very capable actress, because he’d believed every word she’d ever uttered.  Of course circumstances had quickly spun out of her control.  He’d begged her to elope, but she never would have.  She’d liked leading him on, but a future had been impossible between them. 
    Although he was nice enough and handsome as a Greek god, he was a penniless artist who lived to paint.  While she’d never admit it to her mother, it had been a relief when Edna had dragged her away from London in order to separate them.  Susan had protested Edna’s autocratic ways, but not very fervidly.
    She’d used her mother as an excuse to break it off, and he’d probably been bereft when she’d jilted him.  She’d fled without a goodbye, so she had no idea.  But honestly!  What had he expected?  
    She wondered if Mr. Price had any money.  From their brief conversation, he certainly seemed to possess many captivating attributes.  His dress and mannerisms—and the fact that he could afford a trip down the Nile—had her suspecting he’d have more than a few farthings tucked away.
    It might be beneficial to get to know him better.
    “How long will you be in Cairo?” he asked.  “Are you leaving for the desert immediately?”
    “We’ll be here for several days yet.  Mother still has to hire the porters and make all the arrangements.”
    “Where are you staying in the interim?”
    “At the Hotel Cairo.”
    “A lovely establishment.  I’m staying there myself.”
    “Are you?” she blandly replied.  “I wouldn’t be surprised if our paths began to cross.”
    “I wouldn’t be surprised either.  Have you seen much of the city?”
    “No, Mother isn’t keen on venturing out among the native hoards.”
    “Pity.  There are some delightful spots I’d like to show you.”
    “I’d like that too.”
    “I’d call on you, but I’d really rather not sit around drinking tea with your mother.”
    “A fate worse than death, I assure you.”
    “If there was some way to…well… sneak away, I wouldn’t necessarily complain.”
    Susan raised a brow.  “Why, Mr. Price, that sounds like a naughty proposition.  If I was an innocent girl, I might swoon.”
    His lazy gaze wandered down her torso, and his evaluation was scandalously personal.
    “I wouldn’t take you for the swooning type,” he said.
    “I’m not.”
    “I’m glad to hear it.” 
    He pulled out a cheroot, and he used a nearby lantern to light the tip.  They dawdled in the quiet, watching the guests inside, enjoying the verdant garden.  With the cheroot dangling from his fingers, he looked suave and polished, so very different from poor, besotted Neville whose hands had always been flecked with paint no matter how diligently he washed.
    Butterflies swarmed in her stomach.  What would it be like to strike up a liaison with such a dashing, older man?  It might be very thrilling.  She’d been alone with Neville on numerous delicious occasions, and she knew how to prevent any irrevocable conduct from being committed.
    She was anxious to entice Mr. Price and couldn’t let her mother butt in and wreck things.  But with him being so mature, she couldn’t act like a silly schoolgirl.  He had to view her as worldly and sophisticated.  She thought of the glamorous Parisian, Cassandra Valda, and recognized—if she wanted to capture his attention—she had to comport herself as Mrs. Valda would.
    “I was