Seize the Fire Read Online Free PDF

unchaperoned…he'd been out of the country for a long time, but not that long. Morals had not become so cavalier in his absence. The consequences for her were monstrous, and yet there she sat, asking nothing, hinting nothing. If she'd simply wished to bestow upon him a dead pot plant and seditious literature, she could have had them delivered. And certainly ought to have.
    As he observed her in musing silence, a novel thought occurred to him. It slipped through his mind so subtly that it seemed to mingle like smoke with his physical perceptions, with the way the dim light through the stained-glass window fell across her hair in little iridescent rainbows, and the scent of old tobacco and dust lingered in the room. He wondered, absurdly, if this was what she had come for—simply to sit in the stillness and be alive and share it with him.
    Something inside, some tiny something he hadn't even known was there, seemed to unfold, to spread tentative petals open like a desert flower sensing rain.
    She turned and looked up at him, her great, unblinking eyes full of cryptic forest wisdom. He thought foolishly: Let me stay here. I need this .
    "I've come to ask you a favor," she said.
    If she'd dashed him in the face with her tea dregs, she could not have shattered the instant so effectively. He set his cup on the saucer. "Naturally." He smiled, aware of the way his mouth didn't quite manage humor, but caught at irony. "What is it, Miss St Leger?"
    Olympia had been gathering herself piece by piece to get to this moment, amazed in every second at his tolerance and simple hospitality. It was immensely encouraging, far more than she'd expected, that he would sit so patiently while she dealt with her terror. Afraid now that her daring would collapse if she hesitated, she began to speak as quickly as possible.
    "Of course I have no right to ask anything of you, I know," she said. "But I am desperate." She hesitated, saw one dark eyebrow begin to arch at that, and rushed on. "I must leave the country, and I don't know how to go about it, and I have no one I can ask to help me."
    He put his cup on the side table. The sofa creaked as he stood up, pulling the blankets over his shoulders. At the hearth, he picked up the iron poker, rotating it in both hands for a moment, looking down at the brass handle. Then he turned to the fire and shifted some of the coals.
    Facing away from her, he asked, "What have you done?"
    "Oh, no," she exclaimed hastily. "You mustn't think that! I haven't explained myself well, of course—but please be assured there is no crime of any sort. I haven't done anything. I'm not fleeing, exactly. It is that I must get to Rome as soon as possible. The reason is…" She wrapped her fingers around themselves and squeezed. "Personal."
    He looked sideways at her. "I see. Personal."
    It seemed astonishingly rude to reserve her reasons, now that he'd pointed it out. But the whole thing was awful and outrageous anyway, almost unreal, so impossible did it seem that she'd actually come here, that her body had taken the steps her mind had only imagined.
    He stood in stillness by the fire, The blankets had slipped off one shoulder to hang down his bare back. She stared at his arm, the long, relaxed curve of muscle down to his wrist and hand, where his fingers rested loosely around the poker. Behind him, amber light picked out the pattern on the stylish wallpaper in a dull sheen of gilt.
    "It isn't completely personal," she added. She stared at her lap, and then forced herself to look up at him again. "It is in the cause of liberty, in a way. I suppose that must sound peculiar. But I…I seem to have some political significance, you see, and I am to be coerced into something that will be very detrimental for my…country."
    "Miss St Leger, I'm afraid I don't understand a word of what you're saying."
    "Perhaps you won't believe me," she said. "That's why I didn't tell you instantly, because I wouldn't blame you if you thought it was a