The Surrender of a Lady (24 page)

His only response was for her to turn her gaze away. A eunuch—damn it, it was the same man he’d bribed—helped her from the back of Amir’s horse and urged her up the plank. He’d been bloody well duped. The man was not dead. It didn’t make sense. Amir had let him escape. But why?

Half the eunuchs dismounted, while one took the reins of the horses to return them from whence they came.

He met the prince’s gaze, the question clear in his eyes. If he’d allowed Griffin to escape with Jinan, why had he come for her now and refused negotiation?

Odin, sensing his agitation in the squeeze of Griffin’s thighs, stepped forward. Like the synced rings of the Saracens’ spellbinding bell dance, scimitars were slid from sheaths as the last fall of Odin’s hoof hit the cobblestone. Griffin reined him in.

“If you are smart, you will stop where you are, my lord.”

Such formalities from a man who, not a half hour ago, had threatened to gut him.

“Bey Amir, I implore you to do the right thing.”

“Never fear, good man”—Amir dismounted with fluid grace, a man born to the saddle—“I am.”

Turning, Amir walked away as three guards stayed mounted, scimitars still threatening Griffin if he should move toward the prince. Griffin was not so foolish as to move forward, nor foolish enough to leave. There was hope still, he thought, as he saw her standing at the stern, face masked and impossible to read. She watched him intently, though, ensnaring him with those brown eyes of hers.

The guards finally dismounted, their backs to the ship as they watched him with weariness. Did they think an unarmed man would attempt to overthrow them?

In the next moment, the plank was gone, the boat steering out of dock. How long did he stand there? Jinan pressed her fingers to her lips, then raised them in farewell. He could see the dots of henna from her palm down to her wrist and forearm. Her palms came together, and she bowed her head to him for long minutes.

When she rose, she turned, the wind catching the silk of her scarves and leaving a shimmering fiery trail in her wake.

Then she was gone.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Love Lost

“Peters.” Rothburn nodded at his friend’s arrival.

“You look like you’re about to stand before the executioner.”

“I thank you for your honesty. What are you here for? Good news, I hope.”

“Afraid not. Amir refuses to hear your suit once again. Here”—he placed a crinkled but sealed envelope on the desk, addressed to “The Most Honorable, the Marquess of Rothburn”—“read his demands for yourself. I’m sure he’s not written more than he relayed, most direct, to me.”

“What did he say when you went to the palace?” He fingered the gilt edge of the paper.

“I think he’s reiterated it in the letter. I’m sure he thought I’d not relay the full message to you in person.”

“I offered him a fair price. More than fair.” He tightened his hold, angry at Amir’s refusal to cooperate.

“He insisted that she was not for sale.”

His jaw clenched. “I can’t see why not.”

“Can’t you? I say, Rothburn, it’s obvious he adores her.”

“So do I!” he shouted. Clamping his mouth shut, he brushed his hand through his already disheveled hair. He pressed out the crinkled letter, and read:

Dear Lord Rothburn,

Your man of affairs is most relentless and resilient to my continued objections. He’s sought out Mr. Chisholm and now he has the impudence to come directly to me. Leave off with this mad pursuit of yours. I assure you, your man will not live to bring you another letter if you disobey my direct order. Jinan is mine. She has always been mine. You make her life more difficult if you pursue her this way. You have the other patrons most curious. It seems gossip has escaped of how you abducted one of my lovely girls. She will not be safe if you continue with this foolhardiness. Let her go—she was never yours to release, yet I ask in benevolence, this once, to let her go. No good can come of your maddening persistence.

Humbly yours, Prince Amir Yussuf

Rothburn crumpled up the letter and tossed it toward the fireplace. It rolled to the poker just short of where logs would burn. “Damn that insufferable oaf of a heathen.” He picked up his tumbler, half filled with brandy, and threw it in the fireplace, too.

“Yes, well, your cursing is lost on me. Listen to me, Rothburn. It’s time to move on, and as your friend, I’m telling you, you must stop this pursuit. You’ve neglected the business and your duties to your title.”

“It’s not easily forgotten. If I wasn’t titled I wouldn’t have this problem right now. I won’t let her go again.” His hand smacked hard against the surface of his mahogany desk.
And if I can’t have her, I want no other
. Yet he couldn’t put voice to those words; to say it aloud seemed too final.

“Good God, man! You’ll end up dead or tossed into one of their damned cellars if you continue with this.”

Griffin pushed all the paperwork on his desk out of his way, not caring that half of it landed on the floor. “This can’t be the end of it.”

“It is—”

“I don’t want it finished. I know I cannot make it to the island and survive entering the palace. Stop your lectures, Peters. You’re only angering me more.”

“I hope you aren’t planning anything drastic or foolhardy.”

Rothburn pushed his chair back; it toppled over in his haste to get up. He scooted out from behind the desk, shoved his fists in his pockets, and started for the open study door. He’d had enough of lecturing. He’d had enough of life in general. Pausing at the threshold, he turned to Peters. “Close up the house. You leave for Florence in two days.”

He felt consumed. By her.

Every goddamned waking moment.

“What of you, Rothburn?”

“It’s not your place to question me.”

“Someone has to if you are planning something unwise.”

“It is unwise because you don’t understand why I’m going to do this.”

“Don’t go back to the palace.”

“You have no say in the matter.”

It was
her
in his head, in his heart, in his goddamned thoughts. It never stopped. It would never stop. There was only one solution left.

*   *   *

Rothburn refused to tug at his cravat. It was damnably hot today. Sweat trickled down his temple, down his back, from his underarms. The man sitting across from him didn’t have so much as a hair misplaced by the heat swamping the island.

“I advised you not to come,” he said.

“Yet you’ve proved your previous words false by letting me pass the threshold of your home without maiming me.”

“This is true, English.” He waved to a slave holding a pitcher of cool liquid. Two glasses were poured. Rothburn did not take his.

“I assume you will hear me out on the negotiations.”

“Listen, yes; accept, probably not,” he responded, taking a deep drink of the water.

“You cannot offer her more than I can. I promised to keep her safe, to give her the life she was always deserving of.”

“What of the boy?” Amir questioned.

“I’ve promised her son a life with us, away from the depravities of this place.” It did not hurt to give the truth in this. Surely Amir understood that this place was no better than any other whorehouse catering to the wealthy around the world.

“You come here to negotiate, and while hoping I will listen to what you say, you insult me.”

“It is the truth of the matter. I’ll not sugarcoat anything for you. You’ve allowed me to come this far, so I know you want to hear my offer. Otherwise you would have had me gutted the moment I stepped from the safety of my boat.”

Amir only raised a brow. Perhaps it was not a good idea to give the man any ideas that would mean his demise. “What more can you offer her? I’ve given her a life that she can live without shame. A life where her child is protected from the evils in this world.”

“You have turned her into a prostitute, forced to sell her favors to the highest bidder. This is not the life a woman would choose for herself.”

“Are you so sure of that?”

“Yes.”

“I assume you know her. Knew her before the auction.”

It was not a question, but an observation, so he did not answer the prince. “While I respect your wish to keep your property, especially after the way I relieved you of her, I am not a man you want to cross.”

“You are not in a position to threaten me. I hold what you deem most precious. It would be a shame should something happen to her because of your own foolishness.”

“If so much as a hair is pulled from her head, I’ll set a legion of mercenaries your way.”

“You are a worthy opponent, Lord Rothburn.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

Amir stood; Griffin followed suit. “I will think on this. You are not a thorn easily plucked and so I must think carefully on your proper extraction.” Interestingly put. “Of course, you are invited to stay in the gentlemen’s quarters in the meantime. I will send a note to you once we’ve talked.”

Griffin bowed. “You will understand if I stay aboard my ship till you’ve come to some sort of decision.”

Six hours later, a missive did come to his clipper. It read simply: “Fifty thousand pounds, and one month. Leave my shores and have arrangements made. I do not wish to see you again. A.Y.”

He had a feeling Amir was a man of his word. So he had the captain raise the sails and did as he was bid for the first time in his life. A month wasn’t so long to wait.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

Home . . . Condemnation

“Little bird.”

Jinan glanced up at Amir. Arms sturdily crossed and one dark brow raised, he stood in the arched entry of her room. He wanted a moment alone with her, but she wasn’t ready to face him alone; she hadn’t been since they’d come back to the palace.

“The girls say you haven’t been eating.”

“Amir.” She looked back down to the children’s fairytale book about princes and princesses who got their happily-ever-afters. Jonathan was sounding out some simple English words with her, showing his growth every day in his learning.

He looked up at Amir, a smile lighting his face and his eyes.

Amir smiled back, but did not come forward. “Let Reema take the boy.”

Her head whipped up in alarm. “No.”

“He’ll be fine,” he said calmly, “it’s only for a few moments.”

It wasn’t as though she had a choice. His fingers snapped and Reema came solemnly into the room, head downcast as she took Jonathan’s hand and walked him from the room.

She hadn’t once been lectured or asked about her time with Rothburn.

She’d seen Amir watching her from time to time, his gaze filled with questions. Questions she didn’t want to answer. “Are you here to lecture me? I only ask that you do not talk about
him
.” Her voice was harsh. Amir was right, she wasn’t herself—not since coming back from Rothburn’s.

“I cannot put you on the auction block when you talk like this, Jinan. Do you see the position you’ve put me in?”

“I apologize.” She bowed as if she were the perfect supplicant. In reality, she couldn’t look him in the eye. He read her too well and would know soon enough where her heart belonged. That she did not want to be here anymore. She hated her life here, now.

“Are the other girls very mad?” Her voice was small. She’d been cruel to her sisters, often ignoring them when she went about her daily routines. But she couldn’t face their questioning gazes, either. They wanted to know why Rothburn had stolen her away.

What he was to her.

Rothburn meant too much to her, that was the answer.

Amir could attest to that after hearing her parting words to her lover.

“If you took but a moment to talk to them, you would know. You have all but forgotten them since you’ve been back.”

Her head snapped up in protest. “I have not. I’ve done my duty as I was taught.”

“You know as well as anyone that if your heart is not in it, it is all for nothing. Your fire and your passion are no longer visible. You walk around here, hanging your head in shame, when you should be happy to be back in the home that has cared for and honored you these last five years.”

“I’m sorry, Amir,” she said, crawling to him on hands and knees and kissing his feet. “Please forgive me. I will stop my nonsense. I will talk to Laila at first light.”

He knelt and grasped her arms to pull her to her knees. “Bowing and scraping before me does not prove the strength and truth of your words.”

She didn’t know what else to do. This melancholy was unlike her. Not once had she been this miserable since she’d accepted her fate as a harem girl. Why was it so hard to embrace with an open heart again?

Because she’d left her heart in Rothburn’s hands, whether she wanted to admit it to herself or not.

“Little bird, what am I to do with you?” His thumb brushed under her eye, swiping the one tear that spilled over. A whole flood more came as if his touch were permission to release her hurt. She buried her face in his shirt, her fists clasping the material so he couldn’t let her go.

“Shh, tell me what has you in this state.”

“I do not want to be sold again. Release me, Amir. Release me.” Finally, she said it. “I—I feel—I can’t do it, Amir. Please don’t make me stand up there again. I will do anything. Just—just let me stay in the harem without seeing any of the patrons. Let me keep you company, if I must . . .
anything
.” She tightened her hold on his shirt. “Do not sell me again. I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t survive it.”

“Shh”—his hand caressed her hair, a soothing reassurance—“you know I will not let you fly from the coop. Your wings are clipped by my decree, remember?”

He tilted her chin up with his knuckle, forcing her to meet his eyes. She felt the dampness of her tears staining the whole of her face. She probably looked a terrible, unfit mess.

She felt like a terrible, unfit mess.

“Amir, what am I going to do? I can’t do this, I just can’t.”

“Don’t you know, little bird?”

“No,” she said, bowing her head. She inhaled deeply of his masculine scent. Mumbling into his shirt, she said “I know naught anymore.”

“Such sadness from you. Come, we’ll walk in the fresh evening air. It will refresh your constitution, or so the English are wont to say.”

That got a small smile from her. The dried tears on her face made it feel stiff, though. The tears hadn’t been enough to erase the pain she felt with every beat of her heart. She hated herself with every bone-chilling pump of blood through her body. She wanted nothing more than to throw herself at the mercy of Rothburn when she should be thinking of the welfare of her child.

They made their way from her quarters, down the long white hall to the harem garden. The scent of jasmine rushed over her, enclosing her. They walked under a pear tree and onward to the great fountain that lay at the heart of the harem quarters. Nightingales cried their mating song above, their last cry before day’s end.

Amir did not fill the peaceful hum around them with nonsensical conversation. He knew she wasn’t herself—knew her heart was torn.

“What if I freed you, Jinan?” Quiet condemnation lay in the timbre of those words.

Did he want her to confess her greatest sin? That of falling in love?

“Amir . . .”

“Hmm?”

“You are older—perhaps wiser—than I. Have you ever loved?” she asked.

“Such a question from you, Jinan. I’ve loved all my girls.”

Not the answer she wanted. She’d been born and raised to marry one man, to accept the sexual attentions of one man. Had those traits not been bred into her so strongly she might have understood the freedom of Amir’s love.

She pulled him to a stop, wheeled around so she faced him and looked him in the eye, although it was too dark to look upon his bearded face even in the glow of the lanterns. She cupped her hand to his jaw and studied him for as long as he held her gaze.

“Why do you love me?”

He gave her that devilish grin she’d become acquainted with in their first weeks together.

“You doubt me?” he asked with a tilt of his head, moving away from the gentle hold of her hand.

Yes, she doubted he loved her or loved any of the women here. Of course, she could not put voice to those words. She turned away, sliding her hand from his arm, and walked toward the great fountain. Smoothing out the silk wrap tied about her waist, she sat on the edge. Amir made no move to join her so she raised her hand to him, face averted.

“Come, Amir. I won’t ask more questions if you do not wish to answer.”

“I will answer you. I am just surprised that in all my years on this island not one of my girls has ever asked me such a thing.”

“Never? Not even Laila?”

“No. We grew up together and have come to a point of being able to read each other without words.”

“Laila has an effect on all of us here. I did not tell you, but without her I never would have felt welcome. She is a good sister.”

Silence fell between them again. Amir sat at her side, his finger dipped into the pond to attract the koi to the surface. Their golden backs broke the surface, then retreated to the bleak dark bottom.

“Jinan . . . the only way for you to come out of this state is to stand upon the auction block.”

She gave a heavy sigh and closed her eyes as the axe fell upon her dreams, opening her mind to reality.

“It hasn’t been a year. You always give us time between auctions.”

“This is the only way for you to stop thinking of your Rothburn.”

“It’s not the way, Amir. You need to let me go, whether you believe it or not.”

“I have told you this is not something I’m willing to do.”

She bowed her head, threaded her fingers together, and asked the only question left to her . . . “When?”

“Tomorrow.”

Her head snapped up. “Amir. It’s too soon—”

“No, it’s not.” He took her face in his hands and his black eyes stared deeply into hers. “You will do this. I am not giving you a choice,
Elena
.”

A great sob of distress, of objection, escaped her. “I am not she.”

“Then stop this sadness, this dismal moping, Jinan.” His voice was harsh. Harsher than she’d ever heard it. He’d always been such an easy man to talk to. Until now.

“I’m sorry,” she said pathetically.

“Are you?” His hands tightened to a vise on either side of her face; his mouth lowered to hers, coaxing a reaction to prove her undying servitude. “Are you?”

She couldn’t do it, tried without success to pull away, gave a short whimper of objection before his lips met hers. She clenched her mouth tight, and her eyes welled up and flowed in a stream of shame down her face. She closed her eyes, nostrils flaring, and tried to hold back her sobs of heart-wrenching pain.

He shoved her away from him with a growl of frustration. She fell to the side, off the ledge of the fountain, and her knees landed hard in the packed sand. She pulled herself together as quickly as she could, wiped the tears from her face, and bowed to the ground in apology to her master.

She could hear the soft shush of his slippers as he paced.

“You’ll stand before the patrons tomorrow. You’ve no choice in the matter,” he shouted, startling her. He never shouted.

She crawled to him again. “Please don’t do this to me. I beg of you, Amir.”

She clasped onto his ankle and laid her gratitude at his feet in sobbing, salty kisses. He kicked her away as gently as he could, but dislodged her with enough force that her palms landed sharply on a bed of rocks. She would not beg any further for he’d not be so kind a second time.

Keeping her head and body bowed to the ground, she waited for his anger to lessen.

For long moments he said nothing. Then the swish of his feet receded as Amir left her bowing alone in the gardens around her. She didn’t know why she was so sad or why she couldn’t find it in her to rise. Instead she sobbed into the earth that held her in this world of hell and eternal sadness. Would standing on the auction block wash her heart of love? It had to for her to endure this life again.

The auction was to be a cure for this madness.

She sobbed harder, her body shaking uncontrollably, her fingers digging between the stones that made the walkway here. She felt no pain and desperately wanted to.

Arms came around her. More than one pair. They held her without words, caressing her back, warming her chilled skin where the silk did not cover her. They comforted without questions.

Her sisters.

The women she’d neglected this past month.

How foolish of her to deny the love of her sisters. Had she forgotten so easily that they’d sustained her since she’d first arrived here? Had she forgotten that they’d always made the day more pleasant, more bearable? They gave her reason to go on, to never falter in her life as Jinan.

When her distressed sobs ceased, she was led to her room. She paid no heed; she cared not about the material things surrounding her. Someone stripped off her outer skirts and placed a light blanket over her. She stared at nothing in particular—unable to close her eyes, unable to sleep even though her body was so worn out.

One sister climbed in behind her and wrapped a comforting arm about her middle and brushed her fingers through Jinan’s hair.

Still she did not close her eyes. “I can’t—”

“Shh. I know, sister. Sleep. We will work it out tomorrow.”

“It’ll be too late, Laila.”

“No, it will not. Sleep or you’ll be in no state to defend yourself, little sister.”

Jinan was too tired even to cry. Simply put, she was too worn down. Tears silently slipped down the side of her face, running down her cheeks onto the pillow.

“Why can’t I do this, Laila? Why?”

“Don’t worry on it now. I’ll talk to Amir in the morning. Just sleep.”

“I can’t find myself again. Do you understand that?”

“I know what you must feel. You loved him, didn’t you? Is that why he took you away?”

“Yes. He loves me.”

“You cannot always trust a man’s words.”

“He did not need to speak for me to know the truth and depth of his emotions.”

Laila gave a soft chuckle. “It is always the quiet ones we must be careful of.”

“I knew him, Laila. From before . . .”

“Ah, you see, this makes sense to me now.”

“I don’t think it does. I never aspired to marry him. He was so far above my station and rank. Now more so—”

“Let go, Jinan. It does you no good to hold on to this past. You cannot have a future with him. You should understand this more than most, hmmm? This is your life, little sister. This is our life.”

She curled into a ball to ease the pains building in her stomach from all the crying. Laila wrapped herself around her back, attempting to comfort her.

“I know. I’m trying to forget . . .” She sobbed again. “I’m trying so hard to forget.”

But how did one forget her first love? Her only love? Forget the person who captured your heart and made you want so much more?

“My eyes are red and swollen.”

“Maram has gone to get cold water. It will help. You must trust me in this.”

“Look at me, Laila. I look the mess I feel inside.”

“Trust yourself. You will get through this night.”

Jinan stared at her sister in the looking glass. It did no good to argue. Amir had come down after morning prayer to make sure she knew her duty. She was not foolish enough to think she could have any life aside from this. There was no choice other than the one Amir had given her. It was his will that she be sold on the auction block.