The Surrender of a Lady (8 page)

Laila sat up to see what Elena was curious about. “Ah, this is the threading I told you of yesterday. We remove hair as soon as we see it growing back. That is another reason we spend so much time in here. It wouldn’t be right to see a man with hairs on our body.”

“But it’s almost childlike to be so . . .” Elena looked down to her nether region. It was smooth and didn’t feel as sore today. “Bare. Do you not want to be defined as a woman? I always thought it a rite of passage. From girl to woman.”

“Not here. It is unsightly. Only men have hair. It is easier to clean ourselves, after men have taken their pleasure and we have had our own. Amir does not allow disease into the Pleasure Gardens. I have no idea how he learns the sexual proclivities of various lords, but none of the girls have ever become ill. The only strangeness is from Europe and your homeland. Men have a strange look to their penis.”

Elena’s brows furrowed in sudden curiosity. She sat up straighter on her crate. “Why are they strange?”

“They have a neck around them of loose skin. They call it a cap. Here, it is taken off when a boy comes into manhood.”

“They take it off?” How grotesquely shocking.

“It is only loose skin. Useless, really. They cut it off.”

What would a penis with its skin cut off look like? She couldn’t begin to imagine. Would it be smaller? Did it not hurt to do that to a boy? She decided she didn’t want to be enlightened.

They chatted about nonsensical things for another hour before they left the bathing area. Elena took a deep breath of the cool air when they exited the room. Would she ever get used to the heat in the public bath? It was something dreadful. How could one really be clean when one sweated while bathing?

This was how her days went for a week. Bathing every day, then sitting in their living quarters with her son and some of the other girls who weren’t occupying lords in the other part of the palace. Eunuchs would come in at all times of the day and escort some of the girls to the Pleasure Gardens.

Elena went into the courtyard gardens daily. There were so many types of truly beautiful flowers. She couldn’t imagine how many years it had taken to build the gardens to get it just right.

It reminded her of the Duchess of Glenmoore’s gardens. She’d only ever set foot in them during the evenings, with her beau, Griffin, tugging her through the mazes, stealing her away to kiss her in secret. How those days seemed a millennia ago. So far away that she wondered if it was all a dream of what she had wanted with her life, to marry a man who professed great feelings for her. A man who made her heart speed the moment he entered a room.

She shook her head and took a deep breath. Silly nostalgic thoughts.

The sun beat down bright and hot today, so she sat under the shade of a cherry tree with the flowers blooming down on her. It was situated at the center of the court next to a great pond with orange and black fish swimming just beneath the surface. They were imported from China. White lilies floated atop the water and great tall grass reeds sprouted from the pond surface here and there. A stone ledge wrapped right around it so one could sit at the water’s edge. She’d taken her son with her every day.

Whenever she threw in a pomegranate seed, fish swarmed to the surface trying to grab the tidbit into their big gaping, round mouths. Jonathan liked to grab at the wriggling fish and chortled whenever they came to the surface to feed.

A gentle breeze swept through the gardens, lifting her hair in its embrace before the warmth of midafternoon enveloped her again. She looked around her and took a deep breath of the sea air. It was refreshing and invigorating.

Tall flagstone walls covered with ivy climbed to the sky all around her, creating shade in the garden. Most of the shutters that covered the windows were open during the day. She could see into the bedchambers, mostly empty, and the main sitting area where many of the harem girls lounged, talked, smoked their hookah, and ate.

It was her very own paradise this afternoon.

Not all the flowers and plants could be identified in this little heaven. She’d always had a love for flowers and hadn’t realized how lacking her knowledge was until her first day in this garden. It was peaceful sitting under this wide blooming tree, her son on her lap. She liked it when it was just her and Jonathan. It reminded her of days long in the past.

This wasn’t so difficult a life to live. Not when such beauty surrounded you. But although she might find this peaceful for the moment, she knew it would only be a matter of time before she was expected to live up to her duties as Amir’s personal slave.

Amir hadn’t once called for her since that first night they met. She was thankful for that.

She turned at the shuffling of feet over the flagstone, surprised to see Amir strolling out into the garden, headed straight toward her as though her thoughts had called out to him.

He wore white linen trousers and a loose open shirt. Yellow and gold pointed slippers covered his feet. She kept her eyes plastered to the ground, not ready to meet his gaze.

“Laila told me I’d find you out here in the gardens,” he said softly.

She couldn’t find it in herself to look up, so she looked over to the slave, expecting the woman to take her son back inside. Elena was surprised when the woman nodded, not to her but Amir, and then turned on her heel. Leaving her quite alone with Amir and Jonathan.

She took a deep breath and raised her gaze as far as the top of her son’s head.

Would Amir ask for her tonight?

She’d thought herself lucky to have so much solitude. This time of reprieve and bonding with her son had been healing for her soul.

Gathering what courage she had left, she raised her eyes to Amir’s.

He hiked up his trousers at the knee and sat next to her on the bench. Balling up bits of bread between his fingers, he tossed them in the water. The fish raced to the surface, gluttons for crumbs to fill their bellies. It was like watching the slaves scramble for the bug-infested sludge at the slave market.

So focused on the past, she felt more than saw Amir lift Jonathan from her lap. She turned her head and watched him perch the child in his own lap. In awe of such a small act on his part, she watched Amir roll up more bits of bread, helping Jonathan toss them in the water. Amir laughed when half the crumbs went into Jonathan’s mouth.

An endearing sight to be sure. Didn’t every woman wish to see a doting father and son bond? Not that Amir played at being father. Her son was a means to an end for Amir, to win over her cooperation. But she still didn’t know how she could surrender herself to this man.

“You have nothing to fear from me.”

Is that what he saw? A frightened woman? There was a long pause of silence from both of them. Her son laughed at the rise and fall of fish from the top of the water.

“I only find my circumstances awkward.”

Amir nodded his understanding, but his focus was on her son. “You will like my attentions in time.”

“You seem rather confident. If I might say so,” she added quickly so as not to seem ungrateful to what he’d already done for her. She must learn to temper her tongue.

“You will shed this cold exterior in time. It is a defense you use to guard your English pride.”

“Who is to say it’s pride that keeps me a gently bred woman? I’m not meant for what you have in mind.” She bowed her head. “But I agreed to the arrangement for my son’s future. I will stand by the promise I made.”

Amir mulled this for a moment, his lips twisting as though he bit into something sour and not to his liking. “You did agree to this, otherwise Harry would not have gone to the trouble of purchasing you.”

He turned away from the water and set her son on the ground, giving Jonathan the bracelet from his own wrist to play with.

“I won’t let you leave here. We can come to many arrangements to make it more comfortable, but you will still be expected to warm my bed. If you find it reprehensible to have relations with a man beneath your station, there’s nothing that can be done about it. But you will learn to like it. I can be very convincing in acts of a more indulgent nature.” His voice was soft and even, but there was no mistaking the edge of anger lancing his words.

“Please. Let me apologize for my behavior,” she said. “I’ve said too much. I will do whatever you bid me. You are not a man beneath me. I never meant—”

He raised a hand to silence her protestations. “I’m glad for that, but your docile nature cannot cocoon you any longer. You need to come out of your shell. No one wants you to disgrace yourself. Everyone will help to support and strengthen your fledging wings as you learn your way around.” He faced her and gave her a small smile, his anger no longer evident. “Only then will you find your missing spirit, little bird.”

Such a strange way to word it.

She hated that everyone read her so well. But he was right. She hadn’t been abused. In fact, she’d been treated graciously, thoughtfully; everyone wanted to help her learn this way of life. Amir reached his hand out to her son, who bashed the bracelet around in excitement.

He tickled under Jonathan’s chin, and her son released the bauble and laughed at the man who played with him. How could a man who lived such an amoral way of life, owning slaves and whoring women, be this tender?

It wasn’t a question she wanted the answer to.

Taking the delicate filigree between his long slender fingers, Amir bent the pretty band so the circle was smaller. Then he slipped it over her son’s chubby hand, fitting it snugly around his baby-plump wrist.

Jonathan’s eyes seemed to widen, and the bracelet went immediately to his mouth. Amir chucked Jonathan under the chin again until her boy laughed and chortled in his baby way. He seemed torn between sucking on the bracelet and grappling Amir’s fingers.

Amir turned to her suddenly. “I want you in my bedchamber tonight. Laila will prepare you.”

There was no response to that. She lowered her head, not wanting to meet his gaze. The only sound was her son’s laughter and the fountain that drained into the fishpond.

She would not argue. He could take away everything he’d given her and that might include her son. She must tread carefully so as not to ruin her last chance for survival. At least until she better understood this man.

His hand came down to rest on the top of her head, his fingers lifting a hank of hair, then releasing it just as quickly. He left her there, tears running down her cheeks.

Why was she crying? No use denying that she was grateful for all he’d done.

Maybe she cried because she was afraid to open up to him. Afraid of what she’d learn about herself when with him. She thought about that a moment longer. Her fear dissipated. She wasn’t afraid of lying with a man who was not her husband.

It wasn’t that the actual act of congress was terribly horrible; she had enjoyed it upon occasion. What bothered her was this strange intuition that she wouldn’t find this a hardship in the least. Where had Elena disappeared to in the last week? She’d been so adamant and sure of herself before arriving at the palace. Now there was this new person taking over her body, her mind, telling her this was not a terrible fate at all, but a good second chance.

She slumped on the ground next to Jonathan and set him on her lap so that his wobbly legs stood on her thighs.

“Promise not to hate me when you learn that your mama has sold herself into this life.”

One pudgy hand reached out to grasp her loose hair. She pressed her lips to his forehead, giving him a quick kiss.

“I will do everything in my power to give us both a life we can love. I pray to God you don’t hate me when you understand what I truly am. But I tell you this now as a promise to us both; I will make this a life worth having. I will make this the best I can. For both of us. This looks to be our last stop before we’re dancing in Elysium’s fields.”

Giving her son a raspberry kiss on his cheek and a hug that had him squirming as she tickled his sides, she picked him up and strolled toward Laila’s room.

CHAPTER SIX

The Surrender of Reservation

A eunuch stood on either side of the double-door entry. Each pushed one massive wooden door inward and gave her a little push inside. She tripped a few steps forward and spun around to see the doors closing in her wake. She smoothed her hands over her arms as if warding off a chill.

So this was it. She’d known it was coming all day, so why couldn’t she turn around?

Taking a deep breath, she lowered her hands to her sides and turned where she stood.

The room was empty. Amir was not waiting for her. She released the air she held tight in her lungs.

How long was she expected to wait? The longer she was here alone, the more nervous she grew. Her stomach was in knots and not all of it stemmed from fear. There was a note of anticipation that made her sick to her stomach. It was like her wedding night all over again.

Instead of worrying about his arrival, she focused on the opulence of the room. Lush carpets cushioned her feet, inviting her to curl her toes into them, but she wouldn’t take her slippers off. She’d keep every last transparent thread on her person until she was forced to reveal more. There was no bed in the room, only a wide comfortable divan and cushions that could substitute as seating on the floors.

This room was no different than hers, except for the writing table that occupied one corner. There was a ledger open and resting on it, a quill sitting in the inkwell next to it. She turned to the windows. A warm breeze brushed over her in gentle reassurance before it was gone. She shook her head at her silliness and walked over to the ledge to look out at the grounds. She stood above the garden, the very one she frequented with her son.

How often had he watched her from this very spot? Goose bumps rose on her arms at the thought of him spying on her.

She smoothed her hand over the wall, caressing the rough stone to ground her to reality, the now. He had an unfair advantage by knowing more about her. It made her uneasy.

She looked away from the dark foliage. It was a clear night beyond the palace walls, stars twinkled bright and beautiful in the sky, and no walls impeded her view of the ocean perhaps a mile or two off.

Not wanting Amir to sneak up on her, she backed away from the call of freedom the night sang, and retreated to the divan. Sitting down, she hid her bottom. A small taffeta pillow in green edged with pretty glass beads went immediately into her lap.

It was more uncomfortable by the minute.

How she wished for the fortification of wine or even the swill of a fine brandy. She’d asked for some earlier to ease her nerves, but Laila told her that was impossible; alcohol was forbidden to the women. No sense in arguing the matter; her nerves would be on edge, mind on tenterhooks, hands trembling no matter how hard she clutched the pillow with or without wine.

Low voices came from the second, smaller door in the room moments before it swung silently open. Her heart thudded so hard in her chest; she was nearly deaf from the pounding of it in her ears.

Amir wore his usual white linen trousers, white shirt with loose sleeves, the collar cut down the center to reveal the fine lines and hairs of his chest. She tried to swallow back the lump in her throat, then pinched her eyes shut.

She didn’t hear him approach, his steps were so silent. Courage hadn’t surfaced in her when he stood within a handspan of her, knees bumping hers. He removed the pillow from her lap with a quick tug. The beads jangled as it was tossed behind him and hit the floor like the final blow of an axe.

Taking one of her fisted hands in his, he unfurled her shaking sweaty palm and placed it flat to his chest.

“Fear not.” Leaning forward, he whispered into her ear, “I will treat you well this night.”

She nodded, afraid to speak. She could do this. Whatever
this
was. Though she still fought to keep her eyes tightly shut. If they were shut, she could pretend this was an ordinary visit from her husband.

Amir smelled of musk and sandalwood, a masculine, rich scent that made her heart trip. He was so close, and her body tensed. She felt the low rumble of his chuckle where her hand rested over his sternum.

“If it makes you feel better, keep your eyes closed. But I cannot show you how this is best done if you play shy.” His voice was soft, not accusing.

He pulled off the tie around her waist in one smooth swish of fabric. The warm silk slid open. The knot in her throat was bigger than ever, her body tight as a bowstring.

His touch was light, reverent. He didn’t grope. His fingers were warm and surprisingly soft. She cracked her eyes open and was startled to see him staring back. She was locked in those dark eyes of his, unwilling to break away. The fear of moments ago now clouded her mind in a mantle of panic.

She couldn’t do this. She really couldn’t. Yanking her hand away from his chest, she scooted over on the divan, and turned her body to the side so her breasts were not in the direct line of his gaze.

It said a lot that he let her escape. Even if it was only for the moment.

“I know you are frightened.” His finger trailed a circular path over her arm. “I will be gentle as this is your first night.”

He held his hand out toward her, in invitation.

Seeing his face, his expression, she could read what he wanted. See the desire burning in the black depths. There was no mockery, definitely no pity. His relaxed stance told her he would wait, patiently if need be.

She crossed her ankles, squeezing her thighs together as she turned her head away from him. He sat beside her, their arms and legs touching. Taking her hand, he placed it on his thigh.

“Lie back,” he said. The swish of his shirt being removed came next.

Her head shot around till her eyes were level with his. She shook her head, hands trembling with edginess where it gripped his thigh.

Tipping her chin up with his knuckle, he rubbed his thumb across her lower lip before releasing her. Gently, he picked up her shaky fist, his strong hand massaging the tips of her fingers as he pulled them loose. Warmth eased her frozen nerves.

“My touch is not so bad, is it?”

She hated that it wasn’t horrible. Why didn’t he force himself on her? If he did, she could hate him, hate herself for choosing this escape instead of suffering in the slave market like any well-bred English woman would’ve done. Instead, she’d embraced the opportunity to become a woman of loose morals. God, she’d agreed so easily to this. Too easily.

“Turn around. I want to see you.”

She hesitated, not sure what to do. He grasped her calves, twisting her until her feet were in his lap. She was tipped back on the pillows piled on the divan.

“I assume you do not know all the ways to pleasure a man. Aside from a little shove and pull. I doubt you’ll ask any necessary questions because it is beneath your breeding.”

“This
is
improper. You aren’t my husband.”

“Improper.” He smiled and grasped her foot to press it to the hardness of his groin. “This is improper by your standards?”

He raised his eyebrow, daring her to pull away. She didn’t and for the life of her she didn’t know why. He massaged her calf and around her knee. Her foot was still pressed tight to his
rod
—one of the words Laila had taught her. The only one that didn’t make her cringe internally to say.

His hand molded and caressed the curve of her hip, the slight roundness of her stomach.

He pushed out one of her knees, forcing the folds of her sex open. Cool air met her flesh. She let out a small squeal, helpless to hold all her reservations inside. Biting down on her lip, she fought the urge to close her legs, to hide the shameful nakedness he exposed.

He rubbed the length of her thigh as one would a skittish mare. Smooth, firm strokes, up and down her flank.

“I won’t take more than you are willing to give.”

“I am forced to do this. How can you think I’d want to disgrace myself so completely? I’m a lady of noble birth and here you have me acting like any lewd doxy.”

“Ah, but you belong to me now.”

She pulled out of his grasp and hugged her arms around her knees, trying to cover as much of her nudity as possible. It was all she could do to preserve the last of her modesty.

Amir looked at her, head cocked to the side. “I did not think you hated my touch.”

“You are mistaken to think I welcome your attentions.”

“Yet you agreed to come here of your free will.”

“I was not free. I was a slave, I’d been beaten and half starved and I was desperate to see my son,” she said as calmly as she could.

“You try my patience. I do not want to force you. I want to teach you how to pleasure a man and how to take your own pleasure.”

“I cannot be so free with my body.”

“Yes, you can.”

He grasped her ankles and yanked her legs down hard until she lay flat on the divan, Amir resting atop of her. “Perhaps I should show you the joys to be had in the full brunt of passion before teaching you the finer details.”

She pushed at his chest. He didn’t budge but gave a low sultry chuckle at her pathetic attempt to push him off.

He studied her face carefully, surely waiting for the veneer of her prim nature to crack. Laila’s term for her swam through her mind:
prude.
She tried to remain passive even though her lip trembled between the clench of her teeth. She barely managed to hold her sobs back.

He forced her legs open farther. His rod sat firm against her inner thigh. His hand molded to the curve of her breast. Deft fingers plucked at the tip, bringing the nipple to a firm peak. “You like this. Otherwise you would not respond so beautifully.”

“I do not.” She couldn’t even look at him. She did like what he did and hated herself so much for it.

Before she could protest, he placed her fingers at the juncture of her thighs. She gasped as he forced her hand to slide through the slickness of her folds.

“This is why your body cannot lie to me. Other men who take their pleasure in you will see this willingness. Listen and learn, Elena. No matter the humiliation you feel. By touching yourself, you inflame a man’s desire.

“I do not think you will resist my attempts now.” Before she could give a denial, his finger slipped, with ease, into her passage. “This pleases me, little bird.”