The Pleasure of Your Kiss (25 page)

But it was only Solomon’s towering form that filled the doorway.

Clarinda frowned, wondering why the eunuch would have been summoned from his duties in the harem for such an occasion.

That question was answered a moment later when Solomon stepped to the side, ushering in a line of women who marched single file to the far end of the room before turning to face the guests. Although the women wore silken veils to cover their noses and mouths, their low-cut bodices and clinging Turkish trousers ensured that all of their other charms were on full display.

Farouk’s voice seemed to echo even more than usual. “In gratitude for your bravery, Burke the Younger, I bring before you a dozen of my most beautiful concubines. For a man to spend even one night in the arms of such a woman is to create a memory that will forever warm him. Tonight I offer you that memory … and a woman of your choosing to help you create it.”

Farouk beamed at Ash, his white teeth gleaming in his swarthy face; Clarinda’s bloodless fingers froze around the stem of her goblet.

She didn’t realize she had ceased to breathe until Ash shook his head, smiling ruefully. “There is no need for such an extravagant reward, Your Majesty. While I appreciate your generosity more than you will ever know, I can assure you that your hospitality and goodwill are reward enough for one humble man.”

While Clarinda breathed out a sigh of relief she did not care to examine, Luca’s hand shot up as if he’d just been called on in class. “Pardon me, Your Majesty, but if the captain doesn’t want—”

Ash grabbed the sleeve of Luca’s robe and yanked his hand back down.

Farouk’s smile slowly faded. A stunned silence descended over the hall.

“What did you expect, you naïve fool?” Seizing both the opportunity and the stage, Tarik surged to his feet, tossing a contemptuous look in Ash’s direction. “The man is an infidel dog. He has no manners, no breeding, no respect for the traditions of our forefathers. He is little more than a savage!”

Spurred on by Tarik’s snarled words, the guests began muttering among themselves, their glances toward Ash and Luca growing increasingly hostile.

“Silence!” Farouk thundered, cowing even the boldest of his guests. When he turned back to Ash, he spoke softly, but the warning edge in his voice was as sharp as the blade of the jeweled dagger. “Burke may not be familiar with our ways but he is no savage. I am sure he did not realize that to turn down such a gift would be considered a grave insult, both to me and to my ancestors.”

Farouk’s words left little doubt that if not corrected, Ash’s insult might not only be grave, but fatal.

Ash did not shy away from the sultan’s challenging gaze. “I humbly beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty. Your uncle, wise man that he is”—this said with a respectful nod toward the still-fuming Tarik—“is right. I am undeserving of such an extraordinary tribute, which is why I made the misguided effort to reject it. I swear upon the graves of my own ancestors that I have no desire to cast shame upon the exalted name of His Majesty. Or his ancestors.” Ash rose to his feet and spread his arms wide, flashing the devil-may-care dimple Clarinda had never been able to resist. “I can assure you that I am only too eager to embrace your gift.”

Unable to resist Ash’s teasing leer, the guests relaxed, sending a ripple of laughter through the hall. Grinding his teeth in thwarted rage, Tarik sank back down to his cushion.

“Come, my brother,” Farouk commanded Ash, his own relief palpable. “You will choose from among my women.”

Ash offered him a bow more suited to a London ballroom. “It will be my pleasure.”

As the two men approached the row of waiting women, the concubines’ shameless preening made it clear that being the one chosen to warm the Englishman’s bed for a night would not be considered something to be dreaded or feared but a coup to be much desired.

“They’re all so beautiful,” Poppy whispered in Clarinda’s ear, the wistful note in her voice echoing the ache in Clarinda’s heart.

Clarinda told herself she had no reason to be jealous. She had a man waiting for her once she escaped from this place. An honest man. A dependable man. A man who had patiently bided his time for almost ten years. A man who would never turn his back on her and walk away when she needed him the most.

Ash was welcome to spend the night in the arms of the woman of his choice. He did not belong to Clarinda. He never would and perhaps he never had.

As he took his own sweet time strolling along the line of women, favoring each one of them with an encouraging word and a tender smile, that litany played over and over in Clarinda’s mind, accompanied by vivid images of one woman drawing him down on top of her, another raking her nails down the smooth, muscled planes of his back, a third licking her lush lips and shooting him a coy glance as she dropped to her knees before him.

Farouk trailed after him, his hands locked at the small of his back. He looked as proud as a benevolent papa every time Ash paused to remark on the lustrous sheen of a woman’s hair, the graceful curve of her hip, the irresistible charm of a flawless dimple of a navel set in a slender waist. The guests followed their progress with equal fascination until they came to the last woman in the row.

Luminous dark eyes glittered above the deep purple silk of her veil, their kohl-lined depths promising pleasures no man could resist. A proud toss of her head sent her glossy midnight-black hair spilling down her back until the feathery tips of it brushed the shapely curve of her rump. Her rouged nipples jutted proudly against the deliberately dampened fabric of her bodice, as if to tempt every man in the room to lean down and give them a lick or a nibble.

Yasmin.

He was going to choose Yasmin.

And why not? With her exotic looks and queenly bearing, Yasmin was by far the most beautiful woman in the harem. And probably the most beautiful woman in all of El Jadida. According to the other women in the harem, she possessed the skills to drive a man mad with pleasure, to make him howl her name and forget his own.

Clarinda closed her eyes, knowing she wouldn’t be able to bear seeing the triumphant look on the woman’s face when Ash took her by the hand and led her from the hall.

But, no,
Clarinda thought. She was done with hiding. She’d spent the last nine years of her life shielding her heart from every blow, and what had she gained for her trouble? Nothing but a numb heart and a cold, lonely bed. If Ash was going to do this thing, then she was going to force herself to witness every second of it. If she had to watch him walk out of this room with Yasmin, had to imagine him doing to Yasmin what he had once done to her with such haunting tenderness and raw passion, then when the time came to stand before the altar with his brother, perhaps she would finally be able to give her heart to Max without reservations or regrets.

She opened her eyes just in time to see Ash lift a hand to gently brush the back of his knuckles against the smoothness of Yasmin’s olive-skinned cheek. He had once caressed
her
cheek with identical tenderness. Had once gazed down at
her
, his eyes sparkling with the same seductive charm. Her determination nearly faltered but she forced herself to keep watching, her eyes as dry and hot as the desert air.

Almost as if sensing her regard, Ash turned away from Yasmin and the other women and looked directly at her. Their eyes met, his gaze as cool and calculating as any stranger’s.

With the absolute confidence of Salome asking for the head of John the Baptist on a platter, he pointed directly at Clarinda and said, “I want her.”

T
he hall erupted in chaos.

One minute Ash was standing next to Farouk. The next he was shoved up against one of the marble columns with Farouk’s powerful forearm pinning him to the column and the blade of the jeweled dagger Farouk had just given him pressed to his Adam’s apple. Farouk had moved so quickly no one had even seen him snatch the weapon from the belt of Ash’s robes. The sultan’s upper lip was curled in a snarl. His broad chest heaved with rage.

As the guests leapt to their feet and scrambled to get out of the way, their alarmed cries mingling with the startled screams of the concubines, Farouk’s guard rushed forward to surround the two men, scimitars drawn. Their master appeared to be in no danger of losing this particular skirmish, but they had obviously been trained not to take any chances.

“Get back!”
Farouk roared through his clenched teeth. If Ashton Burke was going to die by anyone’s hand on this night, it was clearly going to be his.

The guards reluctantly retreated while Farouk’s uncle drew nearer, plainly delighted by this unexpected turn of events. Tarik jerked his head toward Luca. Two of the guards roughly seized Luca by the arms and yanked him to his feet, thankful to have something destructive to do.

Clarinda was halfway across the hall before she even realized her feet had moved. Solomon intercepted her, wrapping one of his massive ebony arms around her waist and scooping her clear off the floor.

“Let me go, damn you!” She twisted in his grip and clawed at his arm with her fingernails, desperate to stop Farouk from slitting Ash’s throat right before her eyes.

“Compose yourself, woman. If the sultan sees your face right now, both you and your captain will taste the bite of his blade before this night is done.”

As that mellifluous voice poured into her ear, Clarinda went limp, stunned to realize the eunuch not only wasn’t mute but spoke the King’s English as well as she did. Solomon gently lowered her feet to the floor, rewarding the wide-eyed look she cast him over her shoulder with an encouraging nod. He withdrew his arm from her waist but she could still feel his presence behind her, as solid and immovable as a boulder.

Poppy crept up next to them. All of the color had drained from her plump cheeks, leaving her as pale as a Dresden figurine.

“I don’t see what the problem is,” Ash said coolly, as if a thin trickle of blood weren’t already easing its way out from under the deadly tip of Farouk’s blade. “You told me I could have the woman of my choice. I choose Miss Cardew.”

“Miss Cardew is not mine to give. She is my guest!”

“No, she’s not. That’s just a pretty lie you’ve been telling each other for the past three months. She belongs to you just as surely as any concubine. You bought her from a slaver. You paid for her with your own gold. And you have every intention of getting back the pound of flesh she owes you when you take her to your bed. You may choose to call her your ‘guest’ or even your ‘wife’ if it pleases you, but we both know she’ll never be anything more than your whore.”

As the fragile illusion Farouk and Clarinda had so carefully maintained crumbled to dust beneath the ruthless flick of Ash’s tongue, Farouk looked stricken. “Why?” he asked hoarsely, his anguished gaze searching Ash’s impassive face. “Why are you doing this? I thought you were my friend. My brother …”

“And I thought you were a man of honor. You promised me a night with one of your women. The woman of
my
choice. Are you going to insult the memory of your ancestors by going back on your word now? By breaking your oath before all of these witnesses and Allah himself?”

Dear God,
thought Clarinda, pressing her fingertips to her lips in a vain attempt to still their trembling. What was the fool trying to do? Goad Farouk into killing him? Even Luca, still hanging helplessly in the grip of Farouk’s guards, had gone as pale as parchment beneath his olive tan.

Tarik circled the two men like a rabid jackal. “Do you not see? This is what happens when you are foolish enough to welcome a hungry dog into your home. He bides his time until he finds an opportunity to help himself to what is yours.” Stopping directly in Farouk’s line of sight, Tarik shrugged. “But the infidel is right. You cannot break your oath. The woman is his. At least for this night.”

Farouk slowly turned his head to look at Clarinda, his white-knuckled grip on the hilt of the dagger unwavering. “Give me the word,” he rasped out. “One word and I will cut him down where he stands.”

Ignoring the blade biting into his throat, Ash also turned his head to look at her. If he was worried about having his fate balanced in her delicate hands, he showed no sign of it. His was the face of a man who had his finger poised on the trigger of a gun and absolutely no compunction about pulling it. The steely resolve in his eyes had probably been the last sight many of his opponents had seen on the battlefield.

You’ll have to trust me,
he had told her on the day he had snuck into the harem.

You always did have a habit of asking the impossible,
she had replied, without fully realizing just how impossible.

She turned her sorrowful gaze back to Farouk before saying softly, “I cannot ask you to do that. You are a man of honor who has treated me with nothing but courtesy. I cannot be the one to bring shame to your name by asking you to break your oath or murder a man in cold blood.”

Farouk slowly lowered his arm. The dagger slid from his limp fingers to clatter on the tiles. Dropping his head as if he could no longer bear to look at her, he said, “Take her, Solomon. Have the women prepare her.”

As the eunuch’s hands closed around Clarinda’s forearms from behind, Tarik clapped a hand on his nephew’s shoulder, a conciliatory smile thinning his lips. “Perhaps this is all for the best, my son. Virgins can be so tiresome. After being mounted by this mongrel, the English bitch will no doubt be panting for the more civilized attentions of a real man.”

Both Ash and Farouk lunged forward, but it was Farouk’s enormous fist that connected with his uncle’s jaw first, laying the man out cold on the tiles.

As Solomon gently urged Clarinda past an ashen-faced Poppy and toward the door, Clarinda dared one last glance over her shoulder at Ash. She didn’t know what she expected to find, but the look he gave her wasn’t the relieved look of someone who had just pulled off a carefully calculated bluff, but the triumphant look of a man who was finally about to take full possession of what was rightfully his.