The Sheik's Son (35 page)

“The man is mad!” several people exclaimed as Sebastian returned, holding Sophie tightly in his arms.

***

Eugenie, Katharine and Leila sat beside the fire while Mohammed, Sebastian, Etienne and Jean Pierre discussed their plan of action.

Sophie was looking out the window, as if waiting for the inspector to return.

“He’s finished in Paris. Word is already out that he attacked a young woman with hundreds of witnesses,” Etienne remarked.

“I’ll speak to the commissioner tomorrow. He’ll sack the inspector—I’ll see to it,” Jean Pierre said, watching his daughter at the window.

“Yes. But with France on the brink of revolution, he is just the sort of man who will rise from the mud,” Sebastian countered.

His wound was not serious and Sophie had bandaged it herself. She had been concerned and worried for his safety and Sebastian had calmed her.

“We’ll be prepared for him, son. See to your wife,” Mohammed said. “She needs you.”

***

Sophie lay curled next to Sebastian on their bed watching the fire crackle and spit. She had not expected to see the inspector again, and his threats of retaliation against her husband had been real and venomous.

“He will not stop. If it is not me he uses, it will be someone else. He is power-hungry beyond all reason.” She shuddered.

“I spoke to my parents. Leila and Etienne are traveling to the continent and your family is headed to England. I think it best we go to Arabia,” Sebastian told her.

Sophie looked at him expectantly. “Arabia?” She sounded hopeful.

“Yes. France is unsafe and the inspector is dangerous. It’s time you had a taste of my homeland anyways. I think the time to journey to Arabia is now.”

Sophie pondered the decision and agreed. “Yes. I would like that.”

“Good. Then I will make the arrangements to travel. I think we will be traveling behind my parents so they will ready everything for our arrival.”

Sophie laid her head against his chest, enjoying the peaceful silence.

***

Sophie felt uneasy. It seemed her old way of life and everything she knew was ending and a new life was beginning. Everyone was going to different parts of the continent and she knew the journey to Arabia would be a long, exhausting one. With a heavy heart, she said goodbye to her father and grandmother and hugged Leila.

“Take care of my little niece or nephew,” she said, smiling.

“We will. Have a safe journey,” Leila said.

She had learned that Madame Necker and her family had journeyed to Switzerland and Lizette’s family would travel to the countryside. Leila and Sophie kissed each other on the cheeks in a final farewell.

Etienne and Sebastian, once friends, were now brothers tied together by marriage. They clasped each other on the back and wished each other safe travels.

“Godspeed,
mon ami
,” Etienne said.

“And you, old man,” Sebastian returned. “We will return to France again. God willing, when all this madness is over.”

Epilogue

Sophie watched the waves crash against the ship as France became smaller and smaller. Everything she had ever known was receding from her view.

She was no longer Jean Inconnu or the revolutionary writer of pamphlets. She was no longer the young girl who had grown up in Paris and worshipped theater and music.

She was no longer the daughter and granddaughter who played chess and argued about women’s rights.

No. She was a beloved wife and, if she guessed correctly, a soon-to-be mother, though she had not told Sebastian yet.

Later in their cabin that night, she stripped naked and joined him on their little bed amid the gentle swaying of the ship.

She was lucky in that she had not become seasick like so many others, but seemed to blossom and thrive on the salty water and in the bright sun.

She gave herself to her husband with wild abandon, dragging her nails across his back and urging him to take her. He smiled and placed himself between her slim legs, pressing himself into her, claiming her as his, now and always.

Afterwards she drew lazy circles on his naked back as he kissed her flat belly.

“I don’t care if it’s a boy or a girl, so long as it’s healthy,” he commented quietly.

Sophie looked at him sharply. “How did you know?”

“I know your body, Sophie. You have become softer and fuller recently.”

Sophie smiled, placing her hand on her belly. “I don’t care either. But I do like the name Amelie or Elise….”

“Or Max?” he said.

“Or Pauline?” she said.

“Or Henri?”

“Or—” Before she could finish, he rolled her underneath him, pinning her in place while she laughed.

Later, as the sun was setting, Sebastian and Sophie went on deck to admire the colors that flooded the sky. It was a ruby pink tinged with saffron yellow, and Sophie clutched her shawl around her as she closed her eyes.

She felt her husband’s arms around her as he held her tightly to his chest.

“Don’t worry, Sophie. We’ll come back to France when everything has settled,” he told her, kissing her temple.

“I’m not worried. I’m exactly where I want to be,” she whispered and kissed him back, their fingers entwining over her belly as the sun continued its descent into the horizon, leaving only the blue waters behind.

Excerpt from The Sheik and the Slave

Available on Amazon

The candle lights flickered low and the music began. It was a beautiful piece by George Frederick Handel, a Trio Sonata in B Minor. Katharine listened to the music and closed her eyes. The violin, flute, and continuo were in perfect sync with each other as the music moved and flowed through the room. She stood with James, sipping a glass of champagne, while she watched her guests mingle. A hundred people filled the room, and dozens more stood or danced in clusters and groups around the food tables. Champagne was in abundance. She had lost count how many people she had greeted and smiled at. She suddenly felt lightheaded as the champagne drizzled into her veins. The trio sonata continued playing, and its beauty was mesmerizing.

When she opened her eyes and looked across the room, she glimpsed him across the room and knew she had drank too much. He had walked behind a group of people standing at the far end of the room. Kat almost dropped her flute of champagne.

"Darling, what is it?" James whispered as he felt her lean into him.

"The heat. It's the heat," she answered. "I need some fresh air."

"Of course. I'll accompany you," he said.

"No, you should stay. I'll only be a few minutes,” she replied. She moved her dress hem aside as she moved gracefully through the room.

Kat placed her champagne glass on a table and walked outside the ballroom and into the night. A few couples were outside talking and they greeted her. Her brother Charles and his wife, Sarah, smiled at her, and Charles kissed her in greeting.

She smiled to them and then turned away. She was going mad! She brushed a hand across her forehead and flushed cheeks.

Katharine looked out over the gardens that she knew so well. Earlier that day, she had stood next to James, thinking of the stallion and wanting to give him a proud name. She had always loved Greek mythology so she had thought of Ares, the god of war. But just then, she had seen him. Either that or her imagination was going wild.

She saw at first the figure behind the large group of people at the far end of the ballroom. He was dressed in a deep blue coat and waistcoat with snug knee-length breeches, low-heeled shoes and silk stockings. His hair was unpowdered but clubbed with a black ribbon, and he appeared to be clean-shaven. He was well-dressed, and the cut of the coat showed off his muscled back and the width of his shoulders.

The breeches did well to expose his muscled legs, and his dark shoes had no buckles on them.

But as much as tried to fit into this world, he did not. He was like a wild tiger in a small cage. He belonged in a hot world of sand and sandalwood incense not in a ballroom filled with dandies and champagne.

He belonged in a world of sandstorms and harems, where the world smelled of incense and jasmine.

Kat shook her head. This was madness. This was what happened to women who had no clean grasp on reality. She wandered into a farthest part of the gardens, where the willow trees had been planted long ago. The birch and ash trees grew there as well.

Katharine was particularly fond of elm trees. The willow tree branches dipped low, almost to the ground, and she stepped inside one. She looked down at her hands and saw that they were shaking. She closed her eyes and remembered his goatee as his mouth touched hers. She remembered his hands on her, inside of her, and taking her that night after the party.

The air was cold, and her breath foamed out as she exhaled. The willow tree branches encircled her and protected her as she sighed. She must let it go. She must forget him. This can only drive me mad, she told herself for the thousandth time.

She touched the diamonds at her throat and tried to calm herself. Silly, she said to herself. She breathed out and turned to go back to the party.

But then, her quick intake of breath and the pounding of her heart inside her chest happened instantaneously. She shook her head and closed her eyes.

"You aren't real," she breathed out in disbelief, her breath foaming in the cold air.

"Oh, I'm real enough," he mocked her.

His clothes were European as she had seen in the ballroom and his hair was pulled back without a wig. But his golden body belied the fact that he was not European and never would be. He would never fit in and would never want to. He had come here for one reason.

"I don't understand. How are you here?" Katharine asked him, as her fantasy and nightmare collided together. She pressed a hand to her exposed chest as her heart raced.

"The horse, your Arabian, was my Arabian. I bred and sold him to your father," Mohammed explained.

"Did you know when you sold it to him that it was for me?" she asked.

"Yes," he said. His dark eyes met her blue ones.

Mohammed watched her intake of breath, which caused her breasts to swell over her neckline.

He had watched her that night, not able to take his eyes from her. He had many dealings with Europeans because of the Arabian horses he bred. The horses were renowned for their beautiful bone structure and stamina, but he had never accompanied the horses once they were sold. He had always dealt with the foreigners, accepted their money and had his men transport the horses. This time was different, however. This time everything was different.

Her father had written to Mohammed, inquiring upon the price of an Arabian stallion. Edward wrote in detail about his spirited daughter, explaining that the horse must be the same, intelligent and spirited. Mohammed had accompanied the horse to England to bring back what was his by Arab law.

He had watched her stand near the English dandies at the ball and smile into their faces. He had watched a young blonde dandy rest his hand on Katharine's waist and clenched his own fist in anger. She had used her body well to trap men into wanting what they couldn't have. Poor Majeed had found out the hard way. His own brother was enchanted by the little falcon! Majeed should have known better.

And now, after coming across the sea, he was here to claim her again. There would be no negotiations and no bargains; she would be his.

Unaware of his thoughts, Katharine shook her head, confused. Her diamond earrings glistened in the dark.

"Why are you here?"

Mohammed stepped toward her.

"You know exactly why I'm here. I'm here to take back what's mine," he told her.

He closed the small gap between them and jerked her into his arms.

"No," was all she managed to say before his mouth took hers. He was clean-shaven and well-groomed, which only made him more dangerous. She knew what was underneath the fancy clothes.

About the Author

Nicola spent her childhood in Los Angeles. As a young student in elementary school, she had a great fondness for reading and began to write creatively. Her fifth grade teacher encouraged her to keep her creative stories and to continue to write which she did. She graduated from university with a degree in communications and held a variety of positions in journalism, education, government and non profit.

While her writing during this period was business related as she wrote for a newspaper, marketing newsletters and press releases she remained dedicated to romance fiction.

“The Sheik and the Slave” began as chapters on a romance website and was voted top romance story. “The Sheik” fans are amazing and Nicola remains deeply indebted to them. They have encouraged her to continue writing and have been extremely supportive.

Nicola has traveled extensively throughout Europe, China and Central America. She speaks basic Spanish and has a love of all languages.

Nicola’s goal is to create rich characters with a strong male lead and a passionate female lead. She also strives to set her books in places not normally written about such as Arabia in “The Sheik and the Slave” and Ceylon in “The Tea Plantation.”

“We all want a happy ending but I like to create some friction and chase before my leads come together,” Nicola has said.

Her novels include
The Sheik and the Slave
,
The Tea Plantation
and
The Sheik’s Son
.

For more information about Nicola Italia and her books, visit

www.nicolaitalia.com

www.facebook.com/AuthorNicolaItalia

www.twitter.com/nicola_italia

www.Amazon.com