The Surrender of a Lady (25 page)

She’d given him a succinct nod, and gone on to the bathing house for the remainder of the morning. Maram had threaded the hairs that had shown themselves in the last few weeks of neglecting her body. She felt a new woman . . . almost.

Almost.

Part of her was missing. A big part. She felt like an empty, pitiful . . . soulless husk.

Hopefully, in time, she would forget Rothburn. As unlikely as it seemed now, she could only hope time and distance would have mercy on her battered heart. Laila pulled up some curls and pinned them around the bauble that held the veil.

Forever hidden behind the veil she would remain.

What she needed to tell herself was that Rothburn had made this life worse for her. If not for him, she’d have no qualms about her place in the palace, or of her duties as a harem girl.

“Who is scheduled for the auction tonight?” Normal talk would help her focus on the task at hand.

“Amir said some members of the Russian embassy, Villieux and his lot, Asbury, I imagine. He said something about it being a small affair tonight with all the high bidders. All here for your charms, I believe. Don’t look at me like that. I am telling you the truth so you will be better prepared. I think Amir is angry with himself for having let you slip away. He was livid when you escaped from the palace.”

“I had no choice in the matter.”

“I never said you did. But he still adores you, Jinan. Do you not see that?”

“If he adored me, he’d do as I begged him last night.”

Laila raised one brow in question. “Do you really think he would let Rothburn keep his talons in you for the rest of your days here? He wants you to forget. This is the only way he knows to ensure you forget your time with that man. A man you obviously care for deeply, more so than your own master.”

Put that way, it started to make more sense. Amir was angry she didn’t hold him in as high a regard. How could he expect such a thing when he never gave her more than the security of this home? Laila pulled the laces closed at the back of her vest. The red and gold brocade cinched under her breasts, lifting them, putting them out on display for her observers. She sighed in disgust at the sight, and her resignation did not go unnoticed by Laila.

“It won’t be so bad. There are no cruel masters here tonight.”

“I feel ill with the thought of fucking with any of them.”

Laila clucked her tongue at the use of so strong and foul a word. “Think of your Rothburn if you must, or even Amir. You know it’s worked well for me when I’ve gotten a lord I do not find any attraction in.”

“I doubt that will help me tonight.” She lifted the diamond-and-ruby-studded hairpins for Laila to take. “Will you put these through the veil loops, please?”

“Of course. These are new? A gift from Amir, perhaps?”

Jinan nodded. “I think he feels guilty.”

Laila chuckled and pulled the veil up around Jinan’s face. “That would not surprise me. He hates to disappoint us.” The pins slid through her hair, holding the yellow silk veil in place. Small golden bells lined the bottom, the weight keeping the veil in place like a yoke about her neck.

“Turn. We’ll line your eyes now.” Laila stuck the black kohl stick in the flame of the candle set beside her. Lifting it to her mouth, she blew on it to take the edge off the heat, then pulled Jinan’s eye out from the corner, drawing a line thick enough to cover her upper and lower lash lines.

She closed her eyes, allowing Laila to fan her hand over the kohl. Closing her eyes was a mistake. She could only see Rothburn in her mind—it was such a strong, clear image. She was a coward not to have asked for her freedom when Amir had first taken her from Rothburn’s villa.

Laila’s hands stopped fanning and Jinan opened her eyes. Her friend stared back at her, worry evident in the depths of her brown eyes. Laila cupped her cheek. “You will be fine. Once you get through this, it’ll all start to feel normal.”

Jinan shut her eyes again so she didn’t cry away all the black lining that gave her the damnable sham Turkish look.

“You can do this, sister.” Laila used her calming tone, but it did nothing to soothe her. Her palms were sticky with sweat; they hadn’t had time to henna them. Her heart beat erratically against the wall of her chest,
thumpity-thump-thump-thump. Thump
. And then it started all over again. It raced for no other reason than dread.

Laila took her hands and pulled her to her feet. She fussed with the red and yellow skirt. She would remain dressed, mingle with her sisters or on Amir’s arm, and then be stripped and placed on the auction block like some sacrificial lamb. What she would sacrifice was her sanity if she continued in this vein. But she had no other choice.

With her mind occupied, she’d forgotten the main reason she was here. Why it could be no other way for her.

This was not only about her life. Without this opportunity or the generosity of Amir, her son had no future.

She could never forget that.

Taking a deep breath, she squeezed Laila’s hands in her own, then gave her friend a great hug. “I’m well enough to go on. Let us go before my nerves fail me entirely.”

I can do this . . . I
can.
God, give me strength to sell my body to another. After all the love I’ve known and lost. Give me strength.

“Jinan, it’s good to see you grace our presence again. Such a lovely sight you make,
ma petite
.” This from Villieux, not currently wrapped around another harem girl. So strange that he came to talk to her. He must be planning on bidding. It had been so long since she’d been up for auction that the men seemed most eager to chat with her.

As Amir stood at her side, she leaned toward the young count and, because it was expected of her, whispered in French, “It is good to have the grace of your presence, Master Villieux.” He turned, looking her directly in the eye, and smiled. Definitely, he planned to bid. She swallowed back the lump in her throat and held his gaze.

The heat of Amir’s hand was a constant presence at the base of her spine. A tangible reminder that she should not stray from his side.

Not that she planned on it. At least not this night. Her nerves were on edge at the prospect of giving her body to another man.

The dancers entered the room as the musicians pounded out an enticing beat. They fanned out in a rainbow of rich color; their brown skin gleamed under the weight of gold chains and jewels. Amir grasped her hips, walking her backward, away from the patrons and to the farthest corner of the room.

“Jinan,” he said for her ears alone. “Do you feel more yourself? You look better today than you did when we last spoke.”

There was no permissible response because she did not feel herself. She pushed back into the evidence of his desire. She arched her back and threw her head over her shoulder. “Do what you will.” She could commit her body, but not her heart, to this. If he wanted to display her carnal wares to the lords, so be it.

His hand spanned between her breasts. Amir was well versed in teasing. It would be so much easier to forget her past if he would take her. Instead, he wished to arouse her senses and her emotions. Though she would never betray her love—there was only one person that belonged to.

“Why do you do this, Amir? Let me go. Let the other lords view me before I am stripped down and studied upon the auction block.”

“As you wish.”

His hand fell away then. She turned and faced him, studying his unchanged expression. The man never showed any true feelings toward his girls. He taught them the trade he sold them for, lavished them with pretty baubles, but never had she seen love reflected in his eyes. Why she expected to see it now, she wasn’t sure. Nothing ever changed here. Forever she’d remain his whore. Forever in his debt because of his generosity in the rearing of her child. She was a fool to have thought otherwise.

A bloody fool for falling in love with Rothburn.

She was supposed to protect her heart, not hand it to a man on a silver platter along with a knife for him to do his will.

She looked away from the intense gaze she could not read, and walked over to Laila. Another hour. Then she’d be another man’s whore.

Another man’s plaything.

What did it matter? This was her life and would forever be.

Laila stood at her side, collecting the scarves that were pulled off her body. Wearing her veil, and a series of gold filigree bands about her wrists and ankles, she stepped up on the podium.

Mr. Chisholm tapped the side of the dais and called attention to her voluptuous form so wantonly displayed. The men were eager to assess her after so long and milled closer. The fantasy was clear in their eyes. Amir had brought only those who would bid this eve.

“Gentlemen,” he began, “it is my greatest pleasure to sell off the beautiful Jinan for your lavish attentions. I know many of you have been waiting to steal her away from her previous lord for some months now. Never fear. Here she stands, eager to please the next gentleman to win her favors.” He strategically paused in his speech, letting it sink in that she was back in the game, and it was anyone’s win. “I do not think it fortuitous to start bidding at five thousand.”

She watched two patrons step back into the shadows. They might have money to spend but would not play for stakes so high. Among the faces standing close, she saw Villieux smirking, Asbury leering, staunch Montgomery all red-faced with bemusement, the gangly Chekhov sneering at the others, and a number of other familiar and unfamiliar men.

“Five and a half,” from the rogue Villieux.

“Six.”

“Eight.” Asbury testing his luck again. She always went out of
his
price range. She didn’t understand why he bid. Rivalry, that’s what she’d forgotten. It was always about the rivalry between him and Villieux.

“Ten.”

“Fourteen.” Villieux really wanted her.

“Eighteen,” the Russian yelled.

“Twenty.”

“Twenty-two.”

“Twenty-four.”

For the first time in all his visits, the Russian had bid this high. She was sure Villieux had just met a worthy adversary. He scowled at the count. The count offered a tight smile in return.

The silence stretched; there appeared to be no other bidders—she hoped the price pleased Amir. She wished she had something to lean on for she felt rather faint now. Any minute, Villieux would take her down from the podium and test her wares. He was one for flaunting his prize, too. He’d probably fuck her right in the middle of the floor on the lion-skin rug.

She swallowed back the bad taste in her mouth convulsively. If she didn’t faint, she might just throw up right here and disgrace herself. Disgrace Amir. She bit the inside of her cheeks and closed her eyes to find a calm equilibrium. She did not want to dishonor herself or her master. Not on her first auction day after what felt like a lifetime. If she faltered now, Amir might not hesitate to take away her privileges, take away everything he’d offered to her son.

She looked Villieux in the eye. That glint of satisfaction might have filled her with anticipation in the past, but it only sickened and repulsed her now. It appalled her that for the first time in five years she was looked upon, so obviously, as a whore. Silly of it to bother her. It was what she was and had been all these years.

She looked to Laila, grasping her sister’s outstretched hand.

Someone cleared his throat, and a strong voice rang out amid the excited murmurs and congratulations to Villieux.

“Thirty thousand.”

Jinan paused, hand clasped tight in Laila’s. Her sister squeezed back.

What did this mean?

She looked to her sister, but she also looked puzzled. Mr. Chisholm observed the melee of men, mouth flapping as though he’d catch his voice back that way.

Not once had
he
ever bid on the harem girls.

Why would he?

He owned them all.

It didn’t look as though she, her sisters, and Mr. Chisholm were the only ones confused by the proceedings. Indeed, no. Even the patrons seemed stupefied by the turn in bidding. Did they wait for him to withdraw his bid? To tell them all it was a good jest? But Amir was not the type to joke about money, about his women.

“Mr. Chisholm,” he said, “have the guards bring Jinan to my private quarters.”

She gulped again. His private quarters? He meant to bring her outside of the harem quarters. Not one of the girls had ever been to that part of the palace.

Did he plan to expel her? Why had he bid on her?

What would he do? Have her killed? As silly as the notion had seemed months ago when she’d said that very thing to Rothburn, more and more she was worried those words would come true.

Three eunuchs came forward, hands threateningly close to the handle of their scimitars. Perhaps they were as confused as she.

Amir clapped his hands, and she was whisked from the dais toward the one door she never had had the desire to leave through. The eunuchs did not gather her scarves before leading her onward. Proceedings resumed, and the dancers ran into the room—she could hear the sounds of their
kuchi
bells—to start a new number. The hush that had fallen at the conclusion of her auction returned to the noisy affair it had been before the bidding.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw Laila staring back, a sad expression on her face. Laila raised her hand in what could only be construed as farewell, tears fresh in her eyes. An urge to run back to her sister and hold on to her one last time washed through her system. She almost did, but Ahmed, the elder of the eunuchs, propelled her forward through the archway.

The dip in the bed told her she was no longer alone and her body stirred to bitter awareness.

She’d climbed under the covers of the great four-poster some hours ago. Amir did not join her immediately after the auction. She didn’t even know if she’d see him again. Nothing made sense. A slave had brought in fresh water and instructed her to wash herself, which she did and stripped her veil off, leaving only her jewelry. Then after a nerve-racking hour and no sign of her master, she’d climbed into the bed.