The Surrender of a Lady (6 page)

“Thread your hands together, above your head.” Better to have her not touch him when his release was so close.

It didn’t matter that he’d purchased this right. He would purchase her a thousand and one nights more, if it were the only way he could spend more time in her company.

He tasted her freely now everywhere his mouth and tongue landed with each one of her thrusts. He couldn’t seem to pull her in tight enough to appease either of them. Biting at her breast with as much gentleness as his sex-crazed body could deliver in this current state of excitement, he heard her let out a deep moan. He ground harder into her, his control gradually slipping as he rode out both their pleasure.

Her body slid with ease over his clothes. He could feel her wetness penetrating the material of his smalls when her body let out a gush of feminine fluid and her legs dropped farther open. There was no reining in his desires at that point. His cock swelled and there was no hope of stopping the release so close to overtaking him. They jerked together in the abandon of their congress.

“By all that is holy . . .” Her words came in Persian as she arched farther off the divan, bringing her ribs right up to his chest as she came to her crisis.

Another rush of fluids aided the slide of their bodies. He rocked his hips a few more times as the last of his seed pumped out painfully in the constriction of his trousers. With a slight collapse onto her, he released the tight grasp he had on her hips and breathed heavily against her for a moment. He needed to catch his breath.

Had they really just done that?

There was no thinking straight with her sensual body wrapped around his.

It didn’t matter what they’d just done. They’d both been consenting adults in this. It was obvious they had both needed this release. She wouldn’t have taken her own pleasure so fiercely if she hadn’t needed it.

The bigger question remained, though. Did she play this game with everyone or did she remember him and find comfort in losing herself to his touch? After tonight he’d have answers, or at least he hoped to. It was obvious she would continue with this charade of hers.

But would she keep denying the truth after a few months spent in his company?

CHAPTER FOUR

Reunion and Reconciliation

1841

Five Years Earlier

They walked down long corridors, the next indistinguishable from the last. They turned about so many ways she was lost within a few minutes. Elena wasn’t sure if she’d been to this section of the palace yet or not. Color started to slowly invade the sterile white walls, bronzes and rusts, greens in the tiled floors, then they took another turn and deep red carpet cushioned her bare feet.

She looked up from her curled toes. Doors were spaced out evenly in this hall. At the end she spied an open sitting area and could hear the laughter and chatter of other women. She was ushered into one of the rooms with Laila before she could explore farther on.

“When will I see my son?” she asked.

“Very soon. I’ll just show you your sleeping quarters. All the harem girls’ rooms line this hall and the hall on the other side of the garden.” Laila pointed out the large open window to a courtyard beyond her room. There was a square of similar windows lined with burgundy shutters, surrounding the greenery outside. Songbirds sang loudly and cheerfully, mixing with the talk and activities of the women walking or lounging in the garden.

Pulling her eyes from the outdoors, Elena focused on the room. Lush textiles of silks, velvets, beads, and brocades covered the furniture in an array of bold colors. A zebra-striped animal fur stretched out in front of the divan. It was a handsome room that nearly left her breathless, but her mind couldn’t take in material things.

She turned to Laila. “I thank you for showing me this, but I want to see my son. I’ve missed him so very much. I have done everything you asked of me, please let me see him,” she said in a small voice. She really couldn’t bear being refused again to see Jonathan. Her hands shook in nervousness and anxiety.

“I understand. He is a beauty, and we’ve all enjoyed looking after him. Come then.” Laila took her hand, leading her to the main sitting area she’d wanted to go toward moments ago.

There was a crowd of richly dressed harem girls. At the center of their chattering and cooing came the sounds of a happy gurgling baby.

“Oh, Jonathan!” Elena screeched her excitement and rushed forward. Dropping to her knees, she picked her son up.

She held him fiercely to her bosom and didn’t realize she was squeezing him so tightly until he cried out in complaint. She loosened her grasp enough to rain kisses on his plump face and tasted her own tears as they fell unashamedly. The happiness she felt in seeing him lifted her heart and her hopes.

“Oh, my sweet baby,” she cried out again.

Tears continued to blur her vision as she looked him over. She had to keep swiping the dampness away with the bottom edge of her dress. She’d never cried so much in all her life. But then, she’d never had such a happy moment as this. To have this joyful reunion after the despair that had ridden heavy on her shoulders these past few weeks was more than a blessing.

Jonathan had grown in the short time they’d been separated. His hair had filled in on his head and a cowlick in front stood up on end. She brushed her fingers through the dark, baby softness. She noticed in his smile the beginning of a tooth. Goodness, she’d missed so much while they were separated. She vowed then and there, she’d never be parted from her son again.

He wore white muslin designed like the caftan robes, and she felt extra padding on his bottom under the outfit. His arms were still chubby and his tiny fists clenched through the locks of her loose hair. He cooed back at her, giving her a wide, mostly gummy smile. Thank God he hadn’t forgotten her in their time apart—that would have been too heartbreaking to bear.

Elena sat heavily on the carpeted floor and pulled him into her lap, rocking and hugging him intermittently. She kissed his cheek. “I have missed you, my little boy. Do you know that?”

Content that he was comfortable in her arms, she looked up to the smiling faces around her. There were at least a dozen women. She smiled at them. Jonathan tugged again at her loose hair, and she looked down to unravel it from his small, insistent fingers.

“You see . . . your boy is nice and fat. We have kept him fed and very happy.”

Elena turned and faced the woman who spoke.

The girl was young, maybe seventeen, and a swarthy beauty. Her round eyes were large and bright, the color of amber. Her nose was narrow and well suited to her oval face. She had a red dot between her eyes, painted in place—Elena couldn’t remember what that was called, but she knew this woman must be Hindi to wear the mark. Her hair was worn in two thick braids on either side of her face and hung clear down to her hips, dancing on the floor where she knelt. The young woman had a beautiful smile, her teeth a bit big for her mouth but very white.

“I am Maram,” she said. “Your boy is very beautiful. He’s been such a delight to us.”

Her English was slow and slightly disjointed, as though she weren’t sure she used the right words. It almost surprised Elena to hear her native English tongue in a place where there didn’t look to be any other of her background. She wondered if everyone here spoke English.

“Where did you learn English?” Elena asked.

Maram gave a sweet laugh and ducked her head in shyness. “I grew up in a big house where my parents served an English lord and his family. His children taught me. This is how you find me here speaking your tongue not so well, but it helps that most of the men who come to the Pleasure Gardens speak English. They laugh and pinch at us when we say words wrong. They like us to do that.” She shrugged. “I do not mind it so much.”

“You wouldn’t,” another woman said from the divan, then went back to talking to the girl beside her.

Elena smiled at Maram and looked around her. Most of the women who had played with her son had more or less wandered off although a few stayed close, watching her little boy with rapt attention but giving her enough space to enjoy the reunion. It was so wonderful to have him in her arms and to feel his warmth; she’d been so cold and lifeless without him.

She squeezed him to her breast and buried her nose in his hair, breathing in his scent.

Sitting in front of Jonathan, Laila dangled one of her golden bracelets. Jonathan swatted at it, gurgling and laughing at the bright object swinging before him. Maram chimed in and tickled one of her son’s feet, making him wriggle in her lap.

“This one will be spoiled with all of us to mother him.” Laila leaned in and blew raspberries on Jonathan’s cheek. He laughed and tried to grab at the golden hoops hanging from her ear. “Won’t you, little love?”

“Will Amir . . .” Elena started. There were so many questions she wanted to ask, but most importantly, she needed to know how her son was received. “Will Amir be kind to my son?”

“He adores your son.”

“Oh”—she chewed on her lip nervously, unsure how to respond—“he’s met Jonathan?”

“How else would the boy be here? He brought him into the harem. Amir said it was a matter of days before you joined us.” Maram snorted her laughter. “Even going so far as to say we shouldn’t get too attached. Men do not understand women’s business.”

Laila laughed and added, “You don’t mind that we all want to help raise him, do you? We will never be mothers. It is a blessing to have Jonathan here.”

Maram leaned forward and put her hand against Elena’s cheek—a comforting, accepting gesture. “You are welcome here, too. We will get to know each other later, but for now I must go,” she announced and stood to leave. She winked and left them.

Elena turned to Laila. “I was worried about how Amir would treat him. Mr. Chisholm told me Amir had no children of his own, so I wasn’t sure whether or not he was fond of little ones.” She shook her head, at a loss for words. “Thank you for the reassurance.”

What she didn’t voice was that she had thought her son wouldn’t be here when she arrived. How many days before coming here had she spent fretful and distraught that motherhood was but a distant memory? If her little angel hadn’t been here, she didn’t think she could continue to live. How could a mother let her child go when it was a forced, unnatural separation?

She ran her fingers through the soft, fine hair on Jonathan’s head—she couldn’t stop touching him, savoring every single moment. His hair had grown so much and was a shade darker than she remembered, a rich brown so much like her own. The only thing he had of his father’s were his green eyes.

She leaned in close and gave him another kiss on top of his head, then turned her cheek, resting it there as she rubbed her hand over his back. He still smelled the same, that calming baby smell she could never get enough of.

Not an hour after all the excitement, Jonathan grew agitated and cried out his frustration, as babies are wont to do. She hitched him up on her shoulder, singing a lullaby as she patted his back and bottom waiting for him to fall asleep in her arms. Rocking him as he quieted, she lowered him to sleep more comfortably on her bosom.

Laila still sat with her on the carpeted floor. A slave came forward as if to take Jonathan. Elena shook her head up at the woman, not ready to release her sleeping bundle. The only thing she needed was to hold him, to know without doubt he wasn’t lost.

Laila sent the woman off after a few soft words spoken in Persian. Then she got up to retrieve a few bolsters to make it more comfortable for them on the floor. She also carried a small green blanket, obviously made for her son. Fresh tears stung at her eyes.

“Thank you,” was all she could mutter to Laila.

Slaves came in with silver trays laden with dried and fresh fruit, nuts, olives, and sesame flatbread. Her stomach growled as the tantalizing aroma hit her. She hadn’t been hungry until she saw the food spread out before her. Her mouth watered as she reached for the first tray and took some almonds. After eating a few she picked up a quartered chunk of pomegranate and let the bittersweet juice wash over her parched tongue. She’d only ever had pomegranate once before and she wasn’t sure it had tasted this good. She sucked at the seeds then chewed them. Laila ate with her in companionable silence, picking the seeds of her pomegranate from the skin, and popping them into her mouth individually.

“They want to give you time with your son.” Laila motioned with her head to indicate the other women in the room. “We are all friends here. There is no place for resentments. Don’t think they are ignoring you.”

“I didn’t think they were,” Elena replied, and picked up a slice of orange.

They were her favorite, but costly. When was the last time she’d had this particular fruit? At her last soiree. Before she’d been forced into marriage with Robert. There’d been a platter of sliced oranges at that party. She put the whole slice in her mouth and savored the first sweet bursting taste as it sluiced over her tongue.

They ate their fill in silence. Elena kept rubbing her hand soothingly over her son’s back, willing him to sleep the rest of the day. There was no better feeling than holding him again; to know they were both well and alive. When she had eaten as much as she could and drunk a strange yogurt concoction to wash it all down, she leaned back against the bolsters and closed her eyes.

She and Jonathan snuggled up together at long last. Never again would she be separated from him. They were safe here. And she prayed that it would stay that way.

Her neck was wet where Jonathan drooled, and she was uncomfortably sweaty as he slept sprawled across her chest. She yawned but couldn’t find it in her to sit up and move him. He belonged next to her like this.

On opening her eyes, the first thing she noticed was how dark it was around her. A flickering of light danced around the walls from the oil lamps. It seemed as though everyone had gone to bed for the evening. Everything was still.

The air had cooled and a gentle breeze touched her periodically. Unwilling to wake Jonathan, she stayed on her side tucked against the pillows. It took her a while to focus her eyes. The crickets chirped their night song so loudly out of doors that the sound echoed all around the sitting room. She perched up on one elbow. Her hip was sore where it pressed against the hard floor. A more comfortable spot to sleep was in order.

There were divans against most of the walls, full of lush pillows, calling to her. That would be as good a place as any to sleep if she could get the feeling in her side to come back to life.

The only other wall she could see in this position had a series of windows facing the garden. All the shutters were open to let the fresh air filter through the room, carrying with it a rich floral scent. Night-blooming jasmine prickled at her nose, as did other unfamiliar but pleasant scents.

Her son’s fist shot out and he let loose one muffled cry before settling back down when she sat up to reposition him. Her whole heart almost pounded right out of her chest at the sight of a man sitting a few feet from her.

He sat reposed, one leg bent with his arm casually stretched over it. The other leg was flat on the ground, a bowl resting upon his thigh. He leaned back against a divan, and his head perched against a loose fist. His feet were bare where his white linen trousers ended. The shirt he wore was unrestricting and exposed the whole of his chest where the vee of his shirt shot down through the center. She noticed a gold band flashed at his wrist whenever the material fluttered around his moving arm.

His complexion was a dark olive in this lighting. His hair looked almost black and was not tied back but fell in gentle waves to his shoulders. He had a close-cut beard. Black eyes fringed with thick lashes stared back at her. She guessed he was around thirty or thirty-five. He was handsome.

Was it a terrible thing for her to take notice of that?

This man planned to turn her into a whore, yet he looked so kind, calm. Gentle. Where had that thought come from? How could she know he was any of those things? This was her tired mind playing tricks on her yet again.

He popped a fig into his mouth and chewed it slowly. His eyes didn’t leave hers once, not even when he reached into the bowl for another piece of the dried fruit. Elena looked around the room again. There was no one else here, not another harem girl, slave, eunuch, or even a wet nurse.