The Surrender of a Lady (10 page)

The man spoke some guttural, throaty language she didn’t understand. She tried to squirm out of his grasp and cried out for Amir. The clamor in the room was too loud. Patrons occupied all the floor space available for their hedonistic indulgement; she was just another part of the game. She pushed at her captor’s chest but that seemed to inflame him further. He grasped her neck tightly and found the opening between her thighs with eager fingers.

She tensed, knowing the intrusion was coming.

Maram’s voice was songlike, breathless. “Adrien, she is Amir’s toy. Let her be, come to me, love.”

The man pulled himself up and Jinan scooted away, stood, and made her way blindly through the throng of patrons and harem girls.

These were the type of men she was expected to lie with?

She
couldn’t
do it. More men groped at her as she passed them in a whirlwind of excess bitterness and feeling. She felt as though her nerves would crack at any moment.

Would she be in trouble for this hasty escape? Would Amir come and find her? Punish her? She ran headlong into another man, this one younger and handsomer than the patrons she’d seen thus far.

“
Ma petite
. Let me take you somewhere quiet,” he murmured. But she didn’t trust the kindness of his words. The only thing she could do was shake her head in disagreement and stand tall for his inspection.

He tugged on the end of her veil—just enough to make the coins jangle, and plucked at her breast, pulling the nipple taut between his fingers. “You are a magnificent creature, mademoiselle.”

She must have stared at him doe-eyed, with a naïveté not usual for a woman in a whorehouse, for he was pulling her closer, his fingers slipping between the cheeks of her rear and sliding to the crux of her body. She shrieked as she fell away and into another patron’s arms.

Looking over her shoulder, she saw it was Amir and hated the breath of relief that escaped her. She didn’t want to be helpless or in need of his rescue at every turn. He had let her come to this pass!

Amir’s hand fanned over her stomach, pulling her back to his chest. He nuzzled into her neck and inhaled deeply.

“When can we bid on her? She’s rather ripe for the plucking.” This came from the Frenchman who had tried to take her moments ago.

“She’s mine for a while yet.” Thank the Almighty for that, she thought. “You’ll have to wait till I tire of this little bird.” Amir thrust possessively against her backside, causing her breath to hitch. She bit her lip, afraid to give voice to her fears. He was a devil at her back.

“No doubt. She’s handsome. But what are you hiding beneath the veil? A disfigurement, perhaps?” The Frenchman reached out, fingering the side of her neck under the edging of the silk.

Amir laughed, shaking his head. “Ask yourself if I would bother with such a creature if she were deformed? She’s come by way of my eldest brother. Too timid and not cunning enough to survive his harem.” Amir smacked the younger man’s hand away from her chest “Besides, my brother prefers the pale odalisques, not the natural beauties of Turkey. Is she not a fine specimen of a woman?”

Amir’s hand trailed over her breast to pluck at her nipple with the last comment. The action screamed of his possessive ownership. She let loose a surprised gasp, one that came out more a frightened squeal. Laila had warned her beforehand of the events that took place in the Pleasure Gardens—but she still wasn’t prepared to act openly provocative.

“Will she remove the silk?” the Frenchman asked excitedly.

“No. I’ve allowed her to keep it since she came here thinking I was to be her husband. She did not know what her fate was to be. So I give her this much as recompense of sorts.”

She lowered her head as though shamed by how she’d been put on display—when in fact, Amir had been very direct with how he would introduce her and how she was to react to his every touch, his every word.

The men laughed, thinking her a silly creature.

There were nooks all around the room to where the patrons could whisk off for privacy with their beauties. If they were so daring, they openly indulged wherever they pleased. She saw Sana, on all fours on the divan, her lord taking her from behind. Jinan looked away, disgusted with her open curiosity, when Sana acknowledged her being audience to her act.

When they finished laughing at her expense, Amir drew her close to his side and whispered, “You are doing very well, Jinan. It pleases me that most of the lords can’t stop watching you.”

“This is what you wanted,” she said for his ears alone. What she didn’t say was that she hated every moment of it.

“Yes, it is. And if this wasn’t your first night in the Pleasure Gardens”—his hand lowered to brush over the plumpness of her rear—“I’d take you right here.”

Was he serious? She’d faint from embarrassment. “Please don’t.”

“Maybe when the patrons are focused on the auction, I will. Do you know how much I want you? How much I want these men to see only you in this room? You’ll be well received, little bird.”

Were his words supposed to make her more comfortable in this new setting? A strange way to go about it, if that was his goal.

She turned in his embrace, lowering her veiled mouth close to his lips. Surely he could see how frightened she was to be displayed in this fashion. Did he see that fear skittering across her wide eyes? She hoped so because there was another lord but a foot away, and she didn’t want to risk saying anything to show her fear in a room full of lusty men.

Amir’s lip lifted in a knowing smile, then he turned his head to the lord she’d nodded toward. “They are so nice when they are skittish, eh?”

Jinan didn’t turn her head to see what the lord thought of that. Amir spun her around and walked over to a divan in the center of the room. He pulled her between his thighs when he stretched out behind her.

Placing her hands in her lap, she played the demure harem girl—though it wasn’t all an act. She remained aware of all that happened around them. Laila was flitting around the room in her wispy silks, the rope tied around her center barely holding the thing together.

Laila had forewarned her that clothes were not permitted for the auctioning. The lords wanted to see what they spent their fortunes on.

Beside the podium, which the eunuchs had carried out not half an hour ago, Harry Chisholm made an appearance. He didn’t glance her way. In fact, he seemed to purposely not acknowledge any of the harem girls.

Did any of these rich lords know what Mr. Chisholm did for Amir? That he was the sole man responsible for finding additional flesh for the Pleasure Gardens? He looked like any well-to-do Englishman. His clothes were impeccably pressed, his neck stiff with his heavily starched cravat. His shoes were shined so bright it was an obscenity in this boudoir of voluptuous proclivity. But he wore his usual pleasant, no-nonsense smile—though she didn’t think it was really a smile.

Amir clapped his hands above his head, calling the buzzing room to semi-order.

“Gentlemen, if you please, I’d like the girls to dance, then we’ll proceed with the auction. Come sit, play, fuck, do what you will.”

Jinan slouched a little when Amir slid his hand around to her belly. All eyes were on her, but she didn’t want to look at anyone so she trained her eyes on the beady dead gaze of the lion skin stretched before the divan.

A dozen girls came out wearing coin belts and chimes around their waist, ankles, and wrists. They were all veiled, wearing scarves as she did, strategically placed to bare the parts that aroused and titillated men most. Their bellies were bare and of every shape and color. Hair was worn loose for this dance, so it swayed alluringly around their hips.

Jinan had practiced this seductive dance from her first week onward and been surprised by her ability to move so easily and naturally through the dances without personal censure to impede her advancement. Though she doubted she could dance this way for a room full of men.

Amir displayed the most luscious and experienced dancers for the auctioning events, but each and every girl knew how to do this in private should their patrons ask. Hips thrust in time to the primitive beat of the drum, one of the girls sang out a high-pitched nasal chord—the sound astonishing in its melodiousness.

Maybe the mood of the room added to the seductive quality of the song?

They all twirled together, thrust together . . . bright shades of yellow, purple, red, blue, orange fanned out and pulsed as they stopped and clapped their hands above their head and put their heel to the stone floor, the sounds of bells chiming in harmony with the drum and tambourine.

Amir pressed forward, his chin resting on her shoulder, his hand still splayed on her lower belly, kneading her with increasing thrusts as the tempo of the music intensified. Looking around the room, Jinan expected to see eyes trained on her but none were. Everyone was focused on the dancers or the paramour keeping them company.

She gained more confidence with every breath she took. With a tilt of her head to the side she rested her cheekbone to Amir’s and closed her eyes. In another time, another place, so long ago she could remember another man that held her close like this. A man too high in the instep for a woman of her nature. Proof of that lay in her current profession. It mattered not that he’d proposed to her on their final night together.

The heavy scent of jasmine wafted through the open room, wrapping her in its cocoon as Amir pressed his arousal into her lower back. The memory was lost then.

Amir’s hands never ceased, even being so bold as to brush over her naked mound with his seeking fingers. She could almost forget they were in a room full of men assessing her every charm.

“You have done well thus far,” Amir whispered, his breath raspy. “I knew you were ready for this.”

She said nothing in response, only inhaled deeply as his hand grazed over her peaked nipples.

“Let us leave this lot to their own devices. I have plans for you tonight, Jinan. I will show you a little paradise.”

She nodded her head in agreement, her breath held in her lungs. She was almost worried he’d take her here against her wishes. With a push on her bottom, he had her standing, the jut of his arousal firm against her backside as he slid off the divan. They went slowly, their steps timed to the music as he walked her back into the harem’s private quarters.

This evening hadn’t been so terrible a task after all. Amir had already told her she was expected at his side for the next auction in six months’ time. After that she’d take her turn being bid upon. She wondered what he’d do to her next when in the company of these depraved whore-hunting men. It was only a matter of time before he was more daring, pushing her to the edge of her comfort levels.

She knew his plan was to force her to get used to this life. Otherwise she’d never come out of the ignorant shell of what her life really was, as Laila pointed out all too often.

Did it really matter what he did to her in public or private?

The answer shouldn’t surprise her—it didn’t matter.

As they walked past the eunuchs she realized
Elena
—the woman she used to be—had been left behind in the throng of overzealous pleasure seekers. She didn’t know where exactly
Elena
had left off. But somewhere along her path tonight, she ceased to be.

Elena no longer existed.

In time she knew without doubt that she’d accept this way of life. Would she ever again give thought to the destructive nature this seemed to have on her moral personality?

What else would she lose of herself in the coming months? In the coming years? Would she even remember the person she was? Maybe Jinan was who she was always meant to be?

The ease and grace with which she was slowly accepting this life went against her proper English sensibilities. Did this mean she harbored some character flaw, some fissure in her morals? Maybe the flaw had been festering and had finally overcome her gentle nature once exposed to the vices offered here. It must have always been within her if she’d so easily turned into this woman.

If she had so easily embraced this way of life.

Every step toward the private harem quarters, toward the bedroom with Amir, reinforced that conviction. This was not duty but something she had accepted over the months.

With every step away from the men she felt a thrill pumping in her blood. Instead of the repulsion Elena should feel about catering to these men’s desires in the near future, Jinan felt liberated.

This was her. Jinan. A woman hiding beneath a veil but willing to take on any challenge, not a simpering miss hiding behind her fears.

Was it perhaps because she felt safe here? Because she knew her son was safe in this wanton world of sex, scandal, and strange proclivities unfathomable to her as of yet?

Coming to terms with this life felt good in her soul. She’d been unleashed from her old restrictive life and felt a strange freedom of her senses, heart, and mind.

Now she was and would forever be Jinan.

Ironically, this
was
paradise.

Her
paradise.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Recognition and Vulnerability

1846

Isle of Corfu

She should have no qualms about such an innocent act. Her modesty had been stripped from her long ago, and the marble dais was not unfamiliar to her. She stood up here once a year. But she still hated looking down at her bidders like the great whore of Babylon. The most irksome thing about taking her place up here was she couldn’t wear anything aside from her jewelry and veil.

Who would purchase her favors today?

Jinan leaned toward her harem sister, who stood on the floor beside the dais. “Asbury talked with me earlier. As interested as he is in spending time with me, he seems to lose at every auction. Do you think he’ll try again?”

“I’ve got my eye on Asbury, Jinan. Don’t you think of stealing his attentions.” Sana rolled her eyes and snorted under her breath, whispering, “He can’t afford you. Maybe when you’re saggy, wrinkled, and gray.”

Jinan gave a deep laugh and shook her head; her dark hair, which hung in loose waves, tickled her backside. The small coins that edged her veil clinked together with the movement. She searched out Asbury. “Where is he, Sana? He arrived with another gentleman. I didn’t see his friend, did you?”

“I don’t know who
he
is. But I’d love for him to play some games with me.” Sana stood on tiptoe and pointed to the outskirts of the room. “Handsome as the devil. But you won’t see him clearly, he’s too far off.”

Jinan followed her sister’s finger. Sana was right; all she saw was Asbury’s outline. He turned from the man shadowed by the arched pillars and strode toward the podium. Asbury was a young tradesman with a long, thin nose that didn’t quite suit his face, but handsome enough that it wouldn’t repulse her to spend time in his company.

As Asbury came closer, his gaze became more pensive. He would bid on her today; she could tell by the stance he took with his finger and thumb worrying his chin. It was in the way he studied her from head to toe, already imagining what he’d do to her once they were alone. He wasn’t her first choice among the men here, but he wasn’t the worst option, either.

He looked over Sana, then turned back to her. “Looking ripe as usual, my pretty doves.”

Jinan cocked one brow. “Yes, but the question is whether or not you’re interested
enough
to pay handsomely for our time?”

“I’d be more than happy to lord over you, princess.”

“I don’t think you’ll be testing her wares for a while yet,” Count Villieux called out, “you old goat.”

Asbury whirled on his heel to glare at the younger man. Really, they couldn’t be more than a few years apart. “Have some respect. And pull yourself together before talking to your betters, you French swine.” There wasn’t much venom to his words. The count laughed and continued his ministrations to Maram.

Maram was staked to Count Villieux’s groin. His jaw was squared, eyes clouded with lust, as his concentration slid back to his mistress. His hands grasped her hips, moving his rigid length within her as she leaned forward on her elbows. Maram smiled up at the podium and winked.

Jinan shook her head and winked back. The more she flirted with everyone around her, the more the patrons would pay. The more they paid, the more Amir would tuck away for her son.

Other men watched the auction with lovers in their laps as well. Some embraced rather provocatively, uncaring of the greater audience, others were more modest—relatively modest for such a debauched setting. Asbury found a divan close by and crossed his ankle over his knee as he settled in, waiting for the proceedings to start.

The chairs and divans stretched out before her were filled with the evening’s pleasure seekers. Bold colors were brazenly displayed in the bolsters and throws. Animal furs cushioned the floor near the furniture; rich Turkish carpets covered the rest of the floor in various shades of reds, oranges, and browns in the center. The lively colors incited the lustiness of the patrons currently in coitus. Her first time in this room she’d thought the welcome ironic—a showy, gilded prison for the harem girls.

Now the flashiness was just another facet of the place she considered her home.

The room boasted a great domed ceiling with holes pierced through the roof allowing daylight to shine through. Three eunuchs blocked the only door that led to the outer palace, and scimitars flashed at their waists in warning to any man who thought to take more liberties than tolerable. The only persons permitted through that door were Amir and the gentlemen who purchased the girls’ favors. She had no desire to leave through that door, except to perhaps see the rest of the palace. She’d been content staying in the harem quarters. The eunuchs were no threat to her—not to any of the girls—only to the patrons who did not abide by Amir’s rules.

Through the clamor of chatter, grunts and groans sounded from the pleasure alcoves, which were off to either side of the room. Silk hangings covered what took place behind, but did not stifle the sound. Not all the lords were interested in publicly displaying their libidinous acts.

She could hear the laughter of her sisters as they flirted with the lords.

She looked down on the melee of debauchery around her.

Even after all these years, she still had the urge to cover her body from the men’s carnal perusal. Her hair only covered her backside. Her ankles and wrists were adorned with thick gold bracelets to complement her golden skin tone. Her hands were henna-covered in the ancient designs Laila painted on her every few months. Black kohl lined her eyes to lend them a mysterious seductive quality. Her high cheekbones, eyes, and forehead were the only parts of her face exposed. The veil covered the tip of her nose to her chin as part of her ethereal disguise.

At least there was no touching while she stood up here. A small relief, but a relief nonetheless. She needed no reminders of her days in the slave market—the days before Amir had rescued her and given her son a second chance at life.

There looked to be some thirty men here tonight.

Lord Somerset, a widowed earl in his late forties, leaned forward on the divan with Laila behind him. His face was flushed, his paunch revealing a taste for things other than women. Laila’s hands were busy massaging his fat shoulders, but he was looking at the auction block with a keen eye. He was quick about rutting, then falling into slumber. She didn’t want to amuse him again, he was worse than a sweating, grunting pig above her.

Amir spoke with the Russian in regalia next to him. Amir had his newest acquisition sitting in front of him between his opened knees with her legs tucked under her on a jaguar-skin rug. Amir’s hands never ceased caressing his Italian beauty’s breasts, bared to all.

Jinan remembered when she had been in that position—so long ago. She missed pleasing only one man, only having to warm one man’s bed. She sighed and looked away since she couldn’t catch his eye.

Sana leaned in closer to her, seeing where Jinan’s gaze focused. “The man he talks to came in with Chekhov. I think he’s negotiated to purchase Aysun for the next two moons.”

Jinan twisted the gold filigree around her wrists, making the bracelets jingle together.

The harem girls were not oblivious to the dealings of the men around them. Amir spoke freely with them, so they understood how profits were made, for the money was to everyone’s benefit. Some men preferred to settle their fees in advance.

A gentleman she didn’t know walked around her pedestal and Sana, looking back and forth between them with equal fervor in his dark irises. She hated to look into the eyes of her bidders—too much of their intentions could be read there. But it was better to know their intent than to remain naïve.

This one wore a cruel expression, his face set in what looked like a permanent grimace, eyes troubled. She could see the promise of harsh enslavement with a leaning toward dark sexual acts in that gaze—something she was known to accommodate, because she felt nothing for these men, no matter how they treated her. He’d bid, too. She shivered in revulsion.

She preferred the most common expression worn by the lords—carnal hunger—such as the way Villieux eyed all his mistresses. Such as the way her old Russian lover, Chekhov, devoured her with his gaze. His finger ran along the floor of the podium, carefully abiding by the house rule of no touching those who were being auctioned. It was a paid privilege to touch those who stood where she stood now. She gave him a doe-eyed innocent look.

“You are interested this evening?”

“Yes,” Chekhov said in thickly accented Persian, the common language in the harem. “But I’ve no time to play, my beauty. I’ve brought a friend to find company. I head out when the evening concludes.”

“Next time, then.”

“Yes.” He turned toward Sana. “And do you go to auction? Or will you be the house plaything tonight?”

“No auction for me. Do you wish my company?” Sana wrapped her finger through the button on Checkhov’s vest, leaning forward so her breasts grazed his raised arm.

He grasped her by the buttocks and pulled her into his groin. “Let’s find a pleasure alcove, my dark beauty.”

Jinan gave a snort. Chekhov’s type was the most harmless here. The women might not live in fear for their lives day to day, but this wasn’t an existence Jinan would wish on anyone.

She exhaled noisily, pushing out her veil with the puff. She tried to ignore the swarm of eager men at her feet.

The man who’d been talking with Asbury earlier walked toward her. He looked familiar from this distance, his blond hair a bit too long to be fashionable. Not that she knew what fashionable was anymore locked inside the palace walls.

Her breath hitched in surprise, and she froze, her fingers clenching the bracelet she’d been twisting. Her heart gave a great leap in her chest. She narrowed her gaze, bringing him into focus. It couldn’t be
him,
could it?

Oh, it was definitely
him
.

A man she’d never expected to see again. A man from her youth. A man, really, from another life altogether. Her breath caught, and all she thought—all she hoped—was that he did
not
recognize her. She mentally chastised the absurdity of her thoughts. Why should he recognize her? They had spent only a few weeks in each other’s company. Their laughter and budding love all those years ago under a darkened sky were too distant to hold on to. Besides, what kind of man proposed to a woman he professed to have feelings for, only to leave the next day? She doubted he would remember her. Especially in a place like this.

Without the cover of clothes, her dark skin tone labeled her anything but English. Her areolas were painted a medium brown, her skin a deep bronze aided by the sun in the gardens. She’d taken her mother’s Spanish coloring, and right now, more than ever, she was thankful for the exotic look that had always made her unfashionable in English drawing rooms. With her altered accent and natural Persian tongue, he would never place her as English.

The Marquess of Rothburn stared thoughtfully up at her. He didn’t study her nude body or stare at her breasts with their hennaed areolas and her painted naked mound as others had. He stared directly into her eyes. Those brandy-colored depths assessed her as his dark blond brows drew together in deliberation.

Lord Rothburn had aged well; he must be thirty, now. His shoulders were wider and sturdier than she remembered, his waist trim, legs firm beneath tight trousers. After her perusal, something she rarely indulged in, she raised her eyes and stared back.

His lips thinned slightly. Did he try to place her as he studied her?

Cocking her hip to the side, she curved her palm around it to draw his eye. His gaze dropped and she breathed a sigh of relief when he turned and walked away, leaning against one of the pillars at the edge of the room. This time she could see him at a distance.

Jinan couldn’t look at any of the other prospective buyers after seeing
him.
Lord Rothburn wasn’t the first man she’d recognized over the years, but he
was
the first man she’d fawned over—dare she say felt the first tingling of love?—as a young girl. What a foolish girl she’d been, to think he’d follow through on his offer of marriage. Yet to see him now . . .

It was humiliating to stand before him as if she were some sacrificial lamb.

She was being silly, of course. He would never recognize her, let alone remember her. She caught Villieux’s eye and held it in silent plea. She prayed he won her favors tonight. If Rothburn did . . . it didn’t bear thinking.

Harry Chisholm finally came into the room, the click of his shoes echoing. He tapped his little stick to the marble dais to call attention to the auction.

“The auction commences now. Gentlemen”—he pointed toward her—“some of you are familiar with the exotic and most luscious Jinan. You’ll find this Turkish princess most compliant for anything you wish to play. She’s trained in the darker games of submission should you so fancy. Bidding to start at a thousand pounds.”

That amount was low, but it would buy any one of these men a week of her undivided attention. The price would climb, of course. It was always interesting to see how much profit she’d bring in for Amir. A profit that would help pay for her son’s education. Amir had promised that her son would live outside the harem with enough riches to support him when he was ready to leave.

Asbury nodded, taking the opening bid.

The man with the harsh gaze stepped forward. “Two thousand.”

“Three.” This from another gentleman she didn’t know.

“Five,” from Villieux. She exhaled in relief. He had a voracious appetite she was more than willing to appease if it meant escaping Rothburn.

“Seven.”

“Eight and a half.” Asbury was at his limit, his face red with anger at losing her to another yet again. She wondered if he would ever win her favors.

Villieux looked insulted by the drop in bid increments and bumped out Asbury. “Ten.” They often bid against each other, since they shared the same taste in women.