The Surrender of a Lady (17 page)

Now more than ever she seemed to hate him. Would an offer of marriage endear him to her? Doubtful, he thought, especially with her unwillingness to listen to reason thus far. Unwillingness to believe he would do everything in his power to get her son back for her. Despite all the mess he had created, one thing was certain—there was no way Griffin intended to release her. She’d come to understand that in short order.

CHAPTER TWELVE

Secrets and Lies

She had requested a maid in hopes of befriending someone who might sympathize with her plight. But she hadn’t expected someone who only spoke Italian. At least she knew they were, in fact, in Italy. One couldn’t be sure of these things when she didn’t even know where the palace she called home was located.

How was it that in all her language learning she’d never learned a word of Italian? Well, aside from a few words screamed at the altar of Venus.

She loosened her veil and smiled at the nervous maid. It was only a matter of time before Rothburn forced her to remove her cloth shield. She wanted to keep it on in defiance, and she would. Until he demanded otherwise, it would stay firmly in place.

The maid removed a stopper in the bottom of the cast-iron bath. Jinan had seen such a thing in the penny press once. Her husband couldn’t afford a place with the plumbing needs for such a device, so she was, in a sense, a stranger to such a luxury.

As nice as it would have been to indulge in a bath, she couldn’t. Years of silly superstitions and the cultural beliefs she was submerged in had been firmly instilled in her mind. In her everyday actions. She couldn’t change those things so easily in her daily life; they were all part of the person she’d become. It affected everything she did. She could not just turn that all off and revert back to English ways.

She
was
Jinan.

But even as Jinan, she knew she’d given the maid a fright. It didn’t matter. She’d find other ways to make his lordship’s staff eager to help her. Pitcher in hand, she motioned to the young lady to help her rinse her hair. The maid took up the water, and Jinan leaned her head over the edge of the bathtub as the warm trickle washed through. Reaching out to the water that spouted from the swan-neck tap, she rinsed out her veil.

When she was finished in the bath, she wasn’t surprised to see Rothburn waiting for her in his sitting room. He was pacing back and forth until he realized she stood in the room, a long bath linen knotted at her bosom and dropping straight down to cover her to the knees.

Damn the smile that slanted her lips at his immediate regard. She hated herself for it and walked toward the window to pull back a panel. The sun was settling on the horizon; it was probably well past the dinner hour. She wondered what day it was. Two days, he’d said, on the boat. So had she been away from the harem and her son for three days now?

“That’ll be all, Donata.”

His voice was calm, as he no doubt waited for the click of the door behind the maid. When she was composed and ready to face her nemesis, she turned and walked toward him with a seductive, confident sway in her step.

“Did you write that letter to Amir?”

He looked her over, his gaze lingering on the veil she refused to remove. “I have clothes for you. Come to the bedchamber.”

So he would continue to be difficult. “You cannot keep me here. Amir will find me sooner or later. He has eyes in every part of the world. Once you go to him for my child he’ll come down on your home, and none too gently.”

He turned to face her; a smile that was not kind lingered on his lips. “Does he? I’m not overly worried about him finding us here. You will not be permitted to leave the villa grounds. There is a walled garden you can spend time in, if you so wish it, but you will be accompanied at all times by either myself or my man of affairs. I will pen a note to Amir tomorrow regarding your son. There is nothing that can be done about it now.”

She would not be dismissed so easily.

“This is what you bring me to? You tell me you are saving me from some fate you think is not to my liking only to lock me in another prison? Have you not done enough damage to my life that you must dictate my every move?”

His jaw clenched. “I have done you no disservice. In time you will became accustomed to living here . . . with me.”

“I will not,” she said coldly, her chin jutting out in determination.

Rothburn seemed short on patience, for he took a threatening step forward. Could it be that he knew she had to return to the harem? Did he fear Amir? Maybe Amir was looking for her even now. Surely Amir wouldn’t think this her fault; she had never shown any desire to leave. One thing she did know for a fact—Amir would not release her son to Rothburn.

What if his lordship spoke the truth? What if Amir couldn’t find her—wherever here in Italy was? Somehow, she needed to find a way back. For her son.

Only one immense and unsolvable problem impeded her. She didn’t know where the Pleasure Gardens were. Perhaps Rothburn had had an accomplice. Someone else must know where she had come from.

“Please, I do not know what else to tell you. But I cannot stay. I will not stay here. Amir is short of temper, and you do me more harm than good by keeping me.” The first was a lie, the second was not.

“It’s not possible for you to leave. I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble taking you from that whorehouse.” His cruel words were all but spat out. She refused to shy away from his brand of unkindness. His steps were determined, domineering, as he pushed her back to the wall of the sitting room. Refusing to cower, she stared him defiantly in the eye.

“I will do whatever is necessary to find my way home.” What she needed was something extreme that would force him to release her. There was nothing else she could reveal. She’d already betrayed the existence of Jonathan. His reputation had remained safe these five years, until now. “If I do not go back, Amir will send someone to kill me. Probably you, too.”

She shrugged as though the prospect of his demise did not trouble her. He seemed not to care. Infuriating man.

“They will not make it past the vineyard.” His voice was low, dangerous. “I have eyes everywhere, Jinan—maybe as many as your old master. You might want to remember that. You are not leaving here and you’ll be stopped the moment you attempt to do so.”

“You will make me a prisoner for yourself?”

It was a cruel look he wore. Not the kind one he’d shown so often when in the Pleasure Gardens. “Yes.”

She put her hands between them and pushed against his chest, trying to make him retreat a step. He didn’t budge. His hand slid over her arm and clasped around her neck, under the veil.

Turning her head to the side, his mouth next to her ear, he threatened, “You attempt to leave, and I’ll have you chained like the curs in the slave market. Are you familiar with such a setting, Jinan?”

She ignored the jibe as best she could. Yet the old familiar revulsion twisted her gut, and her body went still as a board beneath his hold. She hated the show of weakness and disguised it quickly by letting her limbs slacken. They were only words to him; he did not understand their significance. There were a million tactics at her disposal to persuade him against tethering her. How many of them would she have to toss at his feet before he took mercy on her situation? Before he felt a modicum of regret for his actions?

“There is no one here to help me as my sisters would. Find the kindness I know you carry in your heart, my lord. Do not do this to one such as me. I cannot live in your world nor can I convert to your way of life. I belong in the harem with my son. It has been my home too long to abandon, even if it means I will live out the rest of my days as a whore.”

Her words seemed only to anger him further; his pupils dilated in anger, his nostrils flared. “I will not release you. You belong to me—only me. If all you require is a woman’s company, I will find you a companion. You can forget your harem, your sisters, your damned master! And I’ve told you enough times now that I will find a way to retrieve your son.”

Jinan shook her head. “Your words are not sufficient.” She tried to duck out of his hard grasp, but he tightened his hands around her arms and pressed his body against hers. “You do not understand what I need.”

Her heart constricted painfully, she felt forlorn. This life in the Western world was never meant for her, she’d learned that lesson long ago. She was safer, more protected, even loved by her sisters, in the harem. Her boy wanted for nothing, their bellies were never empty. Surely, anything else, any other life, was certain doom for them.

“Harem ways, eh?” he said with a thrust to her core. She almost let out a groan with the move, but sealed her lips against the betrayal of her body. “These are the only ways we’ll worry about right now. Do you understand me?”

His words, his intention to treat her so callously, should repulse her, but to her disappointment it did the opposite. She looked over his shoulder, refusing to acknowledge the effect he had on her body physically. Really, she wanted to cry out her anger, scream at his callousness. His stupidity. Her conflicting emotions derived from her desperate situation, she had to believe that. How could she want a man who was taking away her very life? This was something she should never forgive him for.

When her words came they were cold and as detached from reality as she felt in this moment. “I
do
understand, my lord. Perfectly.”

He’d kidnapped her for no better reason than to be his personal sex slave—there was no refuting that. This was about him not wanting to share her favors since his contract was concluded. Her regard for him plummeted, but her heart still beat furiously for an entirely different reason as he leaned in closer, his mouth grazing her lips. She would not allow him to bend her so easily. She’d lost her son again, and that was something she had refused to believe was possible as long as she lived in the safety of the harem.

“Good,” he said.

With a quick pull to the knot that held the towel between her breasts, he yanked off the material. His trousers were quickly undone. Her legs spread and hitched up and over his hips as he slammed into her, one hand gripping her buttocks, the other on her hip. He stilled inside her, his arms caging her in. “You were ready for me. You’re wet. Don’t deny it now that I’ve got you wrapped around me.”

She looked him in the eye. “Then I make you the perfect whore, don’t I?”

Malice as sharp as a dagger shone in his eyes. Then she looked away. Giving him nothing in return—no emotion, no action to bespeak the desire and hatred that tumbled around inside her. Unable to look at him, she stared at the vermilion satin-covered windows with their gold ropes and fringes and fought the tears blurring her vision. With her hands slack at her sides, she waited for him to finish. He proved nothing to her, not his dominance, his strength, or his authority, in using her this way.

The moment he turned a blind eye, she’d find a way to escape.

“Jinan, look at me.”

What was the use in that? It did not matter that his voice was gentle, his grip loosening. Even the bite of cruelty in his voice seeped away as he worked his body inside her.

If she looked at him and he held remorse in his gaze, she might forgive him this. Was it possible for him to get as little satisfaction out of this as she? The crack in her heart splintered more with every hard thrust of his hips. As his tempo increased, she knew he was close to finishing. How could he enjoy this when she remained so unresponsive?

Then a realization hit her.

She had nothing to stop his seed from implanting in her womb. Pushing at his shoulders, she tried to relieve herself of his weight. But it only seemed to infuriate him on some primal level of being denied his victory. He thrust harder.

She cried out then, “Stop this. Stop!”

Determined to dislodge his member from her body, she pushed harder at his shoulders, trying to squirm upward. His hold on her hips was unrelenting. Were those tears coming down her face?

“Stop,” she tried to yell, but the words came out on a choked sob.

With a growl of frustration, Rothburn pulled out of her. “Goddamn it, Jinan.”

Giving her his back, he stalked away from her. His shoulders were tense, his hands probably shoving his machine back into his trousers. He walked to the opposite wall and smacked the palms of his hands hard on the surface. He hit the wall a few more times, uttering some good expletives while he did so. “You’ve turned me into a ravaging fucking animal. No. I think I’ve always been that.”

On her knees, hands tense against the carpeted floor in case she needed to push off it for leverage if he renewed his attack, she waited to see what he’d do.

Red-faced when he turned, he gave her one last look full of remorse—a silent apology—before turning on his heel and stalking out the door. It slammed behind him, shaking the wood in its frame.

The relief that washed over her was instantaneous. Swiping her hand through the folds of her sex, she felt only the slickness of her fluids, not the heavier substance of a man’s milk. Hysterical, sobbing laughter bubbled in her chest, but there was no time to feel sorry for herself so she squelched her fear and worry and stood. Pulling the linen around her, she knotted it between her breasts again and went to the windows.

Spreading hues of purple, red, and fading gold, the sun’s final rays of the day settled over the darkening room. She tugged the material back to reveal an upholstered window seat. Kneeling, she tried to push the windows up. It didn’t take long to see that the side and the bottom of the window frame had been nailed shut.

He had planned this.

It was tempting to break one of the glass panes. Someone was sure to hear her. She doubted the staff would come to her rescue; they were probably loyal to their master. What did it matter? Walking over to the writing table, she picked up the candelabra and threw it with all her might at the window. Two panes of glass shattered. She walked over to the window. A lot of good that did her. But she did feel better.

Looking out through the empty glass slots, she saw a walled garden below with a gnarled, heavy-trunked olive tree in the center. It seemed so desolate and empty of life even with its abundant leaves, but without flora and fauna to give it full life. The landscape looked dry, the sunburned grass unwelcoming. So unlike her palace home, yet the same. The only brightness in her life had been her son. Without him, everything was dismal, gray.