by Unconquered
Lady Belinda de Winter picked up a valuable Chinese vase. Looking straight at her uncle, she hurled it across the morning room. Then she stormed out.
Jared, driving his phaeton back to his Devon Square house, was a rolling sea of confused feelings. He had been on the point of leaving his home last night for a few hours of gambling at White’s, when Amanda had arrived, flushed and triumphant, Adrian and young Kit Edmund trailing in her wake.
“She is not dead! She is not dead! I told you! I told you! Miranda is alive, and Kit has spoken to her!” Then she had collapsed into a nearby chair, weeping and laughing at the same time.
He had gone white, believing her finally gone mad, but Adrian had quickly confirmed Amanda’s tale, and the Marquis of Wye had asked to speak with him. The four of them had gone into the library, and after Jared had, with surprisingly steady hands, poured everyone a brandy, Kit told his tale.
When he had finished Jared asked quietly, “You are sure she is not an impostor?”
“My lord,” said Kit Edmund with great dignity, “it is no secret that I have long admired Lady Dunham. Even if I were blind I would recognize that not quite English lilt in her voice. It is your wife.”
Jared nodded. “Did my wife have any message for me?” he asked.
“Her exact words, my lord, were ‘just tell him I love him.’ ”
Lord Dunham swerved his matched bays just in time to avoid a mail coach pulling out of an inn yard.
She was alive! Alive after the most incredible series of adventures. He suspected Kit Edmund’s tale was not the full story, but she would not confide that in anyone but him.
He pulled up before his house, and the groom was there to lead the horses around to the carriage house. Should he go for her himself? He couldn’t bear to wait any longer before seeing her. He would go to Istanbul on Dream Witch. He would ask Ephraim Snow to be his captain. He would take Perky, too. Although married for two years now, the little maid had no children and would be delighted to resume her former position.
That evening, still in profound shock, Jared spent an hour with his old friend and sometime lover, Sabrina Elliot. A retired actress, she was an attractive, elegant, warm woman who enjoyed gentlemen very much. She conducted her affairs with the utmost discretion, but the truth was that her lovers enjoyed talking with Sabrina as much as they enjoyed making love to her.
When Sabrina had heard Jared’s astounding news, she cried, “How soon will you be leaving?”
“Sabrina, I am not sure yet,” he replied, running a long hand through his dark hair. “The truth is that I have had a most awkward day. I had to explain … these new circumstances to the Lady de Winter, whom I had planned to marry.”
“God forbid!” muttered Sabrina.
“What?”
“Nothing, darling. But surely your heart does not belong to Belinda de Winter?” she asked, amused.
“No,” he admitted, “but she seemed a suitable candidate for a wife.”
“Hmm … unlike your wayward Miranda. Is that it, Jared? Belinda de Winter would never do anything improper, isn’t that right? Oh, Jared! To compare the two is like comparing oatmeal to champagne.”
“Sabrina,” Jared began, grateful for her directness and insight, “the fact is, of course, that I cannot wait to be with Miranda again, and I am leaving tomorrow. But somehow I think you already knew that.”
Sabrina laughed. This was a man who knew his own heart! “When you catch her, Jared, hold on to her this time. You have been given a second chance, and you must know how miraculous that is.”
Jared Dunham nodded slowly. Suddenly realizing all he had to do before Dream Witch could sail, he bid his friend a hasty goodnight, kissing her hand with warmth, lingering over it a shade longer than necessary. As he took his leave, however, Sabrina was no longer in his mind. His thoughts were with Miranda, as hers were with him.
Miranda leaned her elbows on the cool marble balustrade and stared at the flat sea just a few feet beneath her. The water was a clear, deep blue, and she could see its sandy white bottom where the tiny minnows scuttled to and fro in the last of the sunlight. The thoughts racing back and forth in her mind were very much like the tiny, dark fish. They touched on her consciousness only briefly before hurrying away. Sighing, she wondered whether Jared would want her back at all. Would he send for her? Would he come himself? Dear God, she hoped he would not come himself! She needed time. How was she going to explain the child?
“You are looking very fierce,” said Mirza Khan. “I hope that I am not the object of your thoughts.”
She looked up, and laughed softly. “No, I was thinking that I am very well revenged on the Russian. Although I am sure that the Tzar won’t let his cousin and her husband starve, it will never be the same for him again. From now on Prince Alexei Cherkessky will probably be only an unimportant pensioner, and I imagine this will eventually kill him.”
An admiring look came into his eyes. “How magnificently you hate, Miranda,” he said. He wondered, as Jared had once wondered, if she loved as fiercely.
“Yes, I hate him!” she cried. “In my world, Mirza Khan, women are born free, and raised that way. My land is a young one yet, women are needed as much as men are. Just over sixty years ago the women in my home state of New York stood shoulder to shoulder with their men on the palisades of every frontier fort, and battled the Indians for possession of the land. That is my heritage. My family came from England almost two hundred years ago to carve a small empire of their own from Wyndsong Island. I am a free woman!
“Think on it, Mirza Khan. Think what it is like to be a slave. You are forced to remain where the master chooses, do what the master says, eat what is given you, sleep when you are allowed, and make love when permitted or even on command.”
He gazed levelly at her. “Oh, Miranda, how I wish you weren’t so intent on returning home to your husband.”
Her sea-green eyes widened in surprise at this candid declaration, and to his intense delight she blushed. “I had best see to my child,” she said, and hastily fled across the garden.
He watched her go. Why did the mention of what was natural between a man and a woman seem to distress her? Surely her experience had not flawed her. He wondered if he might find out without breaking the laws of hospitality. He called down to his boatman, who lay dozing in the sunset.
“Abdul, I will want the caique later. Be ready!”
“Yes, master,” came the reply, though the lazy Abdul never even opened his eyes. Mirza Khan laughed indulgently. Slavery in his house was an easy thing. He admitted to himself that she had spoken the truth. Still, how could one exist without slaves?
Returning to his own quarters, he bathed and then ate a simple meal alone, as was his custom. Then he paid a visit to the women’s quarters. To his amusement, his women were all busy fussing over Miranda’s child. The baby had begun to gain a bit of weight, but she was still quite tiny, and a quiet little thing. He winced at the sightless violet eyes. If anything, she reminded him of a newborn kitten. She responded to touch, seeming to crave the kisses and cuddling she received from his women. He looked at the baby’s perfect little features, thinking sadly that had she been a normal child she would have grown into a fantastic beauty. He frankly didn’t think she would live to see her first birthday, and glanced toward Miranda. All that pain and horror, he thought once more.
“Miranda,” he said, “come and cruise with me on the sea. My barge awaits, and it is a lovely night. Turkhan, my dove, will you join us, too?”
“Thank you, my lord, but no. My head has been aching all day. I shall retire early.” Turkhan had been with her lord long enough to know her presence wasn’t really wanted. “Do go, Miranda,” she encouraged. “The weather is perfect, and there is a moon tonight. Is it not lovely out on the water, ladies?”
A chorus of agreement rose, and Miranda accepted, leaving the child in Safiye’s care. Mirza Khan noted that of all his women Safiye seemed the most motherly. Perhaps he would marry
her off so she might have children of her own.
The air heavy with the scent of flowers, Miranda found drifting lazily on the flat sea quite relaxing. They talked of many things, of his youth in Georgia before he was invited by the sultan’s bas-kadin, Mihri-chan, to spend some time with his cousin, Prince Selim, of her growing up on Wyndsong, her kingdom which nestled between the two fishtails of the much larger Long Island. She told him of her twin sister, and of her husband. He voice grew sad.
“It will never be the same for us again,” she said. “How could it be? I shall be fortunate if he does not choose to divorce me.”
“Why should he divorce you?”
“Have you ever visited London?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“If you mingled in fashionable society then you know the meaning of the term ‘soiled dove.’ I believe you understand what I am saying, for did you not hurry me from the embassy so no one would see my daughter? So that my shame might not be exposed to the world? You sought to preserve my reputation, Mirza Khan, and I thank you.
“It may be that, after hearing of my misadventures, Jared will choose to divorce me in order to marry again and have other children. At least I have the satisfaction of knowing that I have given him his heir, and that the direct line of the family will continue through me.”
“I cannot understand,” he said. “One moment you tell me of the great love you and Jared have for each other, and then you say he will cast you aside to satisfy convention. I do not believe it!”
“If I were your wife, Mirza Khan, would you want me back in your bed dishonored by another man?”
“Yes,” he said quietly. “It is not as if you ran away with the gentleman and submitted willingly.”
“I have borne another man’s child. Another has used what was my husband’s alone.”
“You tell me you are a free woman, Miranda. If this is so then no man, even your Jared, owns you. Your body is yours, my love. It is yours to share with whom you choose. I do not advocate promiscuity, Miranda, but you can belong only to you. If your husband is the man you tell me then all will be well between the two of you when you return.”
“Perhaps Jared will forgive me and remain my husband for the family’s sake,” she mused, “but there can never be any question of a physical relationship between us again. Honor must be satisfied.”
He was astounded by her calm and horrified to realize that she meant what she said.
“Jared will be quite discreet about his mistresses, I know, for he is that kind of gentleman,” she said.
“What of your needs?” he burst out.
“My needs?”
“How will you satisfy your desires, Miranda?”
“I have no desires,” she said. “Not anymore.”
He was thunderstruck, and then suddenly very angry. What the hell had they done to her? The woman he had met in St. Petersburg had been a beautiful, sensual creature, full of life. Who was this sexless woman who sat next to him? He wanted desperately to prove her wrong, show her that desire had not fled.
Turning smoothly, he pulled her into his embrace and his mouth came down on hers. Mirza Khan’s head whirled. The lips beneath his were petal-soft. Reining in his passion, he became tender, tasting her mouth as a bee seeking nectar deep within the heart of a flower. Sweet stock assaulted his senses with its provocative innocence. Suddenly he realized that she was lying quietly in his arms. His own desire was soaring wildly, but she felt nothing at all.
Holding her in the curve of his arm, he gazed down into her face and said, “Has it always been like this for you?”
“No,” she answered slowly. “When Jared made love to me I died a little each time. It was magnificent. He is magnificent.” She smiled sadly. “I was a true virgin when we married. I don’t just mean that I had never lain with a man, I mean I had never even kissed another man. I knew nothing of what happens between a man and a woman.” She chuckled softly. “There were times when it was downright embarrassing, but he was wonderfully patient, and I grew to love him more each day. He is the only man I have ever loved, Mirza Khan, and the only one I shall ever love.
“From the moment I was kidnaped I vowed that I would return to him, that nothing would keep me from my husband. That night when Lucas finally took me I responded to his lovemaking with an ardor that shocked me. I had believed that only the man I loved was capable of rousing those feelings in me. I did not understand then that my body could respond to lust just as it had once responded to true love. My body could detach itself from feelings.”
“But having discovered these things,” he finished for her, “you then discovered that you could control your body through a supreme effort of your mind.”
“Yes,” she said grimly. “After that, whatever he did to me evoked no feeling in me at all. I regretted hurting him, for he was a kind man.”
Mirza Khan felt a stab of sympathy for the unfortunate Lucas. How maddening it must be to have driven this exquisite woman to passion once, to have had her hot with desire beneath him once, and then never again to be able to arouse her. “Tell me, Miranda, do you think you can awaken yourself on command? It is dangerous to play the game you have played.”
“I have told you, Mirza Khan, that my husband and I will probably never be able to resume lovemaking.”
“I see,” he said gravely. “And so you will spend the rest of your life unloved, in punishment for the sin of being kidnaped and raped. Your husband, however, will be permitted his mistresses, or possibly a divorce and a new wife as compensation for your behavior. I dislike your appalling Western morality, Miranda. It lacks logic, to say nothing of compassion.”
“You are laughing at me,” she accused.
“No, my little puritan, I am not laughing. I weep for you, and for a morality that punishes an innocent victim. Is your husband really that rigid a man that he would cast you out so cruelly?” She turned her head away, pressing it against his shoulder in grief, and he put his arms around her. “Oh, Miranda, if what you tell me is the truth, then let me send word to England that you have sickened and died with a fever, for the life you propose to return to really will kill you.
“Stay with me and be my love. A good Muslim is permitted four wives, yet I have never cared enough for anyone to marry. I care for you. I would make you my wife.”
Her slender shoulders shook with the force of her sobs, and he held her as his elegant hand smoothed her beautiful head. The caique bobbed gently on the silvery sea now, and the world about them was silent but for the soft gurgle of the waves beneath the boat and the sound of her weeping. Then he said in a quiet, firm voice, “I am going to make love to you, Miranda, and there will be no shame involved. You will respond to me, my darling, because I will not allow you to shut yourself away from life, and making love is an important part of life.”
“No,” she said weakly, “it would be wrong.”
“It will be right!” he countered, signaling his rower to return to shore. “If, on your return home, your life is to be the loveless hell you describe then I will give you sweet memories to feast upon in the long, dark nights ahead, memories to soften the pain you suffered in Russia.”
“My husband …” she began faintly, confused.
He took her heart-shaped face in his two hands. “Look at me and tell me that you do not want to know the sweet pleasures of passion again.” In her sea-green eyes, in those bottomless emerald depths, he saw the answer she could not say, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a triumphant smile before his lips took possession of hers once again.
She began to warm with his embrace. She tried to struggle free, to escape long enough to clear her mind, but he pinioned her against the bright satin pillows, never letting her free of the sensuous kisses he pressed upon her. His dark, brushlike mustache was soft, and tickled her delightfully.
Suddenly she felt all the terrible tension that had built up within her over the last year flowing away from her body. I love my husband, she thought, but I
want this man to make love to me. And with that silent admission she began to return his kiss.
Her lips softened and parted, allowing his velvet tongue into her mouth where it expertly caressed hers, sending a molten fire pouring through her veins. He rained kisses all over her beautiful face and throat, murmuring huskily against her ear, “I adore you, Miranda! Trust me, my darling, and I promise to give you only pleasure.”
Sweetness engulfed her, cradling her. She became oblivious to everything but him.
The caique bumped the quay, and he reluctantly broke away. Gazing down at her with undisguised longing, he cupped her face in his hands and whispered, “Only pleasure, my darling.” Then he stood, leaped lightly from the caique and picked her up in his arms. He carried her swiftly toward the house. Seeing him arrive, his slaves opened all the doors leading to his bedroom so that his passage would be smooth and uninterrupted. The unseen hands quietly shut the doors behind them. Miranda would always remember the wonderful silence in the little palace that night, a silence broken only occasionally by the murmuring of the night wind.
Mirza Khan’s bedchamber was lit softly by hanging crystal lamps that cast a warm golden glow over the entire room. The lamps burned with fragrant oils that scented the room. The walls were paneled in ivory silk sprigged with green, the moldings were of a golden poplar, and the ceiling done in recessed squares of the same wood. Thick wool carpets of an ivory color with gold and green designs covered the floors. The large bed was hung with green silks.
The furniture was walnut and gilt, styled in the French manner of the Louis XV period. Scattered throughout were rare Chinese vases, Venetian crystal, gold and silver pieces. Never before had Miranda seen such opulent luxury in one room. Though it was an odd assortment, it all came together beautifully.
In a corner of the room stood a full-length Venetian mirror set into an ornate gold baroque frame. He set her down before the glass, facing it, and slowly began to undress her. She watched, mesmerized, as his beautiful hands removed the deep-mauve sleeveless robe edged on each side of its opening with a three-inch band of tiny crystal beads and then the belt of the same beads that sat upon her hips. His slender fingers quickly unfastened the pearl buttons of her soft rose tunic dress at the sleeves and the neck. Beneath the tunic dress she wore only sheer pale-pink harem pants and a little gauze blouse of the same pale pink.