Caversham's Bride (The Caversham Chronicles - Book One)

by Raven, Sandy

  Lia turned when Maysun called her name. “Kamilah, I would like to introduce you to Prince Hakim Omar Makin of Morocco. My prince, this is the lady Kamilah.”

  Lia curtsied low to the ground before the prince, then took his outstretched hand and kissed his ring, as she’d been earlier instructed. “I am honored, your highness.” The prince signaled her to rise, and she looked into his kind, smiling face.

  “My royal physician tells me you speak English, Kamilah.”

  Lia nodded.

  “This is good,” the prince continued, “for I would like you to meet my good friend, His Grace, the Duke of Caversham.”

  She curtsied before him as well, not taking his hand because he didn’t offer it. Standing erect, Lia guessed that the top of her head was as tall as the Englishman’s chin, and he possessed a very broad chest.

  Looking up, she gazed upon the face of the man whose lower body she had already inspected quite thoroughly. Combed straight back, his wavy black hair was wet, as if he’d just come from a bath. He had a strong jaw over a clean-shaven face, with dark brows arching inquisitively above his penetrating hot-silver gaze. Firm lips, parted sensuously above his chin.

  He revealed no outward emotion as he, too, studied her face and body, his gaze finally returning to hers. This man was entirely too bold, arrogant even, and the way he looked at her caused her insides to tremble unlike anything she’d ever known before.

  What was she to do now? What did this man have in mind for her? And how would this change her well-thought-out plans? One thing was certain, she would not let him stop her from rescuing her brother and their elderly nurse. She would save them. Or die trying.

  Prince Hakim cleared his throat, bringing their attention back to the two others standing next to them.

  “I apologize, Majesty,” Lia closed her eyes and bowed her head, “for my rude behavior to your honored guest.”

  “Think nothing of it.” He took Maysun’s arm and led the way into the dining hall. He chuckled, then spoke to Maysun in Arabic, and for once Lia wished she knew what was being said for she felt it concerned her.

  The Englishman offered his arm, and she accepted it. Together, they followed behind the other couple.

  “Well, Kamilah, you appear to be in better health than when we last met.”

  “My name is Angelia Serena Gualtiero, and I believe you are mistaken, Your Grace, for I have no memory of ever meeting you.”

  “Oh, but we did meet. Two weeks ago.”

  Lia felt another hot wave of embarrassment rise in her face, scalding her cheeks.

  “How do you think I came to purchase you, Kamilah?”

  She bit her tongue. The cur refused to use her given name, and continued to call her by the Arabic name Ashraf had given her. “It was explained to me that representatives are sent from those interested parties to....” She trailed off unable to continue, the subject making her uncomfortable.

  “I sent no representative,” he said. “I was there.”

  She was shocked speechless as she grasped his meaning. Lia tried to pull her hand from his arm, but he reached across and held it firmly in place. He stopped her and looked down at her, smiling.

  How dare he find her humiliation amusing.

  She turned her face and tried to pull away, but he held her in place with his hand over hers on his forearm. “There is much you do not know about me, Your Grace.”

  Glancing up to his face, she noticed his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We shall remedy that, and discuss the future after dinner, my little waif.”

  He kept his hand on hers as they walked through the dining hall to their seats. The work-roughened hand moved over her sensitive skin, sending a river of warm sensations flowing through her body, collecting in the vicinity of her lower belly, causing heat to rise to her cheeks from embarrassment. This man caused her to feel and think things she hadn’t experienced before.

  Throughout the meal, all Ren could think of was What was he going to do with her? The idea of taking this woman to his bed was very appealing, though definitely something he hadn’t expected to feel when he thought back to the morning after he purchased her. He remembered the words the physician had told him, and now realized he owed the man an apology.

  Ismael was right, the woman before him now was a completely different person. This was a desirable, young woman, ripe for the plucking. There was no mistaking her reaction to the palace’s interior. He noticed her eyes widen in amazement at the opulent surroundings. The combination of genuine wonder, and her ability to stir his senses as no other ever had, caused him to scramble for thought, a plan, an idea of some sort to facilitate keeping her. She stirred a strange mix of possessive and sexual feelings in him that he wanted to explore.

  No one had ever known her before. Call it a twist of fate, or his good fortune, but she was his now and he didn’t know what to do with her. Make her a mistress, or wife?

  There was no doubt he desired her, and as the evening wore on, he began to wish they’d met under different circumstance, and that she was of a suitable background. God help him if she were, because this one could easily get under his skin. His mind wandered back to the night he brought her to the palace. Though Ren had never touched her naked body that night, he remembered well her silken skin and her fragrant scent. There were so many things he’d wanted to do that night.

  Tonight he could make them all come true.

  But, what of your intent to free her? his conscience interjected. To return her to her family?

  Yes, he must return her. That would be the right thing to do. Then again, suppose what Ismael said was true? Suppose she had no family to go home to?

  If that was the case, he would leave the choice to her. Of course, he would do his best to convince her of the benefit of remaining with him for he had much to offer her as his wife. Certainly they could come to some arrangement. An heir for her freedom. He didn’t know of a woman alive who wouldn’t agree to a bargain such as what he was considering. A marriage of convenience, to beget the necessary offspring. He would set her up comfortably, and she would never want for a thing as long as she lived. After seeing to the duty of siring the heir, he could take a mistress again if necessary and they both would be satisfied.

  All through dinner their hands frequently bumped when they reached into their communal serving bowl, arousing his senses. He wondered if it affected her as it did him. Sometimes she seemed impatient, other times unsettled, and once he thought her hand lingered on top of his as she replied to something Hakim said to her.

  Each time she turned those dark green eyes to him, he could feel the tightening in his breeches. He recalled the vision he’d had of her that first night, at the auction, where she turned to look up at him with that expressive emerald gaze he’d caught a glimpse of in the souk. In that vision, she’d worn an ivory gown. Other than the style of clothing, the only difference there was between that vision and this night was the necklace. Where he had envisioned her wearing his mother’s diamonds, tonight she wore pearls. He had the feeling then, as he did now, of permanence and stability.

  Or maybe it was just that he wanted both to such a degree that he projected it on this woman he didn’t know at all, but felt an attraction to.

  Finally, the dinner bowls were carried away and the entertainment began. Kamilah seemed to enjoy watching the dancers and listening to the musicians, so he stayed for two sets before he could wait no longer. There was a great deal he had to discuss with her—arrangements to be made, either to return her to her home, or not.

  Hopefully not.

  “I am sure you understand my wish to retire, Hakim. Kamilah and I have much to talk about. If you will excuse us, we will see you both tomorrow.” He held out a hand to help Kamilah stand.

  Ren watched as her gaze flew to Maysun’s as though she sought help from her friend. The other woman did not understand English, but the meaning behind his outstretched hand was obvious. Hakim and Maysun put their heads together and the co
ncubine smiled as she listened to the prince say something to her in Arabic.

  Maysun looked at Kamilah. “Buono fortuna,” she said, waving at them as they walked away.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Lia’s heart slammed against her breast, then dropped into her belly when the door shut with a soft thump. The Englishman didn’t lock the door she noted before scanning the rest of the room. She walked to the dresser, and found her toiletries carefully arranged on it, then in the alcove where the bathing tub rested, she noticed her robe laid across the chair back. Why were they here? What was he planning?

  “My things!”

  “I had them moved during dinner.” He smiled as he crossed the spacious expanse to the sideboard bearing several decanters and glasses.

  “But why, Your Grace?”

  “Because you don’t belong in the harem.” He poured two glasses of wine, and handed her one. She accepted it, their hands touching momentarily. His gaze met hers and held her captive. Unable to turn away, she began to tremble under his intense scrutiny and her mouth went dry. The crystal goblet shook as Lia lifted it to her lips. She took one sip, then another, to reinforce what little courage she had left, knowing she’d need every ounce to make it through this night. She knew the time had come for her to please her new master in every way he wished. She had to satisfy him enough so he would want to help her.

  “Where do I belong then?” Her voice quavered, as she tried to play the coquette. Lia remembered Ashraf’s words, “the most treasured jewel in a man’s harim is the woman who comes to him willingly.” The way her heart raced in her chest made her believe this might not be so unpleasant. In fact his touch sent a thrill coursing through her entire body.

  The Englishman reached out and stroked a lock of hair that had fallen over her shoulder. “So soft,” he whispered. His fingers grazed the tip of her breast, and Lia’s knees buckled slightly from the shock of his touch. She could not fail. Her brother and Maura’s lives were at stake. Lia took another sip, then with an unladylike gulp, finished off her wine.

  “Ah, little one, not so fast.” He took her goblet away and set it on the table. “We have much to discuss. You’ll need your wits about you.” He smiled down at her, his dark silver eyes sparkling.

  She backed away a step, then turned toward the dresser, unable to face him, afraid he might suspect her attraction. Her fingers trailed across the marble top as she took several more steps. At the end of the long piece of furniture, she closed her eyes and took a deep, fortifying breath. Her skin burned. This man’s touch made her entire body ache.

  “Yes, Your Grace.”

  “Call me Ren.” He stepped toward her.

  She retreated farther, and eyed him cautiously. He appeared to be a predator stalking his prey, and her body was what he hungered for. She wasn’t afraid of the acts to come, for she’d been both educated in performing them, and prepared physically to arouse him. But she sensed an intensity in his passion, and it was this which she feared. For the Englishman did not impress her as having a single subdued bone in his body.

  “That goes against convention, Your Grace, and makes me uncomfortable.”

  Ren hoped to quell her nerves by taking her out to the relaxing garden. He held out his arm for her. “Come, walk with me.” He led her through an open doorway, into a small, private garden, lush with the citrus scent of orange and lemon blossoms, mixed with colorful large tropical flowers. Somewhere off in the distance he heard the haunting sounds of a buzouk and l’oud being played. It was a perfect setting for getting to know this woman. But first he had to put her at ease. He hoped to calm her trembling hands, and allay the skeptical and wary glances he got from her.

  Perhaps it would help her to talk first, and of course they should, as it was her future that was in question. Talking also might help to temper his raging ardor. He’d done nothing but imagine this woman naked in his bed from the moment he saw her in the palace garden before dinner.

  “We can speak out here Kamilah.”

  “If you wish me to use your Christian name, I would ask that you call me by mine as well. I am Angelia Serena, or just Lia. I am neither Arabic, nor Muslim. I am proud of my family name, and the Christian name my parents chose for me.”

  “Lia. It suits you.” His deep voice caressed Lia’s soul as he repeated her name. “Tell me about yourself, Lia.”

  Taking a deep breath, she decided honesty was the only way for her. “There is really only one thing to know, Your Grace. My parents died eight months ago, and my aunt tried to have me killed. The men who were supposed to kill me sold me instead. Those same men are scheduled to return to kill my brother any day now, and I must try to save him. If you will not help me, I will die trying to do it without you.”

  Suddenly frightened he might refuse her, Lia lifted her gaze to his, her breath caught in her chest. She forced herself to calm. From their earlier conversation at dinner, he seemed a reasonable sort, this Englishman, and she knew the only way to reach a man like him was through rational deliberation.

  After a long, uncomfortable minute he had yet to say anything in reply to her revelation.

  “Does your decision to help me rest upon my performance in your bed?” she asked.

  That drew a response. He lifted a brow, the shock evident in his gaze. “You speak rather plainly.”

  “Well, does it? I must know.”

  Again, no reply. She watched the muscle in his cheek jump, and his dimples pull taught. He seemed to ponder her words. “Keeping me against my will makes me a slave, and I am no man’s slave. I am a gentleman’s daughter, from a noble family.” She kept her tone even, not wanting him to suspect her fear. “And I must save my brother and our elderly nurse.”

  His eyebrows rose with astonishment at her impassioned, yet firm, plea for his assistance.

  “I’ve read about men like you,” she continued. “Merchantmen. Traders. You bring European goods to Arabia, take slaves from Africa to your plantations in the Indies, and then the products of those plantations back to Europe.”

  “What makes you think I am like those men? And, how do you come to know so much of world affairs?”

  “As I said earlier this evening, Your Grace, there is much you do not know about me.”

  His deep, soothing voice took a decidedly frigid tone. “Tell me everything. Where do you come from, and who is your family?”

  She turned to him, her outward expression unruffled. “I told you all that was important. What should you care of the details? They’ll not change the outcome for me now. The prospects for my future were forever ruined the night of my abduction.”

  “I need to know the whole story, so as best to decide how to proceed.”

  Instinct told her this man could be a formidable foe should she cross him, and right now she didn’t have the time for a fight, nor did she need an adversary that could keep her from her goal. Tears threatened to rise, but stuck in her throat, suppressed by the fear that any chance she had to save Luchino and Maura would be lost if he refused her request. For her captor would then be wary of leaving her unattended.

  “I know not if I can trust you,” she confessed.

  “You never will until you give me a chance.”

  “My own aunt tried to have me killed. If you cannot trust your own family, then who can you trust?”

  He seemed to process what she said, his expression for the most part, unreadable. Lia felt perhaps she hit a little close to home with her words. She went on, and explained, “I used to believe trust was something that should be assumed of an individual, until such time the person in question is proved untrustworthy.” Lifting her glass, she twirled the fine crystal goblet in her hands, staring down at the shards of light reflecting off the cut patterns. “That changed soon after my parents died.”

  He stood and walked back into the room. When he returned, he carried the decanter. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?” He refilled their glasses, and reclaimed his seat on the bench, this time stretching h
is long legs before him.

  Lia gave him a shortened version of her life up until the fire that took her parents from her. Pacing about the small courtyard, she told him of the liberal inheritance she and her brother received. She never knew she had any paternal relatives. Her father never mentioned his family to her. When she was old enough to ask, Lia’s mother told her it was because her grandfather had disowned her father when they married because she was not his social equal.

  Having grown up with parents who loved her and her brother dearly, Lia thought no more of it. Until the day her aunt and uncle had come to Naples after the funeral and informed her that she and her brother, Luchino, were moving to Genoa. Lia had refused, explaining to her relatives her plans to complete her studies and become a scholar like her parents. She stressed that she and Luchino had Maura, and had inherited enough money to live comfortably for the rest of their lives, provided they didn’t squander it.

  In the end, all of her efforts failed. At her aunt’s insistence, her uncle forbade her to remain in Naples unmarried and with only their old nurse as chaperon. She and her brother were forced to leave the only home they had ever known, and move in with a family they had never met before.

  Once they got to Genoa, Lia’s clothing disappeared. She was given three coarse black gowns, worn through with holes in places. She was in mourning, her aunt said. Not long after, she noticed her own gowns had been altered to fit her much shorter cousin, then new drapes and carpets began to appear in the house. She didn’t have to question where the funds came from for it was obvious her aunt was spending the monthly allowance that belonged to her and Luchino.

  Her uncle died five months after their arrival in Genoa, and things quickly got worse. Lia felt that, while he was alive, her uncle acted as somewhat of a buffer between her and her aunt. Perhaps he felt some obligation to protect her because he was a blood relation, it was unclear to her. But, once he died there was no one to dispute, or control her aunt.

  “My brother, Luchino, was often kept locked in his room for minor infractions of our aunt’s ridiculous rules,” she said, fighting the tears. “When he was allowed out of the room, he wasn’t allowed to play, which is all a seven year old boy wants.”