The Sheik's Son

by Nicola Italia

  Sebastian did laugh this time at her compliment, which was almost not one.

  “Thank you. I shall treasure those four words until I am in my grave.” He placed a hand upon his heart.

  “You’re a strange one,” she returned.

  “And you, Mademoiselle Sophie, argue like a parliamentarian with men older than your father and look like a painting of Venus,” he said quietly.

  Sophie looked into Sebastian’s eyes and did not see a hint of mocking. She felt herself looking too long at him and turned her head.

  Sebastian watched the firelight play across her features. She had a perfect oval face with hazel eyes and lush lips. But the auburn hair was something to behold and he wanted very badly to pull out her combs and sift his fingers through the silk tresses.

  “These men don’t understand,” she explained, nodding in their direction.

  “Yes. I heard the later part of your conversation,” he admitted.

  “They expect women to marry whomever is chosen for them with no thought of love or affection,” Sophie complained.

  “Love is a rare thing. Most marriages are arranged for convenience, money or family connections,” Sebastian told her.

  “Yes. But things are changing and should change. And women should have a say. We aren’t chattel.”

  “Change takes time.”

  “Time!” Sophie scoffed.

  “Yes, time. And there is a great pleasure to be found in marriage and with children. Love, or at least affection, can sometimes follow.”

  “Pleasure for men, you mean,” Sophie returned.

  “For women as well.”

  “For women as well? Giving birth, which can last a day or more and they are in excruciating pain the entire time? Oftentimes the woman dies and the child is raised without a mother.”

  “Not all women, Sophie.”

  “While the men gallivant around town with whomever they choose like a dog in heat,” Sophie hissed. Her blood was up.

  “Yes, some men are like that,” he agreed.

  “Some men?” Her hazel eyes challenged him.

  “Yes. But not all men. And as men and women, we each have our roles to play. You to marry, bear children and raise them. That is your role.”

  “And yours?” Sophie asked suddenly, very irritated.

  “To carry the seed for the child,” he said matter-of-factly. “To provide for them.”

  “So you think like Monsieur Gerard? Women are to marry, carry and bear, and that is all?”

  “Not exactly—” he began.

  “You may be young and educated, and of course you are secretary to the duke. But you, monsieur, are nothing but a savage!”

  She moved away from him quickly and was replaced by Andrew.

  “Well, I think it’s safe to assume that’s one lovely that you won’t be bedding.” He smiled.

  “Don’t bet on it,” Bash replied as he watched the lovely Sophie flounce out of the room.

  ***

  “Do you miss Arabia?” Etienne asked Leila as they sat together on a small couch in the corner of the gambling room.

  The room was filled with the smell of burning wax candles and the sound of porcelain gaming chips clicking together and people talking, but the two seemed to be in a world of their own.

  “Yes. Certain things. I miss my mother and father, and I even miss the heat and the smell of it,” she added. “But France is another world entirely, and I like it very much.”

  “We must see if Bash will allow you to attend some concerts and outings,” Etienne told her.

  “I would like that very much, Monsieur Pousson.”

  “Please call me Etienne.”

  “Etienne.” Leila spoke his name quietly and looked away from his gaze.

  Etienne watched the long curve of her neck and ached to press his mouth to it before he reminded himself to maintain a distance from her. She was, after all, his best friend’s sister and anything beyond the boundaries of friendship was not to be considered.

  ***

  That evening Sophie had barely stepped out of her dress and corset before she sat before her writing table and began writing in a furious manner. She could still hear the mocking tone of Monsieur Gerard in her ear, which was bad enough.

  But she also recalled Sebastian and his handsome face as he told her that he was charged with carrying the seed while she was the brood mare to be impregnated for man’s purpose. Dorset’s Devils indeed! She wondered how many seeds he had spread across Paris.

  “Marry, Carry and Bear” was the title she chose for the next pamphlet. She had barely flung her necklace down on the table and had only taken one earring off before her quill pen was scratching away at the linen paper.

  She was so angry after attending the salon that thoughts were racing through her head faster than she could place them on the page. These men were archaic and ancient and they belonged in the Dark Ages.

  The tips of her fingers became black with ink stains as she wrote with her right hand and kept steady lines with her left. She wrote about education and the need for men to join the proper century with everyone else.

  The morning light had barely started to creep over the horizon when she practically crumpled the pages into Marie’s hand as the maid began her duties for the morning. Marie nodded in understanding and Sophie was sure Monsieur Blanche would get more than he bargained for with the pamphlet.

  She slept well past noon because of the night spent writing and Eugenie admonished her for being a lazy Parisian lady. Sophie eyed her grandmother with annoyance as she threw open her windows and filled the room with light.

  “Up, up, Sophie. The day is passing you by,” her grandmother told her.

  Sophie complied, but only because she knew her father would be angry with her if she threw her grandmother out the second-story window.

  ***

  That evening Sophie’s family was to attend a concert of George Frideric Handel's music at the theater. She was very fond of music, as her father was, and had been told her mother had been as well. Eugenie usually used these events to socialize and catch up on her gossip and didn’t much care for music in general.

  Jean Pierre was generous with Sophie and her allowance, and her new dressmaker had outdone herself this time. Even Jean Pierre had been stunned when Sophie had first shown him the new gown.

  The frock was copper-colored with a low scooped neckline and off-the-shoulder sleeves that complemented her creamy shoulders, neck and beautiful auburn hair. She wore no jewelry except her drop diamond earrings. She wore her hair pinned back with one long curl hanging over her shoulder.

  Her father wore a raspberry-colored coat and matching breeches while her grandmother wore a silver gown that looked very fine on her full figure, and a powdered wig.

  Jean Pierre saw her daughter being fussed over by Marie in the foyer and smiled to himself. She was a beauty. It wasn’t only that she had a lovely face and figure, but she held herself in a regal manner and was kind, generous and intelligent. Danielle would be proud.

  Eugenie saw her son staring at his only daughter and remarked lightly, “You should remarry, my son.”

  Jean Pierre’s face held a trace of a smile. He did miss the companionship of a woman but Sophie and his mother were enough for the time being. Maybe after his daughter married he would consider it.

  “And you, Mother? What of you?”

  Eugenie laughed heartily at this. “At my age? Indeed not. Besides. I have this household to run and Sophie to marry,” she said, not realizing that she was echoing his sentiments exactly.

  Soon enough the carriage was brought around and they were on their way to the Theatre de l’Odeon. As they joined the long line of carriages depositing passengers at the entrance, Sophie marveled at the beautiful building.

  Jean Pierre spoke teasingly, “You are almost like a country girl, gawking at the theater.”

  Sophie continued to gaze at the building. “I can’t help it, Father. It is beautiful and suc
h a lovely evening.”

  Jean Pierre agreed and Eugenie took this time to remind Sophie of her duties, how to behave, and how to respond to a gentleman’s advances while Sophie half listened.

  “Grand-mère. One would think this is the very first outing I have ever attended instead of the hundredth,” she said drily.

  Jean Pierre hid a smile as Eugenie shook her head. “I only have a care for you and your reputation, Sophie,” she said quietly.

  “I know that.” She leaned forward and kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “Thank you.”

  Eugenie bristled under the attention and Jean Pierre smiled. Yes, he thought. Danielle would be proud.

  ***

  The Theatre de l’Odeon was situated on the left bank of the Seine River next to the Luxembourg Gardens. Originally built between 1779 and 1782, the imposing façade of the building featured prominent thick columns and arches lining all four sides of the structure.

  It was set on a large street that offered ample room for carriages to drop off their passengers and return at the end of the evening to retrieve them. In 1782, the theater was opened by Queen Marie Antoinette and in 1784, The Marriage of Figaro by Beaumarchais was premiered before the queen and court.

  The theater room included an orchestra pit, benches for the audience and several tiers for the spectators, decorated in plush red and gold with a circular ceiling above them.

  Jean Pierre was a great lover of music who had begun taking Sophie to concerts as a small child, and she had developed an equal love of it. There were many great composers that he admired and Handel was one of them. Water Music was being played with all three suites so it promised to be an interesting evening.

  Immediately Jean Pierre excused himself to speak to several of his colleagues while Eugenie joined an older couple that she was familiar with. Sophie was joined by Lizette.

  “Sophie, that gown is absolutely stunning,” Lizette said sincerely. The candlelight reflected the copper hue of the dress and Sophie’s hair seemed to be a flame in the light.

  Lizette wore a cream and pink silk gown that complemented her complexion and showed much of her bosom. Her brown eyes danced as she looked about the room. She unfurled the fan that was tied at her wrist and waved it in front of her face.

  “Thank you, Lizette. That color suits you very well,” Sophie complimented her friend. “Pink is absolutely your color.”

  “Merci,” Lizette sighed. “Let us get some champagne. The crush of people has made it so hot in here.”

  There was a heavy throng of people as the two women moved towards the refreshment table for a glass of champagne. Sophie looked for Madame Necker and her daughter as she thought they might attend the evening’s entertainment, but did not see them. Madame Necker seemed refined and educated and would surely enjoy the finest music of the day.

  She was pushed lightly against one elderly gentleman in the press of people and apologized to him. Seeing the beauty before him he smiled back and the line progressed. A minute ticked by and the line moved slowly. She saw Lizette making her way more quickly to the front of another line and was glad of it. She was pressed again into the gentleman and again apologized to him, almost embarrassed.

  “There is such a crush here,” she said over her shoulder smiling to him but not seeing him.

  “Yes, Mademoiselle Sophie. There is.” The man spoke intimately to her, his lips almost brushing her ear before she whirled around on him.

  “Monsieur Fairfax.” She spat the words out more than said them.

  Sebastian had been tasked with getting champagne for his friends. When he had stepped in line he was delighted to spot Sophie ahead of him and was transfixed with her loveliness. The copper gown suited her perfectly and the scooped neckline was maddening. He would give much to run his fingers along that neckline and even lower.

  He watched Sophie’s face and hazel eyes as she spoke and could tell she wanted nothing to do with him. That was such a shame, he felt. He had already decided he wanted her.

  The line surged forward and pressed Sebastian into Sophie. She bit her lip in angry retort. It wasn’t his fault, but his closeness was disconcerting.

  “Mademoiselle. Excuse me,” he said, apologizing while smiling. His hands had reached out to steady himself, touching her arms.

  “Sophie, I have our drinks.” Lizette spoke, several people away from them. She had been successful in achieving their desired goal.

  “Thank god!” Sophie muttered and tried to extricate herself from Sebastian’s hands. “Please release me.”

  “I wasn’t holding you,” he leaned forward and whispered to her. But this time his tongue touched the outer shell of her ear and it caused little goose pimples down her arms.

  Sophie moved back, outraged. Her mouth opened a little and Sebastian seriously contemplated pulling her into his arms for one moment and tasting those lush lips again. After that, he would pull down all that gorgeous auburn hair and bury his face in it.

  He could tell she was outraged by the way her breasts moved above the neckline and the blush that crept over her lovely cheeks. This wasn’t one of Juliette’s girls who would do what he asked for the right coin. She was an innocent, well-bred woman; however, none of that made any difference. She would be his.

  Sophie pulled away from Sebastian and caught up with Lizette, who was holding two glasses of champagne. She took her glass from Lizette and downed the bubbly drink in one gulp.

  When she turned around, she saw Sebastian smiling at her. Bastard, she thought.

  “Who was that?” Lizette asked as they walked to their private box.

  “A savage,” Sophie hissed.

  ***

  The concert was lovely and her father’s private box made it more enjoyable and intimate than sitting below with everyone jostling and moving about. She had begrudgingly introduced Sebastian to her father and grandmother as they seemed to travel in the same circles and he had a private box next to their own.

  Sebastian had bowed slightly at the introduction and her father had smiled at the young man. He knew he was the secretary to the duke, who was also the British ambassador to France, and both were useful men to know.

  Midway through the concert Sophie felt her corset biting into her. She was uncomfortable and needed to walk a bit to release the tension. She whispered to Lizette that she would get some air and quietly left the box to walk along the corridor.

  The building itself was large and as she moved about she saw no one else. She could hear the music inside the theater and she closed her eyes. It was such a lovely composition. Handel was one of her favorite composers.

  Sophie found herself outside in the brisk air walking along the pillars. She saw the carriage drivers smoking outside and congregating with each other and their horses.

  She had left her hooded cloak inside, and shivered as the air had turned cold. She turned back inside and walked accidentally into the small cloakroom. It was not attended and not well lit, except for one small candle on a wooden table.

  “Are you lost?” Sebastian asked, coming in behind her.

  Sophie sighed. Turning to him she asked, “Are you following me?”

  “I was outside smoking and have now come back inside to rejoin my party,” Sebastian shrugged and explained. “Nothing more.”

  He looked impeccably dressed in a deep blue coat with silver embroidery along the cuffs, pockets and along the collar. His breeches were also blue but with no adornment and his white hose and black shoes were simple, while his hair was clubbed back. Sophie thought he looked more handsome than those men who dandied themselves up in silk and satins but never would have told him so.

  “No, I’m not lost. I was taking some air.” She tried to be polite.

  “I’ll return you to your party, then,” he said graciously.

  “No thank you.” She went to move past him in the small cloakroom.

  “It’s my duty,” he said simply.

  Sophie stopped. “I see. You kiss an unwilling woma
n and flirt when it isn’t wanted. Now you are the perfect gentleman escorting me back to my family because it’s your duty?”

  “You were unwilling, mademoiselle?” He smiled.

  “Of course,” Sophie assured him.

  “So if you suspected I was going to kiss you now, what then?” He advanced upon her, backing her up against the cloakroom wall.

  “I would say, ‘No thank you, you don’t interest me.’” Sophie’s heart was pounding.

  “I don’t interest you?” Sebastian asked, his brown eyes so dark in the low light.

  “Not in the least.” Sophie’s hazel eyes seemed almost green.

  “Indeed?”

  “I know this may shock you, Monsieur Fairfax, but I have no interest in being one of your Devil’s notches,” she returned.

  He knew she spoke of the nickname, Dorset’s Devils, which the scandal sheets had given to him and his friends after the duke’s notorious and flagrant associations became known.

  “Notches, mademoiselle?” Sebastian asked innocently.

  “Yes, notches, monsieur.” Sophie swallowed lightly as she felt the wall behind her.

  “What is a notch?” he asked again.

  “You know very well.”

  He had her pinned against the wall. “Notches…” he asked her, his head dipping to touch her ear and his hands framed either side of her head, “…as in a sexual conquest?”

  Sophie felt her heart pounding as she pressed her hands against his chest to separate them. “I know about you. I know about your friends and your liaisons. If you think to add me to them, you’re sadly mistaken.”

  “You think I want to add you to my…?” he asked, letting the question hang there.

  “Liaisons,” she finished for him.

  There was a beat of silence and then he said, “I do.”

  With that his mouth dipped to find hers and found the taste of champagne and innocence on her lush lips. He almost groaned. She was sweet and lovely and he wanted to kiss her breasts and pull her into him.

  Sophie had known this was going to happen. The minute she had come upon him she should have turned the other way. She would never be alone with him again. But as his mouth touched hers and his dangerous tongue met hers, it was too much. She wanted to pull her arms around his neck and at the same time, she wanted to scratch his eyes out.