“Jinan. Is this the name you choose?”
Jinan. It rolled off her tongue in her inexperienced Arabic enunciation. Paradise.
This place. This life. It was all her paradise. Ironic, really. She could be Eve in the garden, offering the fruits and sins of her flesh. A fallen woman, to be sure.
Jinan. A very pretty name, indeed. A name best suited to her circumstance.
“I think so. Yes, definitely so.”
The name defined the woman she’d grown into. And the name suited her more than Elena. She was Jinan. No longer the shy and proper Elena.
Laila patted her dry hand then lay back on the divan next to her. “You are finished. We will touch up the designs as they fade. I will teach you how to put the scarves on later.” Elena turned to look at her sister. Laila scrunched her forehead in thought. “We will say you are a Turkish princess. This is believable because Amir’s brother would only send the best of the women he buys. Being a princess will raise your value among the lords.”
“Do you think they’ll believe such balderdash?”
“Why wouldn’t they? You have been sitting in the gardens during the day and your skin has only grown darker over the months. You now wear an Indian design, and Amir will dress you in plenty of gold and jewels beneath the gauze of your costume.”
“What should I do if I recognize someone? I’m afraid I’ll falter despite my disguise.”
She motioned down at her painted body and the silk wrap tied about her waist. But Laila was right in her assessment that she no longer looked English. Her mannerisms had altered since coming to this place, too; she was less stiff in her carriage, more relaxed and at ease in this strange setting.
“You will not falter. Tell yourself that you are playing a grand trick on those men. You can laugh at them when you are back in the harem quarters. Laugh about how silly and superficial they are with their posturing and Western airs. They will only see what you present and what you are willing to reveal of your body. Never forget this.”
“I know. Amir already assured me they would be looking over my goods, not wondering about my background,” she lamented, barely keeping the unease from her voice.
“You see, you are taking this well now that we’ve had a laugh. In all seriousness, you needn’t worry. You will not be expected to leave Amir’s side for many more months.
“Come.” Laila sat up, pulling Elena’s hand with her. “We’ll go spend time with your son. Amir will know by now that we’ve hennaed you, and he may ask after you earlier than usual. He’ll want to make a thorough inspection,” she teased.
Elena smiled. What would Amir think of these designs? He’d probably trace every last swirl, and with more than his fingers. The thought made her shiver in . . . not anticipation, but something distressingly close.
She paused at the door. Why was she growing so attached to Amir? She’d never thought like this before. Her heart didn’t flutter whenever she thought of him, and she knew she wasn’t falling in love with the man. But why did she have this reaction?
She didn’t question it further. What use was there in dwelling on such thoughts?
She knew it had everything to do with the fact that he was the sole man holding all the cards to her future. And her son’s.
“She’s lovely.” The stout Russian gave her rump a good patting.
She squirmed out of his grasp and closer to Amir. Amir’s hand squeezed reassuringly at her waist. It didn’t help to calm her nerves in the least.
The portly man assessed her silently—more likely speechless—his mouth gaping like the koi in the pond as he strove for words more brilliant.
“She is lovely,” Amir said. “Though shy, she’s very talented in the arts of submission.”
That caused the man to flush, but she didn’t miss the hunger that flared in his blue eyes. He pulled out a handkerchief to wipe away the sweat beaded on his forehead—apologizing all the while and complaining about the heat in this part of the hemisphere. He licked his lips, equally as plump as the rest of him, and gave her a glazed look that made her stomach roll in nauseous waves.
She stepped away from him, hoping to escape his keen look.
The overly thin, tall man keeping the Russian company nodded in agreement. Looking glass held in one squinted eye, he took closer observation of her nipples, showing clear through the gauze she wore. His eye was made obscenely larger by the round lens, so she avoided looking at him straight on.
Amir looked sidelong at her—brow cocked in amusement at the various men handling her—and translated to Persian what the men said even though she understood the gist of it. How could she not with the way they leered at and touched her? Amir turned to talk to another patron who’d tapped him on the shoulder.
Taking a deep breath, she told herself she could get through this. A few more hours and the auctions would be done, then she’d go back to the safety of the inner harem.
Someone came up behind her, grabbed her hips and thrust his hardened groin into her backside. She squealed and fell out of his grasp, knees banging on the hard stone floor, her palms smacking out to stop her face from hitting the stone.
There were too many people here for her to escape.
Smoke and opium filled the air, making her light-headed, slow.
She squeezed between the legs of a patron and one of her sisters embracing. On hands and knees, eyes and mind only focused on escape. She’d been so close to an alcove, a safe hiding spot, when she tumbled to the side and the heavy weight of a man pinned her down.
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 h
itch. 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. Af
ter 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.
The Surrender of a Lady Page 10