The Surrender of a Lady

by Tiffany Clare

  The aftereffects of the laudanum would not be pleasant when her mind finally swam out of the fogginess that had taken her under. Never had he been a fan of the stuff, but it was the safest sleep inducement he knew of.

  So lost in his thoughts, he didn’t realize he’d been staring at her unmoving form until moonlight filtered through the porthole.

  He stood and flattened the creases in his trousers. Leaning over the bed, he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead to make sure a fever hadn’t set in. She was cool, but not sweating. He retrieved a warmer blanket and tucked it around her prone form.

  He needed to get himself abovedeck to see if anyone followed his ship. Amir would have noticed the absence of Jinan by now. It wasn’t as though Griffin could trust the eunuch to remain quiet when his association with a missing harem girl could be construed as grave defiance.

  Griffin was confident enough to know there wasn’t a ship on this side of the hemisphere that could catch his clipper. He’d brought the Belladonna down from Liverpool where he shored her. Those Americans made a nice, fast sail.

  One Amir could not catch with his best xebec.

  Taking the skin down from the hook, he trickled more water into Jinan’s mouth, then hung it back up before leaving the cabin.

  Griffin wasn’t sure if this sickness was the effect of the laudanum or something else.

  She was running a high fever, sweating profusely no matter how many times he mopped her off with a cool cloth. He’d spent the greater part of the night trying to cool her skin down, using half the ship’s store of fresh water. She’d been frighteningly ill, vomiting throughout the early morning. He couldn’t imagine what was left in her stomach to expel but still she heaved.

  He’d not been on deck for more than an hour last night. He’d come down to check on Jinan only to find her in a fever state, sweat soaked through both blankets he’d wrapped about her. Frantically he’d checked and examined the vial of laudanum to make sure he hadn’t given her too much.

  He rubbed at his dry eyes and stood to pace the small quarters. What if he had given her too much? What if her body just couldn’t handle the substance? Catching movement from the corner of his eye, he turned to see her hunch into a ball. God, please don’t be sick again, Jinan. He was at her side in two strides and took her in the cradle of his body in case she started to heave again.

  He didn’t want Jimmy to watch this unfold; it was time to send him off. Jinan was his responsibility. Jimmy had helped him slop up the mess of her sickness, but the smell of it lingered repulsively sweet in the air. It probably didn’t help to keep Jinan’s stomach at ease.

  “Still no tail?” he asked the boy. He needed another distraction. He was worried sick about Jinan. What if she died because of his stupidity? He’d never survive if something happened to her, especially if it were by his hands.

  “No one follows her. They’d be hard-pressed to catch us.”

  “Good. I assume we are still on track.” He had only been on deck long enough to ask for Jimmy’s help. The captain would send someone down if they were being followed. But he hoped they were ahead of being only “on track.” He might need a doctor to attend Jinan as soon as they reached his villa.

  “We’ll be there in record time, ’morrow morning be my guess. Cap’ain says ’tis the fastest he’s ever taken Belladonna. Says she needed a good runnin’ since yer brought ’er down from Liverpool.”

  Good. That put them at least twelve hours ahead of schedule.

  “Excellent to hear. Now get out of here and find some fresh air. She seems to have settled down for now.” And he wanted to be alone with her. Take the rest of her silks off so her body cooled properly. What had he done? What had he done!

  “Yer sure? I don’t mind stayin’ to help yer.”

  “Go get something to eat. If you can stomach it at this point.” He grimaced; he couldn’t stomach food, though he’d force some down soon if only to give himself enough energy to sit up with Jinan for the remainder of their trip. “I doubt she has anything left to expel.”

  The boy nodded and was out the door in an instant. Probably more than thankful to get away from the scent of vomit lingering in the air.

  Her fever seemed to have subsided; the worst effects of the drug had been purged from her body. The remaining tincture was tucked in his vest pocket. He’d toss it when he was off the boat. Had he known she couldn’t tolerate the stuff he would have done something else. Anything else, even met the damn end of Amir’s scimitar. Anything but cause Jinan such harm.

  Walking over to the door, he turned the key in the lock. Alone at last, even if the room had an unpleasant sour smell. He’d strip her down to wash away any remnants of the fever. Well, he’d take off what was left of her harem outfit—most of what he’d put on her had had to be removed when she’d thrown up.

  Releasing the ties on her vest, he pulled it off and tossed it on the floor. He brushed the scarves around her hips aside. Her skin was a deep bronze even in this lighting. Touching her cool and still sweaty stomach, he pushed the scarves up. Should he take them off? It wasn’t as though he’d never seen the whole of her in the nude.

  Everything she wore probably smelled of the sickness. Feeling around to her lower back, he tried to find a tie but there was nothing in the delicate layers. How had he never noticed the intricacies of this costume before? Perhaps it came off over her head. As gently as he could, he started to push the scarves up. Revealing her naked mound, he groaned and closed his eyes. He couldn’t strip her down right now. He was tired, frustrated, and anxious to have this over with. Anxious to have her well and healed.

  His head falling forward, he rested his forehead between her breasts.

  “Even now I can’t keep my hands off you.” He placed his lips to her breastbone. “You’re going to hate me. I know it. But I’ll be damned if I take you back to Amir now. Just live through this, Jinan. Hate me when you are alive and well, just pull yourself through this.”

  He turned his head to the side, pressed his ear to her chest and listened to the steady beat of her heart. Surely if she wasn’t strong enough to survive this, her heart wouldn’t pound so strong. It was a sign. It had to be. She’d pull through.

  He pressed a kiss where her heart beat strong. Another against her breast, his arms tucked under her back to pull her up close so he could hug her tightly to his body. How he wished her arms would fold around his shoulders. Instead, his folly had her lying there limp as a rag doll.

  He needed space. He needed her clothed. Forcing himself to rise from the bed, he walked over to his chest by the door and rifled through it for something sexless.

  He had brought a caftan with him in case they needed to hide from pursuers before they hit the shores of Brindisi. Without ceremony he pulled the linen gently over her head and settled it around her legs before walking away from her. She hadn’t been ill for at least an hour now. It was safe enough for him to go see what was prepared in the way of food, and then go abovedeck for some fresh air.

  Pulling out the vial of the drug one more time, he measured the liquid. No more than the tip of his nail had come from the tube.

  He locked the door behind him and headed toward the galley. After that, he’d get his hands involved in some manual labor on deck. Hopefully by the time he returned to his cabin he’d be too tired to think of touching Jinan.

  His mind had obviously gone wrong after all those years of overindulgence. Was he really any better than Jinan’s owner? He’d taken a woman against her will—or at least he assumed it was against her will; he’d have affirmation of that as soon as she woke.

  Asbury should have left him to rot in that opium den.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Awakening

  The fog that had wrapped around her mind seemed to have eased. She’d been fighting it forever. At least it felt like forever.

  Her eyes seemed too heavy to open. Her world spun in darkness. Never-ending circles, dancing round and round behind her lids. H
er stomach clenched. She was rocking. It was as if she were swaying with the motion of a boat. Her stomach cramped some more, and a groan escaped her dry lips.

  “Shh.” Someone whispered close to her ear.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but her tongue was thick, dry and swollen. There was no saliva in her mouth to help aid her voice. She let out a croak, and the swirling circles came back with a force all their own, dancing viciously, nauseatingly in her head.

  She groaned again and flung her arm out. The other arm felt like dead weight; maybe she was lying on it. Someone was with her. She hadn’t enough strength to open her eyes. She wrapped her hand around a big, hard male body. An arm?

  “Amir?” she choked out.

  The spinning got worse. Her stomach heaved, trying to expel its contents; but nothing came up. A hand wrapped around her stomach as she pitched forward, holding her in place.

  “Give it some time. Be still.” Such a gentle, soothing voice.

  She couldn’t be still. Did Amir joke? She only ever felt this ill when she was on a boat. “Amir,” she groaned again.

  Buzzing in her ears made it hard to hear; her head was not only spinning, it was pounding unrelentingly.

  Wetness touched her lips.

  Water.

  Her tongue touched the tip of a water skin. Fresh, so fresh and cool against her parched mouth.

  “Drink,” the voice said.

  It was so far away, as though someone were yelling to her through a wind tunnel. She sputtered, water flowed over her lips and down her chin.

  “Slower . . .”

  Coughing out the refreshing sustenance, she lurched forward and tried to vomit again.

  She was on the floor, rocking back and forth. Someone held her tight from behind. Was that to keep her from moving? From falling?

  “Water,” she tried to say.

  He must have understood since the skin brushed across her mouth.

  She took smaller sips. Her tongue felt less weighty, her lips less sore with the liquid swilling through her body. She felt so empty. As if she hadn’t eaten in a week.

  “Sleep,” the soft voice said.

  But she couldn’t sleep. Her head hurt, her eyes wouldn’t open, her stomach roiled with every wave of nausea that clutched her body. She must have come down with some illness.

  “Amir?” Was she dying?

  “Shh . . .”

  “What’s happened? Dying?” She sobbed and heaved up nothing again. She sucked in great gulps of air only to heave once more.

  “You are fine. We’ll make port in a few hours.”

  “Port . . . ?”

  She tried to open her eyes again. They seemed so heavy, so swollen. There was only darkness when she managed to crack one lid halfway, then she closed it when the pounding behind them worsened.

  She was on a boat. That explained the sickness, and it also meant the man holding her was not Amir. Pushing her arm behind her, she tried to dislodge him but he held fast. She was so weak right now, how did she expect to fight him off?

  “A few hours at most. Hold on till then. Please, Jinan.”

  Rothburn.

  She should know that voice anywhere, pounding head or not. How was it possible that she was with Rothburn on a boat? A new fear washed through her body. She felt herself shaking and shivering but couldn’t seem to say anything. Where would he take her? What would he do to her?

  How had he stolen her from the palace?

  Her son.

  Her Jonathan.

  She was without her child and knew it as sure and stinging as the vomit-scented air she breathed.

  “No . . . no . . .” The denial finally made it past her lips.

  “Shh . . . Everything will be fine soon. Shh. I’ll arrange for a doctor as soon as we’re on land.”

  “No. Amir. Must go to Amir . . .” Though she tried to speak firmly, it came out in a croaking, wheezy noise.

  Her son. How could her son survive without her?

  How could she survive without her son?

  How had this happened? Reaching up to her face, she was only more dismayed to realize the veil was gone. But what did that matter when she’d been taken from her son? He knew. Rothburn knew who she was because she’d been foolish enough to share that part of herself.

  Futile as her struggle was, she relaxed in his hold, breathing in deeply through her mouth and out through her nose so the smell didn’t make her more ill. Yet her stomach knotted impossibly tighter. Everything inside her was hurt, raw. Sad. Oh God. Her darling boy was alone.

  The rocking over turbulent waters became a gentler sway; the motion still sickened her but it lessened in slow degrees. The pounding in her eyes didn’t ease, and her mouth was so very dry. So dry there was no spittle to swallow and ease her sore throat.

  She was lifted. It made her squeeze her eyes tighter, to shut out the pain racking against her brain in never-ending, throbbing waves.

  Tiredness swept through her, her body grew limp, heavy, and started to drift with his every step. Her captor said nothing as she fought the fog dragging her back into sleep.

  “Jonathan,” she thought . . . she whispered . . . she didn’t know.

  “Sleep, love. Sleep.”

  The voice was so far away.

  Too far to lure her back into consciousness.

  * * *

  She shouldn’t have slept this long, even under the influence of the drug. Why was she so ill? Was she prone to boat sickness so severe? Her body had been tense until he’d stepped from the gangplank to solid ground. They’d gone to see a local sawbones before heading to his villa. The man said she should sleep it off, eat light and rest easy. Why didn’t Griffin feel reassured by the words?

  His man stood solemnly by the whole time they waited for Jinan to be looked over. Peters had come down from England at Griffin’s insistence that they sojourn in Italy for an unknown length of time. Peters was one of the few men he trusted with private matters. Griffin had been vague about his real reasons for having his man of affairs here until he’d left to retrieve Jinan. His man of affairs knew who Jinan was, had known about her since arranging the money transfer to Amir three months ago.

  Peters opened the door to Griffin’s apartment. He didn’t fail to notice Peters’s look of disapproval. The man thought the bundle of cloth Griffin held to his chest was nothing more than a ladybird. And that the extreme measures employed to retrieve such a creature were highly unusual and completely unnecessary.

  Peters nodded and gave a slight bow. Was there reluctance in his steps as he took his leave?

  Before Peters attempted a heart-to-heart, Griffin said, “Have water brought up and a light repast prepared.”

  “My lord,” Peters intoned with an air of annoyance.

  Griffin paused. How to get Jinan to eat? There was no possible way for her to stomach real food. “Bring some vegetable broth as well.”

  Kicking the door shut behind him, he grimaced. His mood was black enough that he might lash out at Peters if another snide remark was so much as hinted at. After a meal, he’d have a clearer mind. Then he’d bathe and sleep, in that exact order. Jinan would need those things, too.

  With a quick yank, the coverlet landed at the foot of the bed. He placed Jinan on the clean sheets and set himself to stripping her of the caftan that smelled of her sickness. The blue scarves of her dress were a tangled mess about her hips. He yanked them down to cover her mound. He was no hedonist to make her eat completely naked. Though they’d done it frequently enough in the Pleasure Gardens.

  New beginnings. He needed to stop dwelling on what they had had and focus on what their future held.

  If there was one thing he was determined to do, it was to reacquaint this beauty with her true heritage as an English lady—of course, only outwardly. He liked the free sensuality she unleashed when playing the Turkish princess. But he wanted her free of the life she must have been forced to live.

  Putting her foot in his lap, he looked to see how the co
in anklet came off. There was no clasp. Did she never take them off? He didn’t want to break the golden chains in fear they held sentimental value so he left them. He pressed his thumbs into the ball of her foot, massaging them until she curled her toes forward.

  With a slight clank of the silver tray, a hiss passed Peters’s lips at the sight of the exotic woman in Griffin’s bed. Her veil hid her features; he made sure he’d secured it around her face before leaving the ship. Her dark brown hair wrapped around her shoulders and arms in a tangled mess. She looked like a Gypsy harlot in her scarves and bands of gold, with painted designs around her hands and feet marking her as a heathen. But she was no heathen to Griffin.

  “Good Lord, Rothburn. You can’t seriously expect to introduce her into society.”

  “If you know what’s good for you, you’ll hold your tongue.” He hadn’t told anyone her identity. He wasn’t sure why, but her true origins were his secret for the time being. It would be up to the lady in his bed to decide to whom she revealed her secrets.

  “My apologies, my lord. But have you really looked at her?”

  Griffin wasn’t in the mood for prejudices. Peters had no way of knowing his past associations with Jinan. And for that reason alone, he didn’t lash out at the man.

  He lifted some of her hair, trying to pull his fingers through it. There were more pressing issues at hand then dealing with an overset Peters. “I’ll need a brush and comb to pick out these knots.”

  Dismissed, Peters clicked his heels with the announcement. “Bathwater will be prepared in your bathing room.” The door shut softly, and Griffin was happy to be alone with her at last.

  “How is this going to work, Jinan?”

  Her only answer was to snuggle deeper into the pillows. He sat her up, propping her between the stacks of pillows, and retrieved the glass of water.

  “Jinan,” he said, next to her ear, one fist planted at the side of her leg. She moved a little, her thigh pushing against his wrist as she tried to stretch out, as she fought her way into consciousness.