The Surrender of a Lady

by Tiffany Clare

  “I do know your loyalty, but it is because I hold all the cards in this arrangement.”

  “Tell me what you want of me, Amir. You speak in riddles tonight.”

  He kissed her forehead before he answered, “Do you know, you were always my favorite?”

  “Am I no longer?” Did this mean he would have her killed? Expelled?

  “You are spoken for now.” His voice seemed resigned.

  Her eyes filled with tears. What did he plan?

  “Why did you bid on me, Amir?” Her hand reached out, and stroked his linen-covered arm.

  “It is a parting gift of your worth. Actually, to me you are worth a great deal more.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “I know you are more intelligent than this.”

  “Do not mock me. My nerves are on edge. I was afraid you planned—”

  He silenced her with the press of his lips. Both his hands cupped her face as he deepened the caress of their mouths, his tongue making its way between. On impulse she tried to pull away, but he held her fast and growled his disapproval.

  The tips of his fingers pressed into the back of her head painfully. Then he pushed her away, toppling her over on the bed. Jinan caught herself with her hands underneath. Did he plan to treat her with cruelty? In all their years together, she’d never feared him or been unsure of his treatment toward her. For the first time in more than five years, she was unsure and afraid of him.

  He rose from the bed, pacing in front of her, the tread of his slippered feet soft and constant on the carpet underfoot. She did not dare move. She still felt unsure.

  “Your wings are no longer clipped.”

  She turned her head to the side and stared at his form through the fall of her hair.

  “Do you mean I am free?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Exactly that.”

  “And my son?”

  “Yours.”

  “So, you are throwing me out of the palace. I must find my own way now? After my obedience and respect to you?”

  “Little bird.” His voice was gentle, soothing the tense falcon. “When your heart was no longer mine for safekeeping, I knew I had to let you go.”

  Her tears did fall now, not in sadness but in guilt.

  “Amir . . . I’m so sorry.” She crawled off the bed and threw her arms around his shoulders. “Don’t throw me away. I will do better.”

  “It is not you who must do better. You leave at first light, Jinan. You won’t see your sisters again.” He yanked off the coin bracelets around her ankles. “I’m selfish enough to take that away from you. I don’t want them to know what’s become of you.” His voice sounded strange, edged with emotion.

  She cried harder. Just like that, he was tossing her away. Because he couldn’t have her, she was no longer welcome here. Her sisters would be torn by her absence. It broke her heart to realize she would be without her family. She pulled herself out of his arms and stood tall.

  “Where will you send us?”

  He stepped forward, not willing to let her put a wall up between them, and wrapped his arms tight about her, squeezing the air from her lungs. “Home. You are going home, Jinan.”

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Found

  One Week Later

  She turned her horse into the roundabout of the dirt drive-through. Amir’s head eunuch had the other guards drop her trunks and then with a nod of farewell, he led them off.

  Jonathan sat in her lap, looking around him in wonder. He’d never been out of the palace nor off the island, which she later found out was part of Greece, just off the coast of Corfu. Familiar yet not.

  There had been questions throughout their entire trip. He was a curious little fellow, but she didn’t mind.

  “Mama . . . who lives here?”

  “Lord Rothburn, my sweet.” The shutters were closed, and the place seemed quiet. Was she too late? “But I do not know if he is in residence.”

  “Look, Mama, ducks! Can I go play with them?”

  She slid off the side of the horse, her feet wobbling a bit in her heels as she lifted her son from the saddle and to the ground. “Off with you then.”

  He ran after the ducks, which fled at the sight of her exuberant child. She wiped the sweat from her forehead; she was not accustomed to English clothes. Even though she had skipped the heavy binding layers beneath because it made her ill to lace the contraptions to fashionable tightness. These English clothes made her feel as though she wore too much. She still felt seasick. As with any boat ride, she’d been dreadfully nauseous on the trip here. At least she’d been given some horrible-tasting liquid that kept her sickness at bay. Once they’d docked, there had been no time to regain her strength before Ahmed had purchased horses for them to finish the journey. Well, rather, to finish her journey.

  She left the horse standing in the drive, reins tossed over the saddle, and walked up to the front door, keeping an eye on her son the whole while.

  The door swung open, and the butler seemed at a loss for words.

  “Madam,” he finally choked out.

  “Salaam,” she said before she could bite her tongue. Old habits were hard to quell.

  “Rothburn is not here. The staff moved on early this morning.”

  “Oh, I see.” Not exactly what she wanted to hear. Now what should she do? She had money enough to live wherever she chose. What had she hoped . . . that Rothburn would wait for her? It had been weeks since she saw him last. Anything could have happened in that time.

  And a smart man would move on.

  “You are English?” He seemed shocked at hearing English. Perhaps English was not common on this Italian coastal town.

  “Yes.” She bowed her head to hide the tears that formed. No sense in losing her head in front of the servants. “Apologies,” she said, turning away from the door. Better not to shame herself.

  So she was alone. It wasn’t the first time she’d had to find her own way in life. There had always been a man leading or directing, but she could do this on her own. She had the means to do so.

  “Madam,” the man called out, “his lordship left a note for his solicitor. That’s the reason I stayed on. Shall I give you direction? He rides for Florence, having left a few days ago. You were to meet him there, not here.”

  She wiped one gloved hand through her tears, and turned. She was to meet him there? Whatever did the man mean?

  She said, “Your direction would be most welcome. I know this is a rather strange request, but is there a maid in the house I might employ as a travel companion?” Her English rolled off her tongue with more force than it should, but at least she wasn’t speaking any heathen language for this good man. Not that she was ashamed . . . never would she be.

  She motioned toward her son.

  The butler stepped out of the doorway and followed the sound of laughter coming in the direction her son ran, chasing after quick, waddling ducks. He did not say anything, only scrunched his brow together before offering, “Come in and freshen up, madam.”

  She returned his smile. It was good to see a friendly face after having been in the company of eunuchs who all but ignored her these past few days.

  “Do I know you, good sir?”

  “No. But I do know you. One could say, you’ve been a thorn in my side.”

  “How so?” She halted her steps, not sure if she should go forward, or head back toward the docks where she could hire a carriage and horsemen for the journey north.

  “You mean a great deal to his lordship.” The man bowed. “Allow me to introduce myself, my manners have flown the coop with your miraculous arrival. I am Peters, Rothburn’s man of affairs, and his closest friend.”

  “Come in, Peters. I see you’ve made ideal time.”

  His friend walked hesitantly into the room and sat in the high-backed chair across from him at the hearth.

  “I arrived only moments ago. How long have you been here?”

  “A couple of days. Didn�
�t stop much except to switch out horses.” He swilled the brandy in his hand. “Help yourself, man.”

  Peters raised his hand in objection. “Too early for me, friend.”

  “You seem rather distracted. Was the trip here not as smooth as you planned?” He grinned. “You always were a horrendous rider. Tell me you kept your seat all the way here. Mind you, you are looking a little pained.”

  Peters coughed into his hand and looked away. “I took the carriage. There is someone here to see you.”

  “You didn’t bring Asbury with you? The bloody fool wanted to ship out his latest pickings from India. I told him I wouldn’t do it. He’s part of the problems brewing in the East.” Griffin stood, clunking his glass down on the walnut side table.

  “Come on then. Might as well send him on to Hayworth—that fool doesn’t care about the Eastern demise. He’ll look forward to sending the man’s opiates through the East.”

  Peters was at his side in moments. “There is a lady here to see you. An—an English lady. She was looking for you at the Cordenelli estate.”

  Griffin stopped in mid-thought. She’d gone to Brindisi, not Florence. “Which room did you situate her in?”

  “She’s in the music room. I didn’t know where else to put her.”

  He clapped his friend on the back and hurried off.

  The plunk of piano keys—sorely out of tune—met him halfway down the hall. A jovial gigue. Mozart, if he wasn’t mistaken. Standing outside the music room, he pushed the door open a crack to see his fair lady. Her back was to him and he saw her dark hair heavily coiled about her head, a few wisps escaping and tickling the small amount of exposed skin beneath her sprigged muslin day dress. A child sat next to her, dressed in white short pants and shirt. His hair was as dark as his mother’s.

  The boy plunked away next to her; her tune was light, lively, his was a silly child’s parody of the great composer. Neither heard the creak of the door as it swung open enough for him to step into the room. The mother bent her head down to her son, laughing in his ear, speaking in a singsong voice . . . speaking . . .

  Turkish. It was indeed Jinan. The day had finally come.

  The tumbler slipped from his suddenly slack hand and crashed to the hardwood. It bounced without breaking, then rolled lamely on its side, spinning through the spilled brandy. The boy jumped down from the bench and stood in front of his mother, fists clenched at his side as though he could ward off any wrongdoers. Green eyes stared back at him in shock—he was the very image of his mother, except for the eyes.

  Her fingers froze above the keys, her head tilted, neck prettily turned to expose its long elegant line.

  “Jinan.”

  She slid from the bench and stood. She took her time shaking out her skirts before she turned and faced him, head bowed.

  “Jinan.” He swallowed hard, at an utter loss for words.

  “Mama.” The boy glanced up at his mother, tugging at her English skirts.

  She said something too low for Rothburn to make out. Her son turned and gave him an angry look before stepping outside to the verandah, which had an exquisite view of the vineyard below.

  “I arrived with your man of affairs. You are shocked to see me?”

  “You were to arrive here, with an entourage. Not in Brindisi.” He took a step toward her.

  She put a hand up between them. Did she not understand that he’d freed her? “I must be quick, Rothburn, as my son does not need to be exposed to indecencies.”

  “Jinan—”

  “I’m free. Amir has given me leave and left me a great sum of money, so that I shall never find myself in dire straits again.”

  So that bastard hadn’t told her the truth. Would Rothburn spoil it for her? Tell her he had paid to have her released?

  He had her in his arms before she could say more, hugging her tightly to him. He dropped his face into her hair and inhaled the rose-water scent so familiar to him. “Jinan. My God. I’ve missed you.”

  She pushed him away, her skirts bumping into the keys on the piano. He broke apart from her with great reluctance but did not release her hands. Together they stared at their clasped hands. She did not wear the jewels and bracelets he was accustomed to seeing. Massaging her fingers a moment, he raised his hands to capture her face. With a light touching of their lips, he closed his eyes and rubbed their lips together. Nothing more than a need to touch her assailed his body. To hold her for an eternity now would not make up for all their time apart.

  “Are you hungry? Can the staff prepare you or your son something to eat?”

  “No, we are fine, Rothburn. We stopped at a lodging inn before coming here.”

  “At least let me call a maid to take your son down to the kitchens. We have a great deal to talk about. He can spend time with the kitchen maid’s son and daughter.”

  “Thank you, that is most welcome. Jonathan is eager to meet boys his own age.”

  “A very English name.” The very name she’d mentioned so long ago in her fevered state.

  He rang for the maid, and before they knew it, they were alone.

  Jinan walked out onto the verandah, resting her hands on the stone balustrade that wrapped around the terrace. “I don’t know where I’m supposed to go from here.”

  “I realize now that Amir wanted you to have a means to escape me if you chose. He released you at my insistence, and at a price he named.”

  “You got me out of the harem?”

  “Yes. You were supposed to meet me here. I see now that Amir was hoping you’d disappear from both our lives.” He stepped behind her and wrapped his arms around her. How badly he just wanted to touch her. Resting his chin atop her head, he said, “Stay here, with me.”

  “And my son? What of him? Amir was kind enough to let us go, but I’m at a loss for what to do with myself, let alone him. I’ve no connections to get him into the schools he should attend. Amir had all that.”

  He stepped away and turned her around to face him, her derrière resting on the balustrade.

  “Tell me who the boy’s father is. I know it can’t be Amir’s, he wouldn’t have included the child in the bargain had he been his son.”

  Her brow furrowed, she seemed puzzled by the question. “I did not intentionally keep that from you. I assumed you’d guess. Jonathan was born in wedlock. He is Lord Shepley’s heir.”

  He felt elated, that was the only way to describe it. She was not bound to Amir, to the harem, to any other man in the world. She was free, and it wasn’t he who had given her her freedom from the gilded cage. He might have precipitated it, but she’d done it on her own by coming to him in the end, and she was here now. And he had so many questions he didn’t know where to begin.

  “How is it that Amir took in your son?”

  “I fit the bill. Have you not noticed anything strikingly similar about all the harem girls?”

  “I hadn’t really noticed them . . . not once I recognized you.”

  “All the women are taught English. He has a fondness for English women. But more importantly, we all have dark skin to attract foreign lords. Surely that was obvious.” She frowned. “It doesn’t matter, though.”

  He lifted her chin with his knuckle. “How did you end up in his clutches?”

  “He saved me.”

  She pulled out of his grasp and stepped around him. Why wouldn’t she face him? “Jinan, you don’t have to tell me anything if it makes you uncomfortable.”

  “You don’t understand. You must know that this life was not of my choosing. I do not want you to think so poorly of me. It was not a vice I slipped easily into playing.” She turned and faced him, a sad, determined look in her gaze. He nodded his understanding. “You see, you could not find out more about my husband because he died at the hands of a wealthy slave handler in Constantinople. He died shortly after he sold me to that man.”

  Without intending to, he gasped. She snapped her eyes back to his then. Because her husband had given her up so easily, she’d fa
llen into the worst life imaginable. “How long did this man own you?”

  “Not long. Maybe a week. It was so long ago that I don’t recall.” She shook her head, maybe in an attempt to cleanse her mind of the memories. “I try not to remember it. I was chained there like some vile beast. I was beaten and was handled by so many men, though none ever violated me . . . I was still producing milk.”

  He walked toward her and pulled her into his arms, even as she tried to push away. “This is making you miserable. I believe everything you’ve ever told me, Jinan. You do not have to tell me.”

  She leaned back over his arm and gave him a long assessing look. Did she not believe his words? “There are no more horrors,” she said. “Mr. Chisholm found me and made an offer I could not refuse if I agreed to harem life. Amir found my son and purchased him from the slave handler. Jonathan might not be alive today if someone hadn’t taken notice of me.”

  Griffin thumbed the tears off her high cheekbones. “Shh,” he said, hoping she was reassured in some way, and then he lowered his lips to where his thumbs had just pressed.

  “I’m sorry.” Her soft voice whispered out over his Adam’s apple.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m just sorry I didn’t find you sooner. I should have tried harder to find you. But I didn’t. I am the only one who should be sorry.”

  He pressed feather-light touches of his lips against her damp skin, up into her hairline. “I love you. Do you know that? I’ve loved you for as long as I can remember.”

  “Rothburn . . .”

  “Say you will stay with me.”

  “And what of Jonathan?”

  “He is yours, Jinan. I wouldn’t ask you to part with him after all you’ve been through to keep him at your side. I never planned to separate you once I finally got you out of the harem. Had I known of your son initially I wouldn’t have done what I did.”

  “I can’t go back to England. I can’t face the ton and the gossip. My husband was not well liked. He did not succeed in making friends. He had a great deal of enemies after his many bouts with unlucky gambling and carousing.”