"Do you think it fair for a woman to go into marriage unschooled in lovemaking?"
"It is a husband's job to teach his wife of desire. And European women have many other duties. Like managing entire chateaus—"
"Duties." The Sultan cringed in mock horror. "Lovemaking is no duty. Lovemaking is a gift of pleasure; the ultimate intimacy between a man and woman. There are slaves to market and prepare food, slaves to launder garments and polish floors."
Alessandra rested her arm on the chair and faced him, intent upon making her point. "But as wives, European women share much more than lovemaking with their husbands. They become partners and friends." She peered at him intently, adding, "And they most certainly do not share their place with other women."
The Sultan chuckled. His fingertips caressed the arch of her brow, then ran softly over her ear. "Ah, your Christian ways. Where is the dishonor in sharing?"
She met his laughing gaze straight on, ignoring the tiny starbursts of heat that prickled her skin where he touched her. "I see where sharing affords you wondrous variety, but what is the benefit to your women?"
He hesitated momentarily, his dark eyes growing wide, and she experienced a small surge of triumph. He obviously had not considered that question before.
"Companionship... and luxury," he began. "Sharing the respon-
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sibilities of raising children and making a comfortable and inviting home for me. Those are clear benefits."
"But you don't live in the haremlik. You only visit your women when the mood strikes. They do not in truth create a home for you."
"But they do." He squared his jaw for battle. "They live there with my children, caring for each other in my absence. With whom does a lady of the chateau share her responsibilities?"
"Her ladies-in-waiting."
He raked a hand through his dark hair, sending a glossy black wave tumbling over his brow. He looked boyish. No, he looked roguish, she decided, then forced her concentration back to his words.
"They are not her equals. She cannot reveal herself as she would with another noblewoman, a friend of similar rank."
Now it was Alessandra's turn to consider his words. France was a hodgepodge of connecting baronies and duchies with many miles between one city and the next. Noblewomen commonly moved away from sisters and friends of similar station with marriage and did not see them again except during infrequent gatherings and celebrations. Did a noble lady of the chateau find herself alone on a lofty perch?
"What of your own mother, fair one?"
A wave of sadness washed through her. She squelched the familiar sorrow and let out an audible sigh. "My parents died when I was a young child. I barely remember them."
"Who is this uncle you would return to?"
"He raised me. He's my mother's oldest brother, the French Ambassador. I have travelled with him since my parents' deaths."
The Sultan's gaze swept over her gently. "I have made you relive your anguish, fair one, and that was not my intent." He uncrossed his legs and gathered her into the strong circle of his arms. "Do not be frightened. Relax against me. Let us lighten our hearts with Ciclazade and Safiye's adventures in the Chamber of Robes."
Something in his manner soothed her, and Alessandra did as he bade, resting against the iron-thewed wall of his chest, enveloped in the heady warmth of him. His nearness made her senses spin. With the greatest effort, she focused on the page before her. His hand ca-
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ressed the curve of her shoulder, and she tried to steady her racing pulse.
At first, Alessandra's nervousness caused her to stumble over the words. Wedged between the Sultan's hard thighs, she heard the steady beat of his heart where her head rested against his chest. That she could not see his face helped ease her tension, and soon her voice settled into a rhythmic cadence.
The Chamber of Robes was one of the few rooms in the Pasha's palace that could be accessed by both the selamlik, where the men resided, and the haremlik, where the women were quartered. This, of course, lured the lovers to conduct their second tryst within its veiled walls.
Alessandra kept her voice steady while relating the beautiful Safiye's emergence from the racks of fabric. '"Safiye twirled and swayed in a silent dance, whispers of silk against satin skin the only sounds to announce their presence behind the rows of brilliantly-hued garments. With filmy gauze ties, she bound Ciclazade's arms to a rack, then moved seductively, just out of reach, while revealing tantalizing glimpses of rounded thighs and full breasts as she peeled away one veil after another.'"
As she described Ciclazade's growing anticipation, the desire that flared through his veins, her voice grew raspy, breathless. To her amazement and shock, an indolent warmth permeated her senses. The Sultan did nothing more than trail a fingertip along the inside of her arm, but his touch ignited flames along her skin.
While Safiye teased her lover's senses to life, whipping her heavy midnight tresses across his cheek and brushing a curved hip against his bare shoulder, the Sultan's strong hands enveloped Alessandra's waist, his fingers dipping into the waistline of her trousers then travelling upward to encircle her breasts. She inhaled sharply, but the Sultan urged, "Do not stop."
He did nothing more than cup her breasts within his palms. She focused her gaze on the tale, but as the sensual words rolled from her tongue, she grew preoccupied with his skillful hands upon her. Her blood pulsed defiantly, distracting her, agitating her. She longed for... sweet God in Heaven, she wanted him to touch her. Arching against
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him ever so slightly, Alessandra pressed her breasts more fully into
his hands, a silent plea for something she had no name for.
His thumbs flicked lightly across the rosy nubs, sending a bolt of fire straight through her. She pressed her eyes tightly shut, losing her place on the page, the yearning so deep, so unlike anything she'd ever imagined. What magic did the Sultan cast upon her with his fiery touch?
His hands roamed from her breasts to her shoulders, and a sigh almost escaped her at the loss of that breathtaking sensation. But rallying her scattered thoughts, she opened her eyes and located her place on the page spread before her. Slightly embarrassed at having responded so strongly, so noticeably to his touch, she resumed the tale, trying to keep her voice as level as possible. If he noticed her struggle, he made no comment, only continued to stroke that sensitive place between her shoulder and the curve of her neck.
Safiye's seduction diverted Alessandra's wayward feelings for a time. '"The sultry heroine roused both her own passions and her lover's as she bared her lovely flesh in a tantalizing dance. But someone heard Ciclazade's heavy breathing. The soft patter of silken slippers on the tiled floor alerted them to the Mistress of the Robe's approach, and Safiye dove on top of her lover, pulling a mountain of fabric over their heads to conceal them.
'"The danger of discovery inflamed their already raging desires. Ciclazade strained against his bonds while Safiye unleashed his sword of arousal, stroking the rigid flesh with experienced fingers. Barely able to draw air through the diaphanous pile of silk that enveloped them, their breathing grew heated, their bodies slick with passion. Safiye refused to free her lover, instead she traced light kisses along his muscled chest and over his taut stomach, then down toward his pulsing—"' Alessandra sputtered, the breath catching in her throat.
The Sultan's gentle laughter rippled through the air. "Do not be embarrassed, fair one. You did quite well... for a maiden." Sliding his arms around her to grasp the book, he tilted it toward him. He rested his chin on her shoulder and read from the place she left off, relating the tale of Safiye's seduction with enthusiasm.
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Alessandra had accomplished her goals of giving the Sultan cause to reflect upon her questions and of learning something about her life and work. But as his deep voice sent swirls of newly-discovered pleasure through her, she wondered how many of his own goals
he had met this night.
******************
Solimon stepped from the terrace and strode the path across the tulip gardens with an eagerness he had not experienced since youth. The fair beauty intrigued him like no other. A tantalizing enigma, her mystery drifted just out of his reach, promising untold pleasures when he learned her secrets. Yet with the thought came another, one that sobered him instantly: her uncle had sold her to Ibrahim Pasha.
Even if Solimon was inclined to grant her request for freedom, he could not in good conscience return her to someone who cared so little for her best interests. The man would probably sell her again, and who knew if another master would see her gentle spirit and care for her with love. He would not take that chance.
The entire situation made him unaccountably angry. How dare a family member, entrusted to care for such a beautiful, tender creature, betray that trust for profit? Feelings of fierce protectiveness awoke in him, feelings he was unfamiliar and uncomfortable with.
A sultry breeze floated up from the Marmara, tugging at the loose fabric of his trousers and filling the air with the moist tang of the sea. He did not know yet how best to handle the situation, but he could not reveal her uncle's perfidy. Knowledge of such betrayal would surely squelch her proud spirit, and that he would not do.
He entered the Moonlight Kiosk through silver-filigreed doors and quickly toured the palace, pleased to see the chamber awaited him in all readiness. Adorned with no furnishings save several low tables, the round room boasted an array of fat silk pillows in all shapes and sizes. Through windows which ran from the carpeted floor to the domed ceiling, the view of moon-bathed waters beneath a star-filled sky never failed to take his breath away.
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Untying the robe, he slid the garment from his shoulders then kicked the slippers from his feet. The shifting flames of cinnamon-scented candles twinkled in the edges of his view. He gazed out over the silver water, wondering what his fair one thought of his second present. At the knock on the door, he contained his impatience. He'd find out what she thought of the latest "scholarly device" soon enough.
The Kislar Agha entered. "Grand Seigneur, I humbly present the Gift," he announced, waving his charge forward.
Solimon could not help but stare. The light of the tapers played along the amethysts and diamonds sparkling in her hair, and the blood rushed to his loins at the sight of her, so ethereal and delicate. The Kislar Agha slipped silently back into the vestibule, closing the door behind him. The fair one simply stood there, uncertain, then bowed low. Solimon admired the gentle curves of her body outlined by the sheer violet silk of her garments. Her shimmering hair fanned out around her, and he yearned to catch soft fistfuls in his hands, to pull her into his arms and feel her warm against him. "Good evening, fair one. Come. Share this magnificent view with me."
Clutching the latest present to her chest, she hid her glorious breasts from sight, and Solimon vowed not to send her another book. Yet despite her modesty, she came to stand beside him, appearing much more at ease in his presence than the previous eve. He was satisfied. "Do you like my gift?"
Her bright eyes rested upon him, and a soft smile played at the corners of her mouth. "Many thanks, Grand Seigneur. If at all possible, it is even more beautiful than the first. But this one does not contain Turkish romance. What do you call this—Turkish art, perhaps?"
Solimon nodded. "Each painting shows how the heavens govern different forms of pleasure." He took the book from her, enjoying a quick glimpse of her breasts, before opening to the first tissue-covered page. "This constellation suggests an embrace." Running his finger along the replication of stars, he then traced the silhouette of the naked young couple entwined below the night sky.
"Like finding imaginary animals in the clouds," she said, excitement evident in her clear voice. "What a wondrous book, for all its
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sensual intent."
Despite the gentle reprimand that edged her words, he was pleased by her graciousness. His choice of presents was rather calculated, clearly not what she intended, yet not forbidden either. He admired how she accepted each gift in stride then tried to turn it to her advantage. "Let's try this one," he said, flipping back to a page where the lovers stood embracing each other. Uncertainty flitted across her heart-shaped face. "Do not be frightened."
She inclined her head demurely in consent. Wrapping an arm around her slim waist, he pulled her against him. The edges of her guimlik fell open with the motion, and her breasts pressed full against his chest. She caught her breath sharply and stiffened. Loosening his hold slightly, he whispered against her ear, "I will release you if that is your desire, but I would much rather hold you. There is much pleasure to be had in a simple embrace."
His whole being filled with waiting. Would she pull away or melt against him? She leaned toward him slightly, so slightly he thought he'd imagined it until her straight hair cascaded across his arm in a cool wave.
Pulling her closer, he rested his cheek atop her head, inhaling deeply of her sweet lavender scent. He dared not move lest he break the spell and reveled in her pliant curves molding the contours of his body. She tilted her head back and studied him. "You are surprised," he said, watching her.
"You are so gentle. You are renowned throughout Christendom as the mightiest of warriors, yet you coax me like a frightened bird to your hand. Yes, I am surprised. By you. By your tenderness and understanding."
"A tender warrior." He chuckled. "Be careful where you tread, fair one. I may never let you leave the seraglio lest you spread tales that damage my fiercely-won reputation."
Her eyes widened for an instant, then she shrugged. "I only hope you learn as much of me as I am learning of you."
Hearing the seriousness in her tone, he drew her down to the floor. "Come, lay beside me." He stretched out full length, positioning the book before him. She unfolded her slender form over the pillows,
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careful not to touch him, and propped up on her elbows, chin in hand.
"As a child in summertime, I watched the ships sail over the Marmara," he told her. "Look, there's one now. Only just visible beneath the light of the moon." He pointed to a pearly streak gliding over the silver-black water. Lifting himself up on one elbow, he studied the elegant curves and angles of her face, watching her expression soften in thoughtful interest. "Tell me, fair one, what would you have me learn of you."
"I would have you see the woman who is respected enough to be asked for advice in business. The woman who is an asset to the French consulate."
Solimon rolled on his side to face her, sliding his legs against hers. His hand explored the hollows of her back, and to his delight, she did not shy away. "You speak much of business, but what of love? Was your uncle a loving guardian? Was there someone you had in mind for a husband?"
She cringed. "My uncle... provided for me. He is not a rich man," she said in way of explanation. "He devoted his life to serving the crown, and my parents' estate dwindled during my upbringing. I have no dowry, nor any lands to offer a husband, so I work as my uncle's aide." She fixed her gaze on the sea, her pink tongue darting out to moisten her lips.
Solimon realized the admission embarrassed her. That newly-discovered feeling of protectiveness flared inside him again. He grew infuriated at her uncle, a man he had never met, while envisioning the jewel-eyed child who never knew the love of her parents. Or the love of her guardian, it would seem. And along with these feelings came the realization that his fair one wanted to fill this gap in her life, that she searched unknowingly for love.
"The Moonlight Kiosk," she whispered. "It is aptly named."
Sliding his fingertips beneath the silk blouse, he trailed a path up the slim line of her waist to the contour of her ribs. Her skin was so pale against his own, like orchids in the moonlight. She shivered, and the blood tingled in his veins. "I could call this tiny palace nothing else," he said. Sliding the sheer garment fr
om her shoulders, he revealed her bare flesh to his gaze.
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She sat up instantly, burying her luscious breasts in a red silk pillow. "You twist the rules," she accused, violet eyes flashing fire.
"You did not expect me to try to turn your challenge to my advantage?" He sat up and faced her.
Her brilliant eyes deepened like the sky on a stormy night. She sat straight-backed and defiant, staring at him with ill-concealed fury. She was so close, so delectable, a bolt of desire shot straight through him. He could not tear his gaze from the lush moistness of her lips— so ripe they beckoned to be kissed.
Before another moment was spent, the red silk pillow sailed across the chamber and she was coiled within his arms. In a swift movement, he dragged her back into the cushions with him, breasts rasping his chest as he fitted one hand in the small of her back while burying the other in the sleek tangle of her silvery hair. Capturing her mouth with his own, he kissed her.
A silken sigh slipped from her lips, and the warmth of her sweet breath made him burn. As he explored every inch of that tantalizing mouth, delighting in the way she trembled against him, his ardor flared. He devoured her softness, demanding a response, and she raised herself to meet his kiss, the full length of her body nestling into his. The gentle caress of her hands on his shoulders sent his senses soaring. She was passion. He had known it from the first moment he laid eyes upon her. As her hips arched upward, enveloping the very core of his desire in her yielding flesh, an urgent need rushed through him.
He yearned to possess her, to pleasure her, to love her. His own excitement had never before leapt to life so quickly, so fiercely. Her hesitant touch was intoxicating. A tender ache tightened his loins, an ache so great he grew breathless, and he was forced to abandon his exploration of her lest he lose the last shreds of his control and make love to her where they lay. But he desired more than her impassioned surrender. He wanted her to come to him willingly, to hunger for him like he hungered for her. Dragging his lips from hers, Solimon cradled her against him, listening to the sounds of their ragged breathing, the thundering >
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