by Bobbi Smith
"I know what you said in the garden, Lord Alex, but I don't care about any of that. I just want to be with you . . ." She spoke in a throaty, husky whisper that sent shivers of excitement through David. "Nothing else matters to me, but pleasing you . . ."
Tess knew that it was now or never. She moved gracefully from the bed to cross the room and stand before him. She linked her arms around his neck and pressed herself fully against him in an offering as old as time. She was naked before him with no defense. She was giving herself to him out of love and no other reason.
David could not resist her. He had wanted her. There could be no denying that, and now he would have her. "I can't promise you anything, Tess," he told her.
"I don't want anything from you," she replied, relieving him of the guilt that threatened. Raising up on her toes, she took the initiative and kissed him.
It was that action that broke the dam of his restraint. With a grunt of primal need, he picked her up in his arms in one easy motion and strode toward the bed as if she weighed no more than a feather. Their lips didn't part until he lowered her to the softness of the welcoming mattress.
"I want you, too, Tess."
"Then I wasn't wrong . . ." she breathed in wonder.
"No. You weren't wrong." His hand swept over her in a bold caress, and he could feel her trembling beneath his touch. He moved away only long enough to shed his clothes, then joined her there, bare flesh to bare flesh.
Their kisses became wild as his caresses became even more intimate. She moved against him as her body urged her to, yet in her untouched state, she was not quite sure what was going to happen between them. She'd seen animals mating and had listened to the other servants teasing and gossiping about the physical side of love, but her own experience was greatly limited. She decided to imitate his caresses in trying to please him, and she was thrilled when he gasped out loud as her hands explored him.
"Tess . . ." he groaned, thinking her learned in the ways of love.
David's need for her was great and he mounted her without pause. He discovered that she was not experienced only as he entered her. Gritting his teeth, he slowed his demanding, passionate pace to make it special for her.
"You should have told me this was your first time," he managed as he kissed her tenderly.
"Would it have made a difference?" Tess asked, afraid that he might leave her.
"Yes."
"Then I'm glad I didn't tell you," she smiled at him. "I love you, and I wanted to give myself to you. I'm glad you were the one."
"Oh, Tess. You are so special . . ." he groaned, beginning to move with just the right rhythm to take them both to ecstasy's pleasure.
Tess could feel her body expand to hold him more comfortably as he moved within her. As he continued to kiss her and caress her, a delightful blossoming of desire began deep within the womanly heart of her. As they kissed and then kissed again, she began to match his movements. His hands and lips on her breasts thrilled her, and she wrapped her legs around him, arching to bring them closer together. His driving hips brought passion's fulfillment to her just as he reached his own peak, and they crested the glory of love together.
Clasped in each other's arms, they rested. Tess had never known the complete beauty of a woman's love for a man before, but now she knew for certain that Lord Alex was perfect. She had loved him before she'd come to him, and now she adored him.
Tess stayed with him until an hour before dawn, then left him reluctantly with a last kiss. No one saw her slip from his room and return to her own lonely bed. No one saw her lying there smiling into the predawn darkness as she recalled every kiss and every touch they'd shared.
No one saw David, either, as he stood at the window, watching the sky brighten. His expression was haunted and filled with misery as he faced the fact that he could never marry the woman he loved, that they could never have a family, and that he could never tell her that he loved her.
As David stared out at the rich lands of the Huntington estate, only a small part of the duchy that would one day be his, a religious quote echoed through his thoughts: "What had a man if he gained the world but lost his soul?"
Chapter Twenty-Four
It was late on their second and last full day in the desert. Serad and Hasim were riding slowly back toward their camp when Hasim noticed how quiet his brother's mare had become.
"I see you've finally gotten your mount under control," he chuckled.
"She was frisky earlier, but I've got her well in hand now," Serad agreed, realizing, strangely, that he'd enjoyed riding her more when there had been a contest of wills between them.
"That seems to be the way with most females," Hasim pointed out. "They're exciting for a time, but after a while they become quite tame."
"Not Tori. Your wives are submissive because they were taught to be. They are your wives and they live to please you."
"I know." Hasim smiled widely as he thought of just how much he'd been pleased.
"Wouldn't you enjoy spending time with a woman who was intelligent and says what she thinks, instead of what she knows you want to hear."
Hasim was stunned. The prospect of one of his wives voicing an opinion contrary to his went against everything they'd ever been taught.
"I find it intriguing. Tori is outspoken, and she doesn't hesitate to tell me her opinions on things. I find I admire her for her daring. She's quite courageous."
"How will you ever keep her in line?" Hasim was puzzled, and wondered why any man in his right mind would knowingly ask for such trouble.
"I don't want to control Tori. I want her to come to me because she wants to, not because I've forced her."
"And does she?"
"Soon I hope she will," he admitted ruefully.
"So, that is why you wouldn't part with her," Hasim said thoughtfully. "You are challenged by her."
"With the exception of my aunt, Tori is unlike any woman I've ever known," he confessed.
"Rabi is special," Hasim agreed, thinking of the woman who'd come into his father's life and wrought so many changes. "I care for her deeply, but I still do not fully understand why after my father had put all his other wives aside just for her, she still refused to marry him."
It was something Serad had often wondered about, too. They had lived in Algiers for nearly twenty years, and Rabi had never even considered marrying Malik. She had remained in his harem only as his concubine much to Malik's frustration, and to his own wonder.
Serad had been about to comment when he caught sight of a gazelle in the distance. Putting his heels to the horse's sides, he quickly dismissed any thoughts of women as he raced off after the graceful animal. Until now, he and Hasim had been tied in the taking game during this hunt, but he meant to break that tie right now with his next shot.
Hasim, however, was just as eager as Serad to take the lead in their competition. He charged after him, close on the heels of his fleet-footed mount.
Each man thought he had the best chance to bring down the prey. Each man rode at top speed, fully intent on proving his prowess with a gun. To their humiliation, both men missed their shots, and the gazelle raced at lightning speed far out of their range.
"You were quite wrong about my failing eyesight and decrepit old age," Hasim laughed as Serad reined in beside him. "It seems we're both losing our touch."
Serad laughed along with him. "I find my mind is on other things. I think I'll settle for the other kind of challenge I've discovered. The rewards there are far more to my liking."
Later, after darkness had fallen and both men had retired for the night to rest up for the trip back to Algiers the following morning, each lay awake in his own tent thinking of their earlier discussion. Hasim mulled over Serad's words and wondered what it would be like to have a woman who did not immediately rush to satisfy your every whim. The idea was foreign to him. He'd been taught that women were merely possessions, having no will of their own, simple vessels for his satisfaction. The perfect woman, he'd
been told, would be there to soothe him when he was weary, she would see to any and all of his needs, she would . . .
Hasim stopped in his thoughts. If all that were true, then he already had the ideal woman in his harem. All of his wives were obedient, eager to please, and silent unless spoken to. If they were the epitome of womanhood, then why was he not satisfied? Why, after a short period of time, was he always looking for another wife?
Hasim thought of his father and Rabi again. As he came to understand their love in this new light, it dawned on him that there really might be more to a woman than he'd thought. It was an illuminating idea and one he meant to explore further. Satisfied with it, he slept.
Serad did not even bother to lie down in his tent. Tori was so heavily on his mind that he knew he wouldn't rest. He sat alone in the quiet of the desert night, remembering the softness of her flesh and the heat of her kisses. He remembered, too, the small portrait of the fiancé she loved. His aunt's words still could not be stricken from his mind. She had insisted he let Tori go, nothing less. Yet Serad wondered how he could ever let her go, when he wanted her so badly.
Serad was annoyed by the doubts that were continually assailing him. He was a decisive man. He did what needed to be done and lived with the results of his actions. It was that part of his personality driving him now as he made his decision.
The solution he'd struggled with suddenly seemed very simple. He would not ransom Tori back, for he wanted her. He would keep her, but he would not force her or coerce her in any way. He would wait until she came to him. Until then, he would remain in mastery of himself. He had managed during the voyage, and he could manage now. He was sure of it.
Serad lay back, and for the first time in many days, he managed to fall asleep and rest peacefully.
In the morning, he rose feeling fit and in complete control. He was glad he'd come on the hunt and straightened out his thoughts. When they mounted up, he was more than ready to return to Algiers.
"Serad is back?" Tori repeated, wondering why her heart leapt at the news just delivered by Oma. In the days since they'd arrived in Algiers and Serad had promptly disappeared, she'd alternated between enjoying her escape from his enforced companionship in the stateroom and agitation over the fact that he'd been so disinterested in their fate as to leave without a word. He was the one who had taken them captive to demand a ransom, and yet she had no reason to believe that he'd done anything about it. As she considered his return, her annoyance with him won out over the budding gladness in her heart.
"Yes, Serad has returned and he wishes for you to join him in his quarters."
"I see." At news of his invitation, Tori fought down a surge of excitement. She told herself that the only reason she cared he was back was because she and Jonesey would be able to find out more about their future. Certainly, she didn't care anything about him personally. She knew who and what he was.
"He has asked that you wear this when you come to him." Oma held up a robelike garment made from emerald silk.
It was an exquisite dress that would cling to her every curve and reveal far more than it would hide. It was a creation made for a man's enjoyment.
"Tell Serad that I will be glad to come and visit him but that I will wear my own clothes, thank you," Tori dictated sternly, wanting the servant to know that she was serious. Having nearly succumbed to the power of his passion once, she had no intention of allowing herself to be put in that kind of situation again. For her own peace of mind, she would remain dressed in her own things—her high-necked, long-sleeved gown.
Oma looked stricken. "But, you cannot do that . . ."
"I most certainly can," she replied with dignity. "Take that garment away. I won't be needing it."
"I can't go to Serad and tell him you refuse. He would be furious."
"Then don't tell him. I'll tell him myself when I go to him," she announced with confidence.
Oma thought her a very foolish woman, and she quickly tried to come up with a way to force her to wear the silk garment. An idea glimmered, and she answered pleasantly, "As you wish. Shall we go to the baths then? Serad is not expecting you for another hour."
Tori agreed and followed the servant from the bedchamber. Oma drew a warm bath and smiled approvingly as Tori sank down in the marble tub and rested her head back against the side. She waited patiently for her to close her eyes as she usually did when she soaked in the tub. She felt victorious the moment Tori seemed to completely relax, and she quietly gathered up her English clothes and hurried from the room to dispose of them. She came back to find that Tori had not missed her at all, and she offered up a prayer of thanks to Allah for his help in her deception. Feeling her master would be pleased with her accomplishment, Oma resumed helping to prepare Tori for going to him.
Her bath finished, Tori rose from the tub and looked around. "Where are my things?" she asked Oma. She'd expected her clothes to be right where she'd left them and was dismayed to find they were gone . . . all of them. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as they rested on the servant whose expression was unusually passive as she stood holding a bath towel for her. "Oma?"
"Serad wants you to wear the other. It would not do to displease him," the servant answered firmly, letting her know just whose wishes she obeyed.
Tori felt her temper rise as she snatched the towel out of Oma's hands and wrapped it securely around herself. "I don't care about pleasing Serad. Why should I? I absolutely will not wear that . . . that thing!"
"Miss Tori?" Jonesey had heard the ruckus, and she rushed into the baths. "What's wrong?"
"Serad's back," she replied hotly.
"Why are you angry? It's good that he's back. Now we can find out about going home. . . ."
"No, it's not good. Serad expects me to wear that when I go to see him," she explained, pointing to the beautiful garment Oma was holding.
"Oh." Jonesey was silenced by the sight of the seductive dress.
"I told Oma that I wouldn't wear it. So she took my clothes to try to force me to, but I won't go to Serad at all if he expects me to wear it."
An intriguing smile lit up Jonesey's face as a thought occurred to her. "Of course you'll go to see him. It's the only way we'll be able to find out anything," she told her. "I have an idea. Come with me . . ."
"What have you got in mind, Jonesey?"
"Oma may have taken your clothes, but she didn't take mine," the old woman answered, her eyes twinkling at the thought. Tori was much taller than she was, but at least her spare dress would cover more of her ward than that silken wrap would. As they entered her bedroom, she dug her one other, rumpled, well-worn dress out of the trunk. "Here, wear this with my blessing and whole-hearted approval. I think you'll look quite the English lady in it, don't you?"
Tori couldn't help but laugh at her idea. She held the tattered gown to her breast. "Thank you, Jonesey. I don't think I've ever appreciated borrowing someone's dress more."
Oma watched from the doorway, her expression one of open distress. Serad had been quite pleased to send the lovely emerald silk for Tori to wear. She was sure he would not be happy about this, but she didn't know what she could do about it. These two stubborn women were unlike any females she'd ever known. Women of her acquaintance had always wanted to please the men in their lives, but these Englishwomen were independent and outspoken and totally unconcerned with Serad's happiness. She wasn't sure how her master was going to react to Tori's direct disobedience of his instructions.
Jonesey looked up to see Oma watching them, a severe look of disapproval on her face. "You may go. We'll call you when Miss Victoria is finished dressing."
Oma quietly backed out of the room.
When she'd gone, Jonesey turned back to Tori. "Are you ready?"
"More than ready," she agreed.
It wasn't a simple matter to fit someone as tall as Tori into a gown that was fashioned for a woman as small as Jonesey, but somehow they managed. The sleeves were short, the cuffs reaching high above Tori's wrists.
The neck was too tight and had to be left unbuttoned. The bodice was strained and the waist was so pinched that Tori had to breathe in shallow little breaths. The skirts were a good five inches off the floor revealing her trim ankles and a bit of slender calf.
Jonesey stood back to study her. "Well, I would have been happier if I had weighed thirty pounds more when this dress was sewn, but I'm afraid it's the best we can do for now."
"As long as I don't make any sudden moves, I'll be fine," Tori tried to reassure her. "I may be miserable, but I still feel more capable of dealing well with Serad in this gown than I would in the silk one."
"Be careful, Miss Victoria," Jonesey warned her. She was worried about Serad's intentions and her young ward's ability to handle him. He was a very handsome, powerful man, and Tori hadn't encountered anyone like him before. If there had been anything more Jonesey could have done to protect her, she would have. As it was, she put her faith in Tori's quick wit and her own fervent prayers.
"I will, Jonesey."
They shared a knowing look, and then called for the servant to return. Oma appeared in the doorway ready to take Tori to Serad, and her eyes widened in shock at the sight of her wearing the older woman's gown.
"Let's go," Tori spoke up before the disapproving servant could say anything.
Oma simply nodded, knowing to argue was useless. Serad would handle it. She led the way from the bedroom without a word.
Serad was waiting for Tori in a small chamber adjacent to his bedroom that served as a sitting room. He had bathed and donned a vest and pants for the evening, and he was now anxious to see her. It was impossible for him to sit and be patient, so he paced the room, finally going to stand by a window that offered a view of the center garden below.
Serad tried to appreciate the beauty of the trees and blossoms, but his mind was focused completely on Tori, as it had been almost every moment since he'd left her. He wanted to see her, to speak to her, to hold her and kiss her once more. The memory of those few burning moments when he'd held her in his arms in his cabin would not fade, and . . .