Bound with Passion

by Megan Mulry

  Until Lady Georgiana Mayson came to realize that her life no longer needed to be an either/or predicament, she would never be able to move forward. Khalid had assured James that his wives would be more than amenable to their parts in the plan. Now the only thing that remained was to lure Georgie into their trap.

  “What are you doing over there in the shadows?” Georgie asked when she flew into the room and then halted when she caught sight of James. Obviously she and Trevor had come to some renewed balance of power after James had left them on the busy street outside the leather goods shop. Trevor would forgive her anything, so it wasn’t really a balance of power, thought James cynically.

  Trevor came in behind Georgie, holding a neatly wrapped package, which he set down on a side table. “Yes, James, what in the world are you doing, sitting in here in the gloaming?”

  James took a sip of the tea that he was coming to love—mentally adding it the list of items he would transport back to Derbyshire and enjoy for the rest of his life—then set the etched-gold glass on the ornate round table in front of him.

  “I was just enjoying the passage of time as the sun set over the rooftops. It’s much easier to see the subtle colors with the lanterns unlit inside.”

  The other two turned to look out at the splendid view. Then Georgie turned back to face James.

  “I believe I owe you an apology, James.” Georgie tugged off her fitted jacket and tossed it across a carved wooden chair near the door she had entered. She rolled up her sleeves as she crossed the dim room. “You were quite right the other day, to warn me off hurting Trevor, or myself for that matter.” She knelt in front of where James sat, resting her hands on his thighs and then spreading his legs to make room for herself between them.

  His body betrayed him immediately. His cock began to throb, and he had to stop himself before lifting his hips involuntarily closer to her wandering fingers. Her eyelids lowered slightly, and the corner of her mouth quirked up.

  “Maybe you’re not so angry with me after all?” Her hands slid up his thighs, nearly touching his swelling cock, only to withdraw back down toward his knees.

  “Yes,” he said, doing his best to keep his voice, if not stern, at least even, “I am still angry with you . . . but my body appears to want to forgive you.”

  She tightened her grip and massaged his thigh muscles through the taut fabric of his trousers. “Well then,” she said, “perhaps if I can convince your body to forgive me, your heart will catch up eventually?”

  He kept his hands resting on either side of his hips, flat against the fabric of the sofa, not wanting to encourage her, not wanting to give in. But so very much wanting to give in. “Damn you, Georgie Cambury.”

  “I am Lady Georgiana Mayson now,” she said haughtily, lifting her chin and somehow staring down her nose at him even though she was kneeling beneath him. “And forever,” she added with unfamiliar gravity. She turned quickly to look at Trevor, and it was impossible for James to remain angry after seeing the understanding and love that passed between them. Georgie turned back to face James and said, “You see? If Trevor can forgive me, so should you.”

  He could see it, that Georgie must have apologized to Trevor while they’d been in the equestrian shop, and something had been resolved between them. James couldn’t resist that dreamy look in Trevor’s eyes from across the room, the look that silently begged James to forgive her everything.

  By this point, his cock was tenting the front of his trousers, and she was rubbing closer and closer but never touching the fabric there.

  “I am on my knees,” she said with complete sincerity. “Not that I don’t enjoy being on my knees,” she added with mischief, but then let her face return to seriousness. “But I mean it, James. It was wrong of me to lie in that silly note this morning, but more importantly it was wrong of me to think that I needed to lie to you and Trevor. I shan’t lie to cover up who I really am. We will simply enjoy the time that’s left to us here in Egypt . . . ” She faltered.

  Good, he thought. Perhaps the limited time left to them was no longer striking her as merely charming and insouciant. Quite right she should start to think of her future beyond the upcoming five minutes. Even so, he might as well let Georgie cling to that live-for-now delusion a while longer.

  “Well, I suppose if you are feeling very apologetic,” James said, spreading his palms in a gesture of surrender. “This might suffice . . . as a fair start to making amends.” He lifted his hips slightly, and she leaned forward and exhaled hot breath through the fabric as her mouth surrounded his cock.

  Trevor had taken a seat near the window, where the setting sun cast him in an elegant aura of gleaming golds and burnished coppers. Colors fit for a prince, thought James. For that was what Trevor was, and it was up to James to make sure Georgie knew it and treasured their love for the rest of her life. Not as some aspect of her life—like her penchant for horses or men’s clothing—but the central, driving force of her existence.

  “Very well,” James said with a hint of disdain as she unbuttoned his trousers and his cock sprang free. “My body accepts your apology.”

  Georgie hummed her pleasure, taking him deep and firm. James could see how the sounds she made created a nearly instantaneous response across the room. Trevor had unbuttoned his fall and grabbed hold of his cock while he watched Georgie apologize to James. Yes, thought James, this is quite as it should be. “Come over here,” James said, motioning for Trevor to join him.

  Georgie’s nerves were ragged, despite all her efforts to remain carefree and buoyant. Now that a few days had passed and they were on their way out of the city to stay at Khalid’s horse farm in Faiyum, Georgie was becoming suspicious. James had let her off far too easily. She had been so grateful at the time, because what better way to apologize for her treachery than by doing something she enjoyed in any case? But something about his uncharacteristically hasty forgiveness was not sitting well with her.

  The three of them were tucked inside one of Khalid’s spectacular carriages, and Georgie was nearly convinced that, far from having forgiven her, James was luring her into some new trap. He had been too agreeable over the past few days, never making any of those pointed remarks about their future or about her inadequate commitment to or appreciation of their communal relationship.

  Even so, she couldn’t bear to bring it up, mostly because she was beginning to believe he was right. The truth remained that, despite all of her physical courage, Georgie had never really learned to ask for what she wanted. Or thought she deserved it. Or even really understood what it meant to declare her love, to commit emotionally.

  She and Trevor and James had played all sorts of sexual games—and she had always clung to the idea that it was only playing, like they were playing at lovemaking rather than actually making love. Yet the calm determination that had settled over James during the carriage ride out of the city seemed to say, Playtime is over.

  As the bustle and chaos of the city began to fade and the desert spread out around them, Georgie felt the pressure ease somewhat. She had always enjoyed cities in doses—whether it was Madrid or London or Cairo—but she never felt completely comfortable in her own skin until she had wide-open spaces around her. She had a brief recollection of how glorious she’d felt riding Cyrus around Mayfield in the fall. No matter how she tried to sully the memory with some imposed idea that her time there had been stuffy or confining, she couldn’t do it.

  Georgie pulled back the window flap and realized all of a sudden how much she missed her brother. Archie had always been the yin to her yang, the day to her night. What he’d said in the carriage before walking her into St. George’s kept circling around her, in much the same way the words James had said when they signed the guest register in Cairo continued to buzz around her brain.

  Was it really that simple? Was it really possible that the burden was on her to accept the love of these two men? She let the flap drop back into place, and her gaze tripped over James and Trevor. They
were reading quietly—something she’d never been able to accomplish while in motion—and both men looked up with sweet smiles, then returned to their books. Her heart sped up, as it always did lately when either of them even glanced her way.

  She looked down at her beautiful dress and how her hands rested in her lap. There was no way she could sustain this carpe diem levity for much longer. A few months ago, when she had first agreed to this farcical marriage, she never could have foreseen what an emotional maelstrom it would turn out to be. Yet here she was, unable to look at either man without feeling a pounding in her heart and a throbbing at the apex of her thighs. The physical attraction among the three of them made her feel keenly alive; the emotional attraction felt like it was going to be the death of her.

  Georgie must’ve dozed off. The carriage came to a gentle stop in the bright courtyard of Khalid’s estate. Georgie stretched her arms and opened her eyes to see James and Trevor in a passionate kiss. James pulled away slowly, then turned to face her. “Looks like we’ve arrived, Georgie. Did you have a nice rest?”

  Georgia let her hands drop into her lap as she heard the bustle of unpacking and the sounds of luggage being removed from the carriage. “Why yes, thank you, I feel delightfully refreshed.” She tried not to let her eyes widen when she noticed Trevor was smiling his I-just-came smile as he buttoned up his trousers. She glanced quickly away, but James met her eyes and licked the corner of his mouth with a provocative swipe.

  “You should know better than to fall asleep during a carriage ride, my dear,” James added wickedly.

  She watched as the two men exited the carriage to step on the immaculate raked gravel that had been baked in the desert sun to golden pale perfection. Georgie took a deep breath and, as usual lately, tried to stuff down the whirl of emotions and desires that clouded her brain. After one more quiet moment, she too stepped from the carriage into the enchanted world of the brilliant oasis.

  After traveling out of the city and through the desert for several hours, it was a magical treat to be surrounded by lush date palms and rioting exotic flowers. Georgie turned her attention from the verdant plants toward the ornately carved front door, which swung open as Khalid emerged in a swirling white caftan.

  Having done as Khalid requested, Georgie sported one of her more alluring gowns. When he caught sight of her, his eyes flashed greedily, and she felt a girlish blush rise up her exposed chest and neck. Had he really known she was a woman all along? He approached her quickly and then slowed when he was a few feet away. He took one of her hands and kissed it lightly on her knuckle. She felt a shiver of desire run straight up her arm.

  “Lady Mayson, is it?”

  She curtsied formally and dipped her gaze, the perfect British lady. “Yes, sir. Lady Georgiana Mayson, at your service.”

  Khalid reared back, lifting his chin and laughing up at the flawless blue sky. “A lady is never at a man’s service, m’lady, and you mustn’t forget it. It is the great boon of your sex. We are your devoted slaves.” He squeezed her hand with an encouraging grip, then let go and turned to Trevor and James. The three men shook hands and laughed amiably, as if they were old friends. Georgie was beginning to feel faint, not from the heat or the dress or her strange surroundings, but from the heady sensation, terrifying really, that she had never been fooling anyone but herself.

  “Come! Come! It is far too hot in the noonday sun. Let us eat and then ride out for a few hours. I have many wonderful things planned for your visit.” Georgie wasn’t certain, but she thought she saw Khalid slip James a conspiring look when he said those last few words.

  They spent the afternoon as Khalid promised, eating a splendid lunch of Mediterranean specialties: grape leaves, spicy grains, warm thin breads, and tangy yogurts. His two wives floated around the four of them as they ate, replenishing their food, refilling glasses of cool water scented with cucumber, or just dipping their chins slightly with mysterious smiles in their charcoal eyes. Khalid’s wives, Ansi and Oni, were each beautiful in their ways: Ansi, slightly older, had a wisdom and depth in her expression that suited her fuller, rounded shape; Oni, slightly younger and a bit taller, had more mischief to her. Both women smiled at Georgie, and toward the end of the meal, they even rested casual hands on Georgie’s shoulder or arm as they offered seconds or cleared a plate. Again, Georgie felt as though everyone was privy to a secret and she was not.

  Khalid’s stables were splendid. He told of how an ambitious French diplomat had built the riding rings and stables to house his extensive bloodline.

  “Unfortunately for him—and fortunately for me—we were successful in evicting yet another foreign invader from our beautiful Egyptian homeland.” All of them had spoken at length over lunch about the current state of affairs among Britain and Egypt, Turkey and France. There seemed to be far too many players at the table and not nearly enough chips for everyone to place their bets.

  Ultimately, Khalid had finished the discussion with an offhand remark that there was no need to speak of dirty politics while they were enjoying such lovely company. He had raised his glass to Georgie and then caressed Oni’s cheek before taking a sip of his strong coffee. His wives had joined them in the salon after lunch, and they were resting languidly on either side of him. James and Trevor followed suit, raising their glasses in Georgie’s direction, “To beauty.” And the silly toast made her blush furiously.

  How was it she could speak about politics or history or horses as their equals—which she had in fact done for the past few hours—but the merest compliment about her appearance made her feel like a little schoolgirl? While society at large might attempt to depict femininity as a form of weakness, no one in this room had ever done so—except perhaps Georgie herself.

  That stark realization was far from comforting.

  The afternoon ride proved to be a wonderful antidote to all of that blushing and confusion. She welcomed the breakneck pace and the hot wind against her face, relished the unique experience of riding in the desert. Compliments about her femininity had made Georgie feel loose and dreamy. Riding hard made her feel the familiar comfort of rigid control. Was this really something she was willing to give up? Was anyone even asking her to choose one over the other?

  When they returned in the late afternoon, all four of them covered in dust and grit, Georgie had imagined she would wash up, perhaps take a brief nap, and meet them again for supper. Apparently that was not the plan.

  After handing off their horses to the grooms, the four of them entered the cool stone house and were met by Khalid’s pretty wives. After silent instruction from Khalid, the two women gestured for Georgie to join them in another part of the large house.

  Georgie looked over her shoulder as she was being led away, and Khalid called out with a taunting wink, “They will help you . . . prepare.”

  She considered resisting. It wouldn’t have been too hard to tear her hands away from the light hold the women had upon her. Instead, she gave herself over to the present and followed them into the private sanctum of this desert palace.

  Georgie turned to Ansi, the older woman to her right, and spoke in Arabic. “Is Khalid making you do this?”

  Ansi looked up. Her eyes were intelligent and bright, a golden brown that connected with Georgie’s and caused something quick, unexpected, and hot to snap between them.

  “I do not understand what you mean by making? He said it would please him. He knew it would please us. He thought it would please you. So everyone is pleased. Are you not pleased?”

  George furrowed her brow, and the woman paused at a turning in the narrow hall. Ansi reached up with her satiny soft fingertip and touched the tense skin on Georgie’s forehead.

  “Why do you worry so? Do your men not please you?”

  Georgie didn’t know what to say to this woman, this woman who was such a domesticated woman. A woman who lived to serve and please her husband, her master. A woman, Georgie had to admit, who seemed to find deep comfort and self-respect in the act of p
leasing her beloved.

  “They do please me, very much,” Georgie said. It was true, but it was also something Georgie felt she had to say to get Ansi to stop looking at her with that penetrating, too-knowing stare. Georgie smiled and thought of reaching up to move the woman’s hand away from her face, but for some reason she hesitated.

  In that moment of hesitation, the woman’s eyes locked with Georgie’s. Ansi let her finger trail down the center of George’s face, down the ridge of her nose to the tender skin just above her lip, and then touch the sensitive edge of Georgie’s mouth.

  Georgie gasped at the unfamiliar burst of sexual response that accompanied the touch. “You say the words, but I do not know if you are able to feel them.” Ansi leaned in and kissed Georgie lightly on the lips. “We will help you feel the truth of them.”

  They turned and continued down another hall, Georgie’s lips and sex tingling in anticipation, until they came to an ornately carved, dark wood door. Two guards stood sentry, one on either side. Oni, on Georgie’s left, smiled and motioned to one of the guards, who then pulled open the door to allow them entrance. What Georgie saw beguiled her completely.

  Trevor watched from behind the carved wooden screen as Georgie entered the spectacular bathing garden. Lush plants and small waterfalls fed into a sumptuously tiled pool in the center of the space, above which the roof was open to the early evening sky. Around the perimeter of the chamber, there were smaller baths and discreet daybeds and sitting areas. Khalid quietly explained that it was based on an ancient Roman bath with pools of varying temperatures.

  The door shut behind the three women, and Trevor felt a slam of erotic awareness when both of Khalid’s wives removed their colorful embroidered robes with one fluid motion to reveal their supple bodies. Ansi and Oni helped each other undo their ornate hairstyles until they were both naked, with their long black hair flowing to the middle of their backs.