The Secret Life of Lady Lucinda: A Summersby Tale

by Sophie Barnes

  Only too eager to find herself clothed again, Lucy grabbed the garments from Stanton’s outstretched hand while he mocked her with a scornful grin, his eyes still feasting on her each and every curve until she felt sullied beyond compare. She turned each of the items he’d handed her this way and that as she tried to figure out how to put them on, horrified to find herself blushing profusely as she fastened the last of the buttons on the cropped…She’d no idea what to call it, for it was unlike anything else she’d ever seen—something like a bodice without the skirts attached, ending just below her bust line and leaving her belly completely bare.

  The trousers she’d been given were full and billowy and similar to what she’d seen many of her parents’ servants wearing. But in contrast to the ones she’d seen in the past, these were of such thin fabric that each and every outline of her legs, hips, and bottom remained visible beneath. They sat low on her pelvis, the waistband adorned with strings of metal beads that jingled with every move she made. Lucy drew a sharp breath. “I cannot go anywhere like this,” she murmured as she tugged and pulled on the skimpy bodice in the hope that it would somehow cover more of her. It did not. Instead, her breasts squeezed together beneath it, bulging against the tautness of the fabric.

  Stanton’s lips curled into a smile. “I think you look perfect. In fact, I’m quite confident that the bidding will escalate to an astronomical amount, but you’re right of course, you cannot be seen in the street looking so…inviting.” He tossed her another garment, which she caught against her chest—a long tunic made from a denser fabric. “Put that on and tie the red sash around your waist. There’s a scarf too, for covering your head. I suggest you wear it so you don’t draw too much attention to your hair. I’d like to leave that as a surprise.”

  He turned to go but paused before reaching the door. “I see no point in keeping the truth from you any longer, Lucy. Tonight, I’ll be auctioning you off to a wealthy pasha, and then I’ll be on my merry way while you remain here…the prize of his harem, I’m sure.”

  Lucy stilled. She’d known this would happen—feared it each and every day—but she was still shocked to hear him say it. She closed her eyes for a moment and tried not to panic, and when she spoke her voice was detached and calm, as if it was coming from someone else entirely. “Will you tell me who’s behind this? Will you tell me who it was that ordered you to kill my parents?”

  He took his time, and the silence that filled the room in that instant was almost suffocating. But then he finally tilted his head, gave her a most pleasant smile, and said, “It seems as though your dear Uncle George didn’t enjoy being the spare as much as he let on.”

  Lucy’s skin began to prickle. A shiver raced down her spine.

  “He didn’t appreciate putting so much hard work into an estate that wasn’t his. He wanted the title, the fortune, the land… So he came to me, and we struck a deal.” He shrugged as though the whole matter was of little importance. “I was falling into debt at the time and desperately needed the money. But, your uncle apparently had a soft spot for you. However, it can’t have gone very far, can it?” Stanton said as he grinned. “Selling you into slavery hardly seems a better fate. I, however, cannot complain, for I am free to collect whatever profit I can make off you, and to ensure that I get the job done, your uncle promised me another hundred thousand pounds once I return and present him with a proof of sale.”

  Lucy couldn’t breathe. It was as if someone had just ripped her lungs from her chest. She felt faint, light-headed, confused…The world she knew had spun completely out of control. Her uncle? The man she’d loved so dearly? The very one who had made her laugh as a child as he’d raced around the garden with her on his back? He’d helped her father build the tree house for her in the garden. “I don’t believe you,” she whispered.

  The left corner of Stanton’s mouth drew upward to form a sneer. “How very trusting of you.” He pulled a piece of paper from inside his jacket pocket, unfolded it, and held it up for Lucy to see. “My orders, as you can see, were to ensure that you did not return to England. I believe you’ll recognize the signature on the bottom there—my guarantee, if you will, that your uncle intended to keep his word in regard to my payment.”

  It was unfathomable…unthinkable. But as the thought of George callously deceiving them—of so cruelly betraying them—began to sink in and settle in her head, she found herself consumed by a worse sort of anger and hatred than she’d ever felt for Stanton. Her whole body shook with it; her jaw clenched, and her heart pounded in her ears.

  “So you see,” she heard Stanton say, and it was as if his voice was coming from some distant place, far, far away, “I’ve been more than patient. Six years is really a very long time to wait in order to get paid.”

  Without another thought for herself or anything else, she flew at him, her fists pummeling against his chest while desperate sobs of grief and anguish escaped her throat, but he soon had her overpowered with his strength, holding her in a tight embrace and grinning with unabashed amusement while she struggled and writhed against him. She wanted him dead—to watch the spark of life that flickered in his eyes dwindle and die as he drew his final breath. And then she would return to England, somehow, and face George. She’d burn down the whole bloody estate if that was what it would take to see justice served. “I suggest you learn to guard your emotions well, you little hellion,” Stanton whispered in her ear as he tightened his hold on her. “The man who buys you will have no qualms about giving you a daily lashing or two until you learn to submit and behave.”

  With one last, quaking sob, Lucy went limp. She knew she couldn’t win. She simply didn’t have the means or the strength necessary. So when he eased her back on her feet and took her by the arm in order to lead her out of the room, she allowed him to do so without further complaint, and it was then that she sensed that her soul must have left her body, for she’d never felt more empty, more numb, or more hollow inside than she did at that very moment.

  The carriage ride did not take long, and as it pulled through a large archway and into an open courtyard with colonnaded walkways on each side, Lucy stared out of the window, realizing that the man who lived here must be one of great wealth and affluence.

  “Come now,” Stanton said, already standing on the ground below. He was reaching up to take her hand and help her down, his gentlemanly façade firmly back in place.

  With a sigh of resignation, she placed her hand in his, a sense of finality creeping over her as she did so. This was it. There were guards and servants everywhere. If she’d hoped to make a run for it at any point in time, she should have done so long ago. She shook her head against the thought of it. What was the point in punishing herself when the opportunity for escape had never arisen?

  Stanton’s grip upon her arm was hard and firm as he guided her forward in order to follow a short, potbellied man who disappeared through a doorway and up a flight of stairs. The air was cooler inside, a result of the many open windows stoking a gentle breeze that made white, veil curtains drift back and forth.

  Reaching the top of the landing, they were greeted by a tall, slim woman dressed in a richly adorned caftan that had been cinched at the waist in the same manner as Lucy’s. She was wearing a similar pair of şalvar trousers that peeked out beneath the hem of it, and on her feet she wore a pair of pointed gold slippers. Her eyes were two uninviting black slits that disdainfully swept over Lucy from head to toe. Her nose was slim, her lips even slimmer.

  The servant they’d been following exchanged a few words with her, and Lucy’s knowledge of the language was good enough to understand that Stanton would be taken further upstairs to the pasha’s salon, while she would remain down here to wait.

  The sour-faced woman gestured for Lucy to follow her as she departed through another doorway and strode down a long corridor into a large, open room. Lucy had imagined that she would have been relieved to find herself separated from Stanton, but as she gazed around the room at all the pl
ump cushions that lay strewn about with more than a dozen women lazily reclining upon them—all turning to stare at her with unabashed curiosity—she was surprised to realize that she was not.

  She knew that she was being silently weighed and measured as she continued after the woman who’d brought her here. She’d no idea who the woman might be, but judging from the way in which the other women shrank away from her as she passed, Lucy guessed that she must be someone of importance. “Oturmak,” she said to Lucy while she pointed to a low divan, and Lucy obediently sat. She wanted to know what to expect next but feared that her Turkish wouldn’t be good enough and chose instead to remain quiet.

  The woman left, and a servant appeared with a tray carrying a carafe of wine and an empty glass. She set it down on a small, round table in front of the divan and quietly began to pour. “Içmek.” Lucy knew that the word the servant had spoken meant drink, but if she’d had any doubt, she would have understood from the gesture the servant made toward the glass and then toward Lucy’s mouth. With a frown, she offered a small bow before shuffling away to another corner of the room, and Lucy became once more aware of all the eyes that were trained upon her, as if they thought she might do something unexpected.

  Lucy imagined that more than an hour must have passed when a series of shouts suddenly rose through the air and all the women who had otherwise been lying about without a care in the world suddenly sprang into action. Whatever it was that had been said, Lucy hadn’t managed to make out the exact words, but judging from the sudden frenzy the women were now in, she imagined that a fire must have broken out somewhere in the building, for they were hurrying to and fro as if in a panic.

  She was just preparing herself to make a run for the door when one of the women caught her by the arm and said, “Sultan burada—the sultan is here.” And before she could manage to work out the significance of that or how it might affect her, she found herself whisked away from the rising chatter now filling the room by the same man who’d taken Stanton to see the pasha a short while ago. He led her brusquely down the corridor through which she’d arrived earlier and toward the stairs. “Where are we going?” she tried to say in broken Turkish.

  He gave her a look of surprise but quickly hid it beneath a frown. “You have come here dressed like that. I think you know where we are going.”

  Of course she did. They were going to see the pasha, and she supposed the sultan too if what the woman had told her was true. Reaching a wide door with elaborate carvings of animals on it, the servant paused and turned to look at her. “Remove the caftan and your scarf,” he said. His voice was sharp but not unkind, and Lucy found herself doing as he asked. His gaze swept over her, but if her hair color had surprised him, he hid it well. With a nod of approval, he knocked on the door and waited to be granted entrance before pushing it open and stepping inside.

  Lucy followed hesitantly behind him, her eyes scanning the room, which was far more lavish than any other she’d seen so far. As the servant moved aside and she saw the five men sitting before her in a wide semicircle, her feet grew heavy, and she desired only to turn and run. Beside her, the servant fell to his knees, and she swiftly followed suit because she not only knew that it would be expected but also suspected that she’d fall over at any moment anyway.

  “Rise!” a strong voice demanded.

  Lucy lifted her head and looked up at the group of men who were sitting before her. All were dressed in long, richly embroidered tunics, their legs crossed beneath them as they reclined against some large cushions. All had beards while their heads were covered by turbans. The only one who stood apart was Stanton, who appeared to be having some difficulty getting comfortable in his tight jacket and trousers.

  Ignoring the rapid beat of her heart and the overwhelming sense of anxiety that she feared might swamp her at any second, she forced herself to take a deep breath and comply. Pulling her feet beneath her, she pushed herself upward until she stood, perfectly poised like the graceful aristocrat she’d been raised to be. Her red hair flowed over her shoulders, and as her gaze swept across each of the faces before her, she knew that Stanton had been correct in his assessment. He would walk away from this a very wealthy man, indeed, for their eyes gleamed with greed, as if they’d just discovered a vast pirate’s treasure, and the only thing Lucy could think of was which of them would confine her to his golden cage.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  * * *

  Two days had passed since they’d arrived at the Topkapi Palace and Mahmud had promised to help find Lucy. He’d assured William that his spies had been sent out all over the city in an attempt to gather information, but they had not yet returned with anything useful, and William had long since grown tired of waiting. He wanted to act, not sit around eating grapes and drinking wine while women danced about. It was beyond frustrating. Lucy was in trouble, and his instinct was to rush forward and slay everyone in his path until he found her.

  “You’re wearing down the rug,” Ryan muttered from the divan he was sitting on.

  William stopped and turned to him with a frown but couldn’t help but take a glimpse at the rug in the process. It was true; the ply seemed thinner and more trampled in the middle where he’d been striding back and forth. With a sigh of annoyance, he sank down next to Trenton, who was sitting on the adjacent divan, sharpening his dagger. “What are you reading?” he asked Ryan, not because he particularly cared, but because he felt he needed to say something—anything—to take his mind off the tedious wait.

  “Words and phrases,” Ryan replied, offering William a sideways glance while his nose remained immersed in the book he was holding.

  William rolled his eyes and slumped back against a cushion, crossing his arms in the process. “Really?” His voice was thick with sarcasm.

  With a small sigh, Ryan lowered the book to his lap and turned to look at his brother. “Yes, I asked Mahmud if he happened to have a dictionary that I might be able to borrow. He lent me this one, which I believe belongs to one of the princesses.”

  “Will you ever stop studying?” The question was not spoken unkindly. If anything, William was very impressed by his brother’s ability to absorb knowledge.

  “Probably not, and besides, I am now quite capable of asking for something to drink in case either of you gets thirsty.”

  Trenton looked up from his dagger. “I’d rather you learn to ask for directions so we can find our way back home again.”

  There was a knock at the door, and a servant entered, bowing as he did so before saying something that William once again could not understand. He looked to Ryan to see if he’d managed to grasp any of it, only to find that he was already on his feet. “He wants us to follow him,” he said. “Something about food, I believe.”

  “Well, we’d better not disappoint then. I’m sure Mahmud must be expecting us,” William said, also rising and signaling for Trenton to put his dagger away. Mahmud might have offered them his friendship, but William wasn’t about to test the limit of such a friendship. They were still under his roof, having remained at the palace as his guests in case word arrived about Lucy. William had no desire to give the sultan a reason to doubt their loyalty toward him. After all, he was quite fond of his own head.

  “Please, be seated,” Mahmud said as soon as they stepped into his presence. He was already sitting on a pile of cushions on the floor and with a low table containing what appeared to be a bountiful feast in front of him.

  “Merci,” William said as he sank down onto another pile of cushions. How anyone might find this more comfortable than a proper chair and table was beyond him. His own discomfort was soon forgotten though as he watched Ryan and Trenton fold their legs beneath them like a couple of awkward contortionists. His lips twitched with amusement while Ryan shot him a warning glance; apparently, his brother did not share his humor.

  As soon as they were seated, Mahmud clapped his hands together, bringing two servant girls forward. Instructions were swiftly issued, upon which they
both began attending to the men, pouring wine and filling their plates with the delicacies that the table offered. From the corner behind them, music began to rise, and, taking a glance, William noticed a man with a long, slim string instrument.

  “J’ai des nouvelles—I have news,” Mahmud told them, bringing William’s attention back to him. He watched as the sultan cut slices from a fig and put them in his mouth one by one…William wanted to take him by his tunic and shake him until he told him what news he happened to have come across. His patience was at an end.

  “About my sister-in-law?” Ryan asked, his voice sounding as strained as William felt.

  “Oui. One of my spies has informed me of an auction that is to take place in the home of one of my pashas. A red-headed woman of unsurpassed beauty has just arrived there—”

  “We must go at once,” William said, already starting to rise, but Mahmud placed a staying hand upon his arm.

  “All in good time, mon ami. Mahmud goes nowhere in a hurry. Non—we shall enjoy our meal so our bellies are full, and then we will go.” He met William’s gaze. “The house is not far.”

  William reached for his glass and took a long sip of his wine, wishing he had something stronger with which to calm his nerves. He longed for his brandy. “What if they proceed without us? What if another man buys Lucy before we manage to save her?” Dear Lord, it didn’t bear thinking about. She was close—scared, most likely—and they were sitting here having a feast.

  Mahmud chuckled. “Ismet Pasha has been specifically instructed to wait for us to join him before proceeding any further. He will not dare defy my wishes, and besides, he already knows he’s in trouble for not inviting me to partake in the auction in the first place. I dare say he hoped to keep your wife for himself.” He tilted his head a little while he studied William. “You must not fret, mon ami, or you will act rashly. Be calm. Your wife will be returned to you before nightfall. You have my word on it.”