The Sheik's Son (2 page)

Jean Pierre sat across from her in a worn chair that she liked to read in and noted the many reams of paper strewn across her desk, with her cursive handwriting covering them all. She had scratched out some words and written other words in and it seemed a haphazard affair.

“Your writings are very intense,” he said, nodding toward her desk.

Sophie blushed slightly. “Yes. I become quite engrossed in my thoughts.”

He surveyed her room, which was simple and not at all what he expected from a young woman. Her large bed was covered with a plain bed covering and books lined her shelves, floor and chairs. A window seat with several plush pillows piled atop it overlooked the Seine. More books were piled upon it and he wondered what sort of books she read.

On Sophie’s small vanity table were placed a brush and mirror and two costly bottles of perfume that he had purchased for her birthday. She wore the scents sparingly.

She dressed elegantly when they went to the theater or socialized, but at home she simply wore cotton and linen gowns, with a shawl to keep her warm.

“Your grandmother was downstairs just now,” he began.

Sophie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “Yes?”

“Sophie, I would never force anything upon you.”

“I know that.”

“You have received several offers of marriage in the past four years,” he added.

“None of which interested me.”

“Alphonse admires you.” He deliberately avoided her eyes and brushed away an imaginary fluff of dust from his breeches.

“He doesn’t suit.”

“And Laurent?” He named a previous suitor.

“Too old.”

“Jacques?” He named another.

“Too young.”

“Henri?” He named yet another.

“Too stupid.”

Jean Pierre laughed aloud. “
Chère
, is there not one man in Paris you find agreeable?”

“No, I’m sorry to say,” Sophie said sincerely.

“Perhaps Alphonse has improved with age.”

“Like a fine wine?” Sophie shook her head. “He hasn’t improved with time. He’s morose.”

Jean Pierre smiled again. “Well, don’t be too hasty. After all, marriage isn’t a curse—it’s a gift from God.”

“You never remarried,” she returned.

“No. I didn’t. That’s because after your dear mother left us, no one could take her place.”

Sophie smiled. “I’ll try to be pleasant with Alphonse. I can offer no more.”

He moved towards his daughter, kissing her lightly on the forehead. “I can ask for no more.”

***

Sebastian watched her move slowly down his body and stop at his hard, throbbing shaft. She moved her hand up and down it lightly before taking the pink head into her mouth. He closed his eyes at the sensation and almost bucked his hips as she moved her mouth, taking his length into her throat.

He was fond of Giselle and knew that she was even a little in love with him. She had strawberry-blonde hair and blue eyes set in a small heart-shaped face. She was chubby and young, and he knew she had seen enough of Paris and its men to want a different life.

Giselle suddenly pulled her wet, warm mouth away from him and replaced it with her tight snatch, settling herself on top of him. She mounted him like an eager horsewoman and he filled his hands with her heavy breasts.

“Oh Bash,” she breathed and began to move up and down.

Sebastian enjoyed the sensation of her on top of him before he moved position and pressed into her as she wrapped her legs around him. He could feel the climax building before he emptied his seed inside of her.

They lay together in a mass of limbs and sweat before he moved away from her. Giselle watched him dress and thought of asking him to stay but didn’t. No, she knew he wouldn’t like that.

“Bash come to me tomorrow,” she murmured.

He pulled on his dark breeches and white linen shirt while buttoning his waistcoat, which matched his breeches. He tied his white cravat loosely around his neck and pulled on his hose and black shoes. Then, he shrugged into his knee-length coat, which was cut to show off the width of his shoulders.

“We’ll see,” he replied.

Sebastian enjoyed Giselle and had for almost a year. But she was clingy and he preferred to keep a distance with women, especially the women at the exclusive brothels he and his friends frequented. He knew that oftentimes the women entertained fancies that if a man continued to see them exclusively they would be set up in their own home.

Though he had thought about doing this, it was not the young Giselle whom he had considered.

Juliette, madam of the brothel, was a woman who had more than once caught Sebastian’s eye. She had chestnut brown hair and light brown eyes and was older than him by several years. She was an attractive woman and he had bedded her once. But women were an entanglement that he preferred to live without, and so he had not pursued her.

Giselle lay naked amidst the bedclothes and eyed her lover from top to bottom. He was a handsome man, tall with a slender, masculine build. He had wavy brown hair, liquid brown eyes and cutting cheekbones, and seemed to be not wholly English but possibly something else as well. She had heard one rumor that said his mother was English and his father was some maharajah in the East. She dismissed this rumor as nonsense.

Another rumor claimed he was the illegitimate son of an Asian woman and European father and that he had been sent to Paris to be placed out of the way. This she did not believe either.

But she did know several things about the mysterious Sebastian Fairfax that were absolute fact. She knew that he was secretary to John Frederick Sackville, third Duke of Dorset and British ambassador to France. She surmised that this position was nothing to scoff at and believed that because of it, Sebastian must have parents and family of some repute.

She knew that Sebastian and his set of friends, which included an Englishman named Andrew Holland and a Frenchman named Etienne Pousson, enjoyed Paris—which included its women, drink and gambling.

It was well known that the Duke of Dorset had several passions and was known for his love of cricket, billiards, tennis and women. That the duke’s secretary and his friends should follow suit was not unusual.

Sebastian had been frequenting the brothel since he had come to Paris and had exclusively kept company with Giselle.

He chucked a finger under Giselle’s chin and smiled at her before leaving her alone. He strolled down the stairs and found his two friends drinking champagne on a small couch in the large salon. Two lovely women sat nearby. One woman, with messy blonde hair, had a shawl over her shoulders barely covering her breasts while the other woman, a brunette with large brown eyes and thin lips, stared vacantly into her empty glass.

“Gentlemen.” Sebastian nodded to his two friends—Andrew Holland and Etienne Pousson.

“So, how was the delectable Giselle,” Andrew asked, winking at Sebastian.

“The same,” Sebastian returned. He did not have the desire, as some men do, to discuss his sexual exploits in detail.

Andrew shook his head. “Women. When boredom sets, another one is on the horizon.”

Sebastian took his whiskey and drank it straight. “What is it to be tonight?”

He looked over at his two friends, as different from each other as night and day. Andrew was blond with blue eyes and was always looking for a joke—he loved to laugh at life. Etienne was serious with inky black hair and brown eyes, and was engrossed in politics. Women admired the trio wherever they went, but all three had declared themselves not ready for marriage.

Already in his 30s, Sebastian knew that one day he would like to marry and have children, but he had obligations to his family—in particular, his father. He knew certain things were expected of him and he had to take any attachments or engagements very seriously.

He saw Juliette in the back of the large salon speaking to the gloomy brunette woman and their eyes met.

“Monsieur Fairfax.” She nodded to him and his friends.

Juliette’s smile was a mere shadow on her face. Her brown hair was pulled back to reveal a slender neck and delicate collarbone. Her deep purple gown had a low, scooped neckline that showed a great deal of her breasts, yet everything else about the dress was modest, with elbow-length sleeves and a simple train. It revealed very little, but Sebastian remembered her alabaster skin underneath the fabric and her moans in his ear that one night.

He wondered how many men she had moaned for. A hundred? Two hundred?

“Madame Juliette. I hope you are in good health?” he asked.

“
Oui
. Things are well. I try to keep the police informed and they in turn look after me,” Juliette replied.

Sebastian nodded. He knew that in Paris the police were again arresting prostitutes and only the prestigious brothels stayed in business. It was an unusual arrangement: the brothel madams kept the police informed of their establishments, and the police left the brothels alone.

Sebastian knew that Juliette’s clientele was influential and she had friends who had stepped in once or twice to help her when she needed them.

“Le Duc is well?” Juliette asked.

The Duke of Dorset, also known as John Frederick Sackville but simply called Dorset, was also the British ambassador to France and Sebastian’s employer. He enjoyed the brothel and its entertainment immensely and had been the first one to bring Sebastian there.

“I believe he caught a slight cold, but I’m sure he will visit when he can,” he said.

Juliette eyed the handsome Sebastian and allowed her hand to touch his shoulder and then move down his forearm.

“He isn’t the one I would like to see again,” she said randomly.

He was about to respond but she had moved away suddenly. He heard his friends arguing behind him and turned to them. They had been discussing where to spend the evening when Etienne brought up a suggestion.

“What about the Academie Royale de Musique?” inquired Etienne.

Andrew frowned. “The opera?” He yawned and looked over at his two friends, shaking his head. “I think not.”

“Yes, the opera, my friend. For what is at the opera?” Etienne’s brown eyes danced with joy.

Andrew shrugged, not interested in the least. “A portly, screeching soprano?”

“The dancers,
mon ami
.” Etienne winked and caught Sebastian’s half smile.

Andrew was suddenly very much interested in the opera. “The dancers!” he whispered.

Already he could see the dancers in their frothy costumes of lace, with their delectable ankles showing. He knew they would enjoy the night very much.

He clasped Sebastian and Etienne around the shoulders. “To the opera we go.”

Chapter 2

Sophie had made certain that Marie understood exactly what was expected of her. She gave her precise directions to the printers and enough coin to pay Monsieur Blanche. She had written one small pamphlet before, but it had not been anything important. He had accepted the small pamphlet as it was about women’s work and the household. He thought it might attract some attention, though her true identity remained shrouded in secrecy.

But this new pamphlet that Sophie had poured her heart and soul into could be damaging. This pamphlet was about the equal rights that she felt French women should be given. It wasn’t earth-shattering but she did believe in the cause passionately. She wrote from her heart about how women were expected to marry and give birth and that was the extent of their existence. She wrote about education and how women were shockingly uneducated and all but dismissed.

She told Marie to let Monsieur Blanche understand that this was a cousin of hers and that he had asked to be placed in touch with the printer. She told Marie to offer no more information if the printer pressed her for it.

As she sent Marie off with the coin and handwritten pages, she realized her hands were shaking. She knew that her pamphlet did not contain any slander or libelous material, but her words were of a revolutionary sort. The minutes ticked by as she waited for Marie to return. When she did, she asked her if the printer had said anything or asked anything, but the loyal maid shook her head and went about her work.

Sophie spent the day with her grandmother as they called on their neighbors and close friends. She tried to stop the excitement that raced through her veins and even earned her a stern look from Eugenie when she accidentally spilled tea on a Persian carpet at one of the residences.

Eugenie scolded her in the carriage but Sophie was past caring. She had apologized to her grandmother’s friend for the accident but her mind was too focused on the pamphlet. Would Monsieur Blanche print it? How many would he print? Would anyone read it? She tapped her foot lightly but that earned her another look from the older woman, so she stopped the movement and instead focused on the passing Paris scenery.

***

A week later her father had been invited to a colleague’s salon and he very much wanted his mother and daughter to attend. He knew his mother would be extremely bored at the salon, which would include intellectuals and political figures, but he wanted his daughter to be exposed to such ideas and his mother would be the chaperone.

When Jean Pierre mentioned the idea to Eugenie, she was shocked.

“Is this at all proper? A Parisian lady at a salon?” Eugenie gasped.

“Of course,
Mère
. It is entirely proper. Some of the great intellectuals of our time attend these salons,” he replied.

“I’m not at all sure that is a good thing. Those les bas-bleus started in a salon,” she sniffed.

Jean Pierre knew
les bas-bleus
—a group of intellectual women—had gathered in a seventeenth-century Paris salon to exchange ideas. It was not a positive example for his mother.

“Be that as it may, I want my daughter open to ideas as an educated woman. You cannot shun these things. She wants to learn,” he explained.

“Yes I know. She is as educated as most men. It is not a good thing, my son,” she said, shaking her head.

“How can you say that,
Mère
? Would you prefer she remain ignorant and silly?” he asked.