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Authors: Tiffany Clare

Tags: #Fiction, #Romance, #Historical, #Victorian, #General

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BOOK: The Surrender of a Lady
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CHAPTER SEVEN

Auction Block

“Stop moving and wriggling around. I’ll be done before you know it.”

“It tickles. You can’t expect me to hold still when I have this constant desire to scratch.”

Laila sat up and put her brush on the wooden tray laden with pots of pressed henna, some still in its powdered form. The designs of ivy and flowers covered her feet and palms, the back of her hands, and halfway up her forearms. Laila had taken the time to henna her areolas, and, to her great embarrassment, her nether region with a dulled rust-color paint. Elena stood and gave a shake of her arms to get the tickle to go away.

“Stop pacing. You make me agitated, too.”

Elena stopped and turned. “When was the first time you had this done?”

Laila smiled. “The harem women did this to me a few days before my virginity was taken. Amir had me the first time when I was sixteen.”

She looked at her sister with a raised brow. “The painting isn’t the reason I’m fussing.”

“You’ll be fine. Amir will keep you close to his side,” Laila said with a nod of understanding. “You do not have to talk if you are not confident in your Persian. Only a few words here and there and the men will think you an enchanting creature. Your shyness will win them over, and I’m sure they will pay no heed to what you say. They will be busy looking over your other attributes.” Laila pulled a sun-yellow scarf from the foot of the divan. “Yellow will complement your skin tone, don’t you think?”

Elena rolled her eyes and carried on with her pacing. “I had a feeling that would be your response. I don’t like the idea of being on auction and sold to another—it’s rather sickening. And I was thinking the green silk. The one with the gold embroidered around the edges.”

Walking over to her, Laila placed the scarf against her thigh. “Hmm. Maybe yellow doesn’t go with the paint. Yes, I think the emerald is nicer.”

“Do you think all men are so shallow and unintelligent that they won’t figure out who I am sooner or later?”

“Elena, you forget this isn’t a typical English soiree. You won’t need to talk about the weather. You might not even talk.” Laila grinned as she folded the yellow scarf and set it on the divan. “You know very well Amir will expect nothing more than your attendance for your first year here. Your only duty is to look sweet and ripe enough to bite into.”

Elena flopped down on the divan and held her unfinished hand out to Laila. “Finish it then. I wish I only had to amuse Amir. That would be easier. Besides, I feel like I’m going to my first ball and I’m going to step on suitors’ feet or dribble punch down the front of my gown.”

“This will be nothing like a ball. Fear not, the men will not care what the veil hides, only what they can see beneath your scarves.” Laila leaned back on the bench she used and looked at Elena’s chest, a puzzled expression in her eyes. “Maybe we should paint them darker?”

“Is that supposed to be reassuring?” Elena shook her head and threw her free arm over her eyes to block out the light. “It’s not. You are making me more nervous by the minute. I might make a fool of myself and embarrass Amir. I couldn’t live with that. It doesn’t matter what he thinks, it’ll be me that’s the fool. If you think painting my privates will keep the lords more concerned with my breast size and pertness, by all means paint them darker.”

“Hmm . . .”

“Would you stop with that incessant ‘hmm’?”

“I’m thinking how we should present you.” She clucked her tongue in annoyance, another habit of hers. “You forget we’ve all been where you are. Someone had to rear us into this life as I am doing for you.”

“I do not know what to expect here. I have nothing remotely similar to compare this to. I’m surprised how free I’ve become with my body where Amir is concerned. Though it’s taken me some months to even allow that.”

Laila bent her head to the task of finishing her hand without answering. Elena knew Laila contemplated her answer carefully. The soft tickling strokes of the brush resumed. Another twenty minutes and it would be done. The markings would stay for at least a month, maybe two.

“When you came here, you never thought you could endure pleasuring Amir, either. Now you are happy, no longer a frightened lady. This is a good life. You spend time with your son every day. You see your sisters and bond with us every day. What is it that really bothers you? That you will not adjust to the auctioning and the Pleasure Gardens?”

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m being difficult. I don’t mean to be. Things are comfortable right now. I don’t want my life to keep changing. What if I stop adjusting? What will happen to my boy then?”

“You worry for nothing, then. You want this to work and not just for the sake of your son. Otherwise you wouldn’t have accepted this life.”

“What happens if Amir tires of me and finds me to be a disappointment?”

“Ah, so is this at the root of your fretting? Amir does not tire of us. I’ve never seen such a thing as that in all my years with him. You over-worry. Trust me, you will have other capable lovers.” She frowned, her nose scrunching up in distaste. “And some not so capable. You will not mind pleasing others when your time comes. And Amir has never been disappointed in any of us.”

“But none of you have ever given him reason to be disappointed—”

“You won’t, either. Stop with this fussing. The more you worry the more likely you
will
upset Amir. He wants you and Jonathan to be happy. You must see how he treats your son. You’d think the boy was his.”

“He does adore Jonathan. If he cares for us so much, why doesn’t he marry us? I know I’ve said I won’t marry again, but if he asked me—I would not refuse. Why is a wife so distasteful? It’s not as though he is stuck with one, he gets his pick of four wives. How would a man get bored with four wives and a harem full of women ready to please him?”

Laila clucked her tongue again and set her brush down so she could blow over the design, to help it dry faster.

“You were told before you came here that this was the way of our life. Amir does not want children. He is sixteenth in line for Sultan. He does not want his children to grow up as he did, locked behind the palace walls.”

“Yet we are trapped here, as much prisoners as he himself was.”

“This is different. You cannot understand how many princes go mad before they reach adulthood. Amir counts his blessings that his mother protected him as best she could.”

“I still don’t understand what that has to do with marrying any of us.”

“He cannot marry us unless we are pregnant. It is the rule of the Ottoman culture. This is why we take every necessary precaution against a man’s seed from taking root. He does not want us to fight for status within the harem. Amir’s mother was not a happy woman. She loathed this life because she had had a privileged upbringing in England. Like you, she did not choose this life. And because of his mother’s hatred and distress at being confined to a harem, the things she was forced to do to keep her son alive, he will never shun you. Do you not see this?”

Elena bowed her head, a little shamed by her words. She hated to say she didn’t see it that way, not in the least. She was a prisoner here just as she was in the slave market. Better looked after, but still a prisoner.

She was complaining too much for someone who was new here.

She also knew Laila was closest to Amir as a friend because she had been raised to be a part of his harem. If she wanted to voice excessive feelings in these matters, she should take them to Maram. Laila was too close with Amir; she often chose the side of the prince over that of any of her sisters.

“I understand perfectly. I just wish things were different.”

“Do you? Do you wish your old life back? With its uncertainties and a husband so callous as to have sold you? This is a great insult in my eyes since you English abhor the slave trade. Your men take one wife; this is a very dishonorable act committed by your husband. Do you wish to go back to that life? Where your son might not stand out from the shadow your husband cast over your family? To a life where your son might have turned out to be exactly like his father?”

Elena shook her head. “No. I do not wish to go back, nor do I wish my husband to have found his end as he did.” She let out a frustrated sigh. What use going over this topic again with Laila? She needed a change of subject.

She lifted her chin and gave a small smile in silent apology. “What is the word for paradise, Laila? I seem to have forgotten.”

She needed to stop this prattling and bemoaning of her duty as a harem girl. Every one of her sisters had done this. Every one of her sisters had already been on the auction block and their favors sold to someone or other. She could do this, and hold her head high while she did it.

“Jinan. Is this the name you choose?”

Jinan. It rolled off her tongue in her inexperienced Arabic enunciation. Paradise.

This place. This life. It was all her paradise. Ironic, really. She could be Eve in the garden, offering the fruits and sins of her flesh. A fallen woman, to be sure.

Jinan. A very pretty name, indeed. A name best suited to her circumstance.

“I think so. Yes, definitely so.”

The name defined the woman she’d grown into. And the name suited her more than Elena. She was Jinan. No longer the shy and proper Elena.

Laila patted her dry hand then lay back on the divan next to her. “You are finished. We will touch up the designs as they fade. I will teach you how to put the scarves on later.” Elena turned to look at her sister. Laila scrunched her forehead in thought. “We will say you are a Turkish princess. This is believable because Amir’s brother would only send the best of the women he buys. Being a princess will raise your value among the lords.”

“Do you think they’ll believe such balderdash?”

“Why wouldn’t they? You have been sitting in the gardens during the day and your skin has only grown darker over the months. You now wear an Indian design, and Amir will dress you in plenty of gold and jewels beneath the gauze of your costume.”

“What should I do if I recognize someone? I’m afraid I’ll falter despite my disguise.”

She motioned down at her painted body and the silk wrap tied about her waist. But Laila was right in her assessment that she no longer
looked
English. Her mannerisms had altered since coming to this place, too; she was less stiff in her carriage, more relaxed and at ease in this strange setting.

“You will not falter. Tell yourself that you are playing a grand trick on those men. You can laugh at them when you are back in the harem quarters. Laugh about how silly and superficial they are with their posturing and Western airs. They will only see what you present and what you are willing to reveal of your body. Never forget this.”

“I know. Amir already assured me they would be looking over my goods, not wondering about my background,” she lamented, barely keeping the unease from her voice.

“You see, you are taking this well now that we’ve had a laugh. In all seriousness, you needn’t worry. You will not be expected to leave Amir’s side for many more months.

“Come.” Laila sat up, pulling Elena’s hand with her. “We’ll go spend time with your son. Amir will know by now that we’ve hennaed you, and he may ask after you earlier than usual. He’ll want to make a thorough inspection,” she teased.

Elena smiled. What would Amir think of these designs? He’d probably trace every last swirl, and with more than his fingers. The thought made her shiver in . . . not anticipation, but something distressingly close.

She paused at the door. Why was she growing so attached to Amir? She’d never thought like this before. Her heart didn’t flutter whenever she thought of him, and she knew she wasn’t falling in love with the man. But why did she have this reaction?

She didn’t question it further. What use was there in dwelling on such thoughts?

She knew it had everything to do with the fact that he was the sole man holding all the cards to her future. And her son’s.

“She’s lovely.” The stout Russian gave her rump a good patting.

She squirmed out of his grasp and closer to Amir. Amir’s hand squeezed reassuringly at her waist. It didn’t help to calm her nerves in the least.

The portly man assessed her silently—more likely speechless—his mouth gaping like the koi in the pond as he strove for words more brilliant.

“She is lovely,” Amir said. “Though shy, she’s very talented in the arts of submission.”

That caused the man to flush, but she didn’t miss the hunger that flared in his blue eyes. He pulled out a handkerchief to wipe away the sweat beaded on his forehead—apologizing all the while and complaining about the heat in this part of the hemisphere. He licked his lips, equally as plump as the rest of him, and gave her a glazed look that made her stomach roll in nauseous waves.

She stepped away from him, hoping to escape his keen look.

The overly thin, tall man keeping the Russian company nodded in agreement. Looking glass held in one squinted eye, he took closer observation of her nipples, showing clear through the gauze she wore. His eye was made obscenely larger by the round lens, so she avoided looking at him straight on.

Amir looked sidelong at her—brow cocked in amusement at the various men handling her—and translated to Persian what the men said even though she understood the gist of it. How could she not with the way they leered at and touched her? Amir turned to talk to another patron who’d tapped him on the shoulder.

Taking a deep breath, she told herself she could get through this. A few more hours and the auctions would be done, then she’d go back to the safety of the inner harem.

Someone came up behind her, grabbed her hips and thrust his hardened groin into her backside. She squealed and fell out of his grasp, knees banging on the hard stone floor, her palms smacking out to stop her face from hitting the stone.

There were too many people here for her to escape.

Smoke and opium filled the air, making her light-headed, slow.

She squeezed between the legs of a patron and one of her sisters embracing. On hands and knees, eyes and mind only focused on escape. She’d been so close to an alcove, a safe hiding spot, when she tumbled to the side and the heavy weight of a man pinned her down.

BOOK: The Surrender of a Lady
11.19Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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