The Pleasure of Your Kiss Read online

  Four soldiers of Farouk’s guard flanked each of the massive bronze doors at opposite ends of the hall, while others were stationed at precise intervals around the outskirts of the walls. Even their impassive faces softened as they fought to hide their smiles.

  The only sour face in the hall belonged to Farouk’s uncle. Tarik kept muttering to anyone who would listen that his nephew was going to bankrupt his treasury with his extravagance and cast disgrace upon the very throne of El Jadida—and all to honor an infidel.

  Poppy had been misinformed about only one thing. Farouk’s feline guest wasn’t a full-grown tiger but a litter of tiger cubs. Each of the charming little cats wore a gold collar adorned with a priceless fortune in sapphires, rubies, and emeralds to set off their dramatic black markings. They frolicked and bounded among the guests, earning the loudest shouts of delight whenever they engaged in mock battle with one another, hissing savagely and rearing back on their hind legs to bare their razor-sharp little claws.

  Clarinda sat at Farouk’s side, cradling the smallest of the tiger cubs in her lap. The little fellow showed no desire to romp with his littermates but seemed perfectly content to loll across her legs while she gently raked her fingers through his thick fur.

  Caressing her nape as if she, too, were a wild feline to be tamed, Farouk leaned closer to her, his voice a deep rumble in her ear. “If he pleases you, you may keep him for your own.”

  “As always, you are far too generous, Your Majesty.” Clarinda’s fond smile was beginning to feel like a mask that no longer fit her face.

  She stole a glance across the hall at Ash, only to discover his mask had slipped away entirely. Through narrowed eyes he was giving Farouk a look that could only be described as murderous. Fortunately, Farouk’s attention had already been recaptured by the magician, who had just made one of the tiger cubs vanish in a puff of smoke. The sorcerer whipped off his immense turban with a flourish, thrust his hand into it, and fished around until his hand reemerged clutching the squirming tiger cub by the loose skin at its nape. Farouk’s booming laughter nearly drowned out the delighted oohs and aahs of his guests.

  When Clarinda risked another look at Ash, he was leaning over to converse with Luca, the flash of his easy grin leaving her to wonder if she had imagined the whole thing. He looked as at home in the native robes of El Jadida as any tribal warlord. Their dazzling white folds deepened the bronze tones in his skin and sharpened the glitter of gold in his amber eyes. A hint of razor stubble a shade darker than his hair shadowed the clearly defined planes of his lean jaw, making Clarinda wonder how it would feel beneath the caress of her lips.

  “Oh, Clarinda, isn’t it just about the most marvelous thing you’ve ever seen?” Poppy, seated on the other side of her, burst into wild applause as the magician drew a seemingly endless array of colorful scarves out of his own ear before taking another bow.

  “Indeed it is, Poppy,” Clarinda replied absently, her gaze still locked on Ash.

  “I’ve been reading about such wonders my entire life but never dreamed they truly existed! Why, Lady Ellerbee would be green with envy! I doubt even she has ever thrown a house party that could compare to this!”

  Poppy’s blue eyes sparkled behind the thick lenses of her spectacles, and her full cheeks were positively aglow. Clarinda had never really noticed how pretty Poppy could be when she wasn’t trying to cram her voluptuous figure into a rigid corset or bodice so tight it pinched all the color from her face. The flowing garments the women wore in this place actually seemed to suit her. Instead of pinning the springy clusters of corkscrew curls up over her ears, she had let one of the older women from the harem dress her hair into loose curls that spilled down her back in glossy waves.

  “Your friend flatters me, Clarinda,” Farouk said, leaning around Clarinda to pin Poppy with a teasing stare. “Perhaps she is implying that there are those who might even call my palace a ‘stately pleasure-dome.’”

  Poppy giggled. “I prefer to think of it as a ‘savage place, holy and enchanted.’ And what is the next entertainment you have planned for us, Your Majesty? A ‘damsel with a dulcimer’ perhaps?”

  Farouk wagged his eyebrows at her in a forbidding manner. “Cease your wailing, woman, lest I summon a ‘demon-lover’ to carry you away.”

  They both broke into hearty gales of laughter. Clarinda gave her wine a sniff, wondering if perhaps someone had drugged it and she was beginning to hallucinate. She’d never seen Poppy quite so animated, not even when in the company of that dreadful windbag Mr. Huntington-Smythe. And she’d certainly never heard Farouk quote Coleridge or seen him directly address Poppy without being browbeaten into it.

  As the magician rounded up the rest of the tiger cubs, including the one in Clarinda’s lap, and took his leave, the musicians seated in the corner between two columns struck up a sinuous melody on flute, lyre, and drum. This was the moment Clarinda had been secretly dreading. The moment when Farouk would clap his hands to summon the dancing girls.

  But it seemed on this night Farouk had other plans.

  He rose to his feet, silencing both the musicians and his guests with nothing more than a masterful wave of one hand. His flowing robes were even more ornate than usual, adorned with embroidered stars and crescent moons. “As most of you know, I have summoned you here tonight to honor a man with the soul of a warrior and the heart of a tiger. Not once, but twice, he has risked his own life so that mine might be spared.” Farouk turned his grave smile on Ash before lifting his golden goblet. “To Burke the Younger! You came to this place as a stranger, but on this night I am honored to call you both friend … and brother.”

  The other guests lifted their goblets in unison while Tarik made a great show of not lifting his.

  Ash acknowledged the tribute with a wary smile and a gracious nod, while Luca tossed back the contents of his goblet in a single swallow.

  Lowering his own goblet, Farouk said, “It is not within my nature to let such bravery go unrewarded. Every great warrior deserves a weapon equal to his skills, so tonight I would like to present to you a dagger used by my father, the Lion of El Jadida, to dispatch one of his most worthy enemies.”

  One of Farouk’s guards came marching across the floor, bearing a tasseled pillow with a dagger resting on top of it. The rubies and emeralds encrusted in its gold hilt sparkled in the warm glow of the lamplight.

  Luca’s low-pitched whistle of appreciation perfectly echoed Clarinda’s amazement. The thing must be worth a small fortune.

  The guard paused briefly in the middle of the floor so the rapt guests could admire the sultan’s offering before proceeding to where Ash was sitting. The man extended the cushion and Ash accepted the dagger, handling it with the reverence such an exquisite piece of craftsmanship deserved.

  “You are far too generous, Your Majesty,” Ash said, modestly inclining his head.

  Luca inched his hand toward the dagger, but Ash slipped the weapon into the far side of his belt before Luca could touch it, ignoring his friend’s pout.

  “There is one other gift I would seek to bestow upon you,” Farouk said. “I am sure it has not escaped your notice that I am a man who possesses many priceless treasures.”

  Luca perked up, his dark eyes glinting with avarice.

  “But I have discovered there is a treasure worth far more than silver or gold.”

  Rolling his eyes, Luca slumped back down on his cushion.

  “And tonight it is my great honor to share that treasure with you.”

  Farouk clapped his hands, just as he did every night to summon the dancing girls.

  The bronze doors at the west end of the hall came swinging open. As the guests craned their necks to see what new wonder might appear, an odd little frisson of foreboding danced down Clarinda’s spine. She stole a glance at Ash to find him looking equally wary.

  But it was only Solomon’s towering form that filled the doorway.

  Clarinda frowned, wondering why the eunuch would have been summ
oned from his duties in the harem for such an occasion.

  That question was answered a moment later when Solomon stepped to the side, ushering in a line of women who marched single file to the far end of the room before turning to face the guests. Although the women wore silken veils to cover their noses and mouths, their low-cut bodices and clinging Turkish trousers ensured that all of their other charms were on full display.

  Farouk’s voice seemed to echo even more than usual. “In gratitude for your bravery, Burke the Younger, I bring before you a dozen of my most beautiful concubines. For a man to spend even one night in the arms of such a woman is to create a memory that will forever warm him. Tonight I offer you that memory … and a woman of your choosing to help you create it.”

  Farouk beamed at Ash, his white teeth gleaming in his swarthy face; Clarinda’s bloodless fingers froze around the stem of her goblet.

  She didn’t realize she had ceased to breathe until Ash shook his head, smiling ruefully. “There is no need for such an extravagant reward, Your Majesty. While I appreciate your generosity more than you will ever know, I can assure you that your hospitality and goodwill are reward enough for one humble man.”

  While Clarinda breathed out a sigh of relief she did not care to examine, Luca’s hand shot up as if he’d just been called on in class. “Pardon me, Your Majesty, but if the captain doesn’t want—”

  Ash grabbed the sleeve of Luca’s robe and yanked his hand back down.

  Farouk’s smile slowly faded. A stunned silence descended over the hall.

  “What did you expect, you naïve fool?” Seizing both the opportunity and the stage, Tarik surged to his feet, tossing a contemptuous look in Ash’s direction. “The man is an infidel dog. He has no manners, no breeding, no respect for the traditions of our forefathers. He is little more than a savage!”

  Spurred on by Tarik’s snarled words, the guests began muttering among themselves, their glances toward Ash and Luca growing increasingly hostile.

  “Silence!” Farouk thundered, cowing even the boldest of his guests. When he turned back to Ash, he spoke softly, but the warning edge in his voice was as sharp as the blade of the jeweled dagger. “Burke may not be familiar with our ways but he is no savage. I am sure he did not realize that to turn down such a gift would be considered a grave insult, both to me and to my ancestors.”

  Farouk’s words left little doubt that if not corrected, Ash’s insult might not only be grave, but fatal.

  Ash did not shy away from the sultan’s challenging gaze. “I humbly beg your forgiveness, Your Majesty. Your uncle, wise man that he is”—this said with a respectful nod toward the still-fuming Tarik—“is right. I am undeserving of such an extraordinary tribute, which is why I made the misguided effort to reject it. I swear upon the graves of my own ancestors that I have no desire to cast shame upon the exalted name of His Majesty. Or his ancestors.” Ash rose to his feet and spread his arms wide, flashing the devil-may-care dimple Clarinda had never been able to resist. “I can assure you that I am only too eager to embrace your gift.”

  Unable to resist Ash’s teasing leer, the guests relaxed, sending a ripple of laughter through the hall. Grinding his teeth in thwarted rage, Tarik sank back down to his cushion.

  “Come, my brother,” Farouk commanded Ash, his own relief palpable. “You will choose from among my women.”

  Ash offered him a bow more suited to a London ballroom. “It will be my pleasure.”

  As the two men approached the row of waiting women, the concubines’ shameless preening made it clear that being the one chosen to warm the Englishman’s bed for a night would not be considered something to be dreaded or feared but a coup to be much desired.

  “They’re all so beautiful,” Poppy whispered in Clarinda’s ear, the wistful note in her voice echoing the ache in Clarinda’s heart.

  Clarinda told herself she had no reason to be jealous. She had a man waiting for her once she escaped from this place. An honest man. A dependable man. A man who had patiently bided his time for almost ten years. A man who would never turn his back on her and walk away when she needed him the most.

  Ash was welcome to spend the night in the arms of the woman of his choice. He did not belong to Clarinda. He never would and perhaps he never had.

  As he took his own sweet time strolling along the line of women, favoring each one of them with an encouraging word and a tender smile, that litany played over and over in Clarinda’s mind, accompanied by vivid images of one woman drawing him down on top of her, another raking her nails down the smooth, muscled planes of his back, a third licking her lush lips and shooting him a coy glance as she dropped to her knees before him.

  Farouk trailed after him, his hands locked at the small of his back. He looked as proud as a benevolent papa every time Ash paused to remark on the lustrous sheen of a woman’s hair, the graceful curve of her hip, the irresistible charm of a flawless dimple of a navel set in a slender waist. The guests followed their progress with equal fascination until they came to the last woman in the row.

  Luminous dark eyes glittered above the deep purple silk of her veil, their kohl-lined depths promising pleasures no man could resist. A proud toss of her head sent her glossy midnight-black hair spilling down her back until the feathery tips of it brushed the shapely curve of her rump. Her rouged nipples jutted proudly against the deliberately dampened fabric of her bodice, as if to tempt every man in the room to lean down and give them a lick or a nibble.

  Yasmin.

  He was going to choose Yasmin.

  And why not? With her exotic looks and queenly bearing, Yasmin was by far the most beautiful woman in the harem. And probably the most beautiful woman in all of El Jadida. According to the other women in the harem, she possessed the skills to drive a man mad with pleasure, to make him howl her name and forget his own.

  Clarinda closed her eyes, knowing she wouldn’t be able to bear seeing the triumphant look on the woman’s face when Ash took her by the hand and led her from the hall.

  But, no, Clarinda thought. She was done with hiding. She’d spent the last nine years of her life shielding her heart from every blow, and what had she gained for her trouble? Nothing but a numb heart and a cold, lonely bed. If Ash was going to do this thing, then she was going to force herself to witness every second of it. If she had to watch him walk out of this room with Yasmin, had to imagine him doing to Yasmin what he had once done to her with such haunting tenderness and raw passion, then when the time came to stand before the altar with his brother, perhaps she would finally be able to give her heart to Max without reservations or regrets.

  She opened her eyes just in time to see Ash lift a hand to gently brush the back of his knuckles against the smoothness of Yasmin’s olive-skinned cheek. He had once caressed her cheek with identical tenderness. Had once gazed down at her, his eyes sparkling with the same seductive charm. Her determination nearly faltered but she forced herself to keep watching, her eyes as dry and hot as the desert air.

  Almost as if sensing her regard, Ash turned away from Yasmin and the other women and looked directly at her. Their eyes met, his gaze as cool and calculating as any stranger’s.

  With the absolute confidence of Salome asking for the head of John the Baptist on a platter, he pointed directly at Clarinda and said, “I want her.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The hall erupted in chaos.

  One minute Ash was standing next to Farouk. The next he was shoved up against one of the marble columns with Farouk’s powerful forearm pinning him to the column and the blade of the jeweled dagger Farouk had just given him pressed to his Adam’s apple. Farouk had moved so quickly no one had even seen him snatch the weapon from the belt of Ash’s robes. The sultan’s upper lip was curled in a snarl. His broad chest heaved with rage.

  As the guests leapt to their feet and scrambled to get out of the way, their alarmed cries mingling with the startled screams of the concubines, Farouk’s guard rushed forward to surround the tw
o men, scimitars drawn. Their master appeared to be in no danger of losing this particular skirmish, but they had obviously been trained not to take any chances.

  “Get back!” Farouk roared through his clenched teeth. If Ashton Burke was going to die by anyone’s hand on this night, it was clearly going to be his.

  The guards reluctantly retreated while Farouk’s uncle drew nearer, plainly delighted by this unexpected turn of events. Tarik jerked his head toward Luca. Two of the guards roughly seized Luca by the arms and yanked him to his feet, thankful to have something destructive to do.

  Clarinda was halfway across the hall before she even realized her feet had moved. Solomon intercepted her, wrapping one of his massive ebony arms around her waist and scooping her clear off the floor.

  “Let me go, damn you!” She twisted in his grip and clawed at his arm with her fingernails, desperate to stop Farouk from slitting Ash’s throat right before her eyes.

  “Compose yourself, woman. If the sultan sees your face right now, both you and your captain will taste the bite of his blade before this night is done.”

  As that mellifluous voice poured into her ear, Clarinda went limp, stunned to realize the eunuch not only wasn’t mute but spoke the King’s English as well as she did. Solomon gently lowered her feet to the floor, rewarding the wide-eyed look she cast him over her shoulder with an encouraging nod. He withdrew his arm from her waist but she could still feel his presence behind her, as solid and immovable as a boulder.

  Poppy crept up next to them. All of the color had drained from her plump cheeks, leaving her as pale as a Dresden figurine.

  “I don’t see what the problem is,” Ash said coolly, as if a thin trickle of blood weren’t already easing its way out from under the deadly tip of Farouk’s blade. “You told me I could have the woman of my choice. I choose Miss Cardew.”

  “Miss Cardew is not mine to give. She is my guest!”