The Pleasure of Your Kiss Page 7

  Her breathless recitation of the sultan’s apparently endless list of glowing attributes came to an abrupt end when she ran full tilt into the man. Farouk steadied her with one arm, then gave her a gentle push, placing a safe distance between them.

  “Oh, there you are!” she exclaimed, blinking up at him. Her exotic dress was at direct odds with the wire-rimmed spectacles perched on the tip of her nose and the rosy blush tinting the ripe apples of her cheeks. “I’m so very happy to see you! I mean … I’m so very happy to see that you’re unharmed,” she amended, her blush deepening as she spread her skirts and bobbed him an awkward curtsy. “When I overheard two of the eunuchs discussing the attack, I feared the worst, m-m-my lord … and master,” she added hopefully, batting her eyelashes at him.

  Clarinda winced. If Poppy was hoping to hide her infatuation with the handsome sultan, she was doing a miserable job of it.

  Farouk rolled his eyes, making no attempt to disguise his long-suffering sigh. His effortless charm always seemed to desert him whenever Poppy was near. “As I have told you many times before, Miss Montmorency, I am Your Majesty, not your master. It seems we have another escapee from my harem, gentlemen,” he informed Ash and Luca. “Please allow me to introduce Miss Montmorency. She is Miss Cardew’s … companion.”

  “And my dearest friend,” Clarinda added loyally as Poppy bobbed another curtsy, this time in the direction of the new arrivals.

  Poppy froze in midbob as she spotted Ash, her eyes growing even more enormous behind the thick lenses of her spectacles. “Oh! Oh my! I know who you are! You’re Ashton Burke, the legendary adventurer! Why, you look exactly like the sketch that was in the Snitch a few months ago!” She shot Clarinda a confused glance. “I thought you said he had a long, hooked nose, a pair of spindly bowlegs, and teeth like a beaver’s?”

  Clarinda stiffened as Ash arched a bemused eyebrow in her direction. “You must have misheard me, dear,” she said. “Or perhaps I mistook him for someone else of my acquaintance.”

  “Oh, no, I’m absolutely positive I heard you correctly,” Poppy insisted earnestly. “I have a terrible head for sums but a frightfully good memory for conversation. I distinctly remember our exchange because it came just minutes before those nasty pirates attacked our ship. You also said men like Captain Burke cloak themselves in rumor and innuendo because there is nothing of real substance to hide. That they spread tall tales themselves simply to compensate for their own short—”

  Clarinda clapped a hand over Poppy’s mouth, wishing she had done so the moment Poppy came barreling into the courtyard. Luca snorted and Farouk’s dark eyes sparkled with poorly concealed amusement.

  Afraid to look at Ash, Clarinda gingerly removed her hand from Poppy’s mouth. “I don’t recall any such conversation. Perhaps your memory was simply addled by the distress of the attack.”

  Poppy gave Clarinda good reason to regret removing her hand when she blurted out, “Why are you here, Captain Burke? Have you come to rescue us just as you rescued that beautiful Hindustani princess?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Poppy.” Clarinda laughed to hide her swelling alarm. “Rescue us from what? The lap of luxury? Being pampered like a pair of Princess Adelaide’s cherished lapdogs? You know as well as I do that it was the sultan who rescued us from the horrors of the slave market. We owe him our gratitude and our loyalty … as well as our lives.” She punctuated that declaration by returning to the protective circle of Farouk’s arms and giving his chest a fond pat.

  He slipped an arm around her waist and smiled down at her, his white teeth gleaming against his swarthy skin. “My little English buttercup chooses her words wisely.” Although his smile lost none of its radiance, his eyes narrowed as he shifted his gaze to Ash’s face. “I doubt a man of Captain Burke’s reputation has survived this long by seeking to steal a woman who belongs to another man.”

  Even if she had first belonged to him.

  The thought dawned in Clarinda’s heart with shuddering clarity. For a timeless moment she was back in that misty meadow, wrapped once more in the irresistible heat of Ash’s arms as they sank into the folds of her cloak.

  Almost as if he could divine her wayward thoughts, Farouk tightened his possessive grip on her. “Seeking to steal a woman under such circumstances might very well cost a man not only his heart but his head.” Despite his jovial tone, there was no mistaking the sharp edge of warning in his words.

  Just as there was no mistaking the mocking grace in Ash’s answering bow. “Then it is fortunate for the both of us that I have yet to lay eyes on the woman for whom I would be willing to sacrifice my heart—or my head.”

  Chapter Five

  Isn’t it a most extraordinary turn of events?” Poppy remarked as she followed Clarinda down the dimly lit corridor that led to the doors of the harem. “Captain Burke showing up here at the sultan’s palace purely by happenstance? Why, when we were discussing his exploits back on the ship before those barbarians abducted us, who would have believed such an amazing coincidence was possible?”

  “No one, Poppy,” Clarinda replied, then muttered under her breath, “At least no one but you.”

  Forced to trot to keep up with Clarinda’s brisk steps, Poppy continued chattering on and on about the vagaries of fortune and the whims of fate until the toe of her slipper came down firmly on the hem of Clarinda’s skirts.

  Clarinda was yanked to an awkward halt. Her dwindling reserves of patience exhausted, she wheeled on Poppy, snatching her hem back into her possession as she did so. “Poppy, please! It’s bad enough to have to parade around in front of the whole world in this ridiculous getup. I’d rather not have to march the rest of the way back to the harem as naked as on the day I was born!”

  Poppy’s good-natured smile drooped; her lower lip began to tremble in a manner Clarinda recognized all too well.

  Clarinda sighed, instantly contrite. “I’m sorry, dear,” she said, touching two fingertips to one of her throbbing temples. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. It’s just that the arrival of these unexpected visitors has set my every nerve on edge.”

  At that moment all she desired was a moment of privacy to sort through the maddening whirl of her thoughts. It had taken her nearly two hours to escape Farouk’s cheerful company after he had ordered a pair of servants to escort his guests to their private chambers. He had insisted upon reliving his adventure of the morning for her, poring over every detail of his rescue from his attackers while she struggled to remain dutifully doe-eyed and exclaim, “My goodness!” and, “Did he really?” at all of the pertinent moments when all she could see was Ash thundering down some sandy bluff with the reins of his horse between his teeth and a blazing pistol in each hand.

  She had finally managed to excuse herself by pleading an all-too-real headache, only to find Poppy waiting to pounce on her the moment she left the courtyard.

  She had no right to chide Poppy for her naïveté when her own heart was still veering wildly between shock and hope. It wasn’t as if she hadn’t dreamed of being rescued from this place. Her fiancé was a powerful man. It had been difficult to believe Maximillian would just shrug off her abduction and disappearance as if she were an unfortunate investment he had made at the Exchange.

  But as the weeks had passed without the palace being stormed by a regiment of his men, her hopes had dimmed. When she closed her eyes on her sleeping couch at night and drifted into a fitful sleep, it was no longer Max’s dear face with its strong brow and resolute chin that she saw but the face of another man—a man she had struggled to erase from both her memory and her heart.

  To have him melt out of the desert like a dream after all these years made her want to pinch herself to see if she was truly awake. She supposed in some stubborn corner of her heart she had never stopped believing he would come for her someday. Never stopped hoping that the promises he had made after they had tumbled into her cloak had been more than empty words carefully crafted to seduce a foolish and innocent girl who woul
d have done anything to make him stay.

  She was no longer a foolish girl, and that corner of her heart had been walled off long ago with the jagged shards of those broken promises. She had lost so much more than just her innocence that morning and in the dark days that had followed. If she had anything to say about it, Ash would never know just how much his leaving had cost her. At least then she might be able to salvage her pride.

  As difficult as it was for the woman she had become to believe Ash had come for her on his own, it was even more impossible to believe Maximillian would have sent him. Unlike his brother, Max only gambled when the odds were in his favor, and he would know better than anyone else that throwing the two of them together again was an extremely risky toss of the dice—especially for Max.

  Catching Poppy’s wrist to draw her closer, Clarinda cast an uneasy glance around them, half expecting to see Farouk’s uncle Tarik or one of the man’s many spies lurking behind some colorful tapestry or priceless urn. The ancient palace was honeycombed with trapdoors and secret passages. Tarik had made no secret of his distrust of his nephew’s English guests, and in this place the walls really could have ears.

  She lowered her voice. “Just as you surmised, it is quite impossible for Captain Burke’s arrival to be simply a happy accident of fate.”

  “Aha!” Poppy exclaimed in a stage whisper so loud it could have been heard by a deaf camel. “He has come to rescue us, hasn’t he? I just knew it!” She nervously smoothed her hair and moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue. “If he succeeds, do you suppose he’ll be expecting one of us to kiss him as a reward? Or perhaps even the both of us?”

  “I’d be more than happy to let you do the honors,” Clarinda assured her even as an image of a much younger Ash lowering his head to gently brush his lips over hers drifted through her mind. She shook her head to clear it. “But until I have a chance to find out exactly what the captain’s plan might be, it’s imperative that we continue on as if nothing has changed. If we arouse suspicion in the sultan or his guard, it could put all of our lives in grave danger.”

  “But Farouk would never lift a hand to you,” Poppy pointed out with a wistful sigh. “He adores you.”

  “He adores me at this specific moment in time. But I can assure you that the affections of men are far more fickle than you could ever imagine. Trust me … I should know. If he finds out I have a fiancé and that my fiancé’s brother is residing under his roof at this very moment, there’s no telling what he would do. He mustn’t suspect we’d even consider running away with Captain Burke until we’re far, far away from this place.”

  Poppy nodded her understanding. “Have no fear. I have always been known for my discretion.”

  As Poppy mimed locking her lips and tossing an imaginary key over her shoulder, Clarinda was reminded of a similar moment at Miss Throckmorton’s when she had trusted Poppy with the news that her monthly courses had arrived for the very first time. By the next afternoon, every girl at the Seminary was pretending to scrub her hands and reenacting the “Out, damn spot!” scene from Macbeth every time Clarinda entered a room.

  It wasn’t that Poppy was deliberately malicious. She just had a tendency to blurt out the first thought that rolled onto her tongue, even if it wasn’t her thought to share.

  “I might as well just lop off my own head and hand it to the sultan,” Clarinda muttered as she gathered her skirts and continued down the corridor.

  “What will become of him after we’re gone?” Poppy asked plaintively, falling into step behind her. “Aren’t you afraid he’ll be lonely?”

  “Lonely? Are you mad? The man has at least a dozen wives and twice that many concubines.”

  “One doesn’t have to be alone to be lonely.” Poppy sounded as if she was speaking from experience. “What if you break his heart?”

  “I can assure you there’s absolutely no danger of that happening. The man may be infatuated with me but it’s not as if he truly loves me. I’m just a shiny new bauble for his collection.”

  Even as she said the words, Clarinda wondered if it was possible for her to trust her own judgment when it came to matters of the heart. There was a time when she would have sworn Ash loved her more than life itself. That he would never leave her and would storm the gates of hell itself to get her back if they should ever be parted.

  A pair of towering eunuchs flanked the tall, ornately carved doors that shielded the harem from the outside world, their massive arms folded over their hairless chests. Clarinda had learned most of their names, but she was particularly fond of Solomon, with his wise, dark eyes and sad smile. Although the giant Ethiopian clearly possessed the strength to crush a grown man’s skull between his palms, he was as gentle as a nursemaid when it came to looking after the women entrusted to his care. He swung open the door for them and nodded to Clarinda as they passed, his well-oiled head gleaming like polished mahogany. Since she had never heard him utter a single word, she had always assumed he was mute.

  She sometimes wondered if he had always been a slave and a eunuch. Or had he once had a wife of his own? A family? A voice?

  As they entered the harem, a high-pitched titter assaulted their ears. Clarinda grabbed Poppy’s arm and urged her closer to the opposite wall, hoping to remain undetected by the two women who were huddled in the curtained alcove closest to the door. She could just make out their silhouettes behind a translucent veil of purple silk shot through with gold threads.

  “Well? Have you seen this mysterious Englishman who saved our master’s life?” one of the women was asking.

  “I have not,” her companion replied. “But Serafina managed to steal a peek at him on her way back from the spice cellar. As you know, most of the English are pasty and soft and look as if a harsh desert wind would blow them away. But not this one, Serafina swears. He is handsome. And strong. And hard.”

  The first woman cupped a hand around the second woman’s ear and whispered something that sent them both into lusty gales of laughter.

  “Serafina claims he has the golden eyes of a tiger and moves with the grace and power of a lion.” The first woman sighed. “I had hoped I would be summoned to attend him in his bath, but Solomon sent Zenobia and Salome. They returned a short while later and said he had sent them away and insisted on bathing himself. Can you imagine such a thing? A man bathing himself? The silly creatures must have displeased him in some way.”

  Clarinda briefly closed her eyes, a treacherous swell of relief surging through her veins. Since she no longer had any claim whatsoever on Ash, she could only attribute it to nostalgia. While the women began to discuss exactly how they would go about pleasing the handsome, golden-eyed Englishman in his bath, she tugged Poppy past the alcove, thankful for once that their slippers consisted of little more than scraps of colorful fabric.

  As they passed beneath the gracefully arched doorway at the end of the long corridor and into the main hall of the harem, Clarinda’s nostrils were overwhelmed by a choking cloud of incense and the cloying scents of dozens of women oiled and perfumed to within an inch of their lives.

  The sultan’s wealth was on display in every carefully chosen detail of the spacious octagonal chamber. The domed ceiling had been trimmed with genuine gold leaf while detailed murals had been painted on each panel of the ceiling, many of them erotic in nature. The top half of the walls consisted of teakwood latticework, which contributed to the airy, yet unsettling, feeling of being trapped in an oversize birdcage. Graceful columns carved from priceless marble and topped with bas-relief of papyrus leaves were scattered throughout the room. The floor had been tiled with mosaics in rich shades representing every color of the rainbow.

  The chamber’s opulence would have put even the most extravagant ballroom in London to shame. But to Farouk it was nothing more than a setting for his most prized jewels—the beautiful women reclining on pillows and couches throughout the room in various states of repose and undress.

  Normally in the early-afternoon hours t
he women of the harem would be napping while eunuchs and young slave girls stirred the sultry air around them with huge fans adorned with precious gems and peacock feathers. But on this afternoon a current of excitement had swept through their ranks, leaving them wide-eyed and alert and whispering among themselves. Since they had little to occupy their idle hours but gossip and petty intrigues of their own making, Clarinda wasn’t surprised the arrival of Farouk’s exotic guests had generated such a stir among them.

  In some ways life in the harem was no different from life at Miss Throckmorton’s Seminary. Only here, instead of receiving instruction on dancing and needlework, the women learned the most effective techniques for weaving jewels into their elaborate braids and how to indulge a man’s every sexual fantasy.

  At first glance, it might even appear that the sultan’s women enjoyed an extraordinary degree of freedom compared to their English counterparts. They rose whenever they wanted and had their every need tended to by devoted slaves. They weren’t expected to lace themselves into rigid corsets or shove their feet into shoes that pinched their toes, but wore flowing robes or loose-fitting trousers that were more like pantaloons.

  They didn’t spend hours engaged in dutiful but dull pursuits such as doing needlework, practicing scales on the pianoforte, composing answers to endless stacks of correspondence, or learning how to pour the perfect cup of tea. Instead, they could while away a morning sunning themselves in the enclosed garden of the harem and spend the afternoon curling up with a book of poetry or having their taut muscles kneaded by the capable hands of a eunuch. It wasn’t hard to understand how they had all managed to learn English at Farouk’s command. With that much time on her hands, Clarinda could have mastered several languages.