Lady Of Fire (3 page)

She turned to Khalid. “No doubt he has been long without a woman,” she spoke in her adopted language. “Make certain that when you bring him into the women’s quarters, his desires are sufficiently quenched that he will not be tempted to touch what he must not.”

“It will be done, mistress.”

She returned her attention to Lucien. “I have instructed Khalid —”

“I heard.”

Then he had learned their language. Though it would make it less difficult for him in her husband’s home, it unsettled her. “Know this,” she said, “once you enter the harem, you will not be intimate with a woman until you have fulfilled your end of the bargain by delivering my daughter to my family.”

He smiled, a mocking thing that showed his teeth had survived the ravages of life at sea.

Sabine swallowed hard. “Do not fail me, Lucien de Gautier. You are very much a man, and I would not wish to change that.”

His smile widened. “Be assured, I will be cautious.”

The music grew louder, its vigorous beat winding around the slender woman who swayed at the center of the large room. It pulled her head back and closed her eyes, drew her arms up and spread them to embrace the rhythm. It shook her shoulders, rotated her hips, made her fingers snap.

Slowly, the female dancers hired to entertain the women of Abd al-Jabbar’s harem drifted away, going to stand along the walls to watch the one who had claimed the dance for herself.

She was different from the others—her hair a flame amid the ashes, skin that should have been pale tanned and faintly touched with freckles, and the eyes she opened upon her captive audience were green and flashed with daring.

The tempo quickened, and the solitary dancer whose fine-boned body curved where it ought to, swept across the floor. Laughter spilling from her, she snatched the gossamer veil from her waist-length hair, scattering the pins that had held it in place, and drew it between her hands. Once more raising her arms above her head, she pivoted on the balls of her bare feet and whirled amid the diaphanous material clothing her limbs. And when the music reached its zenith, she gave a shriek of delight.

“Alessandra!” a sharp voice split the air.

The music ceased, and a din of female voices rose in its place.

Wrenched from what seemed a trancelike state, the dancer whipped around. She blinked at the woman who stood at the far end of the room. Then, obviously afflicted with lightheadedness, she staggered and stumbled, dropped to her knees, and sank back on her heels.

Standing between Sabine and Khalid, Lucien silently cursed the attraction in whose grip he had been since laying eyes upon Alessandra, whom he had assumed was a dancer—though with her mother’s hair falling down her back, he should have known otherwise.

Here was forbidden fruit. Indeed, of all who might tempt him to sins of the flesh, this lady of fire and daring and laughter could move him nearest his downfall. His task had just turned more dangerous. Indeed, it could prove deadly.

Dear Lord,
Alessandra silently appealed to the one above,
I did not mean to. But, yes, I have done it again.

Dizziness subsiding sufficiently to allow her to focus on her mother who stood just inside the doors, she whispered, “Worse, I am caught. Again.”

She drew a deep breath, blew it up her face, and stood. As she stepped forward, the musicians and dancers resumed their entertainment. Not that their audience would be captive, for the encounter between mother and daughter was surely of greater interest.

Alessandra was halfway to Sabine’s side when she glanced to the right. Alongside Khalid stood a man of equal girth and height—as much a giant as the chief eunuch. Though fair of skin, he was clothed the same as Khalid, head covered with a turban, a caftan falling from his shoulders, and over that a dark robe.

Most notable were his eyes, their beauty undiminished by the brown-blue smudge ringing the right. Who had blackened it? Who had dared?

The answer was found in the strange bend of Khalid’s nose, which conjured a vision of the two men locked in mortal combat. Who had come out on top? Perhaps neither.

She returned her attention to the new man whose gaze was taking a leisurely jaunt over her. At every place he lit, from her heated face to her toes, she felt singed.

Why does he stare?
she wondered.
Does he mock me?

Regardless, he was surely the eunuch her mother had purchased a sennight past. No others would be so forward.

“I would have an explanation for your behavior,” Sabine said when her daughter halted before her.

Hating that she had agitated her, Alessandra leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her cool cheek. “Forgive me. I could not help myself.”

Sabine’s compressed lips twitched, face softened. “You must learn to control these impulses.” She brushed Alessandra’s hair off her face. “When Jabbar hears of this, he will likely forbid you entertainment.”

And he would hear of it. Leila, the first of his three wives, was likely sending word this moment.

“It will have been worth it,” Alessandra said with an apologetic smile, “for I so enjoyed the dance.”

“Well, do not complain when you are once more left to your boredom.”

“Would I do such a thing?”

“You would.”

Alessandra laughed. “And still you will come to my defense.”

Sabine rolled her eyes, took her daughter’s hand, and turned her toward the new eunuch.

Up close, Alessandra was more disconcerted. There was none of a eunuch’s serenity in that scarred face. Indeed, his expression was hard, as if anger had engraved it. Still, there was light in his eyes. Amusement?

“Why do you stare?” she asked.

“He is from England,” Sabine said. “Thus, he has much to learn before he takes his place in our household.”

Alessandra gasped, stepped nearer him. “England? Why did you not tell me, Mother?”

“I wished to surprise you.”

Alessandra looked across her shoulder. “That you have done.”

Her mother smiled. “I thought he could help you with your English. In return, you can teach him our language.”

Alessandra winced. She was not keen on being tutored in English. Though she could converse in her mother’s native language, it felt awkward upon her tongue. Not only did it lack the richness and superb delicacy of the language she had spoken all her life, there was none of Arabic’s singsong intonation to soften it.

“I can teach him our language,” she agreed, though she had no intention of wasting time learning more of the English her mother wished her to know intimately. She returned her attention to the man and was further unsettled when his gaze once more lowered over her.

Never had she felt uncomfortable in the clothes she wore within the women’s quarters. But then, never had a man—not even her betrothed—looked at her as this one did.

Wondering what thoughts should so tug at the eunuch’s mind that they should also tug at his lips, she looked down her front. Heat rose to her face as she considered what the thinly-woven material of her garments half-heartedly concealed—the swell of her breasts and flare of her hips.

Her first thought was to cover herself. Her next was that never had she felt ashamed of her body, and she would not begin now.

She tossed her head and asked in English, “What is your name?”

“He has taken the name of Seif,” Sabine once more spoke for him.

“Seif.” Alessandra nodded. “And his Christian name?”

“Of no consequence,” Sabine said sharply. “In this household, he is Seif.”

Surprised by her mother’s vehemence, Alessandra turned to her. “Something is wrong?”

Sabine shook her head. “I am but tired.”

Understandable considering her mother had
spent the past three nights with Jabbar. Though he had two other wives and a dozen concubines, there was none he loved more than her mother. For this, Leila’s dislike of Sabine was unequaled.

Alessandra put a hand beneath her mother’s elbow and urged her toward the others. “Come sit.”

Sabine drew back. “I am going to rest now. Perhaps you could introduce Seif to the others?”

Alessandra looked to the women of the harem. As predicted, they showed little interest in the musicians and dancers. However, the distraction provided by Sabine and her daughter had waned. It was the new eunuch who held their attention.

Knowing what they contemplated, Alessandra scowled. They were like vultures, hungry for more than Jabbar’s passing attention. Even Leila, who usually hid her emotions well, appeared fascinated with Seif.

Sabine swept her gaze over the same faces her daughter looked upon.
The ice is thin here,
she warned herself.
Do not venture too far out upon it. Stay as near the edge as possible.

Meaning she ought to remain here with Alessandra. And she would if not that the ice of her illness was thinner yet, threatening to make itself known to those who would use it to their benefit. But of greater concern was Jabbar. Not only would she spare him the pain of her approaching death, but she dare not provide him with an excuse to sooner see his son wed to Alessandra. Thus, Sabine paid the physician well to keep her secret and supply her with medicine of which she was very much in need at this moment.

“Go, Alessandra,” she said.

“Very well.” Her daughter turned to Lucien. “Come, Seif.”

As he stepped forward, Sabine caught his arm. “Do not forget,” she whispered. “No one is to know of my illness, especially my daughter.”

He dipped his head. “None will hear of it from me.”

Wishing she had greater confidence in his words, she dropped her hand. “Forget not our bargain.”

“How could I?”

She watched him follow Alessandra. Though one would have to be blind not to notice her daughter’s unusual beauty, never before had she seemed so provocative and sensual.

Lucien had also noticed. Though he had striven to keep his face impassive while watching Alessandra dance, Sabine had caught the light in his eyes and seen the flaring of nostrils and spasming of jaw muscles.

Was it possible he had not quenched his desires these past nights? Khalid had not spoken of that aspect of Lucien’s training, and she had not felt compelled to ask since the eunuch had assured her the Englishman was ready to come among the women. But was he?

Even if her plan succeeded, would her daughter reach England untouched? Or would this giant of a man spoil her? And what if he discovered Alessandra’s true identity?

Oh, foolish plan of mine,
she silently lamented. But though tempted to abandon it, the alternative was worse. Concern over whether Alessandra reached England with her virtue intact was preferable to knowing the sort of life Rashid would give her. And once she was on English soil, she could escape Lucien de Gautier, if need be. It was a chance Sabine must take.

Khalid came alongside her. “The Englishman will be watched,” he said.

She grimaced at the sight of that splendid nose knocked askew. Though Khalid had told her Lucien and he had come to an understanding and there would be no more trouble between them, she was not convinced—especially if De Gautier had not quenched his desires.

“Khalid, you ensured he was well sated, did you not?”

His lips thinned.

She drew a sharp breath. “You said he was ready.”

“Apologies, mistress, but there are some things a man cannot be made to do, especially one as strong-willed as that. No matter the variety, and it was a wondrous selection, he turned away each prostitute delivered him—said never had he paid for a woman’s embrace and he would not start in our wretched country.”

Sabine momentarily closed her eyes. “We may be doomed, then.”

“As told, he will be watched.”

She jerked her chin. “Do not fail me, Khalid.” With one last glance at her daughter and the man who stood alongside her, she withdrew from the room.

Attempting to block her awareness of the new eunuch, Alessandra focused on the dancers. She admired their colorful garments and the trinkets about their wrists, waists, and ankles that flashed color and sound with every movement.

How I envy their freedom!
she silently bemoaned.
If only I could be as unfettered!

Struggling to still the restlessness that tempted her back to the dance floor, she crossed her arms over her chest. But her body began to sway.

Only when a hand pulled her back did she realize she had stepped forward.

She snapped her gaze to the long, tanned fingers encircling her wrist, jerked her chin up. “Release me,” she demanded in English.

Seif raised his eyebrows.

She tugged at her hand. It was futile, though not because his hold was tight. Indeed, his touch seemed almost a caress.

Jolted by a sensation that slid down her spine, she hissed, “Do you not let go, I will call the other eunuchs and have you removed.”

“The dance is forbidden you, mistress. I but assure you do not further displease your mother.”

Though Alessandra was grateful he had prevented her from compounding her crime, there was no reason for him to continue to hold her. “That you have done,” she said. “Now release me!”

He drew his thumb across the inside of her wrist. “I but wait for this to calm.”

Her pulse leaped higher. “You are too bold for a eunuch,” she fiercely whispered. “Mayhap a whip across your back will put you in your place.”

His derision cleared and he released her wrist. “Forgive me, mistress. As your mother told, I have much to learn.”

Were it a genuine apology, she might have made allowances for him, but she knew he merely appeased her. Too, she did not like the flutterings roused by the touch of his eyes and hand—things never before experienced and which almost frightened her. They were too much like the music she could not resist.

Amid the applause that sounded at the end of the dancers’ performance, Alessandra turned away.

Seif stepped into her path. “Were you not to introduce me to the others?”

“Introduce yourself,” she said and stepped around him. Grateful he did not follow, she met Khalid’s questioning gaze before hastening from the hall.