Unconquered (55 page)

There were deeper changes as well. Where once she had been quick to act and ruled by her heart, she now considered carefully and thoughtfully.

Mirza Khan, her tender lover these few months, had begged her to remain with him, or at least to return to him if Jared repudiated her. She cared deeply for him, yet she knew she would never love him as she loved Jared Dunham, and Mirza Khan deserved all of her heart.

She sighed, allowing herself a moment to think back over the terrible things she had seen in the last year. Perhaps the most painful was the death of little Fleur. The day of her death, which was the day after Mirza Khan had insisted that Miranda name her, seemed to mark the closing of one door and the opening of another. The child’s quiet and apparently painless death had been no surprise at all to Miranda and had been, of course, something of a relief. What kind of life would she have had, blind and probably deaf as well?

Miranda would always be grateful to the prince for insisting on a name. How awful if the baby had gone to her grave nameless! She was buried in a secluded part of the garden, and Mirza Khan had held Miranda while she wept and wept. There were no longer any tears for the child. Perhaps there would be again one day, but for now Miranda intended to walk through the new door, into a new life. She could not, just now, allow herself to dwell on the past.

Rising, she left her room and sought Mirza Khan. Walking alone in the selamlik garden when she found him, the prince’s face lit up at sight of her, and she walked proudly into his outstretched arms. “Thank you, Mirza,” she said. “Thank you. I have suddenly realized that I am whole again, and it is you who have created this miracle.”

He held her against him, aching with need for her. “We are friends, and so it was written before either of us was even born. It is what we call
kismet
, a preordained fate.” His hand lightly
touched her soft hair. How long? he wondered. How long before I must let her go, and then spend the rest of the years apportioned to me wondering what I ever did that I must bear such pain, such loss.

“You love me,” she said quietly, knowing his thoughts so clearly that it startled her. She had never been able to play that particular trick with anyone else but Amanda.

“Of course I love you,” he said with false heartiness.

“
No!
” her voice was sharp, and demanded his attention. “You really love me. Oh, Mirza, have I brought you pain? You don’t deserve that, darling.”

“Walk with me, Miranda,” was his reply. They strolled the smooth marble paths of the garden. “Do you know how old I am?” he asked her, and then without waiting for her answer said, “I am forty-five years old, Miranda, a full twenty-five years your senior. I might be your father.”

“No, Mirza, you could never be my papa.” To his surprise he heard laughter in her voice.

“What I am trying to say to you, Miranda, is yes, I really do love you, but had we never become lovers I would still love you because it is my fate to do so. It is also my fate to see you returned safely to your world. If you remain there with your husband then I must accept that bitter portion of my fate as I have so joyously accepted the sweet portion of it. My years have taught me not to rail against Allah’s plan for me, though I may sometimes feel that I know better than God himself. If I have given you sweet memories to feast upon in the long dark nights ahead, then so have you given me sweet memories in return.” Turning, he tipped her face up to him, his deep-blue eyes locking onto hers with such tenderness that she felt the tears pricking, and blinked them fiercely back. “Into each man’s life, if he is lucky, comes one very special love. There will never be another, but my dearest little puritan, my life is so much richer for loving you. I regret nothing, and neither must you, for regret would lessen what has passed between us, and make it only ordinary.”

Reaching up, she took his head in her hands and, pulling it down, kissed him a tender, sweet kiss. “I have become a woman with you,” she said. “Never have I felt so strong, so sure, and it is your love that has done this. It will envelop me when I leave you, an invisible, protective armor.”

She slipped her hand into his, and they strolled wordlessly,
enjoying the beauties of the garden with its tinkling, blue-tiled fountains, its fish pools whose swift golden inhabitants darted to and fro amid the water lilies. The yellow rose trees were in full bloom amid beds of fluffy white gypsophila, tall spikes of purple lavender, lemon balm, and other sweet herbs.

The sunlight caressed her long hair while a soft wind teasingly played with it. Soon he led her into his dimly lit bedchamber. She shed her peacock-blue caftan, he his long white robe, and they came together in an embrace. His body, lean, warm, and hard, felt good against hers. Her lips parted to receive his tongue into her mouth, a tongue that loved hers with tender familiarity. Her hands smoothed down the long line of his back, cupped his buttocks, and moved back upward, her nails gently raking his skin. He bore her backward onto the bed, his passionate mouth never leaving hers, and her arms slipped up around his neck. Her pale-gold hair billowed outward, and he tangled his hands in its soft thickness as he covered her face with a thousand kisses.

Rolling to one side, he cradled her within the shelter of his arm while his other hand gently caressed her breasts, his fingers touching her skin slowly as if committing its texture to memory. Watching him through half-closed eyes, she said softly, “This is the last time for us, isn’t it, Mirza?”

“How did you know?”

“I saw
Dream Witch
anchor off your beach earlier this afternoon,” she replied.

“You will sail with the evening tide, Miranda, my love. Your Captain Snow has brought your maid. She will come ashore later with your clothes.”

“Oh, Mirza, I am suddenly afraid!” she cried.

“No!” His deep voice was fierce. “You must
never
show fear, my darling, for if you exhibit any sign of weakness you will be overcome. Your world is full of people who have never faced a decision more serious than having to choose between two invitations. They believe that the correct thing in your situation would have been suicide. However, if in your shoes, would they have killed themselves? Of course not!

“Live, Miranda. Apologize to no one, not even to yourself!”

Then Mirza Khan sealed her mouth with a burning kiss, and continued to make tender, passionate love to her. He kissed every inch of her, slipping down the silk sheets to begin with her
pretty pink toes. His tongue flicked at the arch of each foot, and she giggled. He worshiped at each long leg, nuzzling, then playfully nipping at the soft skin on the insides of her thighs.

Her nipples grew high and tight with longing, and she gasped when his mouth closed over first one and then the other. She held his head close to her breasts. Slowly he lifted himself so as to face her, and as their eyes met, hers filled with tears. It was so unfair that he loved her like this, and that she must leave him.

He kissed her belly, and said, “I have tasted of your milk, my darling, now will I taste of your honey,” and his dark head dipped down to that secret grotto of love. Tauntingly his tongue flicked at the sweet flesh, and she moaned low, a sound that came from deep, deep back in her throat. Her body began to shudder.

“I … I want to love you … that way, too,” she managed to gasp, but he didn’t stop. “Please, Mirza!” He stopped and swung his body sideways so she might taste of him as he had tasted of her.

She took him gently into her mouth, her naughty tongue teasing the crimson head of his manhood. He sobbed, and his mouth reciprocated her loving until she thought she would go mad with the pleasure. Playfully, she nipped at him.

“Oh, bitch, to do this to me now!” he groaned. Then, disengaging her grip on him, he pulled her beneath him and thrust into her, pushing his shaft as deep as he could. She thrust herself up to meet him, pulling his head to hers, kissing him hungrily, tasting herself in his mouth. Together they reached the final peak, and then together they tumbled whirling through timelessness until reaching earth once more to cling together in a last sweet embrace before sleep overtook them.

When Miranda awoke he was gone. Slowly she rose, donned her caftan, and made her way back across the harem garden to her room in the women’s quarters. Turkhan awaited her, and the two women embraced in sisterly fashion.

“Will he see me before I go?” Miranda said. “I cannot leave without seeing him once more.”

“He will see you.”

“You love him, Turkhan.” It was a statement, and the reply was not surprising.

“Yes, I love him, and in his fashion he cares for me. I have been
with him for fifteen years, since I was fourteen. Others come and go, but I always remain, as I will remain to comfort him after you have gone.”

“He is fortunate to have you,” replied Miranda sincerely.

Turkhan smiled, and put an arm around the younger woman. “Miranda, little sister, how very Western you are! I do not mind that my lord Mirza loves you, for you have made him happy, and we all knew that you would have to leave us one day. When you have gone we will have the pleasurable task of soothing our lord’s pain. The other butterflies of his harem believe they will succeed, and he will kindly tell them they have, but I know better. You will always be with him, hidden in a dark, secret place deep within his heart. I cannot change that, nor would I. Every experience we face in this life is for a purpose, even the bittersweet ones.”

“I might return,” Miranda said softly.

“No,” Turkhan shook her lovely head. “You care for my lord Mirza, but your heart is with the man to whom you return. Even if he casts you off, you will remain near him as I remain near Mirza Khan—because you love him, as I love my lord.”

“Yes,” came the reply. “I love Jared, and no matter what happens I will want to be near him.”

“I understand,” said Turkhan, and then she said in a lighter tone, “Let us go to the baths. Your people will be here soon.”

Miranda luxuriated in the lovely harem baths a last time. After a massage, she dozed and was awakened by an elderly woman slave offering sweet, boiling Turkish coffee. Drinking the coffee quickly, she was wrapped in a large, fluffy towel and left the baths. Miranda opened the door to her room and entered it. She heard a gasp, and then a joyful cry.

“
Milady! It really is you!
”

She swallowed. The transition had begun. “Yes, Perky. It really is me.”

Perkins burst into tears. “Oh, milady, we was so heartbroken. Milord was wild with grief. He was drunk for close to two months.”

“Was he?” Miranda smiled, quite pleased. “What happened after he sobered up, Perky?”

Perkins’ plain, girlish face became tight with disapproval. “It ain’t my place to criticize, m’lady, but after he sobered up he became the biggest rake in London. Thank God you weren’t
really dead, and you’re coming home. I shudder to think of that Lady de Winter being little Tom’s mama!”

“What?!” Miranda felt her temper rising. He certainly hadn’t put himself out with a long mourning period, had he?

“Oh m’lady, forgive me for upsetting you! I’ll tell you true. The gossip was that he was planning to offer for her, but he didn’t. They say all he wanted was a mama for little Master Tom, for the child’s been with Lady Swynford ever since you left. She wouldn’t let him go from the hall, but kept him with Master Neddie. Now, however, she’s breeding again. And besides, m’lord wants the boy. He loves the child so much. I never heard that he loved Lady de Winter, m’lady. There’s never been the slightest gossip of that! I swear it!”

Miranda put out a gentle hand and patted Perkins’ cheek. “It’s all right, Perky. I think it’s better that I know exactly what has been happening. Come now, help me dress.” She needed to change the subject, and grasped the opportunity. “Have fashions changed very much in the year I’ve been away?”

“Oh yes, m’lady! The bodices are tighter, the skirts a little fuller, and the hems come just to the ankle. Wait till you see the cabin full of lovely gowns his lordship’s brought for you.”

Very slowly, Miranda began to lose her color. She swayed and Perky reached out to steady her.

“
He’s here?!
” Miranda whispered. “Is Lord Dunham aboard the ship?”

“Why, yes, of course,” Perky replied.

Miranda grew silent. So there was to be little time to plan what she would say to Jared, little time to prepare herself? Miranda dropped her towel, and Perky, blushing, handed her a pair of fine muslin drawers and white silk stockings with embroidered gold clocks on them. There were braided gold silk garters to hold the stockings up. “Oh, this is new!” Miranda noted as her maid dropped a quilted white silk petticoat with its own attached bodice over her head. The bodice was sleeveless, and had wide straps.

The dress Perky had brought her was of coral and apricot muslin in alternating stripes. The scooped neckline was low, the sleeves short puffs, the bodice indeed quite tight. The skirt belled out gently over her petticoat, ending just at the ankle. Miranda slipped into a pair of black slippers.

“The dress is a bit tight in the bodice, m’lady, but I can let it out
later. I’d have thought you’d be a bit less in the bustline what with not nursing all these months.”

Miranda nodded, sat, and watched quietly as her maid parted her hair in the center. Perky braided it and then arranged the braid in a round knot at the back of her head. “Lord Dunham sent your jewel case along, m’lady,” said Perky, and she opened the top tray in the red Morocco leather case.

Miranda first removed a strand of pearls on a gold chain with a diamond clasp, and fastened them about her neck. Then she took the matching pearl-and-diamond earrings, and secured them in her ears. The fashionable London woman in the mirror stared at her coolly, and Miranda knew it was time to go. She stood. “Take the case, Perky, and go to the barge. I must bid Prince Mirza farewell and thank him for his hospitality.”

She took a final look around the small bedroom with its yellow- and white-tiled corner stove, its built-in single bed, and the small dressing table with the Venetian glass mirror. She had been happy here, and though her heart longed for Jared, she was afraid of what awaited her and reluctant to leave the safety of Mirza Khan’s sure love. “You must never show fear,” he had said. “Never apologize, even to yourself.”