Monica Burns - Erotic Romance Writer

The following excerpt is unedited and may differ from the final format and/or published work.

2010 CAPA – Best Erotic Historical

Chapter 1

Marrakech, Morocco, 1893

Organized chaos. Allegra could think of no other way to describe the train station. The rhythmic sound of the Berber dialect mixing with the French language created a colorful cacophony of sound that engulfed her the moment she stepped onto the crowded platform. A whoosh of steam from the engine blasted its way out into the air, adding to the din.

It wasn’t any louder than London’s Paddington Station, but it was much more colorful and interesting. Spices and exotic fruits scented the air in a tantalizing fashion, while people pushed their way in and out of the one-story station house. A man, dressed in the flowing white robes of the Bedouins she’d read so much about, made his way along the platform followed by a woman dressed in a bright blue garment with a veil across her face. A porter dodged the couple and headed straight for Allegra. The small, wiry man came to a halt in front of her and bowed deeply.

“Mademoiselle Synnford, I am Ali. I come from Major Hastings and his bien-aimé.”

“Wonderful,” she said as she turned to see her maid directing the removal of their luggage from the railroad car. “Millie?”

“Yes, Miss Allegra.” The older woman turned her head toward her.

“This is Ali. He’s here to take our luggage to the carriage Isabelle’s fiancé arranged for us.”

Millie nodded before she gestured for the porter to see to one of the trunks sitting on the platform. Allegra bit back a smile as her maid started to bark orders like a general commanding a strategic assault.

Efficient and thorough, Millie managed everything in a way that always ensured a positive outcome. Over the years, numerous attempts had been made to lure Millie away from her and into the employ of others. Her friend would have none of it.

The shrill, high-pitched scream of a horse broke through her thoughts and she turned toward the sound. Hooves crashing against wood followed the animal’s loud shrieks.

Over the past fifteen years, she’d learned a great deal about horses. She’d even acquired a sizable stable of thoroughbreds, which she ran at Newmarket in all the major events. Since her first riding lesson at the age of seventeen, she’d learned to recognize the difference between animals in distress and those that were merely high-strung.

This particular horse wasn’t suffering, although it was clearly agitated. Curiosity got the better of her and she carefully made her way along the crowded platform toward the disruption.

She’d passed almost five coaches when she saw a railcar designed to transport cattle and other animals. A wide plank ran from the straw-strewn floor of the car down to the platform so animals could be led off the train. Another shrill whinny erupted, followed by a violent thrashing of hooves on the sides of the car. Excited shouts filled the air, and in the next instant, a white Arabian stallion bolted down the wooden ramp and onto the platform with a young boy valiantly clinging to its halter rope. The already crowded platform exploded with panicked shouts as the horse released a shrill cry and reared up on its haunches before falling back onto all four legs.

Despite the panic around her, Allegra could only stare at the magnificent animal. It was the most beautiful horse she’d ever seen. Not even her champion thoroughbred, Seabreeze, could compare to this stallion. She was still caught up in the beauty of the horse when someone charged past her, knocking her off balance. Several more people rushed by, bumping her aside as they raced toward safety. Her balance precarious, she had almost righted herself when a man shoved her out of his path—she staggered to one side then tumbled to the ground.

Eyes rolling wildly in its head, the stallion reared up and brought its front hooves crashing back down in a vicious blow near where she lay. The boy still struggled with the animal, but he was no match for the stallion’s strength. The realization sent fear streaking through her as a pair of hooves again pounded the wood floor of the platform, which reverberated beneath her with the force of the blow. The horse seemed close to gaining its freedom, and she froze as the animal reared up over her head.

In that breathless instant of terror, a dark shadow abruptly blotted out the image of the uncontrollable horse. The man took charge of the animal and brought it under control. His voice low and hypnotic, he soothed the animal in the language of the Bedouins. As the horse slowly grew quiet, she pushed herself up into a sitting position. Dazed, she pushed a loose strand of hair away from her face with a trembling hand.

The strand of lace that had ripped away from the cuff of her sleeve brushed across her cheek causing her to study it ruefully. She was extremely fortunate it was the only damage to her person. Gratitude swelled in her for the man who’d come to her rescue.

She was just about to stand up when strong hands gripped her waist and lifted her to her feet. The light scent of bergamot tinged with an exotic spice teased her nose as she stared up at the man towering over her. It was impossible to stifle her gasp as the rest of her senses absorbed the full impact of his close proximity.

When she’d arrived in Morocco yesterday, she’d seen men who epitomized the romantic image her travel guide had painted of a Bedouin sheikh. But this man defied all those impressions. Dressed entirely in black, his kaffia was draped across his face so all she could see were his dark brown eyes.

A rush of heat warmed her skin at the intensity of the look in his hooded gaze. She was accustomed to being in the presence of powerful men, but never one such as this. This man possessed a raw, savage mystique about him that sent her heart skidding along at breakneck speed.

He was at least six feet tall, with wide shoulders and equally strong hands. Hands that only just now were releasing her. Even with her limited knowledge of the nomadic tribes of the Sahara and surrounding regions, she knew his height was unusual for a Bedouin. Instinct told her it was an advantage he used on a regular basis, just as he was doing now.

Transfixed, she couldn’t remember the last time a man had intimidated her. But this one did. The invisible, unrestrained aura of his maleness enveloped her. Here was a man of power. A man who bowed to no one. A man who conquered everything in his path.

Including her.

A shiver raced down her spine as she took a quick step back from him. His gaze narrowed and she realized her trepidation showed. With one hand pressed to the base of her throat, she swallowed hard.

“Thank you,” she choked out from her suddenly dry mouth.

“You are unhurt then.”

His voice was just like him, dark and mysterious. His French was impeccable and mimicked that of the bluest of aristocrats, yet she doubted there was a drop of Gallic blood flowing through his veins. Still, it was easy to understand why the horse had been so easily soothed. The man had the seductive voice of a dark angel, the sound of which could easily make the most pious of women consider the possibility of sin. Realizing she’d not responded to him, she brushed her hand across her temple in another attempt to straighten her appearance.

“I’m a bit shaken, but none the worse for wear.”

She dropped her gaze and swatted at the dirt still layering her skirt. Those deep brown eyes of his made her feel as if he could see straight through her. It was a disconcerting sensation, and she didn’t like it. It made her feel out of control, something she never allowed herself when she was with a man. Fire blazed through her as strong fingers captured her lower jaw. He tilted her face to one side.

“You should ask the hotel manager to give you ice for that cheek, ma belle.”

It appalled her that she liked hearing him call her pretty. She knew it was ludicrous to take pleasure in such a small compliment. Even worse, her body was responding to him in a way it had never done with any other man. The elemental force of personality that flowed from him set off alarms in her head. Swallowing hard, she put distance between them. The moment she did, he arched an eyebrow at her and his eyes became unreadable mahogany.

“Thank you for your concern, monsieur. I shall ask for your suggested remedy when I arrive at my friend’s home.”

“Then we say, adieu, mademoiselle.”

He gave her an abrupt nod then turned and moved back to the stallion he’d saved her from. Flabbergasted by his sudden departure, she felt her mouth fall open as he walked away without another word. Unaccustomed to men simply walking away from her as if she were of no consequence, she watched in disbelief as he took the horse’s halter rope from an older Bedouin. It was an unpleasant experience to have a man ignore her. Annoyed, she grimaced at her emotional reaction.

The older man said something to the dark stranger then nodded in her direction. Horrified that her rescuer might turn around to find her watching him, she spun around on her heel and hurried back to where she’d left Millie. She reached the train car and frowned when her maid and the porter were nowhere in sight. She turned around to face the direction she’d just come from and across the distance saw her mysterious Bedouin watching her.

The unexpected frisson sliding over her skin appalled her. This wasn’t a man to be toyed with. That she found him intriguing and mesmerizing made him even more dangerous. He was the type of man who would demand total submission, and not since that first night in Madame Eugenie’s had she ever allowed a man to control her. That night had taught her a hard lesson and she’d turned it to her advantage. She knew when to leave well enough alone, and this Bedouin sheikh was a man to avoid at all costs.

She drew in a deep breath and directed a polite nod in his direction before dragging her gaze away from him. Despite her desire to run, she forced herself to walk at a sedate pace until she reached the interior of the railway station. The moment she escaped his watchful eyes, she hurried through the building toward the doors leading out to the street.

The chaos from the railway platform had moved out into the city street. A man with a monkey on his shoulder walked by her, while a vendor across from the railroad station hawked his wares at the people passing his small shop.

“Miss Allegra,” Millie called out with a note of relief in her voice. “Thank heavens. I thought we’d lost you.”

With a smile, she turned to face her maid. “I’m sorry, Millie. I was distracted by the most incredible horse I’ve ever seen.”

“Another horse.” The older woman snorted with disgust as she pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at the side of Allegra’s skirt. “Look at your gown. Did you ride the beast as well?”

Although she’d been intrigued by far more than the horse, Millie’s question made her realize she’d missed the opportunity to make an offer for the white stallion. Irritated that she’d allowed the mysterious stranger to be such a distraction, she pursed her mouth with rueful frustration. If the man hadn’t addled her brain so much she might have been the new owner of that splendid animal. Shaking her head, she touched her companion’s shoulder.

“No, I didn’t ride him, although I should have made an offer. I’m certain he’d make a wonderful sire.”

“I admit you have an eye for horses, Miss Allegra, but bless me if I understand why you’d need another one.”

“I suppose you’re right, Millie.” She smiled as she followed the maid toward a waiting landau. “I don’t really need another horse, but he was magnificent.”

Once they settled themselves inside, their coachman guided the vehicle into the busy street and set off for Isabelle’s. Seated beside the driver, Ali occasionally pointed out an item of interest to them. Well into the middle of the day, the sun lashed its heat downward. The parasol she carried deflected a large amount of sunlight, but the temperature was still stifling. She would be grateful to reach Isabelle’s, where she could quench her parched throat with a cool drink.

Seated across from her, Millie eyed the scenery warily. The maid had never been comfortable journeying outside of England, but Allegra had given up suggesting the woman remain at home when she traveled. Her friend refused to be left behind. She returned her attention to the exotic setting they were driving through. It was beautiful and mysterious with its Moorish arched windows, small alleyways, and the minarets rising up toward the crisp blue sky. The seductive sounds, the pungent scent of spices, and the vivid colors created the impression of a rich opulence that stirred an emotion deep inside her that she was unable to define.

“It’s beautiful isn’t it?” Allegra didn’t expect Millie to actually answer her. The customary response was generally a grunt, but the maid surprised her.

“A bit too heathenish to my liking, but it is interesting.”

Laughing, Allegra shook her head. “I’ll make a traveler of you yet, Millie.”

“I highly doubt that.” The older woman sniffed her dissension at the idea.

With a fleeting smile, Allegra turned her head to study the lovely intricacies of the large building they were passing. The architecture was beautiful and mysterious. Almost as darkly inscrutable as her Bedouin sheikh. She released a small sigh of disgust. What was it about the man that intrigued her so much?

He’d been far too arrogant for her liking and dismissive as well. Was that what bothered her? She had to admit that she didn’t like the fact she’d not made the slightest impression on him. Even happily married men didn’t walk away from her like the stranger had. Perhaps her age was beginning to show. She frowned. Ridiculous. She was barely past thirty.

No, she was nettled because she’d been unable to capture his attention completely. Her ego smarted from his blatant dismissal of her. It had not happened before. That was the only reason she couldn’t forget him. She suppressed a sigh at the thought. Was it? She wasn’t so sure.

Not even the Prince of Wales had intrigued her quite this much. But then Bertie had been a known quantity, just like her other lovers. The dark-robed sheikh represented the unknown to her. Many of her lovers had often been more like spoilt schoolboys with power. Always amorous, yet prone to the occasional tantrum.

She allowed herself a small smile as she recalled one of the Prince of Wales’s ill-tempered moments. It had been easy to feel affection for him, just as it had been easy to feel affection for all the other men she’d allowed into her bed. Affection, but never love.

There were many men who’d thought themselves in love with her, but she knew better. Although she was attractive enough with her green eyes and dark red hair, it wasn’t her beauty that drew men to her. The image of her as a courtesan unparalleled was what intoxicated them. It was the illusion that had evolved out of Arthur’s death that drew men to her.

She understood how the persona had developed, but the creation of it had been far from pleasant. The one positive in the entire nightmare of Arthur’s death had been her ability to choose the men she welcomed into her bed. It had cultivated an independence she would never have known at Madame Eugenie’s. It was a liberty she protected by avoiding the emotional attachment of love. The emotion was even more of an illusion than the misguided notion that she was an incomparable lover.

Quite possibly Arthur might have protested her ideas about love, but he wasn’t here to chide her or challenge her on the issue. All the same, she was certain he would be proud of her. It would have pleased him to see her so self-sufficient. Arthur’s patronage and tutelage had brought her a long way from that frightened girl he’d first met at Madame Eugenie’s. Even Millie had changed since her days cooking in the brothel’s kitchen. The woman was more than her maid and occasional cook. Millie was a friend and companion who watched over her.

Devoted and incredibly stubborn, Millie was one of the few people she could count on to stand by her in even the worst of circumstances. Her friend Isabelle was made of the same cloth as her maid, but then the three of them had all emerged from the bowels of the East End at almost the same time.

Her gloved fingers tightened on the wood handle of her parasol as she banished the memory. This was a time of celebration. Isabelle had found her heart’s desire in the form of Major Brant Hastings. The couple were to marry in two days’ time and she couldn’t be happier for her friend. She only wished she could be happy about the second invitation she’d received just before leaving London.

With an adept move, she used her free hand to open the drawstring reticule in her lap and retrieve Cordelia’s letter. The missive already showed distinct signs of wear, evidence of the numerous times she’d read and reread her niece’s words. This time wasn’t any different than the hundreds of other instances she’d studied the letter. The content was always the same. She heaved a sigh.

Married.

Her sweet, lovely Cordelia was to be a countess.

She’d always imagined that a country squire or perhaps a wealthy merchant would steal her niece’s heart. It had never occurred to her that the girl might actually marry a member of the Marlborough Set. But not even in her wildest dreams would she have envisioned her niece becoming engaged to the nephew of her first patron.

Arthur would have found the entire matter uproariously funny. That his nephew, the current Earl of Bledsoe, was to marry the niece of his onetime mistress would have appealed to his sense of humor. But as much as it would have amused her paramour, she was equally certain his wife, the Dowager Countess of Bledsoe, would not find it humorous if she discovered the truth.

The chill coursing its way down her back forced her to adjust her parasol so the sun’s heat could warm her shoulders. If the dowager were to find out she and Cordelia were related—no. She wouldn’t let that happen. She just wouldn’t go to the wedding. She sighed. It wasn’t quite that simple, and she knew it.

The carriage turned off the street and rolled through the black wrought iron gates outside a small mansion. As the vehicle came to a halt, Allegra returned the letter to her reticule and focused her attention on the government residence. The Petit Palais was appropriately named. Isabelle’s new home was a beautiful little palace. Rounded arched windows culminating in a sharp point were complimented by sculptured stonework that gave the impression of stiff lace across the façade of the mansion. The stone itself had a delicate pink tinge that only enhanced the image of something magical and fragile.

Accepting the coachman’s assistance, she stepped out of the carriage as she continued to admire thePetit Palais. Although elaborate in its Moorish design, there was a welcoming quality to the house that made her suddenly realize how fortunate her friend was. Isabelle hadn’t just found love, she’d found a home.

It was something she’d never had. There was her house in London, of course, but it was simply a place to live. A home was much more than a place to rest one’s head. It represented something more intangible. It was a symbol of comfort, acceptance, and happiness. And it was that intangible she was determined to give Cordelia, no matter what the price.

“Allegra! Oh, how wonderful. You’re here at last,” Isabelle Denten exclaimed as she hurried out of the enchanting house with her arms outstretched. “I’m so happy to see you.”

Her friend’s excitement contagious, Allegra hastened forward to embrace the dark-haired beauty. Stepping back to look at her friend, Allegra smiled as she shook her head in admiration.

“Belle, you look positively radiant!”

“It’s Brant’s doing. I never thought it possible to be so happy.” Isabelle laughed as she turned toward Allegra’s maid. “Hello, Millie. Are you keeping my friend here in line?”

“I do my best, Miss Isabelle. I do my best.”

The woman’s world-weary sigh pulled another laugh from Isabelle as she issued a quick order to the butler who’d joined them outside and stood discreetly a few feet away. “Teabury, please have Ali see to the luggage and ensure Millie is settled in the room adjoining Miss Synnford’s.”

Satisfied everything was running smoothly, Isabelle wrapped her arm around Allegra’s waist and drew her inside. “I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’ve come to be my witness at the wedding.”

“How could I possibly refuse,” Allegra said with a warm smile. Arms entwined, they moved through a cool foyer into a cheerful, brightly lit salon. “Although I confess I was relieved to escape London.”

“Escape? Whatever from?”

“Cordelia is engaged.” Allegra sank down onto a green chintz-covered sofa.

“But that’s wonderful.”

“She’s to marry the Earl of Bledsoe.”

“Oh dear Lord.” Isabelle, an expression of horror on her face, collapsed onto the seat beside her.

“Quite.” Allegra closed her eyes for a brief moment. “I received her letter just before I left London. Apparently, she met Arthur’s nephew while on her holiday in Italy.”

“My dear, Allegra, I am so sorry. What are you going to do?” Isabelle reached over and squeezed her hand in a gesture of comfort.

“I don’t really know.” She shook her head at her friend’s question. “I only know I cannot do anything that might jeopardize Cordelia’s happiness.”

“What if you told her the truth?” Isabelle asked.

“The thought of doing so terrifies me.”

“Cordelia loves you, Allegra. She’ll understand.”

Isabelle turned her head at the sound of china rattling. A smile on her face, she instructed the maid to set the tray on the coffee table in front of the couch. With a sense of detachment, Allegra watched her friend pour a tall glass of lemonade. Would Cordelia understand? She wasn’t so sure.

It was true, her niece loved her, but she could easily lose that love if she tried to explain the lies of the past fifteen years. Falsehoods that had been difficult and expensive to maintain. And all of it paid for by some of the most prominent members of the Marlborough Set. Men who’d showered her with money and jewels in exchange for her company and the right to share her bed.

“I’m not convinced Cordelia will be as understanding as you think.” Allegra shook her head as she accepted the glass Isabelle offered and took a sip of the cool drink. “She’ll be hurt and angry. And she’ll feel betrayed. I understand far too well what that means.”

“Betrayed in what way, dearest? Do you really think not telling her the truth is betrayal? You protected her.” Isabelle stared at her with an expression of fierce affection and protectiveness. “Your mother betrayed you and Elizabeth. You have nothing to be ashamed of. Cordelia is a sensible girl. Her anger will be for what you and her mother went through—not because you kept the truth from her.”

“That may be true, but it’s too large a gamble for my peace of mind. I have no desire to involve Cordelia in a scandal. The last one was vile enough.”

“Ah yes, Lady Bledsoe has a strong predilection for vicious behavior, doesn’t she,” Isabelle said with a resigned sigh. “But if young Lord Bledsoe is of Arthur’s character he’ll stand by Cordelia regardless of what his aunt says.”

“Perhaps.” Allegra closed her eyes for a brief second. “It would have been so much easier if Cordelia had fallen in love with someone other than Lord Bledsoe.”

Somehow, she’d convinced herself that Cordelia would never need to know the truth. It had been a foolish assumption to make on her part. She sighed. She couldn’t help who she was or where she’d come from, and her current lifestyle was infinitely preferable to working in a brothel. It had also given her niece the kind of life Allegra had never had.

Nor could she deny cherishing the independence she’d gained due to the generosity of the rich and powerful men she’d chosen as her lovers. And she had chosen them. Her selective decisions as to whom she allowed into her bedchamber had only enhanced her elusive image. It made men all the more eager to seek her favors.

Cordelia had no knowledge of what her aunt did to ensure that she received only the best money could buy. Nor did she have any idea as to her less than illustrious parentage. Telling the truth meant she might easily lose Cordelia’s love. But what other option did she have? The moment someone discovered their relation, a scandal would be inevitable. Of that, she had no doubt. Keeping the truth from her niece would only make matters worse in the end. She knew firsthand how devastating scandal was. Cordelia was unprepared for the malicious gossip, the vicious innuendos, and outright lies.

All of which would be exacerbated if Lady Bledsoe had any say in the matter. The scandal would be far more savage and poisonous than the last time. A shiver raced down her spine. The storm she’d weathered at the time of Arthur’s death had been horrible, but she’d survived. This was a different type of tempest altogether, but it would be no less terrible, and quite likely worse.

Allegra took another swallow of her lemonade and met Isabelle’s sympathetic look with a sense of sardonic self-pity. “I suppose I could disappear into the desert for several months. Cordelia would have no choice but to marry without me being present.”

“What a splendid idea,” Isabelle exclaimed with sarcasm. “Simply ignore the problem and hope it goes away. Look what happened the last time you refused to face something.”

“I suppose you mean Charles.”

“Precisely.” Her friend sent her an abrupt nod of confirmation.

Isabelle was right. She’d disregarded all the signs that the Viscount Shaftsbury was becoming enamored with her. Her hope had been that he was merely infatuated. She’d been wrong. It had taken his offer of marriage to open her eyes. He was the first man who’d ever made her such a proposal, and for the briefest of moments, she’d actually considered accepting. The fleeting thought had been discarded at almost the same moment it occurred to her.

Still, rejecting him had not been an easy thing to do. There had been a part of her that liked the stability and companionship a marriage to Charles might bring her. But she didn’t love him, and even if she had, her independence would have been too high a price to pay for such a permanent arrangement. Up until Charles, she and her lovers had always parted on good terms. Many of them were still close friends. But ending her affair with Charles had been a disaster. The gossip had been particularly vicious, and even on occasion the public, and especially cruel denouncements, from Charles had cut deep. Even more painful had been the destruction of a friendship she’d valued dearly. She met her friend’s censorious gaze and sighed.

“You’re right. I have no other option except to tell her the truth. Although how I’ll do that, I’ve no idea.”

“Between us, we’ll develop a plan of action.” Isabelle patted her arm. “For the moment, I think you need some rest. You look fatigued, and your journey here would have been difficult enough without this matter about Cordelia weighing on you.”

“Surely I don’t look that exhausted.” She sent her friend an amused look.

“Of course not, but tonight we dine at the Sultan’s palace. Mulay Hassan is hosting a celebratory reception for Brant and me. It’s a tremendous honor.”

“Oh, Belle, I don’t know if I’m up to a lavish affair.”

“But you must come. The only women attending are wives of officers and attaches. They’re most likely to ignore me unless forced to acknowledge me. I’m afraid Brant has rather scandalized the Imperialists by marrying me.” Isabelle sniffed her disdain delicately. “I’ll be bored to distraction unless you’re there.”

Unable to help herself, Allegra laughed at her friend’s determined expression. Belle had always been adept at persuading people to do as she wanted, but there was a hint of loneliness in her plea. It reminded Allegra that her friend’s social circle was most likely limited given her social position. Even once she was married, Belle would have a difficult time being accepted into many circles.

“Very well, since it means that much to you, I’ll go.”

“Wonderful,” Belle exclaimed as she impulsively leaned forward to hug Allegra. “Who knows, perhaps you’ll meet a handsome sheikh tonight who’ll fall madly in love with you and whisk you off to his desert tent.”

“Good heavens, perish the thought.” Allegra shook her head sharply as her heart skipped a beat at the memory of a darkly robed Bedouin. “You know I’m far too strong-willed to submit to the edicts of a demanding sheikh.”

“Perhaps, but even you might find such a man exciting.” Springing to her feet, Belle gestured for Allegra to follow her. “Come, let me show you to your room.”

As she trailed after her friend, Allegra recalled the Bedouin she’d met earlier. He represented a danger she knew better than to long for, but there had been something about the man that tugged her thoughts to him. Would he be at the Sultan’s palace tonight?

Dismayed by the thought she frowned. What on earth would possess her to consider such a notion? She had no desire to be conquered, and the man would do precisely that. He would take what he wanted, and in the end he’d bend her to his will.

The prospect appalled and excited her in the same breath. Swallowing her fear, she fervently offered up a plea that she wouldn’t see her dark sheikh tonight or any other night. But even as she climbed the steps with Isabelle, a small voice in the back of her head begged for just the opposite.

 

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Chapter 2

Standing in the shadow of a decorative palm tree, Shaheen studied the room and its occupants with guarded interest. Bejeweled mosaics covered the walls of the Sultan’s drawing room and most of the furniture had gold inlays. Although he knew the wealth inside the palace was the accumulation of several hundred years, it was hard to ignore the fact that just one ruby from the wall’s artwork would be enough to feed one of the poorer Bedouin tribes for months.

Rich and opulent, the palace interior was a sharp contrast to the simple tent Shaheen lived in almost year-round. Although his adopted people were quite prosperous, even they had years when the herd was not as good as others and the riches here would ease hardship.

Still, the Sultan, for all his wealth, was a man of simple tastes and he was generous to his people if he saw a need. If Mulay Hassan had any faults when it came to excesses, it was his fondness for the social customs of the British Empire. It explained the abundance of bright red military uniforms and colorful evening gowns filling the room this evening.

It would please the Sultan if he knew this particular affair emulated London society perfectly. His jaw tightened at the remembrances threatening to flood his head. He seldom thought of England anymore, but when he did, the old wounds opened up as easily as if they were fresh cut. He shoved the bad memories aside, burying them as deep as he could. It had been more than fifteen years since he’d left London, and there was little reason to return. The Amazigh were his people now, and his home was here.

He scanned the room for Hakim. The boy had been insistent they attend the reception honoring Major Hastings and his bride-to-be. Shaheen had consented partly because he knew his young charge would enjoy himself. Social events such as these were perfect training for the heir to the largest tribe in Morocco. When Hakim eventually succeeded his father, Khalid, as Sheikh of all the Umayyad Amazigh, the boy would need social skills that only events like this could give him.

After several seconds, he saw Hakim deep in conversation with Major Hastings and the French ambassador. Hastings had been the other reason for attending the dinner party. He’d come tonight out of his respect for the British officer. The man had become a valuable ally in Shaheen’s efforts to negotiate treaties between the different Bedouin tribes in the Sultan’s name.

Thanks to Hastings, the French and Spanish governments had been amenable to the unification of the Bedouins under the Sultan’s rule. More importantly, Hastings’s interventions enabled Shaheen to work behind the scenes without jeopardizing the treaties. He’d been a part of the Amazigh nation for so long that most Bedouins, including himself, had forgotten he was actually British But political repercussions could destroy all his hard work if someone were to raise questions about his nationality.

Arms folded across his chest, he continued his surveillance of the room. It was unlikely Hakim was in danger here in the palace, but vigilance was a habit Shaheen had developed living among the Amazigh. Even Hakim’s ability to defend himself didn’t alleviate Shaheen of his duty. A soft chuckle off to his left made him turn his head. He immediately bowed low as the Sultan stopped at his side.

“Good evening, Excellency.”

“You watch over Sheikh Mahmoud’s son like a worrisome mother hen.”

“It’s important to guard the Amazigh’s future, sire, particularly when he will be a staunch ally of yours, just like his father.”

“True. And you are among my strongest supporters as well, Shaheen.” The Sultan clasped him on the shoulder. “Without your clear-headed reasoning, many of the treaties we’ve made in the last two years would not have been possible.”

“I am honored you think so.” Shaheen bowed his head in a gesture of gratitude and respect. “The well-being of the Amazigh tribes is all I desire.”

“Were there more like you and Sheikh Mahmoud, my friend. Then I would feel more confident that this fragile peace we have would not be trifled with by those who wish more wealth and power.”

The veiled reference to Sheikh Nassar made Shaheen grimace. Nassar was one of the main reasons for the tribes to band together. The man’s lust for power was surpassed only by his unscrupulous nature. It didn’t matter what it was. If Nassar wanted something, he took it, either by force or subterfuge. A leader of one of the larger tribes in the Amazigh nation, Nassar coveted the title Hakim would inherit. It was a title the man didn’t deserve, and Shaheen would give his life to ensure Nassar never possessed it. Beside him, the Sultan released a soft noise of pleasure.

“Ah, I see Major Hastings’s bride-to-be has brought with her the newest arrival to Marrakech.”

Shaheen looked in the direction the Sultan nodded. The sight of a familiar face pulled the air out of his lungs in a quiet rush. He’d experienced the same sensation today at the railway station. He hadn’t liked it then, and he liked it even less now.

His gaze narrowed as he watched her being introduced to Hakim. In the candlelight, gold flecks shimmered in her dark auburn hair. He could only see her profile, but it was all too easy to recall a pair of green eyes slightly tilted up at the corners giving her an exotic look. Then there had been her small, yet plump, mouth. It was the kind that begged a kiss. His jaw grew painfully stiff at the thought.

As much as he hated to admit it, he’d been preoccupied with the thought of tasting those lips for most of the afternoon and into the evening. He saw her smile at something Hakim said, and a pang of irritation nipped at him. She exhibited none of the vulnerability and discomposure he’d seen in her this afternoon. Tonight she was a confident, graceful siren, and men were gravitating toward her like sailors hearing Circe’s call.

Despite his determination to remain unmoved by her, the gown she wore did nothing to aid him in his resolve. Luxuriant blue green silk wrapped its way seductively around her lush figure while accentuating the beautiful line of her neck and soft shoulders. Like this afternoon, he once again noted the fullness of her breasts. She’d be soft and full if she were naked beneath him. He swallowed hard at the vivid image forming in his head and resented the way his cock stirred beneath his gambaz. Out the corner of his eye, he saw the Sultan watching him with interest.

“She’s quite lovely,” he murmured with a slight nod.

“Lovely?” Mulay Hassan sent him a look of disgust. “That, my friend, is Allegra Synnford. It is said that one night with her and a man will die a thousand pleasurable deaths.”

“A courtesan?” Tension held him rigid as he studied her closely.

“Ahh, not just any courtesan, my friend. This is a woman of such skill in the art of pleasure that shechooses her lovers. I am told that men vie for her favor as children beg for candy.”

“Then it is fortunate I’m not a child,” Shaheen said as a thread of bitterness wound its way through him. He’d been a child once—tempted by the favors of a woman like Allegra Synnford.

“You disappoint me, Shaheen.” Mulay Hassan frowned. “I would have expected you to find a woman such as this, intriguing.”

“One can be intrigued by a rose, but one must always remember it is laced with thorns.” Shaheen’s gaze narrowed as he studied Allegra Synnford from behind the fronds of the palm tree that partially concealed him and the Sultan. Where courtesans were concerned, thorns could be deadly.

“Come, let me introduce you. Perhaps you will find Miss Synnford fascinating enough to weather whatever thorns she possesses.”

“Thank you, sire, but I think it best I remain focused on my responsibilities where young Hakim is concerned.”

“As you wish. I admire your ability to withstand the charms of Miss Synnford and your commitment to Hakim, my friend.” The Sultan laughed. “But I, on the other hand, am fascinated by the woman and have no desire to avoid her charms.”

With a light clap on Shaheen’s shoulder, Mulay Hassan headed in Allegra Synnford’s direction. Anger slid through him as he watched the stout ruler join Hakim and the other men circled around the woman. A courtesan. What a fool he was. He’d spent the better part of his day preoccupied with thoughts about her only to discover she was the type of woman he avoided with resolute determination.

Her complete lack of guile and flustered behavior this afternoon had made him think she might be a widow or a spinster visiting a family member. When she’d disappeared into the train station, he’d debated going after her. He wasn’t certain which had irritated him more, his fascination with the woman or his indecisiveness as to whether to go after her. The need to know more about her had overridden his desire to stay away from her.

When his men had lost her trail, he’d tried to put any thought of her out of his head, but even as he’d entered the palace this evening, he’d found himself wondering if she might be present. He clenched his teeth. It had been a long time since any woman had piqued his curiosity as this one had, and the fact that she made her living by accepting favors from men only heightened his annoyance. He should have listened to his gut and ignored his fascination with the woman.

The sound of her laughter echoed in his ears as he saw Hakim offer her a glass of champagne off the salver a footman held. He frowned at his charge’s expression. Damm gahannam, Hakim was already besotted with her. The woman would have the boy for breakfast then discard his rotting carcass when she was through.

She laughed again, her heading tipping backward as she did so. He didn’t understand how, but she made the slight movement appear erotic and seductive. His fingers dug their way through the soft wool of his gambaz to pinch deeply into his upper arms.

One would think that after all these years he’d know better than to be intrigued by a woman of Allegra Synnford’s ilk. With perhaps the exception of this woman’s mastery of seduction, he doubted there would be any difference between her and Frances.

The sudden onslaught of emotions made his body grow taut as he remembered his one-time mistress. Calculating, greedy, and without a heart, Frances had been interested in one person and one person only. Herself. It hadn’t bothered her in the least to take two lovers at the same time. Nor had she cared that both of them had thought themselves in love with her.

He returned his attention to Hakim, and he clenched his jaw at the expression of adoration on the boy’s face. Christ, had he looked like that when he’d been in love with Frances? No, not love. He’d been in lust with the woman, never in love. If he’d realized that all those years ago, would it have mattered?

His skin grew cold as he remembered how the feathery snow had brushed across his face that wintry, dark night. If he’d been late reaching Frances that evening, perhaps things might have been different. He grimaced at the wishful thought. The past was written, and it was useless to consider what might have been.

He focused his attention on Allegra once more to see her smile at one of the men in her circle. With a low growl of annoyance, he watched her continue to weave her spell on the men around her. Even from here he could understand why her audience was so captivated.

She had an elusive, mysterious quality that served as a silent temptation to every man around her. With a simple tilt of her head or a soft smile, she invited every man to lure her into a liaison. He might know what she was, but he couldn’t help but feel the urge to answer her unspoken challenge.

Every laugh, every turn of her head pulled at him, enticed him to join her. His lack of self-control infuriated him. He took pride in his ability to avoid temptation, but this woman fascinated him more than he cared to admit. Muttering a violent oath, he strode quickly out to the open terrace that led down into the Sultan’s gardens. He could just as easily monitor threats to Hakim’s safety from the patio.

The night air was cool and he drew in a deep breath of it. Merde, he’d gone without a woman for too long. When this hellish event was over he’d take Hakim back to the house the family maintained in Marrakech, then he’d find a brothel where he could wear out his cock. Maybe he’d even take the boy with him, just to convince him that whores were all alike. The scent of citrus floated up from the gardens and filled his nostrils. It reminded him of Allegra Synnford. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and blew out a hard breath. Behind him the sound of applause made him turn his head and he saw a small contingent of dancers begin to perform for the Sultan’s guests.

Instinct made him search the small gathering for Hakim’s familiar figure. Mere seconds later, he saw the young man enjoying the performance in front of him. His gaze continued to sweep the room in search of Allegra. To his surprise, he saw she’d freed herself of her circle of admirers and was moving away from the other guests. Slowly, she put distance between the gathering and herself, and it took him a moment to realize she was headed toward the terrace.

He wasn’t sure why, but he retreated into the shadows as she stepped out onto the balustrade-enclosed patio. When she reached the marble railing, she gripped the smooth stone and stood there quietly. Eyes closed, she tilted her face up toward the moonlight. Several long moments passed before a soft sigh escaped her and she turned her head to look back into the palace.

The vulnerability he’d witnessed in her earlier today had returned. She seemed reluctant, yet resigned to going back into the drawing room. A surprising behavior for a woman who made her living the way she did. But then the worried expression on her face was startling, too. It stirred in him a sudden desire to offer her comfort from her troubles. The idea created a restlessness in him, and he shifted his position slightly. The moment he moved, his gambaz brushed against the branch of a small pomegranate tree that hung over the railing. She jerked her head toward the rustling sound with a low cry.

“Who’s there?”

“Someone else who sought a moment’s solitude,” he said, not leaving the shadows.

The moonlight illuminated her surprised expression, and she took a step toward him, peering into the shadows in an effort to see him. “I know you. Your voice. You were at the train station today.”

“Most fortunate for you it seems,” he said with a touch of irony.

She winced at his words. “I know it was foolish of me to be so close, but I was spellbound by your horse. He’s magnificent.”

“I agree.”

“I don’t suppose . . .” She nibbled at her lip in hesitation. “Would you consider selling him? I would give you a fair price.”

“Abyad isn’t for sale.”

“Oh.”

The soft word reflected a disappointment that was unexpected. She turned away from him, and moonlight drifted across the side of her neck like pale, translucent silk. It surprised him that she would give up so easily. It wasn’t the reaction he’d expected. Frances would have immediately switched tactics and tried to seduce him into getting what she wanted. But this woman wasn’t even making an attempt to persuade him to change his mind about Abyad.

Was it possible for a courtesan not to use her wiles to get what she wanted? The thought intrigued him. Fascinated, he moved closer without leaving the shadows. His fingers itched to trace the moonbeam’s path and he almost gave in to the temptation.

“Perhaps other arrangements could be made,” she mused as she stared out at shadows of the garden.

“What sort of arrangements, ma belle?” he bit out through clenched teeth. It infuriated him that he’d actually contemplated the possibility that she was different than Frances. She might be the most sought after courtesan in Europe, but she was no less manipulative than the next whore. No doubt she thought she could earn the horse by lying on her back.

“I could purchase a mare from one of the traders in Marrakech and then breed her with your horse. I would pay you a fair price.”

She turned back toward him with a hopeful expression on her face. For a moment, he couldn’t believe his ears. The woman wasn’t propositioning him; she wanted to conduct an ordinary business transaction. In the next instant, he realized he hadn’t just expected her to propose a liaison, he’d been hoping she would.

Frustrated by the traitorous thought, he silently berated himself. The only reason he wanted her to offer herself to him was so he could prove she was no different than Frances. But she hadn’t done that. No, she was more interested in discussing the possibility of breeding Abyad. And to make matters worse, he didn’t enjoy coming in second to his horse. Any horse. He stepped completely out of the shadows and he watched her green eyes widen. In the moonlight, her gaze was darker and more mysterious than he’d expected.

Although her features were rather ordinary, she had a mystique about her that made her exquisite. With the tip of his forefinger, he lightly traced the line of her jaw. Beneath his touch, she quivered before she abruptly tipped her head away from him. But not even the dim shadows of the terrace could hide the way her breasts rose and fell at the same rate as her rapid breathing.

That he affected her shouldn’t have given him any pleasure, but it did. The best course of action would be to tell her to stay away from Hakim and leave her on the patio. He chose to ignore his own advice. Instead, acting solely on impulse, he reached out to touch her again. The smoothness of her shoulder was like a rich, lustrous satin beneath his fingertips. She immediately put distance between them at his touch. Her reaction made him smile.

“Tell me why I should say yes, chérie?”

“Because it will be a profitable venture for you,” she said in breathless voice. There was a guarded expression on her face as she met his gaze.

“Hmm, perhaps.” He took a step closer, but she stood her ground.

“I’m certain we could reach an agreement on a sum you’d find acceptable.”

Excitement lit up her face and she leaned toward him ever so slightly. His gaze took in the myriad of emotions dancing in her eyes as she waited for his answer with a touch of impatience. She clearly understood the significance of Abyad’s pedigree, otherwise she wouldn’t be so insistent on settling for the opportunity of offspring. The fact impressed him.

He didn’t want to be impressed. He didn’t want anything to do with her. The lie stabbed at him with vicious glee. With a jerk, he turned back toward the moonlit garden. Damm gahannam, he was insane. Why draw out this ridiculous barter session? It accomplished nothing when he knew full well he had no intention of accepting anything less than a night in her bed. He didn’t like admitting it, but he wanted her.

“I must refuse, mademoiselle. I believe you will consider my price too high.”

“I think you should let me decide whether or not I have the funds to meet your price.”

The fresh scent of honey and lemon made his nostrils flare as he breathed in the essence of her. She’d moved closer, her expression filled with the hope that he would agree to her request. It was the fact that she didn’t even attempt to use her charms in any way that made her even more persuasive.

Her manner indicated nothing more than an earnest desire to convince him their transaction would benefit them both. The smell of her was soft and enticing as she leaned into him, creating an overwhelming desire to give her what she wanted. Sweet and warm, her breath brushed his cheek as her hand touched his arm. Electricity pulsed from her fingers through his gambaz and into his body. He immediately stiffened at the shock of her touch, while alarm bells clanged wildly in the back of his head. His attraction to the woman was far more dangerous than he’d realized. The sooner he ended this farce, the better.

“All the same, if what I’ve heard is true, you will not agree to the transaction, ma belle,” he murmured, and she abruptly took two steps away from him. He turned his head and saw her face was devoid of emotion. That she was still even on the patio told him how badly she wanted Abyad to sire a foal. A tiny sliver of guilt nicked at his conscience, but he shoved it aside. She was a courtesan. She gave herself to men for other things, what made this transaction any different?

“What do you want?” She held herself rigidly, her voice icy and distant.

The answer was immediate. He wanted to see her naked on top of him, riding him with abandon. The erotic image tugged the air out of his lungs as he pictured his sun-darkened hands sliding across the lusty curve of a peach-colored hip and thigh. His fingers dug into his arms as he fought to destroy the sudden blast of desire barreling through him.

“One night, chérie.” He clenched his jaw as he realized it might take more than one night to ease his lust for her.

Her gaze slid over him with a scathing look he knew was designed to humiliate him. It didn’t work, but he begrudgingly admitted to himself that if looks could maim, he would be bleeding heavily. A small voice in the back of his head told him it would be no less than he deserved.

She turned her head away from him, a frown marring her features as if she were in deep contemplation. There it was again, that air of vulnerability he found puzzling. Intriguing. Perhaps he’d been judging her unfairly. He crushed the thought. Silence stretched between them for a long moment before she pulled in a deep breath as if reaching a decision. The change in her was instantaneous. The vulnerable woman vanished, replaced by a creature so sensual and enticing, she was breathtaking.

“One night?” Her voice was a low, beguiling whisper that wrapped its way around him with gentle yet relentless persuasion. “No more than that?”

The witch thought to turn the tables on him. She was doing a damn good job of it, too. Tension flowed through him as he resisted the urge to pull her into his arms. Experience had taught him to avoid this type of temptation, and yet each passing moment in her presence made it difficult to do so. He hadn’t experienced lust this strong in years.

“One night,” he bit out, not about to admit that he should have asked for more.

“And what is it you want for this one night, monsieur?” Her voice was soft and seductive, but he could still hear a hint of anger behind her words. He forced himself to smile if only to keep her from realizing her attempt to tie him into knots was succeeding. But he refused to give her the upper hand.

“I’m not one for games, Allegra. We both know what I want.”

She stepped forward and brushed her fingertips across his mouth. Her touch was light, almost nonexistent, and yet his entire body grew taut with need. The seductive smile curving her lips signaled her confidence in her ability to tempt him. Slowly, she leaned closer and the heat of her breath warmed his ear.

“You want me,” she whispered.

Instantly his cock was hard as iron. With the grace of one of the Sultan’s dancers, she put several feet between them before facing him again. The moonlight draped its softness over her entire body and he was certain the move was a calculated one. Somehow she knew the pale light would only heighten the sensuality of her figure. Silently, he watched her fingers brush across the side of her neck in a slow stroke. It was the same type of caress his own hand itched to perform.

Lips parted in a small, knowing smile, she closed her eyes and allowed her hand to fondle her skin in a light caress. Mesmerized, he watched her continue the stroke downward to the base of her throat and beyond until two fingers slid into the valley between her full breasts. With a leisurely stroke, she caressed the darkened slit in an up and down movement that had his body howling for release. He dragged in air between his clenched teeth in a soft hiss, and she opened her eyes at the sound.

Across the small space between them, she met his gaze with a sultry smile and his heartbeat thundered in his ears. Eyes gleaming with confidence, the tip of her tongue slid out to lick her upper lip in a quick stroke, leaving it glistening in the moonlight. It wasn’t just an invitation; it was a goddamned command performance. White-hot need lashed through him and he swallowed hard. For the first time, he understood completely why her name was uttered with such fascination by other men.

Her skill at seduction was extraordinary. But she wasn’t dealing with a weak-willed Englishman she could manipulate to her own ends. He wasn’t one of her infatuated admirers she could control. The dramatic presentation she’d just shown him illustrated that she fully expected him to fall in line like every other man she’d ever been with. But for the first time, Allegra Synnford had met her match. With a nonchalance he didn’t feel, he clasped his hands behind his back and arched an eyebrow at her.

“An exceptional performance, chérie. I confess it’s quite possible I’ll be receiving the better end of the bargain.”

In a split second, her expression went flat and lifeless, but the way she held herself rigid revealed her anger. “For anything even resembling that performance, monsieur, you would need to give me your horse, not his seed, and I confess I no longer have interest in either.”

She whirled around and stalked toward the doorway leading back into the drawing room. Despite his surprise, his quick reflexes allowed him to reach her in two strides. His arm snaked around her waist and he dragged her backward into the shadows with him.

“Let me go,” she snapped with hushed fury.

“And if I gave you the horse, chérie?” He couldn’t believe he’d just offered her Abyad for a single night in her bed. He had to be mad to offer her such a proposal even if his entire body ached for a physical release. That she could stir his desire so easily infuriated him. Well, he was damned if he’d let the tempting witch get the best of him.

“I believe I made myself perfectly clear that I have no intention of conducting any business with you,monsieur.” She struggled against his hold and he deftly twisted her around to face him, while holding her tight against his chest.

“Surely, you’re not afraid, Allegra.”

“Of you? Not at all,” she responded with a vehement shake of her head and glared up at him.

“You should be, ma belle.”

“And why is that, monsieur?” The sneer in her voice almost covered her trepidation, but not quite.

“Because I’m not like your other lovers,” he murmured. As her gaze locked with his, he smiled. “I’m the one man you won’t be able to control.”

 
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Chapter 3

His words and the dark emotion glittering in his intense brown gaze sent fire streaking though every inch of her body. From the first moment she’d heard the seductive familiarity of his voice echoing out of the shadows she’d known exactly who he was. At the railway station, he’d been dark and dangerous, but tonight—tonight he epitomized everything male she knew to avoid.

Pinned against his chest, it was impossible not to breathe in the warm spicy scent of him. The effect he’d had on her senses earlier today was nothing compared to what she was experiencing now. Wickedly handsome in a barbaric fashion, the sheer power of his presence sent her blood flowing hot and fast through her veins.

Black, wavy hair brushed against his shoulders at a length that was almost heathenish, but she found herself wanting to lace her fingers through the silky-looking curls. The headdress he’d worn earlier in the day had hidden his strong, narrow nose and the way it emphasized the fullness of his mouth. His high forehead ended in a widow’s peak, and a thin scar crested across the browned skin of his cheek in a vivid white line. The mark gave him a rakish air that she found far too tantalizing for her own good.

He was right.

She should be afraid of him.

This man wouldn’t be satisfied until she was in his bed. And it didn’t help matters that she was sorely tempted to give in to his demand without her usual forethought. That was something she never did. She swallowed hard. She could always cry for help, but she was too stubborn to let any man get the better of her. No, she would find some other way out of the situation.

“I’m afraid, monsieur, that it’s you who doesn’t understand the rules of this game. I pick my lovers, and I never enter into a liaison on such short acquaintance.”

“And I never take no for an answer,” he murmured.

She struggled to suppress a tremor. God, but the man had a wicked voice. She immediately clenched her teeth. It irritated her that she couldn’t control her reaction to him. Over the years, there had been many men who had arrogantly declared they intended to become her lover, and they’d all failed. But this man’s confidence unnerved her. She believed him when he said he wouldn’t take no for an answer.

The worst of it was she knew a liaison with him could have devastating consequences. Just the way her body responded to his told her it would not be a simple dalliance. He would bend her to his will, and not since Arthur had rescued her from Madame Eugenie’s had she allowed any man to do that.

“It would seem we are at an impasse,” she said, trying desperately to keep her voice steady.

“Are we? Then one of us must yield.”

Something about the determined glint in his eye kindled a firestorm of panic inside her. He narrowed his gaze at her, his mouth curved in a seductive smile. As his hand captured her chin, her trepidation vanished in a wave of heat and she barely suppressed her whimper of desire when his thumb stroked her lower lip. Dear God, what was wrong with her? She needed to end this madness now, before she really did surrender to him

“I shall be happy to have you yield to me, monsieur,” she said in a breathless rush.

“Doing so is not in my nature. But for a kiss I might be persuaded otherwise.” The amusement in his voice made her stiffen.

“A ki—you arrogant beast. I have no intention of—”

The scents of cedar and anise drifted across her senses just before his mouth silenced her. The outrage holding her rigid evaporated in an instant, replaced by a sharply pitched desire.

Up until this moment, pleasure had been a simple, uncomplicated experience for her. But this was something altogether foreign. It was raw. Primitive. Completely out of control.

His tongue laced across her lip until she willingly parted her mouth for him. He tasted hot and savage, just like the desert. She’d always enjoyed kissing, but this was a hedonistic assault. He didn’t take—he cajoled.

Every stroke of his tongue was a dance of seduction that heightened each of her senses until what little control she had left spiraled away into oblivion. A rush of heat made the insides of her thighs slick, and she gasped as his mouth skimmed across her jaw and down the side of her neck.

His touch demonstrated just how precarious her position was where he was concerned. For the first time in memory, she wasn’t the one doing the seducing, and it made her feel powerless. The realization set off alarm bells in her head and she wrenched herself free of his embrace.

The harsh sound of her breathing echoed loudly in her ears as she stared up at his features, visible in the light spilling out from the palace drawing room. He appeared completely unaffected by the kiss. Not even a hint of desire darkened his expression. Horrified, she pressed her hand to the base of her throat. She was always the one who seduced. The one in control. Men succumbed to her not the other way around. She flinched at the small smile slowly curving his mouth.

“It would seem we have resolved the question of who will yield,” he murmured. “A step forward in the negotiation of your fee, chérie.”

Dear God, he was mocking her. It was bad enough she’d succumbed so easily to him, but for him to realize it as well infuriated her. And to autocratically suggest they’d been discussing an arrangement—money—it was an insult. She might be a courtesan, but her benefactors had always treated her with respect. Money was never openly discussed.

When she did welcome a man into her bed, he simply contacted her attorney at a later date to make arrangements for a substantial allowance that ran for the length of their association. She’d never demanded a specific amount of money for her time, but her lovers had always been generous. Now this man thought he could barter his way into her bed as if she were one of those poor creatures she’d left behind at Madame Eugenie’s.

She shuddered. What this man wanted, she refused to give, and she wouldn’t let him treat her like soiled goods. She’d not chosen her lifestyle, and she was damned if she’d apologize for the method of her survival. The man thought she had yielded, but she’d only surrendered to his touch. Now he was about to discover exactly how unyielding she could be when it came to selecting a benefactor. Holding herself ramrod straight, she eyed him with cold anger.

“We were not negotiating, monsieur. You are the last man here tonight that I would consider taking into my bed.”

“We both know that’s untrue.” There it was again, that amused autocratic note in his voice. It appalled and angered her in the same instant.

“Your arrogance has made you delusional. There are at least half a dozen men inside who I would eagerly welcome into my bed over you.”

His gaze narrowed and the mocking amusement in his dark-eyed gaze became a hard, bitter gleam. “If you think to impress that fact on me by using Hakim as an example of your allure, think again.”

“I beg your pardon.”

“I’m sure you’ve already learned the boy is worth a king’s ransom.”

“I don’t know—”

“Your protests fall on deaf ears, ma belle. The boy might be infatuated with you but I’ll not allow you to use him to prove your point.”

He had to be referring to the young man who’d not left her side since their introduction. The boy was the reason she’d come out onto the patio in the first place. As charming as the young man was, she’d needed an escape from his effusive compliments. She knew the boy was already infatuated with her, but she would never encourage him. Younger men had a habit of demanding more of her than she was willing to give. Namely her heart. She shook her head and glared at him.

“This is absurd. I—”

“Hakim is uneducated in the rules of your game. Stay away from the boy or you’ll answer to me.” Cold fury hardened his features, and she ignored the flicker of fear sliding through her.

“I answer to no man,” she snapped fiercely.

“In this matter you will.” The menace in his words scraped across her spine like an icy dagger. “The boy’s my charge, and I’ll not have you toying with him.”

“You should learn the rules of my particular game as you refer to it, monsieur. I never welcome schoolboys into my bed.” She struggled to keep her tone even as she sent him a baleful look. “How I earn my living doesn’t determine my personal conduct.”

His hand whipped out to stop her as she turned to walk away. He didn’t speak—he simply studied her intently. It was easy to see he was uncertain of her, but it mattered little. She’d experienced the condemnation and contempt of far too many others for this man’s opinion to make any difference to her. The sound of mocking laughter whispered through her head, but she ignored it.

“Surprised, monsieur?” she said coldly as she peeled his fingers off her arm. “Don’t be. You’re not the first to think me unprincipled simply because of my profession, and I doubt you’ll be the last.”

With as much dignity as her anger allowed, she walked stiffly toward the doors leading back into the palace. Compared to the shadows of the patio, the light of the drawing room was blinding. As her eyes adjusted to the brightness, she fought to control the myriad of emotions raging inside her. Anger, disappointment, pain, and humiliation all converged to make her long for a home. A place where she could go to nurse the wounds he’d inflicted on her.

She was no stranger to contempt, but it always stung when she encountered it. For some inexplicable reason, the man’s scorn—God, she didn’t even know his name—had cut deeper than she was accustomed to. The knowledge dismayed her. Why should she care what the man thought?

Her hands clenched in fists, she dragged in a deep breath. She would not let him upset her. Slowly, she forced herself to release the emotions holding her tense and rigid. She was enamored with the romantic imagery of a desert sheikh. It was the only explanation for the way she was feeling. She would be back to her usual self by bedtime.