The Surrender of a Lady Read online

  Griffin raised a brow at that. “And what if I have?”

  “Well, for one, it’s a good change. You were losing interest in the world around you. I’ve known you too long not to know you were on another downward slope.”

  “I’m fine, Asbury. Just tired of late. You sound more like a worried mother than a friend.”

  “Yes, well, be less tired and less sullen and I’ll stop fussing like Mother Goose.”

  Asbury leaned back in his chair, crossing his ankle over one knee as he got comfortable for what looked like some business talk. Griffin really wasn’t in the mood for business, but he supposed there wasn’t any way to avoid it. It was a better topic than Jinan the Turkish princess or his current state of ennui.

  “I’ve got some big shipments coming in I want to discuss.”

  “So, you had ulterior motives in bringing me here, Asbury.”

  “Of course. How did you not realize that?”

  “I realized you were softening me up for one reason or another. Where are your goods shipping through?”

  Asbury smiled, more than eager to get business dealt with before their fun began tomorrow evening.

  Griffin had been correct in his assessment last night. There was no mistaking those eyes lined with dark kohl. This was the right choice. He couldn’t be more positive of her identity.

  She stood perfectly poised, ignored the majority of men milling around her with varying degrees of lechery in their pointed, suggestive stares. She was by far the most delectable creature in the room.

  Asbury walked toward the podium Jinan stood upon. His friend had told him a moment ago that he saw a girl he was interested in. So it was Jinan who always went out of his price range. He would have laughed if his nerves weren’t on edge.

  Jinan gave Asbury a cursory glance, her eyes lighting with what he could only describe as a smile—hard to tell with that damned veil in place. She leaned down to say something to him. The girl standing beside the podium laughed. He couldn’t hear anything with the drummers and singers screeching in every cranny of the room, and patrons grunting, talking, and laughing all around.

  Pushing off the pillar where his foot was perched, he walked toward her. Was it possible she would even remember him? Not likely. Though he hadn’t forgotten a single thing about her. Ten years was a long time so there was no harm in showing himself to her before the bidding started.

  He’d already arranged the price with Amir. The man was a shrewd businessman. Had he known the extent of Griffin’s interest, he might have negotiated a higher amount for the few months they’d agreed on. Griffin was fool enough that he would have paid the moon and stars if that was the only way to have her.

  He passed a young count buried in his ladybird. Griffin had never been one for public displays of passion, but he wouldn’t begrudge the man his pleasure. So far, though, he was the only one openly displaying his . . . abilities. The girl was young and exotically beautiful. The count was probably helpless to stop from testing the girl’s finer talents.

  Hell, Griffin had no idea if he’d be able to keep from publicly touching the beautiful princess displayed before the minions ogling her.

  He almost believed her a figment of his imagination; perhaps his memories had fabricated some chimera from what the opium had done to his mind.

  Her eyes widened when he came into her line of vision. A flicker of fear lit within them and then it was gone before he could ascertain any deeper, lurking emotion.

  Regardless, it was a telling reaction.

  The poor creature wore nothing but her bared skin with a curtain of hair loose behind her. A great number of baubles dangled around her wrists and ankles and that veil hung defensively about her face. A clever disguise, that. Amir had been adamant that she remain veiled at all times. If Griffin had any problems with that part of the contract, he had been advised to choose one of the other women.

  How many men had she recognized over the years to have to don a cloth shield?

  He still found it hard to believe that he was looking at her after all these years. He should never have given up his search for her. He might have even saved her from this life. She was above selling her favors. Why he had put her upon a pedestal in his mind was anyone’s guess. But that was where she’d always stand for him.

  She had filled out nicely over the years. Time had turned her into a well-rounded woman; her hips were generous, her thighs lush, her breasts heavy and more than his hands would hold. She was perfection and not far from the creature he’d been dreaming of whenever he fantasized about her. Her skin was darker than he remembered; it used to be a light bronze, now it was a darkened copper, probably stimulated by sitting in the sun.

  He looked only to her deep brown eyes. If he focused on any other part of her exposed body, he would not be able to continue with the proceedings. It was tempting to haul her down from the podium and carry her off like some barbarian warlord. He shook off the thought. She’d be his soon enough. And this time, he wasn’t so inclined to let her get away.

  She met his bold stare with one of her own.

  Remember me, Elena . . . show me some sort of recognition.

  Surely their time together had been mutually enjoyed. She’d laughed and danced freely with him, all without putting on the simpering airs other young chits displayed. With her free spirit, she’d been the embodiment of everything his uncle despised. The quintessence of everything Griffin had wanted to obtain for himself. He was sure his obsession stemmed from the fact that she was forbidden. Though it was hard to recall which exact trait had reeled him in, sinking those sharp claws deep into his flesh, mind, and heart.

  Movement in his peripheral sight had him dropping his gaze to where her hand curved around her hip. Was it her intention to draw his attention to her more fleshly attributes?

  He raised his brow and thought of giving her some mock insulted look but decided now was not the time. He’d give her the rest of the auction to compose herself . . . that was, if she recognized him. Surely once she heard his name she’d show recognition. For God’s sake, they’d been engaged, even if only secretly.

  Without further ado, Griffin walked to the outskirts of the room. Amir had been insistent about having the auction go forward so others didn’t think to take advantage of bidding in advance. It was bad for business, Amir said. It stopped the patrons from spending more money than they were willing to part with.

  So be it. No one but he would warm Jinan’s bedside.

  No one but he would have the privilege of touching her, and revealing all her secrets.

  “Eight and a half,” came the pinched, angered voice of Asbury.

  So his friend had reached his limit in bidding. The man had as much money as Griffin. Why he came to a place like this and refused to spend a pretty penny on these beauties puzzled him.

  “Ten.” That came from the young count. The man had quite an appetite. At least he’d pulled himself back together and tucked everything decently away before voicing his bid.

  Frenchmen.

  A hush came over the room. So that was as high as they’d go for his Jinan.

  They’d think him a fool once he voiced his price. He waited with an unnatural calm for the auctioneer to chime in. The middle-aged man had been informed about the rigged bidding before Jinan had even stood upon the dais.

  “Excellent. Well, then, gentle—”

  “Twenty thousand.” His voice seemed to boom around the palace walls even though one wall opened to the outside, welcoming the gardens into the fold of the harem quarters.

  It seemed as though every head turned his way.

  Griffin stepped forward. Asbury looked disgusted until he saw Griffin, then his expression changed considerably, to one of bemusement. Griffin tried for calm, hoping he pulled it off, as his gaze slid to the prize. No one else mattered as he focused on Jinan.

  She was his.

  And there was nothing to stop him from touching her . . . taking her . . .

  Now.
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  Would she tell him the truth? Or would she hide behind her silks and veil, and her fictitious story?

  Griffin didn’t hear what Mr. Chisholm said. In fact, he wasn’t sure the man had said anything at all. His hand clasped around the princess’s hand, and he would have let her walk down on her own, but once he felt the warmth of her fingers infuse his own, he stepped forward and caught her up in his arms without so much as a backward glance.

  His cock was rock hard the moment she slid her arms around his shoulders. Dammit, he was no better than the count, displaying his shamelessness.

  He’d explored the grounds of the Pleasure Gardens when he’d arrived a few days ago and he knew exactly which alcoves were unoccupied tonight. He walked to an empty cove, without releasing his prize, without glancing at anyone else in the great room.

  Let them think what they will.

  When he was inside the lamp-lit room, he released Jinan’s legs to slide down his body. The motion only inflamed his desire to taste the delectable creature, without delay.

  Motionless, she stood next to him, her nipples puckered so tightly he felt them through the cambric of his shirt. She was a tiny morsel standing next to him like this. He stood a full head above her. It shouldn’t surprise him that she didn’t shy away from his bulk. She was far from her days of being an innocent miss.

  Her hands came around his face as though she wanted to see him with the touch of her hand. Her thumbs pressed lightly against his lips as her fingers explored his face. Shutting his eyes, he let her have her fill. There would be a breaking point to his control once he touched her. It was only fair to allow her to become acquainted with him. Or reacquainted, if she remembered him—as he hoped.

  He took a deep breath and enjoyed every sweep of her measured touch. How many nights had he dreamed of having her explore him this way?

  Why couldn’t he strip her of that damnable cloth shield and force her to admit the truth of their past? He wanted so badly to take her away from this place, this life. He wanted to be the only man taking care of her. The last man to ever touch her.

  This burst of feeling he had for her was almost as alien to him as was backing down when he wanted to pursue something. A strange notion for him since he’d fought the institution of marriage for so long. Not that he’d avoided the prospect of marriage with her. In fact, he’d been willing to dive in headlong without a second thought.

  Once, so long ago, he’d wanted to sweep her off her feet and whisk her to the altar. Had his uncle not intervened and arranged her marriage to that idiot—something his uncle had gloated about after the fact—she would be his wife now.

  While she molded his features, he raised his hands to the back of her head. He was sure there was a clip threaded through her hair, holding the wisps of silk in place. She leaned away from him.

  Her voice was husky, her words came in Persian. “Amir would have been explicit in this. My veil stays for the duration of the contract.”

  It had still been worth the try. Would she ever allow him this privilege? Time would tell, he supposed. She had perfected this disguise, this persona, if she planned only to speak Persian. He’d not get the truth of how she had ended up in this place—not when she hid behind the façade of a Turkish princess.

  When she looked as though she’d speak again, he cut in. “Shh . . . no words between us this night. I want you silent, no matter what I say to you. Your owner will discuss the contract we’ve agreed upon when I leave. Just give me all of your true self this night.” There was deeper meaning in those words.

  He loosened his necktie to pull it off. He’d use it to blindfold her while he took her. The tether on his control would not last much longer; the silken threads were liable to snap if he let her do what she was trained for. He needed her in so many ways, but his physical desire was winning out. Control seemed lost to him in her presence.

  Turning her around, he tied the stiff material over her eyes. He squeezed her arms before releasing her. How much would she be willing to do with him? The contract negotiations had been a blur. He’d only been thinking about her the whole while her owner had prattled on.

  His emotions ran rampant, hot as an angry wildfire roaring through his body.

  He would force the truth from her later. Right now all he wanted was to feel her wrapped around his body to further imprint her upon his mind. Too many fantasies about her had haunted him over the years for him to temper his lust. She stood proudly naked before him without fear and without any indication that she knew him.

  The sensual little creature arched her breasts forward. His reaction was immediate. He wanted to touch every part of her, to learn what pleased her, to know what would make her scream out. To make her scream his name.

  Would his dream woman come to life in his arms? Would she surrender her desires to him?

  He pulled her in tight to his chest, her rear pressed against his groin lightly, teasingly. The temptation was there to grind into her, but he couldn’t—not yet. Turning her head to the side, he grazed his mouth over the tip of her ear.

  How easy, in the height of passion, it would be to whisper the truth to her. Tell her that he knew who the real woman was beneath the veil. But it was too soon to reveal the depth of his feelings. The depth of his insanity over the years in thinking about her. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. A faint smell of rose water filled his nostrils . . . and the scent of woman beneath that. She did not wear the cloying perfumes of an English lady.

  This was the pure, clean scent of a woman. Reaching around to her front, he ran his hand over her heated flesh and stopped before reaching her mound. There were so many things he’d dreamed of doing that he didn’t know where to start. The breath coming from his lungs rasped, panted. Too many sensations fired his blood to a boil.

  God, he’d needed this woman too long.

  He had been thinking about her most of his life. The Marquess of Rothburn had been brought to his knees after a few weeks in her company. Did she remember his boldness when he’d sequestered her in the Duchess of Glenmoore’s gardens? They’d laughed most of the night away. He thought they’d been friends after their shared horror stories of society balls. Thought they’d had a deeper connection after his confessions of feelings for her, after their heated kisses when he’d proposed to her under the stars.

  Or had she forgotten? Had it all meant so little to her? Or had she doubted him after his hasty departure from England?

  He held her close as he remembered the past. The last night he’d seen her had ended on a high note. What had she thought when he hadn’t danced attendance upon her thereafter? Instead he’d hightailed it to his villa in Italy after his uncle arranged for him to marry some thoroughbred chit. As soon as he left, his uncle had sent the indebted baron panting after Elena. Both men had made sure to ruin her socially, arranging for her to be caught in a forbidden embrace. Not that Griffin believed for one minute she’d welcomed the baron’s advances. Although the blackening of her name had forced her to marry the scoundrel while Griffin had been abroad licking his wounds.

  So stupid of him to leave her behind when they could have eloped and lived abroad.

  So very, very stupid.

  Bending at the knee, he scooped her up into his arms again. She was lighter than her figure suggested. Maybe because she didn’t have the cumbersome skirts of English fashion to bulk her up and weigh her down.

  He tossed the blankets aside as he laid her on the wide divan. His mind was lost when his body needed her touch so badly, needed to be in her, on her, around her lush form soaking up her very essence. Setting her legs so they bent at the knees, he spread them apart and knelt between them. It shouldn’t have surprised him when she displayed her flexibility with an aptness that would make most bawds blush.

  The folds of her sex glistened with moisture in the moonlight that reached its faint white fingers through the open window. He didn’t hold back the appreciative groan that came from deep in his lungs, robbing him of air. He swa
llowed against the sudden dryness in his throat.

  What was she thinking? He wished he could see her expression, but he wouldn’t give back her sight just yet. Not until he had lived out this one fantasy. He held his hands slightly above her waist, not ready to touch her. Once he did that, he would lose himself in what she so willingly displayed without shame. Lose himself in the long obsession he’d had with this particular woman.

  Finally, he grasped onto her hips and lifted her, placing her open, wet core against his cloth-covered erection. With a thrust of her hips her sex came in tighter against him. He just needed to touch her, to hear her scream in release. He wanted his fantasy woman on fire with passion beneath him.

  He felt her holding back as her hips stopped moving. She wanted to feel him. She wanted to be closer to him. She wanted him, at least in a carnal sense, which he could live with for now. It was beyond him to deny her such a simple thing.

  Leaning over her, he rubbed his face against the underside of her breast. If only it were so easy to mark her as his own in this primal fashion. He caressed her delicate flesh, indulged with his lips and tongue the taste of her sweet female musk. There would be rapture this evening. Complete abandon to indulge both their bodies and senses.

  What did she think of him rubbing over her as if he were some great predatory cat tamed by her mere presence? When she lowered her hand, sliding it between their bodies, he had a feeling she wanted to aid him in release. But this wasn’t about the gratification of sex. This was about reacquainting his mind with his dreams, his fantasies. This was about holding on to the one thing that had kept passion and reason flowing in his veins over the years.

  He stopped her hand from reaching its destination. “Do not touch me this eve, unless I give leave to do so.” He didn’t mean for his voice to sound so harsh.

  When he released his hold, her arms fell loose to either side of her. His teeth grasped her crested nipple; he wanted to test her limits—Amir had promised a woman willing to explore the darker nature a man had.

  When her back arched higher off the divan, her desire seemed to get the better of her. Both her hands shot out above her head to push against the wall. There was no need to guide her hips over his desire-ridden body. She moved to fulfill her own need. The thrust of her pelvis was jerky and it took everything in Griffin to hold out until she peaked.