“My father did what was best for the empire,” she said angrily. “He is a great ruler! As to my sisters, Sophia was already a woman when I was yet a child. I barely know her. Helena and I have always been rivals. She may talk of holy wars,” and here Adora’s voice became scornful, “but it will never be. The empire can barely defend itself, let alone do battle against the sultan.” Her grasp of that particular political truth impressed him. “My mother,” she continued, “keeps me fully informed. Though we have not seen each other since I left Constantinople, she writes to me each week. And my lord Orkhan has a special messenger, for me alone, who brings my letters directly from the coast and returns with my replies. My half brother John was killed in battle a few months after I came here, and she sent me word of his death immediately, so that I could pray for his soul. My mother cannot visit me. You surely know that travel is dangerous. And the wife of the emperor of Byzantium would make a fine prize for pirates and robbers! But I am very much loved, Prince Murad! I am!”

“You know nothing of love,” he said fiercely, pulling her into his lap, holding her firmly.

“You remember only the vague affection of a child for its family. No one has ever truly touched you, or stirred your proud, cold little heart. But I will, Adora! I will awaken you to life…to love…to yourself!”

“You have no right,” she spat angrily at him, struggling to break his grip on her. “I am your father’s wife! Is this how you honor the Koran? What of your promise not to seduce me?”

He smiled grimly. “I will keep that promise, my innocent little virgin. There are a hundred ways I can pleasure you without robbing you of your maidenhead. We will commence lessons now!”

But as he bent toward her, she put her hands against his chest to hold him off. “Your father…“

“My father,” he said, loosening the ties of her cloak, “will never call you to him. When he dies, Adora, and I am sultan, I shall arrange with whoever is emperor of Byzantium for you to be my bride. In the meantime, I will school you in the arts of loving.”

And before she could protest further he had found her mouth. She could not struggle, for he held her far too tightly. She could barely breathe. Her heart was thumping wildly and she could feel his, beneath the flattened palms of her bands, matching the rhythm of her own. She tried to turn her head away, but one hand wound itself within the scented, silken tangle of her hair. He held her fast.

The mouth on hers was warm and firm, but surprisingly tender. The kiss was more frighteningly wonderful than it had been the first time, and once again she felt her resistance wearing away. As she relaxed, his kiss deepened, and she felt herself growing weak. Her young breasts grew strangely tight and the nipples ached.

His grip on her eased, and he released her mouth from its sweet captivity. She was speechless and lay unresisting across his lap. Smiling down at her, he traced a gentle line down her cheek with his finger. Her mouth felt dry. Her pulse raced. Her head was giddy, yet somehow she managed to find her voice.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Because I want you,” he said quietly, and she trembled at the intensity in his voice. Again his mouth found hers, but this time he kissed not only her lips, but her eyes, her nose, her cheeks, forehead, and chin. These gentle kisses sent small shivers of hot and cold through her all at once. Eyes closed, she sighed with unconcealed pleasure.

His black eyes twinkled. “You like it,” he accused, laughing softly. “You like being kissed!”

“No!” Oh, lord! What was she thinking of to act this way! Again she tried to escape his grasp, but again he found her mouth, and now she felt his tongue running lightly over her tightly closed lips. Pushing insistently against her clenched teeth he murmured against her mouth, “Open to me, Adora. You cannot deny me, dove, or yourself.”

Her lips parted, and his tongue thrust inside. He stroked and caressed until she was close to fainting with the intensity of it. The feeling grew, and she trembled.

Removing his mouth from hers he held her tenderly, looking down at her through half-closed eyes. Her young breasts rose and fell swiftly, the nipples showing clearly through the thin silk of her shift like little buds. His heart beat fiercely with an exultation such as he had never before experienced. He longed to touch those tempting little peaks, but he refrained. It was much too soon to subject her further to her own sensual nature.

He had not believed such innocence existed. In his world a woman came to a man fully trained to please him. She might be a virgin, but she had been carefully taught to give pleasure and to receive it. Yet this lovely creature was untouched by man or woman. She would be his! He would allow no one else to ever possess her. He would mold her, teach her to please him. No one would ever know of her sweetness but him.

She opened her eyes and looked up at him. Her face was very pale, and her beautiful eyes were like large violets in the snow.

“It’s all right, my sweet,” he said gently. “We have concluded the lesson for tonight.” Then he teased, “It pleases me, however, that you like my kisses.”

“I did not!” she hissed. “I hate you! You had no right to do that to me!”

He continued as if she had not spoken. “Tomorrow night we shall proceed further. Your education as a woman is just beginning.”

She sat up. “Tomorrow night? Are you mad? There will be no tomorrow night! I will never see you again! Never!”

“You will meet me here in the orchard as long as it pleases me, Adora! If you do not, I will appear at the convent gate demanding to see you.”

“You would not dare!” But her eyes were filled with doubt.

“I would dare almost anything to see you again, dove.” He stood, drawing her up with him. Gently wrapping her cloak about her, he walked silently with her to the orchard door. “Until tomorrow night, Adora. Dream of me.” And then, vaulting up, he disappeared over the top of the wall into the night.

With trembling fingers she unlocked the door, went through, relocked it, and then fled through the gardens to her own house. Within the comparative safety of her bedchamber she relived in her mind the scene in the orchard. She realized that, though he had kissed her most thoroughly, he had not touched her otherwise. And yet she ached! Her entire body ached with a longing she did not understand. Her breasts were swollen, the nipples sore. Her belly felt tight, and the secret woman’s place between her legs was throbbing. If this was being a woman, she wasn’t sure she liked it.

But the greater problem was Prince Murad’s threat to appear at the convent gate. His rank would make the nuns obedient. Why should they refuse the sultan’s son permission to visit his stepmother? They might even believe that the sultan himself had sent him. When the truth was learned, the innocent little religious community would be punished and disgraced.

If she refused to see the prince, and told Mother Marie Josepha the truth, then Murad might be punished-perhaps even killed for his boldness. Theadora did not believe she could live with a death on her conscience. She was trapped. She would meet him tomorrow night.

Yet, as she lay in her chaste bed she remembered his deep voice saying, “My father will never call you to him. When he dies and I am sultan, I shall arrange for you to be my bride.” She trembled. Were men always so intense?

Was it possible that he might be her lord some day? It was a tantalizing thought. He was very handsome-with his jet black eyes, dark, wavy hair, tanned face, and the white teeth flashing that impudent smile.

She shivered again. The mere memory of his kisses made her giddy, and that was wrong! Very wrong! Even if Sultan Orkhan never called her to him, she was still his wife.

She could not sleep that night, and in the morning she was irritable. She could not concentrate on her book. She tangled her embroidery threads and angrily threw the linen to the floor. Her slaves were astonished, and when an older woman questioned her, fearing she was becoming ill, Adora boxed her ears and then burst into tears.

Iris, the slavewoman, was wise enough to pursue the matter. She was relieved when the princess sobbingly confided that she had not slept well. Immediately the woman prepared a warm bath for her young charge and, after Theadora had been bathed and massaged, Iris tucked her into bed. She was then fed a cup of warm spiced wine into which the slavewoman had put a mild sleeping potion.

When Theadora awoke, the last rays of the sun were staining the western sky, and the purple mountains about the city were already crowned with faint silver stars. Iris brought the princess a small, roasted pigeon, the skin crisp and golden. The tray also held new lettuce, a honeycomb, and a carafe of white wine. Theadora ate slowly, her thoughts sorting themselves.

The prince had given his word not to tamper with her virginity. And if he spoke the truth, she was not likely to ever see the sultan again. It was entirely possible that Prince Murad would one day be her true husband.

The night darkened. Finishing her meal, Theadora washed her hands in a silver basin filled with rose water. Her good humor had been restored by the sleep. She dismissed her slaves for the evening. Unlike the majority of women of her class, she was capable of dressing and undressing herself. She despised the awful ignorance and the idleness of most women of rank.

She slipped into a caftan of violet silk gauze with a row of little pearl buttons down the front. The color was meant to flatter her amethyst eyes, yet be dark enough that she would not require a cloak. Her feet were shod in matching kid slippers. Her dark hair hung freely down her back bound only by a silk ribbon.