Tiffany Clare - The Surrender of a Lady

So focused on the past, she felt more than saw Amir lift Jonathan from her lap.

She turned her head and watched him perch the child in his own lap. In awe of such a small act on his part, she watched Amir roll up more bits of bread, helping Jonathan toss them in the water. Amir laughed when half the crumbs went into Jonathan’s mouth.

An endearing sight to be sure. Didn’t every woman wish to see a doting father and son bond? Not that Amir played at being father. Her son was a means to an end for Amir, to win over her cooperation. But she still didn’t know how she could surrender herself to this man.

“You have nothing to fear from me.”

Is that what he saw? A frightened woman? There was a long pause of silence from both of them. Her son laughed at the rise and fall of fish from the top of the water.

“I only find my circumstances awkward.”

Amir nodded his understanding, but his focus was on her son. “You will like my attentions in time.”

“You seem rather confident. If I might say so,” she added quickly so as not to seem ungrateful to what he’d already done for her. She must learn to temper her tongue.

“You will shed this cold exterior in time. It is a defense you use to guard your English pride.”

“Who is to say it’s pride that keeps me a gently bred woman? I’m not meant for what you have in mind.” She bowed her head. “But I agreed to the arrangement for my son’s future. I will stand by the promise I made.”

Amir mulled this for a moment, his lips twisting as though he bit into something sour and not to his liking. “You did agree to this, otherwise Harry would not have gone to the trouble of purchasing you.”

He turned away from the water and set her son on the ground, giving Jonathan the bracelet from his own wrist to play with.

“I won’t let you leave here. We can come to many arrangements to make it more comfortable, but you will still be expected to warm my bed. If you find it reprehensible to have relations with a man beneath your station, there’s nothing that can be done about it. But you will learn to like it. I can be very convincing in acts of a more indulgent nature.”

His voice was soft and even, but there was no mistaking the edge of anger lancing his words.

“Please. Let me apologize for my behavior,” she said. “I’ve said too much. I will do whatever you bid me. You are not a man beneath me. I never meant—”

He raised a hand to silence her protestations. “I’m glad for that, but your docile nature cannot cocoon you any longer. You need to come out of your shell. No one wants you to disgrace yourself. Everyone will help to support and strengthen your fledging wings as you learn your way around.” He faced her and gave her a small smile, his anger no longer evident. “Only then will you find your missing spirit, little bird.”

Such a strange way to word it.

She hated that everyone read her so well. But he was right. She hadn’t been abused. In fact, she’d been treated graciously, thoughtfully; everyone wanted to help her learn this way of life. Amir reached his hand out to her son, who bashed the bracelet around in excitement.

He tickled under Jonathan’s chin, and her son released the bauble and laughed at the man who played with him. How could a man who lived such an amoral way of life, owning slaves and whoring women, be this tender?

It wasn’t a question she wanted the answer to.

Taking the delicate filigree between his long slender fingers, Amir bent the pretty band so the circle was smaller. Then he slipped it over her son’s chubby hand, fitting it snugly around his baby-plump wrist.

Jonathan’s eyes seemed to widen, and the bracelet went immediately to his mouth. Amir chucked Jonathan under the chin again until her boy laughed and chortled in his baby way. He seemed torn between sucking on the bracelet and grappling Amir’s fingers.

Amir turned to her suddenly. “I want you in my bedchamber tonight. Laila will prepare you.”

There was no response to that. She lowered her head, not wanting to meet his gaze. The only sound was her son’s laughter and the fountain that drained into the fishpond.

She would not argue. He could take away everything he’d given her and that might include her son. She must tread carefully so as not to ruin her last chance for survival. At least until she better understood this man.

His hand came down to rest on the top of her head, his fingers lifting a hank of hair, then releasing it just as quickly. He left her there, tears running down her cheeks.

Why was she crying? No use denying that she was grateful for all he’d done.

Maybe she cried because she was afraid to open up to him. Afraid of what she’d learn about herself when with him. She thought about that a moment longer. Her fear dissipated. She wasn’t afraid of lying with a man who was not her husband.

It wasn’t that the actual act of congress was terribly horrible; she had enjoyed it upon occasion. What bothered her was this strange intuition that she wouldn’t find this a hardship in the least. Where had Elena disappeared to in the last week? She’d been so adamant and sure of herself before arriving at the palace. Now there was this new person taking over her body, her mind, telling her this was not a terrible fate at all, but a good second chance.

She slumped on the ground next to Jonathan and set him on her lap so that his wobbly legs stood on her thighs.

“Promise not to hate me when you learn that your mama has sold herself into this life.”

One pudgy hand reached out to grasp her loose hair. She pressed her lips to his forehead, giving him a quick kiss.

“I will do everything in my power to give us both a life we can love. I pray to God you don’t hate me when you understand what I truly am. But I tell you this now as a promise to us both; I will make this a life worth having. I will make this the best I can. For both of us. This looks to be our last stop before we’re dancing in Elysium’s fields.”

Giving her son a raspberry kiss on his cheek and a hug that had him squirming as she tickled his sides, she picked him up and strolled toward Laila’s room.

A eunuch stood on either side of the double-door entry. Each pushed one massive wooden door inward and gave her a little push inside. She tripped a few steps forward and spun around to see the doors closing in her wake. She smoothed her hands over her arms as if warding off a chill.

So this was it. She’d known it was coming all day, so why couldn’t she turn around?

Taking a deep breath, she lowered her hands to her sides and turned where she stood.

The room was empty. Amir was not waiting for her. She released the air she held tight in her lungs.

How long was she expected to wait? The longer she was here alone, the more nervous she grew. Her stomach was in knots and not all of it stemmed from fear. There was a note of anticipation that made her sick to her stomach. It was like her wedding night all over again.

Instead of worrying about his arrival, she focused on the opulence of the room.

Lush carpets cushioned her feet, inviting her to curl her toes into them, but she wouldn’t take her slippers off. She’d keep every last transparent thread on her person until she was forced to reveal more. There was no bed in the room, only a wide comfortable divan and cushions that could substitute as seating on the floors.

This room was no different than hers, except for the writing table that occupied one corner. There was a ledger open and resting on it, a quill sitting in the inkwell next to it. She turned to the windows. A warm breeze brushed over her in gentle reassurance before it was gone. She shook her head at her silliness and walked over to the ledge to look out at the grounds. She stood above the garden, the very one she frequented with her son.

How often had he watched her from this very spot? Goose bumps rose on her arms at the thought of him spying on her.

She smoothed her hand over the wall, caressing the rough stone to ground her to reality, the now. He had an unfair advantage by knowing more about her. It made her uneasy.

She looked away from the dark foliage. It was a clear night beyond the palace walls, stars twinkled bright and beautiful in the sky, and no walls impeded her view of the ocean perhaps a mile or two off.

Not wanting Amir to sneak up on her, she backed away from the call of freedom the night sang, and retreated to the divan. Sitting down, she hid her bottom. A small taffeta pillow in green edged with pretty glass beads went immediately into her lap.

It was more uncomfortable by the minute.

How she wished for the fortification of wine or even the swill of a fine brandy.

She’d asked for some earlier to ease her nerves, but Laila told her that was impossible; alcohol was forbidden to the women. No sense in arguing the matter; her nerves would be on edge, mind on tenterhooks, hands trembling no matter how hard she clutched the pillow with or without wine.

Low voices came from the second, smaller door in the room moments before it swung silently open. Her heart thudded so hard in her chest; she was nearly deaf from the pounding of it in her ears.

Amir wore his usual white linen trousers, white shirt with loose sleeves, the collar cut down the center to reveal the fine lines and hairs of his chest. She tried to swallow back the lump in her throat, then pinched her eyes shut.

She didn’t hear him approach, his steps were so silent. Courage hadn’t surfaced in her when he stood within a handspan of her, knees bumping hers. He removed the pillow from her lap with a quick tug. The beads jangled as it was tossed behind him and hit the floor like the final blow of an axe.