How had he stolen her from the palace?

Her son.

Her Jonathan.

She was without her child and knew it as sure and stinging as the vomit-scented air she breathed.

“No . no . ” The denial finally made it past her lips.

“Shh . Everything will be fine soon. Shh. I’ll arrange for a doctor as soon as we’re on land.”

“No. Amir. Must go to Amir . ” Though she tried to speak firmly, it came out in a croaking, wheezy noise.

Her son. How could her son survive without her?

How could she survive without her son?

How had this happened? Reaching up to her face, she was only more dismayed to realize the veil was gone. But what did that matter when she’d been taken from her son?

He knew. Rothburn knew who she was because she’d been foolish enough to share that part of herself.

Futile as her struggle was, she relaxed in his hold, breathing in deeply through her mouth and out through her nose so the smell didn’t make her more ill. Yet her stomach knotted impossibly tighter. Everything inside her was hurt, raw. Sad. Oh God. Her darling boy was alone.

The rocking over turbulent waters became a gentler sway; the motion still sickened her but it lessened in slow degrees. The pounding in her eyes didn’t ease, and her mouth was so very dry. So dry there was no spittle to swallow and ease her sore throat.

She was lifted. It made her squeeze her eyes tighter, to shut out the pain racking against her brain in never-ending, throbbing waves.

Tiredness swept through her, her body grew limp, heavy, and started to drift with his every step. Her captor said nothing as she fought the fog dragging her back into sleep.

“Jonathan,” she thought, she whispered, she didn’t know.

“Sleep, love. Sleep.”

The voice was so far away.

Too far to lure her back into consciousness.


She shouldn’t have slept this long, even under the influence of the drug. Why was she so ill? Was she prone to boat sickness so severe? Her body had been tense until he’d stepped from the gangplank to solid ground. They’d gone to see a local sawbones before heading to his villa. The man said she should sleep it off, eat light and rest easy. Why didn’t Griffin feel reassured by the words?

His man stood solemnly by the whole time they waited for Jinan to be looked over. Peters had come down from England at Griffin’s insistence that they sojourn in Italy for an unknown length of time. Peters was one of the few men he trusted with private matters. Griffin had been vague about his real reasons for having his man of affairs here until he’d left to retrieve Jinan. His man of affairs knew who Jinan was, had known about her since arranging the money transfer to Amir three months ago.

Peters opened the door to Griffin’s apartment. He didn’t fail to notice Peters’s look of disapproval. The man thought the bundle of cloth Griffin held to his chest was nothing more than a ladybird. And that the extreme measures employed to retrieve such a creature were highly unusual and completely unnecessary.

Peters nodded and gave a slight bow. Was there reluctance in his steps as he took his leave?

Before Peters attempted a heart-to-heart, Griffin said, “Have water brought up and a light repast prepared.”

“My lord,” Peters intoned with an air of annoyance.

Griffin paused. How to get Jinan to eat? There was no possible way for her to stomach real food. “Bring some vegetable broth as well.”

Kicking the door shut behind him, he grimaced. His mood was black enough that he might lash out at Peters if another snide remark was so much as hinted at. After a meal, he’d have a clearer mind. Then he’d bathe and sleep, in that exact order. Jinan would need those things, too.

With a quick yank, the coverlet landed at the foot of the bed. He placed Jinan on the clean sheets and set himself to stripping her of the caftan that smelled of her sickness.

The blue scarves of her dress were a tangled mess about her hips. He yanked them down to cover her mound. He was no hedonist to make her eat completely naked. Though they’d done it frequently enough in the Pleasure Gardens.

New beginnings. He needed to stop dwelling on what they had had and focus on what their future held.

If there was one thing he was determined to do, it was to reacquaint this beauty with her true heritage as an English lady—of course, only outwardly. He liked the free sensuality she unleashed when playing the Turkish princess. But he wanted her free of the life she must have been forced to live.

Putting her foot in his lap, he looked to see how the coin anklet came off. There was no clasp. Did she never take them off? He didn’t want to break the golden chains in fear they held sentimental value so he left them. He pressed his thumbs into the ball of her foot, massaging them until she curled her toes forward.

With a slight clank of the silver tray, a hiss passed Peters’s lips at the sight of the exotic woman in Griffin’s bed. Her veil hid her features; he made sure he’d secured it around her face before leaving the ship. Her dark brown hair wrapped around her shoulders and arms in a tangled mess. She looked like a Gypsy harlot in her scarves and bands of gold, with painted designs around her hands and feet marking her as a heathen.

But she was no heathen to Griffin.

“Good Lord, Rothburn. You can’t seriously expect to introduce her into society.”

“If you know what’s good for you, you’ll hold your tongue.” He hadn’t told anyone her identity. He wasn’t sure why, but her true origins were his secret for the time being. It would be up to the lady in his bed to decide to whom she revealed her secrets.

“My apologies, my lord. But have you really looked at her?”

Griffin wasn’t in the mood for prejudices. Peters had no way of knowing his past associations with Jinan. And for that reason alone, he didn’t lash out at the man.

He lifted some of her hair, trying to pull his fingers through it. There were more pressing issues at hand then dealing with an overset Peters. “I’ll need a brush and comb to pick out these knots.”

Dismissed, Peters clicked his heels with the announcement. “Bathwater will be prepared in your bathing room.” The door shut softly, and Griffin was happy to be alone with her at last.

“How is this going to work, Jinan?”

Her only answer was to snuggle deeper into the pillows. He sat her up, propping her between the stacks of pillows, and retrieved the glass of water.

“Jinan,” he said, next to her ear, one fist planted at the side of her leg. She moved a little, her thigh pushing against his wrist as she tried to stretch out, as she fought her way into consciousness.

Her hands fisted at his chest, burrowing into his shirt.

“Jinan,” he said louder and with more firmness. He needed to get fluids into her.

When she was filled with water and broth, he’d let her sleep as the doctor ordered.

“Amir?”

Her voice came out as a croak, not that he expected it to be any better since they’d left his ship. He almost hadn’t caught whom she asked after until she said it again. It made jealousy flare in his stomach. Why was it always Amir she called after? And who the hell was Jonathan? That was the last name she’d whispered before sleep had overwhelmed her earlier. He couldn’t remember her husband’s name, but he did know it hadn’t been Jonathan.

Still, it was another man she called after. Had Griffin not shown her how gentle and kind he was over the past few months? Did she think Amir so kind when he owned and auctioned his women off as no better than slaves? There was no kindness in reducing women to harlots.

Nor was kidnapping her to make her see his reason a kindness, he admonished.

He clenched his jaw and swallowed his pride. In time, she’d see how much more he had to offer. He vowed he’d prove it to her. “No. Amir’s not here.”

He placed a cool glass to her lips. She took it in small mouthfuls.

She pushed the glass from her when she’d had her fill. Her eyes remained shut.

He knew she suffered a headache of massive proportions—a nasty side effect of the opiate. What she needed was to get some broth in her. Two days without food and fevers ravaging her body was too long.

With less of a catch in her voice, she asked, “Where is Amir?”

So she still played the princess speaking her Persian tongue. No more games, he was bloody well sick of games.

“Jinan”—he wrapped his hand around hers and held tight—“you well know Amir isn’t here. You are at my villa.”

She looked at him through squinted eyes for a long moment. He’d closed all the curtains in here so she wouldn’t be pained by the midmorning light. Whatever comfort she asked for, he’d give her. To an extent, of course.

“Where is your villa, exactly?”

Her fingers rose to her own face. Griffin hated to admit it, but he was used to the scrap of silk covering her features. It didn’t seem important to remove it when he knew damn well who she was. She sighed in what he could only imagine was relief when her fingers found the cloth still tightly secured through her knotted hair. “Has anyone else seen me?”

“No. I’ve kept your veil in place. Here. Drink this, it’s broth. It will give you some of your strength back.”

He brought the warm bowl up in his free hand. She shook her head, refusing.

“If I leave it on the table here, and give you a moment to collect yourself, will you drink it?”

She only stared at him through narrowed, sleepy eyes. “You need something nourishing, you were sick on the trip here.”

“The boat—”

“Yes, we came in my clipper. We only traveled for a couple days.”

“I cannot travel by boat.”

“I’m well aware of that.” He gave her a small, reassuring smile. “So we will start with light fare. It’s a celery-based broth, not meat. I don’t know if you even eat meat.”