Looking out through the empty glass slots, she saw a walled garden below with a gnarled, heavy-trunked olive tree in the center. It seemed so desolate and empty of life even with its abundant leaves, but without flora and fauna to give it full life. The landscape looked dry, the sunburned grass unwelcoming. So unlike her palace home, yet the same. The only brightness in her life had been her son. Without him, everything was dismal, gray.

Checking the door Rothburn just exited, she tried to open it. There was no lock on the inside; he probably had the key tucked in his pocket. Away from her. She smacked her palms against the door and swore in Turkish.

She sat on a chair placed near the windows and stared outside. No stirrings, no movement, not a soul to be seen even after she’d thrown the candelabra at the glass. How much staff did Rothburn keep on hand? She wouldn’t put it past him to have sent most of them away while he tried to acquaint her with this place.

But that wouldn’t happen.

How could it? While she was here, Amir was either enraged or worried about her—maybe both—and probably frantic to find her. What would her sisters tell her little boy? Her son, God, her son, she didn’t want to think about him. It hurt too much.

How had Rothburn stolen her out of the harem? No woman had ever left the palace. That was just how it was, and how she always expected it to be. Surely there were patrons in the past who adored their mistresses and wanted them all to themselves.

Maybe they tried to negotiate their freedom. Maybe they’d stolen them from the palace but been caught. What of the guards who stood and watched over the patrons?

If the harem girls couldn’t persuade the eunuchs to let them pass—it seemed none of her sisters had wanted to leave in all the years she’d been there—then how had Rothburn accomplished this Herculean feat?

She shook her head at the thought. Did it really matter how he’d secreted her out of her home? The only thing that should worry her now was finding her way back.

Even if she did escape Rothburn, where would she go? She had no money, no jewels aside from the gold bracelets around her wrists and ankles. And a few small diamonds and emeralds in the clip holding her veil in place. The best she could do was beg one of his servants for help. Maybe then they would be rewarded greatly if they helped her find passage out of this villa.

But where would she go?

Constantinople?

Harry Chisholm was well known in the slave markets, but it was too dangerous for a woman to go there without a protector. Women were nothing without their husbands or owners guarding them. No, she couldn’t risk going back to Constantinople alone.

Was it possible she could persuade someone to go on her behalf? There must be someone—a youth who wanted to be a damsel’s knight in shining armor—someone to take pity on her in her predicament.

There was just one major flaw in her plan.

How was she to communicate with any of the servants when she couldn’t speak Italian? Had Rothburn deliberately brought that maid to her because there was no way for Jinan to confide her secrets?

So, Jinan, what are you going to do now?

Had the charade played its turn? She didn’t think so. But she wouldn’t wager on seeing her son any time soon if she didn’t find the empathetic heart of some sweet maid or stable hand.

“Bugger it all to hell.”

He’d been an utter ass to her. How could he have done that? What had gone through his thick head as he tore away her towel and thrust up into her warm, pliant, soft . fuck it all to hell!

His cock was still hard, straining painfully against his trousers. He’d had to untuck his shirt to hide the monstrous reaction he was having to the delectable Jinan.

What kind of bounder was he to do such a thing to the woman he professed to love?

Thank God he’d registered her refusal and stopped what he’d started.

If a man loved a woman, would he steal her like some barbarian thief in the night?

He was a sick, twisted man. The smashing of glass rang through the hall as Peters opened the door. Griffin wondered if he should go to her, then discarded the thought. He needed to gather his thoughts. Cool his temper.

“What has the heathen done?” Peters asked as he entered the study.

His voice was light and teasing, but Griffin was irritated by the whole turn of events and not in the mood for such frivolous commentary. He turned to stare at Peters while continuing to pace to and fro in front of the great mahogany desk that took up one wall of the study.

“Refrain from insults. Unless you feel like being unmanned and picking yourself up off the street when I toss you out on your ass.”

Peters only smiled at the threat before he sat down on a leather chair across from the desk. He watched Peters steeple his fingers and settled in for a lecture. “Has she gotten the better of you?”

“Damn it. Shut that mouth of yours, Peters.” He made a frustrated noise in the back of his throat. “That woman’s going to drive me mad.”

Peters raised a brow in amusement. “Never did I think to see this day.”

“Well, believe it.” Griffin roughly brushed his fingers through his hair.

How could he have guessed she’d want to go back to that place? She was English, not Muslim, not a whore, and most certainly not the princess she pretended to be. When had Elena surrendered her life to play at being a sex slave? How was it possible for someone, more specifically a lady, brought up in English society, to throw away her beliefs and embrace the depravities of the darker parts of the world? He had practically handed it all back to her on a platter and she had had the audacity to refuse it, to throw it in his face.

Shouldn’t she be grateful to him for her freedom? Shouldn’t she throw herself down at his feet in gratitude and eternal thankfulness? Not beg to be sent back to her master!

Had he misjudged her?

It wasn’t possible. Or was it? This line of thought angered him to no end. Then there was the child. Had she had the child with Amir? With another patron?

None of it really mattered.

He knew what was best. In the end, she wouldn’t choose the life of a harlot over a life with someone of his status. He had so much more to offer her. Life without servitude, for one. Though what he offered probably seemed no better to her. In time, it would. That was what mattered.

How in hell had he acted so harshly with her? He’d violated something sacred between them; it didn’t matter that sexual relations had been a paid service beforehand.

He’d never done such a thing to a woman. Never.

Worse, he still wanted to do that to Jinan.

He was sinking in frustration, annoyance, and just plain anger because of her continuing charade. He’d outsmart her soon enough. Or it would be certain madness for them both.

“Arrange for only Italian-speaking maids to attend us in my room. In fact, it might be better to remove anyone from the property who speaks English. I have a feeling Jinan cannot understand Italian. I know she’s fluent in English, Persian, and Turkish. I don’t want her pleading her woes to the staff. They don’t need to know any more than necessary.”

“It’s already been done. There were few here who have a handle on the English language. Those who could speak it are on paid leave.”

“That’s good. I have to go back upstairs.”

Was that really a smart idea, though? Had he killed the passion in her? He rubbed at his eyes, wishing the image of her perfectly shaped form didn’t keep him in a raging stiffness. What in hell had he just done?

He’d have to apologize. Maybe he could take her down to the gardens, let her have some fresh air and beg forgiveness for his actions. Would she forgive him? He could tell her his ultimate plan to marry her. Or was it the wrong time now?

Damn it. It did him no good either way. He was annoyed about what he’d done and how he’d taken her. Peters just watched him with amusement, further annoying him.

What would happen if he went back upstairs? Would he force himself on her again?

He paused in his pacing and sat on the edge of the desk. Perhaps she acted spiteful in hopes he’d bring her back to her old master? Could it all be a ruse on her part?

Inflaming his desires so he felt like a fool? Acted like a fool? Had she known he would do that?

In fairness, she’d probably acted the way she did out of worry for her son.

Assurance that he would retrieve her son was the only way this could move forward. The only way she’d forgive him.

“Tell the staff dinner will be late tonight. Around ten. No one is to disturb me in the meantime.”

Hopefully Jinan would settle in a little by that time. He was going to apologize.

No, that would only prove he was in the wrong by kidnapping her. If he apologized, she’d still insist on him taking her home.

This was her home now. She’d have to get used to that idea. Once she realized how much freedom was within her grasp, how much more she was entitled to here—once he could trust her with said freedom—she’d be melting with gratitude.

“We must come to an understanding, Jinan.”

His plan was not going as he wished. She paced before him, refusing to meet his gaze—refusing to listen to reason.

“There is nothing for us to understand. I will not change my mind. You must let me go home. Or you must bring me back to the harem immediately.”

“Maybe we are starting this conversation—or negotiation, if you will—in the wrong place for us to come to an understanding.”

“You will never see it my way, my lord.”

“Please, Jinan. We’ve been over this a hundred times, if not more—stop addressing me as my lord. Use Rothburn, Griffin, I care not. Just stop lording me.”