by Unconquered
He moved to draw the blouse open, and she caught at his hands. Their eyes met in the mirror. She could hear the beat of her heart, and wondered if he could hear it, too. He waited, intuitively knowing there would be no need to force her. Suddenly her hands fell back to her sides. Baring her beautiful breasts, he gently cupped them in his palms as if making an offering to a god. The intensity of his gaze sent a weakening warmth through her body, and her large nipples tightened like frosted flower buds.
“ ‘Behold thou art fair, my love,’ ” he said. “ ‘Behold thou art fair. Thy two breasts are like two young roes that are twins, which feed upon the lilies.’ ” Mirza Khan’s deep voice was filled with such passion that she came close to tears.
“I quote to you from ‘The Song of Solomon,’ Miranda,” he said softly, smiling at her in the mirror. “I speak only the bits and pieces that come to my mind. ‘Thy navel is like a round goblet, which wanteth not liquor,’ ” he murmured into her neck, his hands moving from her breasts to loosen her harem trousers. “ ‘Thy belly is like a heap of wheat set about with lilies.’ ” He smoothed the roundness with teasing fingers.
“These words are written in your own holy book, but I don’t imagine that little puritan girls are taught them. It is said that they were composed by the great Hebrew king, Solomon, son of David. It tells of the delights experienced by a bride and her bridegroom in each other.” He lifted her gently from the jumble of silken fabrics at her feet and moved her so they stood sideways to the mirror, facing each other.
She began to undress him, removing his long white silk robe to bare a wide, muscled bronze chest. Placing her palms flat against his warm skin, she looked up at him shyly, and said, “You have told me what he says to her, Mirza Khan, but does she not speak to him?”
“ ‘My beloved is white and ruddy,’ ” he answered, “ ‘His locks are bushy and black as a raven, his lips like lilies dropping sweet-smelling myrrh. His belly is as bright ivory overlaid with sapphires. His mouth is most sweet, yea he is altogether lovely. This is my beloved, and this is my friend,’ ” said Mirza Khan softly, his deep vibrant voice sending shivers through her. She didn’t notice that he had kicked off his slippers, stepped from his baggy white trousers, and was now as naked as she.
“And then?” she whispered, blushing as she realized his state. “What does he say to her then?”
Mirza Khan wrapped his strong arms around Miranda, their naked bodies touching from breast to belly to thigh. Softly he brushed her lips. “ ‘Let him kiss me with the kisses of his mouth, for thy love is better than wine. I am my beloved’s,’ ” he murmured against her lips. “ ‘I am my beloved’s, and his desire is toward me.’ ”
Their mouths met in a passionate kiss, her arms slipping up around his neck to draw his mouth closer down to hers. Lifting her into his arms, he carried her slowly across the room and gently placed her on the bed. Her pale-gold hair fanned out onto the plump pillows. Tenderly Mirza Khan took a foot in his hand.
“ ‘How beautiful art thy feet, o prince’s daughter!’ ” He kissed the arch of it, then the ankle, his mouth moving slowly up her leg as he crooned, “ ‘The joints of thy thighs are like jewels, the work of the hands of a cunning craftsman.’ ” He lay his dark head upon her white thighs, and her hands tenderly caressed his dark hair.
He took nothing she was not willing to give him, and she could not, it seemed, give him enough. This was confusing. His wonderful voice pierced her to the heart and she grew warm with his words, and helpless to the sweet desire he roused in her.
“ ‘My beloved spake, and said unto me, Rise up my love, my fair one, and come away. For lo, the winter is past, the rain is over, and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come, and the voice of the turtle is heard in our land. Arise, my love, my fair one, and come away.’ ”
Mirza Khan sought the secret sweetness of her. Her legs fell apart and a violent shudder tore through her as he found her treasure. She cried aloud her deep passion. His tongue was wildfire, touching her here and there until the pleasure was so great it poured over her like molten gold, and her breath came in short, painful gasps.
Oh God, it had never been like this before! Not like this! “Mirza!” she cried, not even aware that she had spoken.
When he raised his head she saw that his deep-blue eyes were blazing. Slowly, slowly, he pulled himself up until his lean, masculine body covered hers. “ ‘As the apple tree among the trees of the wood, so is my beloved.’ ” She felt his pulsing shaft seeking entry, and reached down to guide him. “Then, Miranda, my darling, the bride said, ‘I sat down under his shadow with great delight, and his fruit was sweet to my taste.’ ” She felt him thrusting within her as he continued to speak. “He brought me to the banqueting house, and his banner over me was love.”
Miranda wept silently, her face wet with salty tears, but they were tears of joy.
Taking her face in his hands, he kissed her again and again, his shaft pulsing within her, until she shuddered with the force of her ecstasy and floated away into a honeyed, spiraling world, knowing that he had joined her.
When she came to herself again he was lying with his dark head on her breasts, but she knew he was not asleep. “I understand now,” she said softly, with a touch of wonder.
“Tell me … ” She heard the smile in his voice.
“You have shown me love in another form. I love my husband, and when we made love the desire to do so came from our mutual love, and from our passion as well. Lucas loved me too, but I had no choice. I was resentful and I wanted to punish him for making me respond to his lust that first time. I wanted to punish myself for what I considered my body’s betrayal of me as well as my husband’s honor.”
“And what have I taught you, my darling, that your voice is now so filled with laughter instead of tears?” he asked.
“That lovers should be friends, Mirza Khan, even a husband and a wife.” He raised his head and she took his face into her hands and kissed his mouth. “We are friends. We have been since we met in St. Petersburg.”
They sat facing one another upon the large bed, and he asked her, “Will your husband really repudiate you, Miranda?”
She sighed. “By our code he has every right to do so.” Then she smiled ruefully. “The upper-class gentleman in England is expected, even encouraged, to keep some bit o’ muslin, as mistresses are referred to in polite society. I even know of certain upper-class women who are unfaithful to their husbands. But, although their behavior is suspected, it is permitted because they are discreet. You know what London is like.”
“Indeed I do!”
“Appearance is everything to the ton. Society will say that I did something to bring my woes down upon my head, and my husband will be thought quite correct to rid himself of me if he chooses.”
“I think you misjudge your husband, Miranda. If he is the man you say he is, he will love you more for your bravery.”
She reached out and took his hand. “Do you remember what you said to me earlier this evening in your caique? You said that if my life was to be loveless then you would give me sweet memories to feast upon in the long dark nights ahead. I need those memories, Mirza, for whether Jared casts me aside or not there will be many lonely dark nights ahead for me. Will you love me while I remain here in your house enjoying your hospitality? I have never even believed that I could ask such a thing of a man not my husband, but you are my friend, Mirza Khan, and in a strange way I care for you.”
His startled look surprised her, and she said quickly, “I have shocked you! Oh Mirza, forgive me! It was a foolish request.”
“No!” His voice was husky with emotion. “I adore you, my Miranda! I think I fell under your spell the moment we met last year in St. Petersburg. When I heard you had been killed on the streets of that barbaric place I left it as soon as I could, for I could not stay in a city so savage as to murder you.
“Then when I saw you again I believed in miracles. Not only wer
e you alive, but you were unbeaten. I have never known a woman like you!
“Will I love you while you remain in my house? Miranda my darling, I will love you forever if you will but let me!”
“Thank you, Mirza, but I must go back when Jared sends for me. I have a son. Wyndsong will be his one day.”
“You worry about your son, Miranda, but what of your daughter?”
“I have decided that Jared will never know of the child’s existence if I can prevent it. I am a wealthy woman and I will see that the child is placed with a good foster mother. She will want for nothing, and I will see her regularly.”
“And when you return to America? What of your daughter, then?”
“I will not leave her behind, Mirza. She is my child for all the shame of her conception. But Jared must not know, and neither must anyone else. As long as no one knows the child is mine, there can be only speculation about what happened to me this past year.”
“You must give her a name,” he said quietly. “You call her ‘the child’ as if she had no real identity, and as long as she is nameless she doesn’t.”
“I can’t,” Miranda said sadly.
“Yes, you can!” he answered. “She is such a beautiful, dainty little creature. She is like a delicate little flower. Think, my darling! What is her name?”
“I … I don’t know!”
“Come, Miranda,” he urged her.
“Fleur!” she said suddenly. “You said she looked like a flower and she does. I’ll call her Fleur! Are you satisfied now, Mirza Khan?”
“Not entirely,” he said lazily, reaching out to catch at her pale-gilt hair and draw her closer to him. She was in his arms once more, and his mouth was teasing hers again.
She stopped his lips with her fingers, and began to recite softly, “ ‘My beloved is mine, and I am his: he feedeth among the lilies until the day break, and the shadows flee away. Turn, my beloved, and be thou like a roe, or a young hart upon the mountains of Bether.’ ”
“You vixen!” he chuckled, delighted. “You know ‘The Song of Solomon’!”
“I’m afraid I was a curious little puritan girl, Mirza Khan, and Papa never discouraged a study of the Bible,” she finished demurely. Her sea-green eyes were dancing with delight at having surprised him.
“Oh, Miranda,” he said seriously, “I am not sure I am ever going to let you go.”
“There will come a time, my dearest friend, when you will have no choice but to let me go. Until then I am yours if you will have me.”
“And afterward?”
“Afterward I shall have sweet memories to feast upon in the long dark nights,” she answered. Pulling his dark head back down, her mouth scorched his, and together they entered paradise once again.
Chapter 15
MIRANDA LOOKED INTO HER MIRROR. SHE HAD CHANGED, AND she liked the change. She was twenty years old and, at last, the girl she had been was gone. A woman stared back at her from the Venetian glass, a woman whose bittersweet experiences of the last year had served only to increase her beauty, refine it as one would refine gold.
Her skin was as translucent as the finest porcelain. Her cheeks, washed with pale rose, stretched tight over her high, fine bones. The sea-green eyes never wavered in their direct gaze. If she had been a beautiful young girl, she was now an incredibly stunning young woman.
There were deeper changes as well. Where once she had been quick to act and ruled by her heart, she now considered carefully and thoughtfully.
Mirza Khan, her tender lover these few months, had begged her to remain with him, or at least to return to him if Jared repudiated her. She cared deeply for him, yet she knew she would never love him as she loved Jared Dunham, and Mirza Khan deserved all of her heart.
She sighed, allowing herself a moment to think back over the terrible things she had seen in the last year. Perhaps the most painful was the death of little Fleur. The day of her death, which was the day after Mirza Khan had insisted that Miranda name her, seemed to mark the closing of one door and the opening of another. The child’s quiet and apparently painless death had been no surprise at all to Miranda and had been, of course, something of a relief. What kind of life would she have had, blind and probably deaf as well?
Miranda would always be grateful to the prince for insisting on a name. How awful if the baby had gone to her grave nameless! She was buried in a secluded part of the garden, and Mirza Khan had held Miranda while she wept and wept. There were no longer any tears for the child. Perhaps there would be again one day, but for now Miranda intended to walk through the new door, into a new life. She could not, just now, allow herself to dwell on the past.
Rising, she left her room and sought Mirza Khan. Walking alone in the selamlik garden when she found him, the prince’s face lit up at sight of her, and she walked proudly into his outstretched arms. “Thank you, Mirza,” she said. “Thank you. I have suddenly realized that I am whole again, and it is you who have created this miracle.”
He held her against him, aching with need for her. “We are friends, and so it was written before either of us was even born. It is what we call kismet, a preordained fate.” His hand lightly touched her soft hair. How long? he wondered. How long before I must let her go, and then spend the rest of the years apportioned to me wondering what I ever did that I must bear such pain, such loss.
“You love me,” she said quietly, knowing his thoughts so clearly that it startled her. She had never been able to play that particular trick with anyone else but Amanda.
“Of course I love you,” he said with false heartiness.
“No!” her voice was sharp, and demanded his attention. “You really love me. Oh, Mirza, have I brought you pain? You don’t deserve that, darling.”
“Walk with me, Miranda,” was his reply. They strolled the smooth marble paths of the garden. “Do you know how old I am?” he asked her, and then without waiting for her answer said, “I am forty-five years old, Miranda, a full twenty-five years your senior. I might be your father.”
“No, Mirza, you could never be my papa.” To his surprise he heard laughter in her voice.
“What I am trying to say to you, Miranda, is yes, I really do love you, but had we never become lovers I would still love you because it is my fate to do so. It is also my fate to see you returned safely to your world. If you remain there with your husband then I must accept that bitter portion of my fate as I have so joyously accepted the sweet portion of it. My years have taught me not to rail against Allah’s plan for me, though I may sometimes feel that I know better than God himself. If I have given you sweet memories to feast upon in the long dark nights ahead, then so have you given me sweet memories in return.” Turning, he tipped her face up to him, his deep-blue eyes locking onto hers with such tenderness that she felt the tears pricking, and blinked them fiercely back. “Into each man’s life, if he is lucky, comes one very special love. There will never be another, but my dearest little puritan, my life is so much richer for loving you. I regret nothing, and neither must you, for regret would lessen what has passed between us, and make it only ordinary.”
Reaching up, she took his head in her hands and, pulling it down, kissed him a tender, sweet kiss. “I have become a woman with you,” she said. “Never have I felt so strong, so sure, and it is your love that has done this. It will envelop me when I leave you, an invisible, protective armor.”
She slipped her hand into his, and they strolled wordlessly, enjoying the beauties of the garden with its tinkling, blue-tiled fountains, its fish pools whose swift golden inhabitants darted to and fro amid the water lilies. The yellow rose trees were in full bloom amid beds of fluffy white gypsophila, tall spikes of purple lavender, lemon balm, and other sweet herbs.
The sunlight caressed her long hair while a soft wind teasingly played with it. Soon he led her into his dimly lit bedchamber. She shed her peacock-blue caftan, he his long white robe, and they came together in an embrace. His body, lean, warm, and hard, felt good against her
s. Her lips parted to receive his tongue into her mouth, a tongue that loved hers with tender familiarity. Her hands smoothed down the long line of his back, cupped his buttocks, and moved back upward, her nails gently raking his skin. He bore her backward onto the bed, his passionate mouth never leaving hers, and her arms slipped up around his neck. Her pale-gold hair billowed outward, and he tangled his hands in its soft thickness as he covered her face with a thousand kisses.
Rolling to one side, he cradled her within the shelter of his arm while his other hand gently caressed her breasts, his fingers touching her skin slowly as if committing its texture to memory. Watching him through half-closed eyes, she said softly, “This is the last time for us, isn’t it, Mirza?”
“How did you know?”
“I saw Dream Witch anchor off your beach earlier this afternoon,” she replied.
“You will sail with the evening tide, Miranda, my love. Your Captain Snow has brought your maid. She will come ashore later with your clothes.”
“Oh, Mirza, I am suddenly afraid!” she cried.
“No!” His deep voice was fierce. “You must never show fear, my darling, for if you exhibit any sign of weakness you will be overcome. Your world is full of people who have never faced a decision more serious than having to choose between two invitations. They believe that the correct thing in your situation would have been suicide. However, if in your shoes, would they have killed themselves? Of course not!
“Live, Miranda. Apologize to no one, not even to yourself!”
Then Mirza Khan sealed her mouth with a burning kiss, and continued to make tender, passionate love to her. He kissed every inch of her, slipping down the silk sheets to begin with her pretty pink toes. His tongue flicked at the arch of each foot, and she giggled. He worshiped at each long leg, nuzzling, then playfully nipping at the soft skin on the insides of her thighs.
