The Sheik's Son

by Nicola Italia

  Sophie shrank back in her seat. She had so enjoyed the time spent with the celebrated salonist. When her daughter had joined them and spoke of Sophie’s own pamphlet she had been soaring high above Paris. Now she felt nothing but deep shame and embarrassment at her grandmother’s old-fashioned views.

  But Madame Necker did not seem embarrassed, only slightly amused. “My dear Eugenie, you are, of course, correct. Women’s rights are in the home.”

  Eugenie nodded in their shared agreement.

  “But things are changing. And I would not want to live all my time on this earth and not see change, for change is as natural as nature itself,” Madame Necker said, sipping the brown tea.

  Eugenie frowned at her words.

  “I was more than willing to make certain my daughter was educated. And she was. And I understand your son was also this way with Sophie,” Madame Necker continued.

  Eugenie cast a glance at her granddaughter. “Yes.”

  “So we must hope for their sake that the world changes and enables them to achieve what they want,” Madame Necker said. “As women, the home and family is an important part of our world. But why wish them only that when the entire world can be theirs?”

  “Things were so simple when I was a girl. My only hope was that I married well and that he was a good man. I was lucky. He was both. Now women want so much more,” Eugenie muttered.

  Suzanne smiled. “Yes, they do. And we should encourage them.”

  Sophie smiled in return. Madame Necker was indeed a modern woman with ideas that would change the world.

  Chapter 4

  Sebastian had received the two letters together. One was from his mother. She wrote about his homeland and the goings-on of people he knew. She wished him well and sent her love.

  The second was a letter from his father. He started at the cursive handwriting in Arabic which he always associated with his father. It was a lovely language and he had the writing of a scribe. It wasn’t until the latter part of the letter that he groaned.

  His younger sister was named Noor Margaret; she was married with two small children and lived in England with her husband. Their parents had been very matter-of-fact in their names: Each child had an English name and an Arab one.

  Sebastian’s full name was Mohammed Sayed Sebastian. He was named Mohammed after his father and grandfather, but in Europe he went by Sebastian.

  His second sister, who was younger than Noor, was Asrar Isabelle. Asrar had always been a quiet, studious woman, even as a small child. Though raised in the Islamic faith, her dream was to take vows to become a nun and live in the monastery in France.

  The baby of the family was the basis of the letter he had received from his father. Leila Eleanor was 18 years old and a nightmare. She had grown up spoiled and wild. She had her father’s dark hair and her mother’s blue eyes. She was a beauty and already two men had approached Mohammed to marry her. She had refused them both.

  Mohammed had written to say that he was sending Leila to Sebastian. He wanted her to experience society, meet new people and, most importantly, her brother was to look after her.

  ***

  “Jesus, that’s awful,” Andrew spoke into his wine.

  Sebastian had joined his two friends at the local tavern and informed them that he was soon to play nursemaid to his baby sister Leila. They were seated in the corner on two wooden benches with a table between them.

  “As if I don’t have enough to worry about,” Sebastian said.

  Etienne eyed the blonde barmaid hotly before asking, “What is she like?”

  “She’s a spoiled brat.”

  Both men laughed.

  “I mean, she’s Leila. She is spoiled, but then, she is the baby. She’s had several admirers but has turned them down.”

  “Your father doesn’t wish her to marry?” Etienne asked.

  “It’s not that.” Sebastian knew his father wanted all his children to marry for love, as he had done. If Leila did not wish to marry, he would not force his youngest child to do so. “My father won’t force her to marry.”

  “Are you going to the cricket game Saturday?” Andrew asked, changing the subject as he downed his red wine.

  “Because I must,” Etienne replied.

  Sebastian also nodded, but agreed entirely with Etienne. Cricket was a bore, but unfortunately, it was one of Dorset’s passions.

  “Well, at least Dorset will ensure that along with the game, there will be women in abundance as well,” Andrew said.

  “Indeed. Dorset likes his cricket as well as his women,” Sebastian added.

  Dorset’s current mistress was the ballerina Giovanna Zanerini, who had danced at the Opera by invitation and was mother to their son. Though he had brought her to Paris, he continued to see other women.

  “I believe he has invited Madame Necker and her daughter Germaine to attend.” Etienne sipped his wine as he glanced at Sebastian.

  “Bloody hell!” Sebastian swore.

  Though he admired the intellectual circle that Dorset circulated in, the bluestocking women in the salon set were famous for their outrageous opinions. In addition, young Germaine Necker seemed to have a crush on Sebastian and had even tried to steal a kiss at one ball. She had been very drunk at the time.

  Sebastian did his best to avoid her. She was a sweet girl, but too educated and too opinionated for his tastes.

  “There was a delicious auburn-haired beauty at Madame Necker’s last salon meeting. Did you see her?” Andrew asked.

  “No,” Etienne replied.

  Sebastian shook his head. “Well, I have several weeks before the brat arrives. I had better make sure a room is ready for her highness.”

  “Is she really that bad, Bash?” Etienne asked.

  “Worse.”

  ***

  Juliette sighed and closed her eyes, arching her back as Sebastian moved behind her. She felt him slide into her and the slap of skin-on-skin contact was the only sound in the room. His hands secured her hips to him as the pace increased.

  “Oh god,” she begged.

  He wrapped her long hair around his hand and pulled her head up, even as his cock anchored her body to his. She felt him inside, stretching her and filling her, and she loved the feeling of him.

  “Harder, Bash,” she murmured into his ear.

  He set a fast pace to accommodate her, sliding himself in and out before climaxing. When they were both finally spent, they lay together side by side in the large bed. She could hear the clip-clop of horses outside the window and threw her arm over her forehead.

  She enjoyed Sebastian’s lovemaking, as she knew she would. He was considerate for her pleasure and skilled, but he was also distant. They didn’t spend their time talking, and the more she allowed him access to her body, the more she felt herself falling in love with him.

  She knew that he had dismissed Giselle for being clingy and she didn’t want the same thing to happen to her. So she feigned a coolness with him and followed his lead.

  But whenever the gentlemen began calling at night, her heart raced that the next face to appear in the large salon would be his. She adored his cheekbones and sensuous lips, and the brown hair that she longed to pull her fingers through.

  Still, she knew that she must not give in to the madness of falling in love. He had been up front with her and she must do the same. She must treat him exactly as what he was. He was a client, a lover, nothing more.

  ***

  Monsieur Blanche had been pleased with the new pamphlet and had promised to publish it by the week’s end. Sophie was excited by the prospect of having a second pamphlet in circulation, despite her grandmother’s damp mood over tea at Madame Necker’s.

  After tea, Eugenie had come home to relay the conversation to Jean Pierre, and not in a good light at all.

  “My dear son, that Madame Necker is a subversive,” Eugenie told him at dinner.

  The three dined simply at home; Cook had prepared boiled meat of veal, turkey, a salad, chee
se, fruit and red wine.

  Jean Pierre frowned at his over-exaggerating mother. “Subversive? Surely not, Mère.” He took a bite of his veal and sighed. Cook was very skilled.

  “Well, perhaps not subversive,” she conceded.

  “Not at all subversive, Grand-mère,” Sophie spoke up as she toyed with her salad. “She’s an intellectual. She fosters reason and individualism over tradition.”

  Jean Pierre smiled at his daughter. She clearly understood the salonist’s circle was prestigious as well as important.

  “Madame Necker is a highly celebrated salonist, Mère. She has some of the most well known people surround her. Sophie benefits greatly from their company.”

  “I’m not at all certain, mon fils,” Eugenie said to her son.

  “Mère, if Madame Necker has taken a liking to Sophie, it is to be encouraged.”

  Eugenie looked away from the decorated, candlelit table. She detested arguing with her only son and they rarely did so. But she felt Sophie had been allowed too much laxity where education was concerned and Eugenie had not discovered it until it was too late. Now the child was sharp-tongued, had wit and could use both. These were not feminine attributes.

  “Of course. As you wish.”

  “And the cricket game, Papa?” Sophie asked, giddy with the thought of spending time with the salonists and soaking up all the opportunity had to offer.

  “Yes.” Jean Pierre placed his eating utensils down. “You may attend.”

  Besides the Duke’s own reputation with women, he had a secretary of some mysterious origin who was the same. The secretary was rumored to be a womanizer as well, and several of his friends enjoyed drink and gambling.

  Of course, Jean Pierre didn’t fault them for that. They were all young and Paris had many allures, but he wanted to make certain his daughter was not one of them.

  “Mother, will you attend the cricket match with her?” Jean Pierre asked Eugenie.

  Eugenie had heard the game mentioned several times by her granddaughter and knew she was looking forward to it. She imagined the game would be incredibly boring and outdoors, no less, but she didn’t want to ruin things for Sophie.

  “Yes. I know Sophie is looking forward to the game. I would not spoil her fun,” she said, eyeing the auburn-haired girl across the table.

  “Merci! Thank you, Grand-mère.” Sophie came to Eugenie and hugged her warmly, kissing her on both cheeks. “I must choose a gown!” She left the table and the room, and could be heard in the house calling for Marie.

  Jean Pierre smiled at the affection and dabbed his lips with the linen napkin. “Mère.” His voice was serious and Eugenie looked up at him.

  “Do you know about the Duke of Dorset?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.” Eugenie placed several pears on her plate and savored their taste. Cook had prepared them as she liked, in a light juice with cinnamon.

  “I understand the Duke took a liking to Sophie, at the salon.” Jean Pierre had been speaking to several colleagues and had not noticed it. But Sophie had mentioned it later and confirmed with the invite to the cricket game.

  “Oui. That is so. I saw little of it, though. I was speaking with Madame Giroud,” she said.

  “To be so delicate, le duc is a womanizer. I do not want Sophie to become too engrossed in his company,” he said.

  “Of course she will not! Mon Dieu! As her grandmother and chaperone it is my express duty to watch over her and her honor, and that I will do most assuredly.” She spoke heatedly.

  Jean Pierre almost smiled at his mother’s indignant response. She would watch over her granddaughter, he had no doubt. But it was best she knew who and what to look out for as well.

  “Of course you will. But you need to know who the enemy is, no?” He winked at Eugenie and excused himself from the table.

  ***

  “How was your journey?” Sebastian asked as he moved about in the downstairs library.

  His sister had arrived, as his father had promised, and she seemed irritated and in a foul mood.

  “Long. Very long,” Leila pouted.

  “I see.”

  “And hot,” she complained. “And the ship was so crowded.”

  “That is to be expected.”

  Leila’s trunks were piled up in the foyer and her small beaded purse sat next to her on the couch. She was dressed in a mauve-colored silk dress in the French style and Sebastian smiled. His mother had made certain her daughter was dressed accordingly.

  “I didn’t want to leave, you know,” she said quietly.

  Sebastian said nothing but poured himself a whiskey. “I only know what father wrote.”

  Leila watched her handsome brother move about the room. They favored each other in looks. Both had dark hair, but while Sebastian had brown eyes, Leila had their mother’s blue ones.

  “What did he write, Mohammed?”

  Sebastian turned, startled by the name. He almost expected to see his father standing there. “Leila. In France, call me Sebastian. It’s simpler.”

  “Very well.”

  “He only wrote that you were coming to stay. Nothing more.”

  She turned on the couch and gasped at the confining corset. “I hate this corset! Mother was right. These European women are being tortured alive. It’s awful.”

  Sebastian smiled. Of all his sisters, Leila was the most like their mother in spirit and the most beautiful.

  “A woman’s corset is necessary and expected. And you needn’t have come to France,” he replied.

  “I did. I had to,” she said quietly.

  Sebastian groaned. He knew his sister too well. She was the baby, but she was also a flirt and a tease. Something had happened in Arabia, he was sure of it.

  “What happened?” he asked.

  “It was so innocent. I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

  Sebastian resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “What happened, Leila?”

  “One of father’s business acquaintances came to stay with us. They were Turks.”

  Sebastian knew exactly where this was headed. “Go on.”

  “There was a son. He was so sweet and kind. One evening we went walking. The next thing I knew, he kissed me. And it wasn’t even a long kiss—just a kiss on the lips, more a peck. Bashasha saw it and tattled on me to Mother, who told Father.”

  Sebastian shook his head. “Christ.”

  “The son wanted to marry me and of course I said no,” she said, laughing. “Absolutely ridiculous.”

  “I should have guessed. You behave highly improperly and they send you to me,” he said.

  “I behave improperly? You whore around all of Paris like a rooster and that’s fine, but I’m improper?” she argued back.

  “Leila, don’t compare men and women in this matter. Men can do things that women can’t do.”

  “Yes, I see that. Behaving like a dog is so much more refined.”

  “Women’s place is in the home.”

  “You are so backwards!” she fired back.

  “If you behaved and were proper, you would be married with children now,” Sebastian said calmly.

  “Exactly what I don’t want,” she shot back at him. “I’m young and I want to enjoy life.”

  “I know you brought along a maid for the journey, but I will also engage a French maid to help you dress and act as chaperone. One hint of problems or scandal and I ship you back to Arabia.”

  “Well, thank you very much, Mohammed.” With that, Leila stood up and made her way upstairs to the bedroom he had prepared for her.

  “Brat,” he said.

  Chapter 5

  The day of the cricket match was cool, with wispy clouds in the sky. Sophie chose a simple iridescent pink gown with lace at the elbow-length sleeves and a cream-colored petticoat showing through. Her hair was dressed simply, pinned back with one long curl coming forward. She knew the game would be outdoors but she wanted to look her best and hoped her dress wouldn’t be soiled from being outside. She
carried a small parasol in case of rain.

  Her grandmother wore a steel-grey gown in the same fashion and her hair matched the dress, though it was in an older style than Sophie’s own gown. Eugenie, always one to show off her wealth, wore numerous rings, a necklace and bracelet.

  Sophie preferred a simple style when she wore jewelry. Though her father had gifted her several fine pieces and even her late mother’s jewelry, which included a sapphire ring and ruby necklace, she wore them only on special occasions.

  Jean Pierre had not been able to attend the cricket match as he was wrapped up in his work. He needed to focus and concentrate on his tasks, and so the two women would attend without him.

  The carriage took Sophie and Eugenie to the Jardin du Luxembourg, which had once been a beautiful garden started by Marie de Medici in 1611. The garden had become somewhat neglected recently and had been sold by the king for development, but as of yet nothing had been built.

  The Duke of Dorset had received permission to hold the cricket game on the grounds. It was a wide expanse of green lawns, a perfect setting for the activity. As the carriage moved toward the lawns, Sophie looked out of the carriage window to see several hundred people partaking in the game’s festivities.

  She saw several ladies clustered together wearing pastel colors and carrying their parasols. She saw men dressed as prettily as the women, strolling together in unison. Everyone seemed to be enjoying the day and she was pleased that the duke had asked her to join in.

  She noticed several large white tents set up along the perimeter of the lawns, with people moving in and out of them. She assumed that the tent might hold refreshments inside and asked her grandmother if she would like to stop.

  “That sounds like an excellent idea, Sophie.” Eugenie knocked on the roof of the carriage to stop the driver.

  Inside the tent, it was as Sophie had surmised. Several tables were laden with delicious cakes, cookies, tarts, jellies and other sweets that made her mouth water. One table draped with lace had cups and saucers at the ready for people to take their choice of tea or coffee.

  The porcelain cups were white with green trim and an older lady was behind the table, serving those who wanted a hot beverage. On yet another table was a large crystal bowl filled with lemonade, and two young girls stood in front of it waiting to be ladled out a cool drink.