Secrets Vol 1

by Hamre-Gaines-Landon-LeGendre

  He withdrew his hand, the warmth of her flesh lingering on his fingertips. She immediately folded her arms over her breasts, shielding herself from his view.

  "I risk war if I insult Ibrahim Pasha by refusing his gift. Why would I do this?"

  "I do not belong here. I'll die in captivity, Grand Seigneur." Her words came in breathless bursts. "I am an educated woman, respected for my intelligence, an asset to my uncle in business." Her plea grew more impassioned, her voice stronger and clearer, making him desire her all the more for such a spirited plea. "I must be free to learn, to think, to speak my mind."

  "I hold my slaves in the highest regard. They have the freedom to

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  think and to speak their minds."

  Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, and her chin rose a notch. "A slave has no freedom."

  "A slave has no freedom but what her master allows." Solimon stifled a grin. "Ah, fair one, you simply do not understand our ways. I respect my women above all else! They are Allah's most precious gifts, the life-givers, the pleasure-givers."

  "You do not speak of wisdom or honor. I am more than a... a pleasure-giver."

  "Is there anything more important than bearing life?"

  "But there is so much more a woman can do."

  Solimon took a step back and sat on his throne, regarding her curiously. The delicate angle of her jaw bespoke defiance, the seriousness of her argument. Should he be intrigued or off ended? Women who dwelled in the seraglio could be manipulative and greedy, like those he had grown up with in his father's haremlik. He had neither the time nor the patience right now for those tricks.

  She was a rare beauty, though. Slender and graceful, she had firm, uptilted breasts and skin like ivory satin. Her straight hair shimmered like sunlight on the Marmara, falling in a silver-white wave to her waist. Despite her defiant stance, she tensed at his continued silence. The need to tame her, to harness that gentle spirit for his own, overcame him. "For your disobedience, I could banish you to the farthest corner of the haremlik, where neither life-giving nor pleasure-giving would occupy your thoughts, but only how to fill your lonely days."

  "I will perish in such a place," she said simply.

  "You've no choice but to submit."

  "I fear death less than losing my soul."

  His admiration for her grew when she didn't back down at his threat. "Then, fair one, we are at an impasse. I have no desire for war or an unwilling slave."

  She stamped her slipper-clad foot on the thick carpet. "There must be some other way. I simply cannot be a slave. If you knew anything about me, you would understand." Her voice quavered, rising like the chiming of bells. "Please. Give me a chance to prove how un-

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  suited I am to such a life."

  "You challenge me?" he asked, not sure whether to be annoyed or amused. But she would have to share his bed to prove herself unsuitable, and as he was struck by the possibilities, all thoughts of annoyance fled.

  Surprise flitted across her finely-drawn features. "Yes. Yes, I do," she whispered in a rush of breath. "Give me three nights, Grand Seigneur, three nights to convince you how unsuited I am for a life of slavery. If I fail, I'll enter your haremlik willingly. But if I succeed, you'll send me back to my uncle."

  He watched her for a long moment. Perhaps he had misjudged her. Such a challenge bespoke more boldness than intelligence, for insolence could earn her a trip to the bottom of the Bosphorus in a weighted sack. But then, she had said she would prefer death—and a quick death would be preferable to languishing in some remote corner of his haremlik.

  The tremor that visibly rocked her willowy frame revealed the tremendous effort it took her to oppose him. So, this was no display of hysterical emotions. Was she like the majestic bird of the summer wind, unable to be tamed? He wanted to know. He respected strength and honor—even in a woman. "How do you plan to prove yourself?"

  She hesitated only a moment, long enough for him to recognize that she had no clear idea of what she intended, but like the summer bird trapped in a net, grasped for any chance at freedom.

  "I am schooled in diplomacy. I could help you better relations with any of the European countries, most certainly with France."

  He could just imagine her sitting in the reception room, unveiled, chatting with the many rulers and diplomats he entertained. One glimpse of those lush rose-colored lips and amethyst eyes would likely incite a riot right within the Palace walls. But her challenge presented some intriguing possibilities. He could easily envision long, moonlit nights spent bettering relations with her, melting the barriers of her innocence and stoking the fire he sensed within. Solimon decided to play the game and smiled. "Each morning I will send you a scholarly present, a book or some such treasure, for discussion that

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  eve. You'll have from sunset to sunrise to prove why you're a poor choice to be my slave."

  "And you'll allow me the freedom to speak my thoughts and make my points?"

  He nodded, growing more charmed with the game as each moment passed. "And you vow not to resist my touch?"

  That took her off guard, and her eyes widened. She obviously wanted to refuse, evidence of her struggle sweeping across her exquisite features. She finally shrugged in resignation.

  "Then so be it," he said. "The boundaries are drawn. Is there anything else you wish to add?"

  "No, Grand Seigneur, you have been most generous." She slipped to her knees, pressing her brow to his slippers.

  Pleased with her show of manners, he tugged the bell pull, and a page arrived to escort her from the Salon. "Prepare yourself well, fair one. You will attend me tomorrow evening at nightfall."

  She flew down the carpeted walkway, and Solimon eyed her retreat in appreciation. The light of the sconces revealed her gently-curved silhouette through the silk gauze of her garments. So fair of form and feature, she should pique his ardor rather than his patience.

  One person in particular would be delighted by this twist of fate. The Kislar Agha paraded harem slaves before him like ripe fruits in a quest to ensure the succession. Solimon could only imagine the chief eunuch's delight that he had committed to this bedchamber game.

  "Three nights, Grand Seigneur?" the Kislar Agha squealed on an inrushing breath after hearing an explanation of the challenge. "Praise Allah."

  "I am pleased my actions meet with your approval."

  The florid rise of color that crept up the chief eunuch's neck revealed his embarrassment over such a vulgar display of emotion. "Forgive me such rudeness." He prostrated himself at Solimon's feet, kissing the hem of his master's robe in a grandiose plea for clemency.

  Solimon resisted the urge to roll his eyes. "Never fear, my loyal Servant. I did not doubt your response for an instant. You have been quite free with your complaints about how I neglect my haremlik."

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  The Kislar Agha stood, smoothing the folds of his embroidered robes and drawing his round frame up with impressive hauteur. "Forgive me for mentioning this, Grand Seigneur, but you have no haremlik. The women who inhabit the Seraglio passed to you through your father. All of them."

  "I have had much to accomplish in the six years since I became Sultan. Even you must realize that establishing my strength as ruler takes precedence above all else. And that task has left me precious little time for anything more."

  The Kislar Agha's plump features sharpened with determination. "And you have achieved your goal a thousandfold, mighty one. Now you need a wife. Yet every woman I bring you is cast into obscurity after only one night in your bed." He threw his hands up in despair. "You had me marry off the last three who claimed your attention."

  "They were troublemakers." He waved his hand impatiently. "You cannot deny that. They caused dissension in the household."

  "Any change will cause dissension. The women lived together before you brought them from your father's palace. They are too comfortable, too
complacent, you need a wife to establish your household, to create order."

  Solimon suppressed a sigh. Quite simply, he had yet to encounter a woman who came close to the standard he had set long ago. A wife should be more than a slave. She should be a partner, a lover, a friend. Was he foolishly searching for the perfect woman—a woman who didn't exist? Perhaps. But some unfamiliar emotion gathered inside when he thought of the violet-eyed beauty, his latest gift. He could not fathom why, but she intrigued him.

  In all fairness, Solimon could not resent the Kislar Agha his opinion. His job was to manage the haremlik, to keep peace among the women—no mean feat. Yet despite his skill and competence, he would never understand Solimon's wish for a wife who would be his mate in all ways.

  "I will send the fair one a book of romance for the first night." He came to his feet, standing before the throne in a gesture of dismissal. "Wrap it in a lavender silk handkerchief, bordered with amethysts."

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  "Lavender silk... amethysts? You do her great honor." The strained expression left the chief eunuch's face. He beamed, his full lips curving into a smile. In a rustle of satin robes, he bowed low, prostrating himself easily. "It will be as you wish, Grand Seigneur."

  ******************

  The Sultan's present arrived with the dawn, and Alessandra unwrapped the rich packaging to reveal the first of her scholarly tools—a book. She had learned enough during her short stay in the Palace to know that the Sultan honored her with such a costly handkerchief. The women who had witnessed the arrival of his present whispered excitedly among themselves while inspecting the quality of the jewels.

  She opened the book. The blood pounded hotly in her temples as she studied the pages,,finding the tales between the gilded leather bindings so erotic she could not help but blush. The women chided her for such a maidenly display, reminding her that she was a concubine, subject to the whim and will of her master. Alessandra fought down the hurt, well aware of their surprise at the Sultan's interest... and their envy.

  However would she win the challenge if he turned her own game to his advantage? Yet she admired his cleverness and vowed not to underestimate him again. He had maneuvered her into a corner. She could not bemoan the nature of his gift without protesting the boundaries of their challenge, the very boundaries she had agreed upon.

  Through the long hours while eunuchs plunged her into hot baths, massaged her with fragrant oils, then garbed her in delicate silks, Alessandra searched for some way to make the Sultan view her as a person and not simply a pleasure-giver. By sunset, she had formulated a simple plan—he must come to know her, know her history, her desires, her dreams—only then would he realize how unsuited she was to a life of slavery.

  As the sun went down, she clutched the book against her breasts and followed the Kislar Agha down the beautifully-tiled corridor connecting the haremlik to the Royal Apartments. Alessandra thought

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  she had reconciled herself to the upcoming confrontation, but the memory of the Sultan's bold eyes raking over her undermined her courage. As the carved doors to the Royal Chamber loomed ahead, her chest grew tight and panic mounted with every step. The Kislar Agha guided her into the room, whispering, "Make him burn to possess you. Allah will guide your path." He departed, the heavy doors echoing shut behind him.

  The Sultan's private quarters were richly furnished. The paneled walls were inlaid with ivory and intricate pieces of coral, and patterned rugs decorated the floor. The Sultan lounged upon a reclining chair with a brocaded mattress, silken pillows scattered beneath him.

  Alessandra barely recognized his long, powerful form without the adornment of royal robes. His gaze captured hers, then travelled slowly over her scantily-clad body while she sank to her knees in a bow. Conscious of his eyes upon her, she resisted the urge to snatch the embroidered coverlet from the back of his chair and cover herself with it.

  "Come, fair one. Be seated." He motioned to the thick pillows

  around him.

  Alessandra took a deep breath and rose to her feet, holding the book like a shield before her. His strength and will were legend throughout Europe. How in Heaven's name could she persuade him to release her? He would never convince her of the merit of carnal bondage, and she clung to that thought while positioning herself on the floor by his feet.

  Sprawled across the chair, he wore only white silk trousers which contrasted sharply against his deep golden skin. Candles flickered lazily in ornate holders, casting a burnished glow along the lines of his muscular frame, and she was again struck by his incredible beauty.

  "Pour us fruit nectar," he said.

  Forced to set aside the book, her bare breasts were revealed to his perusal while she performed the task. Alessandra quickly realized the nature of his game. He knew she was embarrassed to the core of her soul at having to run around in various degrees of undress, and he planned to use that fact to disarm her. Somehow she had to con-

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  quer her modesty. Although how she would overcome a lifetime of propriety, she had no idea. Taking a deep breath, Alessandra handed him an etched-crystal cup, trembling slightly as his long, straight fingers brushed hers.

  "Were you pleased with my present, fair one?"

  He smiled, a slow, knowing smile that gleamed brightly against his handsome face. A ripple of awareness fluttered through her. What could she say? She would not let him see how his gift unsettled her— she would turn his own present to her advantage. After all, there was more to intelligence than simply knowing how to read. Crossing her arms over her breasts, she forced her voice to remain casual. "Your gift is most generous, Grand Seigneur."

  He propped himself on an elbow to drink, motioning to the cup which still sat on the table. "Enjoy."

  She eyed the drink with suspicion, wondering if he'd resort to aphrodisiacs in an attempt to win the day. He drained the contents of his own. "I drink with you, fair one. I have no need of potions to increase my ardor. Or yours."

  Alessandra did not doubt his words. His presence was so confident, so male that the very air seemed charged and alive. After sipping the fruity liquid, she returned the cup to the table and opened the book before her. "Am I to believe these stories are scholarly treasures?"

  "They are tales of romance, valued as treasures by my people, little jewels of an ancient art honoring the glory of sensual pleasure." Amusement twitched at the corners of his full mouth. "I can see by the color creeping into your cheeks this writing is new to you, so I shall read the first tale." He took the book from her, turning the pages until he found the one he sought. "'When young Ciclazade first lay eyes upon the fair Safiye, it was most surely an accident destined by Allah himself. He would never have been near the women's bath house had it not been for the Pasha's lust of sweetmeats and the cat-sized rat who fled with a pouch of Turkish delights between his sharp little teeth.

  '"Mourning the loss of the Pasha's attention since he had grown so fat, Safiye languished around the pool, her thick hair tumbling in ebon waves to the floor, the soft lines of her naked body sparkling

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  beneath the spray of the fountain. Water droplets rolled over her heavy breasts, their sable tips gleaming, taunting him with their dusky beauty. With slender fingers she traced a path down her stomach, over the gentle swell of her abdomen, to the place of her most secret desire. As Ciclazade gazed upon her loveliness and realized her need, honor demanded he save the alluring Safiye from the ravishings of the sugar-crazed rat....'"

  The Sultan's deep-velvet voice flowed through her like warm honey, conjuring up images of entwined limbs gliding over cool marble benches, of steamy caresses beneath the moisture-laden air. Her body grew heavy, as though she was drifting on a cloud, and a strange anticipation built inside her to hear what happened next to the beautiful heroine and her bold lover. The Sultan slid from his seat, taking a place beside her. He rested back against the lounging chair, the warmth of h
is flesh softly branding her own. Remembering her promise not to resist his touch, she forced herself not to pull away.

  His voice never wavered as he lifted a strand of her hair, stroking it between thumb and forefinger. But he did nothing more threatening than touch her hair, his fingers twining in the tresses almost absent-mindedly. She gazed up at him, his profile outlined against the golden glow of the candle light. Her heart fluttered softly within her breast. His rich voice, low and melodic, penetrated her senses, the steady motion of his full lips mesmerizing her. Her limbs prickled in pleasant awareness of his touch, warm and liquid, his words summoning a curious sensation in the pit of her stomach.

  Was this seduction?

  His voice trailed off at the end of Ciclazade and Safiye's adventure in the bath. "What do you think of Turkish romance, fair one?" He turned the book around and placed it across her lap, his hand lingering along her silk-clad thigh.

  Her flesh tingled where he touched her, and she tried to push aside the feeling, intent upon responding to his question with intelligence. "Written with the Turkish flair for drama, but humorous as well. Delightful. Sensual."

  He propped an elbow on the chair and leaned toward her. "Deft-

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  nitely sensual. Do you enjoy this kind of literature in your country?"

  "Oh, yes," Alessandra responded. "The French are great romantics. But I've never read any. Erotic literature is considered quite inappropriate for someone of my youth and status."

  "Your status?"

  "I... I'm a maiden."

  His dark brow rose. "So I guessed."

  Heat rushed to her cheeks. He brought his hand to her face, traced her lower lip with his thumb, then trailed a path to her jaw. Fire raced along her flesh to the places he touched. "In France," she said in a rush of breath, "in most of Europe in fact, it is considered improper for a woman to be anything but a maiden when she weds."