Romantic Legends

by Kathryn Le Veque

  “He bought you for his own pleasure?” Simon felt another irrational surge of jealousy.

  “No!” she protested. “It was not like that. He bought and then freed me out of nothing more than pity. This was no small thing he did.”

  “To buy a slave? I daresay he could afford a thousand of them.”

  “You do not understand. In my country, infidels may not buy slaves. There is a severe penalty. Only those of the true faith may do so.”

  “Then how did this come about?”

  “My lord had to profess the true faith and sacrifice his own flesh to the knife.”

  “Sacrifice his flesh?” Simon frowned in puzzlement. “I don’t follow your meaning.”

  “He had to be purified by circumcision,” Salime explained.

  “DeVere did this? I admit I am rather incredulous. He is not generally prone to self-sacrifice of any kind.”

  “Yes. I told you I was never his mistress in the traditional sense. He demanded nothing of me. I have served him because I desired to do so.”

  “Yet you still became a woman of pleasure?”

  “Yes,” she confessed, watching him warily, shifting under his intense stare, but Simon’s expression remained unchanged, with no hint of judgment. “It was my only choice.”

  She took a breath and continued, “I was already ruined and had no dowry to wed. Thus, my only hope was to make my living by prostitution. Scarred as I am, I would have been among the lowest of the low in my country. But here in this country, I was mysterious, an exotic flower to command a premium price. Only now…” Her voice dropped off. Having no expectations of ever knowing love, she’d accepted pleasure as her vocation… but Simon made her want so much more.

  “Now?” he broke into her thoughts.

  “I was cast out once again. That is why I am here, Simon. I had no other place to go.”

  “Stay with me, Salime. I will take care of you. I will cherish you always.”

  Her eyes burned, and her throat grew tight. “Why do you do this to me? Do you not realize what I am?”

  His gaze narrowed, taking on a look of steely resolve. “Don’t think to put me off with that. I told you I don’t care about your past. From this day forth, Salime, I am your only lover.”

  She shook her head. “But I have had no other lovers.”

  He shook his head. “There is no need to deny it. I, too, have known many others, but I have experienced what I feel only with you.”

  “No,” she insisted. “You do not understand me. I do not deny that I have shared my body with many men, but I have had no lovers. Being a lover implies an intimacy of the heart. I have no heart.”

  He gripped her chin and kissed her softly. “On the contrary, my dearest love, I have given you mine.”

  Salime stared back at him incredulous. She wanted to believe him. To trust him.

  “Tell me you love me,” he demanded.

  Agonizing pain pierced her. Yes, she loved this man fiercely. Passionately. She shook her head and looked away, unable to speak for the thickness in her throat.

  “Tell me you love me as I love you.”

  “I told you already. I can’t love you.”

  “I don’t believe you. Why can’t you let yourself trust me? Don’t you understand how I feel about you? I love you like I have never loved another.”

  His grey eyes penetrated into her as if he wished to divine every secret of her soul. She’d never felt such anguish. “Say it, Salime.” He spoke as if his sheer power of will could force her confession as if his own love could command her heart.

  “Yes,” she cried. The word tripping over her tongue before she could bite it back. “I love you, Simon I loved you from the start.”

  He pulled her tightly into his arms, murmuring against her hair. “I knew you loved me. How could it be otherwise when my heart is filled with you?”

  “But it makes no difference how I feel,” she sobbed.

  “It makes all the difference, my dearest. You have transformed my life. And now we will be together.” He kissed her. Long, deep and passionate.

  Pressing her hands against his chest, she broke the kiss. “But can’t you see? I don’t belong in your world.”

  “Then we’ll create our own.”

  “But there are others to consider. Your family—”

  “To hell with the others!”

  A light knock sounded on the chamber door. It cracked slowly open to reveal DeVere’s head footman. “Bloody hell! What is it?” Simon demanded.

  The servant’s gaze faltered. “Beg pardon, sir. Madam.” He acknowledged them both with a tug of his forelock. “A running footman has just arrived from Wigmore Street.”

  “My mother has apparently tracked me down.” Simon mumbled another curse. “The woman has the senses of a bloodhound. Tell the messenger I’m not here.”

  “Should you not at least go and speak with him, Simon?” Salime asked.

  “Why? I already know what he will say—they demand my return home. My parents have no tolerance for DeVere, and my mother believes him the devil incarnate. She’s surely apoplectic in learning that I’ve taken up residence here. No, I will send him away.”

  “As you wish, sir.” The servant bowed and closed the door softly behind him.

  Once they’d settled back onto the cushions, Salime asked, “How long do you plan to stay here in this devil’s abode?”

  Simon chuckled. “I don’t rightly know. Tell the truth, I hadn’t given it any thought until now. I hadn’t even considered my future … until now.” He rubbed his chin with a pensive look. “I suppose I should find us a house of our own now. Someplace discreet.”

  Her heart sank. “I find it a bitter irony that you wished me to stop hiding, only now to secret me away from the rest of the world.”

  He stroked her cheek. “But, my dearest, the rest of my world would not understand us.” He tilted her face. “Is the thought of being only with me so repugnant to you?”

  “No,” she whispered, but her fears lingered—chiefly the fear of eventual abandonment.

  “If the idea of being in London troubles you so much, we can go away together. I am told Italy is a hospitable place and most accepting of such arrangements as I propose.”

  Another more insistent rap sounded on the door.

  Simon rose and flung it open with a bellow, “What the devil is it now?”

  A second footman stood behind the first one, who seemed to be barring his way. “Please, Cap’n Singleton,” the servant pleaded, flush-faced and breathless. “I have orders not to leave wi’out giving you the message. It’s his lordship. He’s taken grave ill.”

  “My father?” Simon instantly paled. “Good God! What has happened?”

  “He collapsed this morning on the Parliament stairs. The physician thinks ’twere his heart. Please, sir. A carriage awaits to take you to back to Westminster.”

  Simon looked to Salime with eyes full of regret. “I’m so sorry, my dearest, but I must go at once. Please wait for me. I promise not to be away from you any longer than necessary.”

  “Yes, you must go,” she agreed. As Simon followed the footman out the door, she added softly, “…and so must I.”

  You ask my love. What love can be more sweet

  Than hope or pleasure? Yet we love in vain

  The soul is more than joy, the life than meat.

  The sweetest love of all were love in pain,

  -Wilfrid Scawen Blunt

  Chapter Eleven

  Wigmore Street, Westminster

  “Simon!” Lady Singleton met him at the door. Her face was unusually pale and eyes red-rimmed. “Thank God you have come. He’s been calling for you incessantly.”

  “What is it, Mama? What has happened to my father?”

  “The physician’s believe ’twas a heart seizure.” Her lower lip quivered. “He’s not expected to live through the night.” She threw herself into his arms with a sob.

  Simon couldn’t recall the last time he’d
held his mother. She felt so tiny and frail, almost bird-like in his arms. Without thought he stroked her back and murmured platitudes until the surge of weeping subsided.

  She withdrew with a sniff and plied her handkerchief to her eyes. “You must go to him at once. You both must make your peace … before it’s too late.”

  Simon took the stairs two at a time, rapping only once before entering his father’s bedchamber. A man he recognized as the physician by his black garb sat beside the bed holding a bleeding bowl.

  “Ah! You must be Simon,” the man in black acknowledged his entrance. “I’m Dr. Blake.”

  “How is he?” Simon’s gaze riveted to his father in the bed, instantly knowing the answer. His father’s face was puffy and deathly pale, his lips were purplish. If not for the shallow rise and fall of his chest, he would have thought him already dead. Simon’s body tightened with emotion.

  Dr. Blake shook his head. “This is the third bloodletting with no improvement. You have come none too soon.” He turned back to his patient. “Henry, your son is arrived.”

  “Simon?” Lord Singleton’s voice emerged as a wheezy whisper. “Come to me, my boy.” His eyes fluttered briefly and then closed again. Simon drew a sharp breath, but then noticed his father still breathed. He perched his hip on the bed, opposite the doctor who was now bandaging Lord Singleton’s arm.

  “Yes, I have come.” Simon clasped his father’s hand in his. It was cold and the nail beds blue-tinged.

  Lord Singleton’s eyes opened again. “I didn’t want to, Simon,” he whispered.

  Simon peered into his face. “You didn’t want to what?”

  “Send you away… Had I only known…”

  Simon’s throat constricted at the sight of a lone tear that rolled down his father’s wrinkled cheek—a tear that spoke more eloquently than a thousand apologies.

  He squeezed his father’s hand. “I know, Papa.”

  “I didn’t understand you… Don’t hate me, Simon.”

  “I don’t. I know you intended well. I’m sorry for all the pain I caused you. I’m sorry to have been a disappointment. I regret many things.”

  “As do I, my boy…as do I.”

  “I promise to do better now,” Simon said. “I’ll make you proud.”

  “Take care of your mother.” Drawing a gasping breath, Lord Singleton’s hand suddenly tightened. One last exhale, accompanied by a long shudder, and his eyes glazed over.

  His hand went limp in Simon’s.

  He was gone.

  Medford Abbey, Kent

  After hours of traveling on treacherously icy roads in near freezing temperatures, Salime waited impatiently in the hackney coach, as Mustafa delivered her message to Lord DeVere. Although she’d taken care to dress inconspicuously, she dared not go to the door herself. Servants feasted on gossip. His lordship was newly married, and his wife was soon to bear his child. She could not risk creating any scandal.

  Still, Mustafa’s enormous size and black skin were difficult to disguise. Hoping to avoid notice, she’d sent her servant to the back entrance. Now, she chewed her thumb and waited. Peeking once more through the curtains, and rubbing away the frost, she saw no sign of her messenger. After more than a quarter hour, Mustafa had not returned.

  After days of agonizing, going abroad appeared her only choice. At one time she’d considered starting her own small establishment in Paris or Venice but found she no longer had any enthusiasm for the way of life she’d so long ago accepted as her destiny. No, the transformation Simon had spoken of was both mutual and permanent. She could not return to her old life, nor would she ever give her heart to another. There was only one place where she hoped to find the peace and tranquility she so desperately sought. But for that, she needed once more to beg assistance from Lord DeVere.

  Though wrapped in a thick woolen cloak and a lap rug, she shivered from cold. The bricks she’d used to warm her feet had long gone cold. It was mid-February and frosty, not that she’d ever become acclimated to the bitter and damp climate. She was growing uneasy and thinking she should not have come, when to her amazement DeVere himself rapped upon the coach door.

  “Efendi!” she exclaimed, “I never expected—”

  “Do no trouble yourself, Salime.” The footman lowered the step, and DeVere climbed into the coach with a dismissive wave. “I know you would not come here unless you had great need of speaking to me. Thus it seemed foolish to conduct our discourse through servants. Will you not come inside?”

  “No, Efendi. I am honored by your most generous offer but I must refuse. My business is brief.”

  “It is my honor to assist any friend in need, Salime,” he gently rebuked.

  “Thank you. How is Khanum?” she inquired. “She is well, I hope?”

  “Yes.” DeVere’s mouth stretched into a rapturous smile. “She and my son are both exceedingly well.”

  “She has given you a son? What joyous news!” She had met and served DeVere during his lowest epoch of debauchery. Even then he’d suffered for the love he’d refused to acknowledge. Now he was wed to her with a child. Salime’s heart leapt in delight for his newfound happiness.

  “I am a man doubly blessed, Salime, and I have you to thank for much of that.”

  “I only acted in the hope of bringing you happiness, Efendi. It was clear from the beginning that you loved only Khanum—that she would be the only woman to bring you—”

  “To my knees?” DeVere supplied with a devilish look.

  “I was going to say peace and contentment, but perhaps one needed to precede the other?”

  “No doubt.” He smirked. “Speaking of peace and contentment, have you any news of Simon for me? How does he fare?”

  “He is much recovered from his affliction,” Salime replied.

  “I’ll be damned.” DeVere chuckled. “But then again, I strongly suspected that if given the opportunity, nature would take its course.”

  “Simon is an exceptional man.”

  “Ah.” DeVere returned a knowing look. “Then he pleased you well? Simon was once the darling of many women. I’m glad to know he hasn’t lost his touch. But if all goes well between you, why are you here?”

  She averted her gaze. “Because all things must come to an end, Efendi…some sooner than one would wish, but it is still inevitable. Simon received an urgent summons. His father is gravely ill.”

  “So he has returned home?”

  “Yes … and now I shall return to mine.”

  “What do you mean, Salime? You intend to return to Constantinople?”

  “No, Efendi. I wish to book passage to Spain.”

  “To Spain? You told me years ago that you have no remaining family there. Had I known, I would have taken you there myself instead of bringing you here.”

  “I have no remaining family. Nevertheless, my heart resides there.”

  DeVere looked perplexed. “What do you mean, Salime? You’ve never mentioned a yearning for Spain before.”

  “It is nothing, Efendi. Just some childish nonsense. Will you help me secure safe passage? It is why I have come to you.”

  “Are you quite certain of this, my dear? If it is the situation with Kitty that you fear, I am more than happy to intervene on your behalf.”

  “No. I have no wish to return to King’s Place or any other such establishment. I wish to live a quiet life now. I have enough money for a modest retirement.”

  “Surely more than modest. I told you I would compensate you handsomely for assisting Simon.”

  “No,” she protested vehemently. “I will not take your money…but I will accept your assistance in securing passage for myself and Mustafa.”

  “My dear, you need not book passage when I have a perfectly good yacht lying idle. The vessel and crew are at your full disposal.”

  “You are most generous.”

  “The yacht is nothing compared to your safety and happiness, my dear.”

  Her lips quivered. “Once more you honor me.”

/>   “Are you quite certain this is what you desire?”

  “Yes.” She dropped her gaze to pluck at the lap rug. “The climate here has never agreed with me.”

  “Very, well. If this is truly what you want. When do you wish to leave?”

  “As soon as can be arranged.”

  “I suspect all can be made ready within two days. Where will you be staying?”

  “The Golden Cross at Charing Cross.”

  “Then I will see to it at once. I’ll send one of my servants to convey you to the ship as soon as everything is arranged.”

  She laid a hand on his sleeve. “Thank you, Efendi. I can never express my gratitude.”

  He covered her hand briefly with his. “There is no need, my dear, but I would ask one promise from you.”

  “Anything, Efendi.”

  “I insist you send word to me the moment you are safely arrived.”

  “I will send word but only in exchange for your promise of secrecy.” Her gaze once more met his. “You must tell no one of this conversation.”

  He cocked a brow. “By no one, I can only assume you mean Simon.”

  “Yes, Efendi. As always, you are most perceptive.”

  “Why, Salime?” His brows suddenly met in a frown. “Are you running away from him? Has he mistreated you in some way?”

  “No.” She shook her head frantically. “It is nothing like that.”

  “Then please explain yourself.”

  “I must leave because Simon believes himself in love with me.”

  DeVere’s deep blue eyes widened. “I suppose I should have foreseen that, given Simon’s history.”

  “What do you mean?” she asked.

  “He’s always fallen passionately in love with every woman he’s ever bedded—at least until the next one came along.”

  She felt as if her world had come crashing down. Was his love for her just a delusion? A lie? Her lungs burned with the effort to breathe. “Is this true, Efendi?”

  “Indeed. As youths, Ned and I taunted him mercilessly over it.” DeVere laughed. “It is a certain sign ol’ Sin is on the mend.”

  “Then he will no doubt recover quickly,” Salime said.