Page 2 of His Wicked Embrace
Zehra studied her reflection in the mirror in the corner by the locked window. The red silk set off the light-olive tint of her skin, but the bodice was scandalously low. She had been raised in a land where women did not dress like this, and she knew from her mother that English women did not wear necklines this low,either.
“The shoes will have to do.” The blonde woman stared down at Zehra’s sensible black boots. “And your hair—ain’t nobody here can style it like them fine ladiesdo.”
Though she had her mother’s bright-blue eyes and full lips, Zehra’s Persian features and raven-black hair had been inherited from her father. She had pulled her hair up with pins in a loose tumble days ago while still confined to the cabin aboard the ship, and she hadn’t touched it since. She hastily adjusted the pinsnow.
“’Tis fine. Won’t matter in a few hours. Not when you’ll be on your back giving it up to some fine gent. Probably goin’ to be that dark-skinned fella.” The woman was prattling on, and Zehra was barely listening until she heard the words “dark-skinned.”
She grasped the woman’s arm. “What? Whatman?”
The prostitute scowled, and Zehra released her. “Some man was talking to the madam about you. He’s darker than you are. Found out you’d been sold here, and he tried to buy you straightaway. Said you belonged tohim.”
Al-Zahrani’s words knifed through that thin veil of hope she’d been clinging to.“You belong tome.”
“What did he say, exactly? Did he mention hisname?”
“Name? I didn’t ’ear that. Something foreign, funny, you know.” The woman plucked at her gown, but the wrinkled fabric was beyond saving. “He’s come before, that one. Sells girls like you all the time. Doesn’t usually buy, though. He was right mad someone else had sold you to us. The madam told him he had to bid at the auction like everyoneelse.”
No…oh, heavens no. It was Al-Zahrani. It had to be. A strange rust taste filled her mouth, and sweat coated her palms. He was going to buy her tonight. He would pay anything for her. Andthen…
“Right, come with me.” The woman started for the door, and Zehra followed behind, touching the small gold locket around her throat. It was the only thing of value she had left, and it held her parents’ portraits inside. Al-Zahrani had seen no advantage in taking it from her when he’d kidnapped her, and the slavers on the ship hadn’t known she’d hidden it away in her skirts. The gold was warm upon her skin, and she traced the intricate floral patterns, wishing more than anything that her parents were still alive, that she was still asleep in her bed, having an awfulnightmare.
The brothel was decorated with red satin wallpaper. Gilded sconces illuminated the hall as the prostitute led Zehra to a door at the end of the corridor. Three tall, muscled servants stood behind her, preventing any chance of escape. Zehra fisted her hands in the folds of her skirts to keep them from shaking. The door opened, and a flood of sound hit her. Men were laughing and talking in the dark interior of the room beyond. There was a small stage with a chair on it. Somewhere in the darkness, Al-Zahrani was likely waiting, like a wolf preparing topounce.
The blonde-haired woman nudged her toward the stage. “Go and sit down.” Zehra kept her head down, even though she couldn’t see any of the men because of the lighting on thestage.
“Well, we start tonight’s auction with a treat for you gentlemen.” An Englishman spoke, then chuckled. “Feast your eyes upon this Persian princess. What pleasures might this virginal beauty know in your bed? Bidding starts at five hundredpounds.”
Her heart pounded as the men began to bid. The numbers climbed higher and higher. The heavy scents of tobacco and spirits hung in the air, filling her nose with a stench she couldn’t bear. She saw the shadows of men just behind the reach of the chandelier’s glow. They prowled at the edges of her vision like creatures born of shadows. Harsh laughter echoed around the room, providing a ghoulish symphony to the sounds of the brothel. She focused on the bidding, trying to fight off her panic by reciting the numbers in her head over andover.
“Two thousand pounds!” Al-Zahrani’s voice carried across the room. There was no mistaking it. Zehra didn’t move, didn’t flinch, even though part of her had turned toice.
Please, let someone bid against him. The devil himself would bepreferable.
“Two thousand?” A silken voice from nearby chuckled. “Heavens, this beauty is worth more than that! Seventhousand!”
She almost looked up, wondering who would spend so much to be her master, but she didn’t. She would only stare out into darkness and see nothing. Would Al-Zahrani bid against this otherman?
Please, let this devil win, whoever he is. I would rather him be mymaster.
There was a hush in the room as the man who’d bid seven thousand pounds laughed. “No one brave enough to bid higher, eh?” That voice, like a warm fire in winter, made her skinflush.
The man running the auction stepped closer to the stage. “Any other bids? Seven thousand going once…” He paused for an eternity. “Goingtwice…”
Zehra couldn’t breathe. “Soldto the gentleman bidder for seven thousand pounds. Once you have paid for your lady, you may take her withyou.”
Zehra finally looked up, peering hopelessly into the darkness around her, but she saw only dimshapes.
“This way.” The auctioneer gripped her arm cruelly and dragged her from the stage, ignoring her cry. Shestumbled.
“Stop that!” a man snarled from close beside her as a hand gripped her other arm, firm but gentle, trying to steadyher.
“You harm her again and I will cut you down, you understand? I don’t want my propertydamaged.”
“Of course.” The auctioneer hastily loosened his grip. Zehra knew she would have bruises on themorrow.
“Are you all right, my dear?” the man asked. She squinted in the darkness, her eyes slowly adjusting. She caught sight of a tall handsome man with red hair. She’d prayed for a devil to rescue her, and she’d found one. She glanced around, afraid she would spy Al-Zahrani waiting to steal heraway.
“Yes…I…” She swallowed, unsure what else tosay.
