Chapter 14

M IRZA K HAN’S SMALL PALACE WAS OUTSIDE THE CITY ON THE shores of the Bosphorus, with a stunning view of both Asia across the waters and of the minarets of Istanbul. The orginal foundations of the building dated back several hundred years to when the Greeks ruled the city, and it was said that a Byzantine princess and her husband had once lived there. The house had been rebuilt several times, the last time being when Mirza Khan bought it fifteen years before.

The three buildings that comprised the current villa were a cream-colored marble, with red-tile roofs. Across the front of the center building facing the sea, ran a classic portico, its creamy pillars veined in dark red. Standing on this porch and looking toward the sea, the haremlik, or women’s quarters, was to the right. The building housing the public rooms of the villa was to the left. Mirza Khan’s apartments were in the center building.

The three buildings were separated by lovely large gardens. The main entry to the estate was through a gate in the garden wall outside the public rooms, thereby preserving the privacy of the rest of the household, for Mirza Khan was an easy, though firm master and his women were allowed the freedom of the villa provided they preserved their modesty.

When they arrived Mirza Khan had taken Miranda directly to the women’s quarters and introduced her to a small, plump brown man with eyes like two black raisins. “Miranda, this is Ali-Ali, my chief eunuch. He will see that you have all you desire.”

Mirza Khan then switched to rapid Turkish and swiftly explained Miranda’s history to the eunuch.

“The child’s existence is not to be known, Ali-Ali, even to Captain Edmund. In this lady’s land it is considered immoral for a woman to bear a child not her husband’s, even if it is not the woman’s fault.”

“But she is not responsible for the fate that befell her,” protested Ali-Ali.

“Nevertheless she will be blamed,” was the reply.

“Westerners,” mused the eunuch, “are a strange and confused people. Their men are openly wanton with other men’s wives and women of questionable morals. Yet let a virtuous woman be taken forcibly, and they scorn her. I do not understand them at all.”

“Neither do I, old friend.”

“You like this woman,” stated the eunuch.

“Yes,” smiled Mirza Khan, “I like her.” He turned back to Miranda and spoke to her in English. “I have explained everything to Ali-Ali. I think your daughter’s existence should be kept from Captain Edmund, Miranda. The gossips in London will have a field day when you turn up alive. We will think what to do. But for now, only the harem women and Ali-Ali must know of the baby. Captain Edmund did not notice her, I believe, and we will not tell him.”

“What shall I say to Kit then?”

“Merely that you were kidnaped by Prince Cherkessky, and sent to his villa in the Crimea to await his pleasure. Fortunately he never came, and the Tatars who raided his villa brought you to Istanbul to sell you, but you escaped them. It is simple, and it is reasonable. Go now with Ali-Ali, and I will see you later when Kit arrives.”

Miranda followed the eunuch across the peaceful garden to the women’s quarters, and into a light and lovely salon. The walls of the room were covered in silk fabric with a multicolored floral silk on a pearl gray background. The walnut parquet floors were covered with thick blue, rose, and gold carpets, and in the very center of the room a three-tiered shell fountain tinkled merrily in a refreshing glazed light blue tile pool.

There were several women in the room, all stunningly beautiful. Two were working at embroidery frames, one was strumming on a musical instrument, one was reading, and another was painting her toenails. As Miranda entered the room with Ali-Ali they gave her friendly though curious looks.

“Ladies, ladies,” called the eunuch in his high-pitched voice.

The woman reading looked up, rose, and came forward smiling.

“What have we here, Ali-Ali?” she asked in a cultured voice.

Miranda almost gaped foolishly, she was so surprised by the woman’s incredible beauty. Her long blue-black hair floated about her like a storm cloud, her skin was the color of a creamy gardenia, her eyes were emerald green. She had to be at least thirty, thought Miranda, and yet she was absolutely stunning. Not only was her face flawless, but her figure was perfect, too.

The woman’s eyes twinkled. “I am Turkhan,” she said.

“She is Mirza Khan’s favorite,” explained Ali-Ali. “She has been with him for many years. The others come and go, but Turkhan remains.”

“I am like an old slipper to my lord,” laughed Turkhan. “Comfortable and predictable.”

The old eunuch smiled fondly at the woman. “He loves you. You make him happy.” Then catching himself, Ali-Ali said, “This lady is to be Lord Mirza’s guest. She has suffered greatly. She is to remain with us until she can be safely transported back to her own people.”

“How are you called?” asked Turkhan.

“Miranda, and if it is possible, my lady, I should dearly love a bath. A hot, hot bath! I have not had one since the Tatars captured me six weeks ago.”

Turkhan’s emerald eyes widened, and filled with sympathy. “Heavens, you poor child!” she said. “Safiye, Guzel. Help our guest, and take her to the baths.” She reached out for the cloak that Mirza Khan had placed about Miranda’s shoulders earlier. Whisking it off, she stared at the infant in its sling next to Miranda’s breasts. “ A baby! ” Her voice softened. “A baby,” she repeated.

Suddenly the other women were all clustering around Miranda, chattering and smiling, reaching out to touch the baby, making soft cooing noises at her. “Oh, how beautiful she is!” cried one. “What is her name?”

“She has none,” said Miranda quietly, and then her sea-green eyes met Turkhan’s, and the compassion she saw there almost made her cry. She hadn’t really cried through any of this.

Turkhan lifted the baby from the sling and looked down at her.

“Go and have your bath, Miranda. I will care for the little one.”

“I had best nurse her first. She never complains, but she has not eaten since dawn.”

Turkhan nodded in agreement, and waited until the baby had been fed. Then, taking the child from her mother, she hurried off with her while Miranda followed Safiye and Guzel to the baths.

“Burn those clothes,” Miranda said as she stripped them off. “I should sooner be stark naked than ever wear them again. The boots, too. I have worn them thin.”

She was bathed and then dressed in pale-green harem trousers with a matching slash-skirted, long-sleeved dress trimmed with narrow gold braid, its low neck made more modest by a delicately sheer cream-colored chemise beneath. A slave tied a finely embroidered shawl around her hips, and over all of this was a sleeveless forest-green robe edged in wide velvet ribbon and embroidered with seed pearls. Her beautiful pale gilt hair was brushed out until it gleamed with silvery-gold lights. It was banded by a dark green velvet ribbon with pearls, but otherwise left free.

“How beautiful you are!” exclaimed Turkhan, coming into the room. “Captain Edmund is here, and I am to take you to the main salon.”

The young Marquis of Wye was standing, elegant in his blue and gold naval uniform, talking with the white-robed Mirza Khan. He turned as the women entered the room, his baby-blue eyes sweeping over the women. “Miranda! My God, Miranda, it really is you!”

“Yes, Kit, it really is me.” She settled herself comfortably on a silk divan and they talked. Turkhan stayed in the background, not wishing to intrude.

“Your sister kept insisting that you were alive. But your family believed the shock of your death was too much for her. They said she could not face it,” he explained.

Miranda smiled. “Mandy and I have always known if the other was in trouble,” she said. “It is a difficult thing to explain to other people.” Then she grew more serious. “Jared? Our son? Are they all right?”

“I don’t know a great deal about your little boy, Miranda, except that he is with your sister’s son at Swynford. Lord Dunham … is well.” Kit used every shred of his self-control to keep his voice neutral. How could he tell her that Jared Dunham had, in his grief, become a rake among the ton’s fastest set?

How could he explain about Lady Belinda de Winter? Kit’s older sister, Augusta, the Countess of Dee, had a daughter who had made her debut this year and was in on all the latest gossip. Livia had told her mother that Belinda de Winter was already enjoying wifely favors from Jared Dunham. Good heavens, thought Kit, what a coil! Miranda’s voice brought him back.

“Will you take me back to England on your ship, Kit?”

“I cannot, Miranda. You see I am no longer a private citizen, but the captain of H.M.S. Notorious , and I am unable to take civilians aboard my vessel without official permission. We leave for England tonight. I will, of course, carry word of your rescue to Lord Dunham immediately.”

“I must remain here?”

“I think,” said Mirza Khan gently, “that it would be best after your great ordeal if you spent some time resting.”

“Perhaps,” she said softly, looking from one to the other.

“What happened, Miranda?” asked Kit. He blushed and looked embarrassed.

She touched his hand in a gentle gesture. “It is really quite simple, Kit,” she said, deciding to try Mirza Khan’s story for the first time. “I went to St. Petersburg to meet Jared. We had planned to sail home together, a second honeymoon, you know. I was barely there when I was seen by Prince Cherkessky. He must surely be mad. He had me kidnaped and taken to his estates in the Crimean area. I was drugged. I went in the custody of the prince’s own body serf, a man named Sasha. When I asked this man why the prince had kidnaped me I was told that I had been taken to await the prince’s pleasure.

“I must tell you I was never mistreated; rather, I was quite cosseted. I never saw Prince Cherkessky again, for he never came to his estates in the Crimea while I was there. Then, several weeks ago, the Tatars attacked the prince’s estate and took all the women and children to sell as slaves here in Istanbul. Now all I want to do is get home to my husband and our son. Oh Kit, are you certain you cannot take me with you? Couldn’t you get permission?”

“I only wish I could.”

“Then I really have no choice but to remain here,” she said. Then, realizing how that had sounded, she quickly added, “I shall be delighted to accept your hospitality, Mirza Khan.”

“May I carry a personal message to your husband, Miranda?”

She thought a moment. What could she say? How could she explain? By the time Kit arrived she would have been gone a year, and by the time she finally got home they would have been separated for over two years. Suddenly she felt shy. Surely it would be easier when she saw Jared. “Just tell him I love him,” Miranda said softly.

Then she stood up. “I am really suddenly very exhausted, Kit. Mirza Khan was quite surprised that I walked all the way from the Crimea.”

“ Walked?! ” He was astounded. “Your poor feet!”

“At least a full size larger,” she teased, and then she bent and kissed him in a sisterly fashion. “Hurry, Kit! Please hurry! I want to go home to Jared and to my baby. I want to go home to Wyndsong.”

That night, Kit Edmund stood on his quarterdeck watching the twinkling lights of Istanbul recede in the distance, wondering how he was going to tell Jared Dunham that his beautiful wife was still alive. Perhaps he ought to approach Lord Swynford. No! Lady Swynford! Amanda had, in the face of devastating evidence, refused to believe that her twin was dead. She had steadfastly refused to wear mourning for Miranda. Kit himself had been witness to a scene at Almack’s when a crusty dowager had taken it upon herself to criticize not only Amanda’s colorful gown, but the fact that Amanda was appearing in public at all.

Young Lady Swynford had listened politely, and then replied in her clear, sweet voice, “I do not believe that my sister is dead, madam. And she would be the first to insist I wear no mourning. Miranda knows how sallow my skin looks when I wear black or violet.”

The old dowager had gasped. “Mad as a hatter!” she pronounced. “Well, at least Swynford’s got an heir on her, and that’s a mercy!”

Adrian Swynford had been furious with his wife, one of the few times Christopher Edmund had ever seen the mild young nobleman angry. “Why can you not accept the truth?” he demanded.

“Because,” said Amanda stubbornly, “I know Miranda is alive. I feel it. Miranda is out there somewhere. And ,” her voice became crystal clear as she looked directly toward Jared, who was with Lady Belinda de Winter again, “any respectable young woman seen in the company of a married man surely risks her reputation.”

Adrian Swynford grasped his wife by the arm and practically dragged her from Almack’s ballroom. As they went, Amanda’s voice was again heard quite clearly as she said, “Go gently, my lord. I am breeding again, you know!”

Princess Dariya de Lieven and Lady Emily Cowper collapsed in each other’s arms, laughing so hard that tears rolled down their cheeks. No one had ever seen the two proper matrons the backbone of Almack’s group of patronesses and the social arbiters of all the ton so overcome with hilarity.

“Oh! Oh!” gasped Emily Cowper, wiping her eyes with a delicate scrap of fine, lace-edged white lawn, “it is almost as good as having dear Miranda herself back.” Then she lowered her voice. “Do you really think there is anything to what Amanda Swynford says, Dariya?”

The princess shrugged elegantly. “You English are so reluctant to credit feelings, yet many people do. I have known stranger things, Emily, than a twin who insists her other half is still alive. It is possible that Miranda Dunham survived.”

“Then where is she?” came the exasperated reply.

Again the princess shrugged. “I don’t know, but if I were she I should hurry home. Belinda de Winter is zeroing in on Lord Dunham like a robin on a fat worm.”

Belinda was so certain that Jared would declare himself by the end of the current season that she was emboldened to do something she would not otherwise have done because it put her reputation at risk. She seduced him, letting him believe, of course, that it was he who had done the seducing.

She had planned it carefully, for it had to appear to be happening spontaneously. He had refused to accompany her on a picnic being planned by a group of young people, claiming that he was too old for such childish nonsense. She pouted prettily, and he laughed.

“Come now, Belinda, does it really mean that much to you? Do you really want to go out to the country and sit in the damp May grass?”

She sighed. “I expect you think me childish, but I am not really a city girl, m’lord. London is wonderful, and quite exciting, but I do miss my home. This is the first year in my entire life I have not gathered primroses and bluebells still wet with the dew on May Day morning. I love the countryside!”

“Then I am sorry, my dear, to have disappointed you.”

“Could we not have our own picnic?” she suggested daringly.

“My dear girl!” Jared protested.

“Oh, Jared! Who would know?” Catching his hands, she looked up at him eagerly. “Please! You are permitted to take me driving. Your cook could prepare the basket, and I could tell my aunt that you had offered to accompany me shopping, and then were taking me for a drive.”

A sane voice warned him against such folly, but she pleaded so adorably, and he was feeling reckless and bored. He had never even kissed her, but now he leaned forward and touched her lips with his. “You are a persuasive minx, Belinda,” he said. “Very well, we will have your picnic.”

They departed one bright May morning for what he promised was a perfect spot six miles from the city. A wicker basket was tucked carefully beneath the seat of the high-perch phaeton, which was being pulled by the smartest stepping ebony team she had ever seen. She knew that he had paid a fortune for them only last week at Tattersall’s, boldly outbidding a representative of the Prince Regent himself.

She chattered lightly about nothing of importance, maintaining the illusion of girlish exuberance. Who would ever doubt her innocence? Belinda had been sexually active since eleven, losing her virginity at twelve, but her indiscretions had always been discreet. She had never involved herself with people of her own class, preferring the lower classes, who dared not brag of their conquest with the young miss lest they be charged with a crime. Men had been transported for less. The Duke of Northhampton was the only man of her own social class with whom she had involved herself even briefly, and he would certainly say nothing. No, Belinda smiled smugly to herself, her reputation was spotless.

The picnic spot Jared had selected was secluded and charming. On the far side of a daisy-filled meadow, it was bordered by a stream, which was edged with soft green willow trees. Securing the horses to a tree, Jared lifted Belinda down and, taking the basket out, walked to a grassy spot by the water. Belinda took the carriage robe, and spread it on the wet grass with a little flourish.

“Oh, Jared,” she sighed. “It is simply too lovely.”

What a dear girl she was, he thought, smiling down at her. She was so petite an inch shorter than Amanda that he sometimes felt foolish standing next to her. “I am glad I have pleased you so easily, Belinda,” he said.

“Everything you do pleases me,” she said softly, lowering her dark blue eyes shyly.

“Thank you, my dear,” he answered sincerely, touched by her girlish confession.

Belinda blushed. Attempting to change the subject, she asked, “Shall we eat, m’lord?” She sat down on the robe and began to spread the contents of the basket out on it, exclaiming with delight at the goodies she found. There were tiny sandwiches of cucumber and watercress, miniature meat pastries, chicken wings encased in puff pastry, little strawberry tarts, early cherries from France, and a glass container of lemonade.

“It is perfect except for one thing,” said Belinda.

“And what is that?” Jared asked, wondering what he could have possibly forgotten.

“The desserts will stay cooler if we have some ferns to shade them. I believe there must be some by the water, perhaps around the bend in the stream beneath those trees. Will you fetch some for me, Jared?”

“Of course.”

No sooner had he gone than Belinda reached for the lemonade container. Uncorking it, she poured equal portions into the two silver cups he had packed. Into one of the silver cups she carefully emptied a paper of white powder she had had secreted in her bosom. The powder dissolved almost instantly. Belinda looked carefully around to be sure she had not been observed, and smiled to herself. The silver cup of lemonade now contained a powerful aphrodisiac, and once Jared drank it his senses would be so fired that he would have to be a saint to resist her. He would seduce her, and she would allow it to happen. Within the pocket of her gown was a membrane of chicken’s blood which she would smear on her thighs at the appropriate moment in order that her virginity might be attested to.

Belinda did not expect Jared Dunham to propose marriage directly after the seduction. He was no green boy. He would think about what had happened between them, and she would accept the blame for their actions and be sure he was allowed no further liberties lest he think her a wanton. Just a taste of the fruit to whet his appetite, but no more. By the end of the season he would propose.

“What are you smiling at?” he asked, sitting next to her and handing her a bunch of cool green ferns.

“At how very happy I am this minute,” she said.

Jared was touched. How charming she was, how innocent, how very different from Miranda. Belinda was all sweetness and softness. She would never leave her child to go tearing off in search of a husband who had expressly forbidden her to leave England. No, Belinda would be obedient and predictable. She would never break a man’s heart. She was a real woman.

“A sandwich, m’lord?” She held the bone-china plate out to him.

They ate slowly. Jared was more relaxed that he had been in months. She was really quite lovely. Her full, young breasts swelled enticingly above her scooped neckline, contrasting with the girlish white muslin dress with its pink sprigs of apple blossom. Those round, smooth fruits beckoned him, and when she leaned forward to refill his lemonade cup he felt himself looking down her gown at her large, pink nipples. The sight sent an ache into his groin. Jared was appalled. He didn’t lack for women. Why should this young girl excite him so much?

“It is really quite warm for May,” she commented. “I am quite faint with the heat.” And she leaned back against him, her snow-white shoulders and chest his for the taking. His arm slipped around her waist and, dipping his dark head, he placed a kiss on her plump shoulder. “Oh!” she cried out softly. Turning in his arms, she said, “You must not be so bold, m’lord.”

“Would you deny me a little kiss, Belinda?” he teased her.

“You may kiss me only on the lips, m’lord,” she said solemnly. “I do not believe it is quite proper that you kiss me at all, let alone on my shoulder. But if you do not think me bold, I should like it if you kissed me as you did the other day.”

My God, she was innocent! he thought. He pulled her into his grasp and kissed her mouth. Belinda melted against him triumphantly, accepting kiss after kiss, pretending to let him guide her, shivering with genuine pleasure when his velvet tongue touched hers. She felt his hands seeking her breasts, and protested faintly although the truth of the matter was that she was reveling in his touch. Her potion had obviously worked, for he was hot with his lust for her, and she almost laughed aloud with victory.

He freed her full breasts from her bodice, crushing them, kissing them, enjoying their softness, their lily-of-the-valley-perfume scent. Bodly he sucked on her nipples while she protested with mewling little cries and pretended to push him away, but there was no stopping him now. Impassioned, he pushed her gown up, drawing her undergarments down, all the while murmuring at her as a drunken man does.

“Let me, Belinda. Let me love you, my darling. Ah, God, you’re too sweet!”

“Oh, Jared, you mustn’t! I don’t think you really should! Oh! I shall be ruined!”

She barely had time to get the blood-filled membrane from her pocket before he was thrusting into her. She gave a little shriek which he muffled with his mouth, and struggled against him. Jared assumed she was merely attempting to protect her virtue, but Belinda was fighting to get her hand between her legs so she could crush the pouch and bloody her thighs. Finally she succeeded, and then she burst into tears, sobbing piteously. He attempted to soothe her with kisses, apologizing for his behavior. Taking up her cue, Belinda nobly assumed full responsibility for his actions.

“It is all my fault, Jared,” she wept daintily. “I should not have suggested that we picnic alone. Oh, I am so ashamed! What must you think of me!”

“I think that you are a dear and trusting girl, Belinda. I can only apologize for my behavior.”

“You do not think badly of me?” She put on her best woebegone face.

“No, I do not, and I hope you do not think badly of me.”

“Oh, no, Jared! I could never think badly of you!”

The innocent declaration only made him feel worse. Damn! He had behaved badly, very badly. He had seen blood on her thighs, too, which meant that he had taken her precious virginity. He had not, however, forced his way through her maidenhead, which seemed odd. It hadn’t been like that first night with Miranda. Miranda! Oh my darling, he agonized, why did you leave me! Making love to Belinda only reminded him of his beloved Miranda.

Belinda de Winter was certain that Jared would declare himself shortly, by season’s end at the latest. So she was not surprised when, one day, her maid brought word that Lord Dunham was waiting to see her in the morning room, along with her guardians, the duke and the duchess. This is it, she thought, coolly triumphant, pinching her cheeks as she peered into her dressing table mirror before hurrying downstairs. The duke and duchess would be so proud of her!

“Oh, miss, it’s so exciting!” bubbled her maid, and in a rare show of generosity Belinda de Winter gifted her maid with one of her lace handkerchiefs. “Oh, milady, thank you!” the woman cried.

“To remind you always of my good fortune,” she said archly, and hurried downstairs to receive the reward of all her labors.

Her godmother and the duke were both looking rather grim, which seemed odd. She curtseyed politely and prettily, and sat down next to the duchess.

“Belinda, dear,” said her godmother, “Lord Dunham has asked our permission to speak with you on a certain matter.”

Belinda looked suitably coy, casting her eyes downward in a show of modesty, and murmuring, “Yes, Aunt Sophia.” Lord! Weren’t they going to leave them alone? No one moved. Obviously not. Oh well, thought Belinda, the more witnesses the better!

Jared Dunham sat down on the other side of her, and began to speak words she had never expected to hear. “Lady de Winter Belinda before the gossips begin, before you can be injured, I must tell you that my wife, Miranda, has been found alive. I know that you will rejoice with me. It is indeed a miracle, and yet my miracle is apt to jeopardize your reputation. You must now understand that anything I might have said must now be forgotten. I regret any pain or embarrassment I may have unwittingly caused you.”

She was stunned, infuriated, outraged, but her saner self held her in check. “How happy you must be, my lord,” she said, forcing a smile. “I, of course, fully understand your position, and you must have no concern for me now that your dear wife is so fortuitously restored to you.”

Jared Dunham stood, looking much relieved, and bowed to the duke and duchess and then to Belinda. He left the room. Only when they heard the front door close did the duke say, “Bad luck, my gel! Well, the season’s not over by a long shot. If you took my advice you’d settle for something less showy with a good income.”

Belinda’s face blotched most unattractively, and her blue eyes bugged. “Shut up, you old fool!” she snarled. “The American was my ace in the hole, and I bloody well mean to have him! I won’t be the laughing stock of the ton! I won’t! Without a penny to my name, and with my charming relations, who else will have me!”

“Belinda! Apologize to your Uncle Algernon at once!” scolded the duchess. “Lord Dunham’s wife is alive and that is the end of it. It is unfortunate, but there it is.”

“You’ve had other respectable offers, my gel,” said the duke, totally unperturbed by Belinda’s show of temper. “What the hell’s the matter with young Lord Arden that you sent him packing? Boy’s one of the best judges of horseflesh I’ve ever met.”

“Two thousand a year, and a moldy, tumbledown mansion in Sussex?” scoffed Belinda. “Be serious, uncle. I could spend two thousand a year on negligees alone.”

“Plenty of people have lived well on less, miss. Reconsider young Arden, and I’ll restore his mansion as a wedding gift to you both. You could do a hell of a lot worse. At least he’s young and virile.”

“I could do better!” Belinda snapped back.

“I’ll not pay for you to have another season in London, miss,” warned the duke. “I’ve three gels of me own in the nursery almost ready to be fledged. Forget the Yankee, and find yourself a decent husband quick, or it’s back to Hereford at season’s end for you, an old maid. Think of that, my gel!”

Lady Belinda de Winter picked up a valuable Chinese vase. Looking straight at her uncle, she hurled it across the morning room. Then she stormed out.

Jared, driving his phaeton back to his Devon Square house, was a rolling sea of confused feelings. He had been on the point of leaving his home last night for a few hours of gambling at White’s, when Amanda had arrived, flushed and triumphant, Adrian and young Kit Edmund trailing in her wake.

“She is not dead! She is not dead! I told you! I told you! Miranda is alive, and Kit has spoken to her!” Then she had collapsed into a nearby chair, weeping and laughing at the same time.

He had gone white, believing her finally gone mad, but Adrian had quickly confirmed Amanda’s tale, and the Marquis of Wye had asked to speak with him. The four of them had gone into the library, and after Jared had, with surprisingly steady hands, poured everyone a brandy, Kit told his tale.

When he had finished Jared asked quietly, “You are sure she is not an impostor?”

“My lord,” said Kit Edmund with great dignity, “it is no secret that I have long admired Lady Dunham. Even if I were blind I would recognize that not quite English lilt in her voice. It is your wife.”

Jared nodded. “Did my wife have any message for me?” he asked.

“Her exact words, my lord, were ‘just tell him I love him.’ ”

Lord Dunham swerved his matched bays just in time to avoid a mail coach pulling out of an inn yard.

She was alive! Alive after the most incredible series of adventures. He suspected Kit Edmund’s tale was not the full story, but she would not confide that in anyone but him.

He pulled up before his house, and the groom was there to lead the horses around to the carriage house. Should he go for her himself? He couldn’t bear to wait any longer before seeing her. He would go to Istanbul on Dream Witch . He would ask Ephraim Snow to be his captain. He would take Perky, too. Although married for two years now, the little maid had no children and would be delighted to resume her former position.

That evening, still in profound shock, Jared spent an hour with his old friend and sometime lover, Sabrina Elliot. A retired actress, she was an attractive, elegant, warm woman who enjoyed gentlemen very much. She conducted her affairs with the utmost discretion, but the truth was that her lovers enjoyed talking with Sabrina as much as they enjoyed making love to her.

When Sabrina had heard Jared’s astounding news, she cried, “How soon will you be leaving?”

“Sabrina, I am not sure yet,” he replied, running a long hand through his dark hair. “The truth is that I have had a most awkward day. I had to explain … these new circumstances to the Lady de Winter, whom I had planned to marry.”

“God forbid!” muttered Sabrina.

“What?”

“Nothing, darling. But surely your heart does not belong to Belinda de Winter?” she asked, amused.

“No,” he admitted, “but she seemed a suitable candidate for a wife.”

“Hmm … unlike your wayward Miranda. Is that it, Jared? Belinda de Winter would never do anything improper, isn’t that right? Oh, Jared! To compare the two is like comparing oatmeal to champagne.”

“Sabrina,” Jared began, grateful for her directness and insight, “the fact is, of course, that I cannot wait to be with Miranda again, and I am leaving tomorrow. But somehow I think you already knew that.”

Sabrina laughed. This was a man who knew his own heart! “When you catch her, Jared, hold on to her this time. You have been given a second chance, and you must know how miraculous that is.”

Jared Dunham nodded slowly. Suddenly realizing all he had to do before Dream Witch could sail, he bid his friend a hasty goodnight, kissing her hand with warmth, lingering over it a shade longer than necessary. As he took his leave, however, Sabrina was no longer in his mind. His thoughts were with Miranda, as hers were with him.

Miranda leaned her elbows on the cool marble balustrade and stared at the flat sea just a few feet beneath her. The water was a clear, deep blue, and she could see its sandy white bottom where the tiny minnows scuttled to and fro in the last of the sunlight. The thoughts racing back and forth in her mind were very much like the tiny, dark fish. They touched on her consciousness only briefly before hurrying away. Sighing, she wondered whether Jared would want her back at all. Would he send for her? Would he come himself? Dear God, she hoped he would not come himself! She needed time. How was she going to explain the child?

“You are looking very fierce,” said Mirza Khan. “I hope that I am not the object of your thoughts.”

She looked up, and laughed softly. “No, I was thinking that I am very well revenged on the Russian. Although I am sure that the Tzar won’t let his cousin and her husband starve, it will never be the same for him again. From now on Prince Alexei Cherkessky will probably be only an unimportant pensioner, and I imagine this will eventually kill him.”

An admiring look came into his eyes. “How magnificently you hate, Miranda,” he said. He wondered, as Jared had once wondered, if she loved as fiercely.

“Yes, I hate him!” she cried. “In my world, Mirza Khan, women are born free, and raised that way. My land is a young one yet, women are needed as much as men are. Just over sixty years ago the women in my home state of New York stood shoulder to shoulder with their men on the palisades of every frontier fort, and battled the Indians for possession of the land. That is my heritage. My family came from England almost two hundred years ago to carve a small empire of their own from Wyndsong Island. I am a free woman!

“Think on it, Mirza Khan. Think what it is like to be a slave. You are forced to remain where the master chooses, do what the master says, eat what is given you, sleep when you are allowed, and make love when permitted or even on command.”

He gazed levelly at her. “Oh, Miranda, how I wish you weren’t so intent on returning home to your husband.”

Her sea-green eyes widened in surprise at this candid declaration, and to his intense delight she blushed. “I had best see to my child,” she said, and hastily fled across the garden.

He watched her go. Why did the mention of what was natural between a man and a woman seem to distress her? Surely her experience had not flawed her. He wondered if he might find out without breaking the laws of hospitality. He called down to his boatman, who lay dozing in the sunset.

“Abdul, I will want the caique later. Be ready!”

“Yes, master,” came the reply, though the lazy Abdul never even opened his eyes. Mirza Khan laughed indulgently. Slavery in his house was an easy thing. He admitted to himself that she had spoken the truth. Still, how could one exist without slaves?

Returning to his own quarters, he bathed and then ate a simple meal alone, as was his custom. Then he paid a visit to the women’s quarters. To his amusement, his women were all busy fussing over Miranda’s child. The baby had begun to gain a bit of weight, but she was still quite tiny, and a quiet little thing. He winced at the sightless violet eyes. If anything, she reminded him of a newborn kitten. She responded to touch, seeming to crave the kisses and cuddling she received from his women. He looked at the baby’s perfect little features, thinking sadly that had she been a normal child she would have grown into a fantastic beauty. He frankly didn’t think she would live to see her first birthday, and glanced toward Miranda. All that pain and horror, he thought once more.

“Miranda,” he said, “come and cruise with me on the sea. My barge awaits, and it is a lovely night. Turkhan, my dove, will you join us, too?”

“Thank you, my lord, but no. My head has been aching all day. I shall retire early.” Turkhan had been with her lord long enough to know her presence wasn’t really wanted. “Do go, Miranda,” she encouraged. “The weather is perfect, and there is a moon tonight. Is it not lovely out on the water, ladies?”

A chorus of agreement rose, and Miranda accepted, leaving the child in Safiye’s care. Mirza Khan noted that of all his women Safiye seemed the most motherly. Perhaps he would marry her off so she might have children of her own.

The air heavy with the scent of flowers, Miranda found drifting lazily on the flat sea quite relaxing. They talked of many things, of his youth in Georgia before he was invited by the sultan’s bas-kadin, Mihri-chan, to spend some time with his cousin, Prince Selim, of her growing up on Wyndsong, her kingdom which nestled between the two fishtails of the much larger Long Island. She told him of her twin sister, and of her husband. He voice grew sad.

“It will never be the same for us again,” she said. “How could it be? I shall be fortunate if he does not choose to divorce me.”

“Why should he divorce you?”

“Have you ever visited London?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“If you mingled in fashionable society then you know the meaning of the term ‘soiled dove.’ I believe you understand what I am saying, for did you not hurry me from the embassy so no one would see my daughter? So that my shame might not be exposed to the world? You sought to preserve my reputation, Mirza Khan, and I thank you.

“It may be that, after hearing of my misadventures, Jared will choose to divorce me in order to marry again and have other children. At least I have the satisfaction of knowing that I have given him his heir, and that the direct line of the family will continue through me.”

“I cannot understand,” he said. “One moment you tell me of the great love you and Jared have for each other, and then you say he will cast you aside to satisfy convention. I do not believe it!”

“If I were your wife, Mirza Khan, would you want me back in your bed dishonored by another man?”

“Yes,” he said quietly. “It is not as if you ran away with the gentleman and submitted willingly.”

“I have borne another man’s child. Another has used what was my husband’s alone.”

“You tell me you are a free woman, Miranda. If this is so then no man, even your Jared, owns you. Your body is yours, my love. It is yours to share with whom you choose. I do not advocate promiscuity, Miranda, but you can belong only to you. If your husband is the man you tell me then all will be well between the two of you when you return.”

“Perhaps Jared will forgive me and remain my husband for the family’s sake,” she mused, “but there can never be any question of a physical relationship between us again. Honor must be satisfied.”

He was astounded by her calm and horrified to realize that she meant what she said.

“Jared will be quite discreet about his mistresses, I know, for he is that kind of gentleman,” she said.

“What of your needs?” he burst out.

“My needs?”

“How will you satisfy your desires, Miranda?”

“I have no desires,” she said. “Not anymore.”

He was thunderstruck, and then suddenly very angry. What the hell had they done to her? The woman he had met in St. Petersburg had been a beautiful, sensual creature, full of life. Who was this sexless woman who sat next to him? He wanted desperately to prove her wrong, show her that desire had not fled.

Turning smoothly, he pulled her into his embrace and his mouth came down on hers. Mirza Khan’s head whirled. The lips beneath his were petal-soft. Reining in his passion, he became tender, tasting her mouth as a bee seeking nectar deep within the heart of a flower. Sweet stock assaulted his senses with its provocative innocence. Suddenly he realized that she was lying quietly in his arms. His own desire was soaring wildly, but she felt nothing at all.

Holding her in the curve of his arm, he gazed down into her face and said, “Has it always been like this for you?”

“No,” she answered slowly. “When Jared made love to me I died a little each time. It was magnificent. He is magnificent.” She smiled sadly. “I was a true virgin when we married. I don’t just mean that I had never lain with a man, I mean I had never even kissed another man. I knew nothing of what happens between a man and a woman.” She chuckled softly. “There were times when it was downright embarrassing, but he was wonderfully patient, and I grew to love him more each day. He is the only man I have ever loved, Mirza Khan, and the only one I shall ever love.

“From the moment I was kidnaped I vowed that I would return to him, that nothing would keep me from my husband. That night when Lucas finally took me I responded to his lovemaking with an ardor that shocked me. I had believed that only the man I loved was capable of rousing those feelings in me. I did not understand then that my body could respond to lust just as it had once responded to true love. My body could detach itself from feelings.”

“But having discovered these things,” he finished for her, “you then discovered that you could control your body through a supreme effort of your mind.”

“Yes,” she said grimly. “After that, whatever he did to me evoked no feeling in me at all. I regretted hurting him, for he was a kind man.”

Mirza Khan felt a stab of sympathy for the unfortunate Lucas. How maddening it must be to have driven this exquisite woman to passion once, to have had her hot with desire beneath him once, and then never again to be able to arouse her. “Tell me, Miranda, do you think you can awaken yourself on command? It is dangerous to play the game you have played.”

“I have told you, Mirza Khan, that my husband and I will probably never be able to resume lovemaking.”

“I see,” he said gravely. “And so you will spend the rest of your life unloved, in punishment for the sin of being kidnaped and raped. Your husband, however, will be permitted his mistresses, or possibly a divorce and a new wife as compensation for your behavior. I dislike your appalling Western morality, Miranda. It lacks logic, to say nothing of compassion.”

“You are laughing at me,” she accused.

“No, my little puritan, I am not laughing. I weep for you, and for a morality that punishes an innocent victim. Is your husband really that rigid a man that he would cast you out so cruelly?” She turned her head away, pressing it against his shoulder in grief, and he put his arms around her. “Oh, Miranda, if what you tell me is the truth, then let me send word to England that you have sickened and died with a fever, for the life you propose to return to really will kill you.

“Stay with me and be my love. A good Muslim is permitted four wives, yet I have never cared enough for anyone to marry. I care for you. I would make you my wife.”

Her slender shoulders shook with the force of her sobs, and he held her as his elegant hand smoothed her beautiful head. The caique bobbed gently on the silvery sea now, and the world about them was silent but for the soft gurgle of the waves beneath the boat and the sound of her weeping. Then he said in a quiet, firm voice, “I am going to make love to you, Miranda, and there will be no shame involved. You will respond to me, my darling, because I will not allow you to shut yourself away from life, and making love is an important part of life.”

“No,” she said weakly, “it would be wrong.”

“It will be right!” he countered, signaling his rower to return to shore. “If, on your return home, your life is to be the loveless hell you describe then I will give you sweet memories to feast upon in the long, dark nights ahead, memories to soften the pain you suffered in Russia.”

“My husband …” she began faintly, confused.

He took her heart-shaped face in his two hands. “Look at me and tell me that you do not want to know the sweet pleasures of passion again.” In her sea-green eyes, in those bottomless emerald depths, he saw the answer she could not say, and the corners of his mouth lifted in a triumphant smile before his lips took possession of hers once again.

She began to warm with his embrace. She tried to struggle free, to escape long enough to clear her mind, but he pinioned her against the bright satin pillows, never letting her free of the sensuous kisses he pressed upon her. His dark, brushlike mustache was soft, and tickled her delightfully.

Suddenly she felt all the terrible tension that had built up within her over the last year flowing away from her body. I love my husband , she thought, but I want this man to make love to me . And with that silent admission she began to return his kiss.

Her lips softened and parted, allowing his velvet tongue into her mouth where it expertly caressed hers, sending a molten fire pouring through her veins. He rained kisses all over her beautiful face and throat, murmuring huskily against her ear, “I adore you, Miranda! Trust me, my darling, and I promise to give you only pleasure.”

Sweetness engulfed her, cradling her. She became oblivious to everything but him.

The caique bumped the quay, and he reluctantly broke away. Gazing down at her with undisguised longing, he cupped her face in his hands and whispered, “Only pleasure, my darling.” Then he stood, leaped lightly from the caique and picked her up in his arms. He carried her swiftly toward the house. Seeing him arrive, his slaves opened all the doors leading to his bedroom so that his passage would be smooth and uninterrupted. The unseen hands quietly shut the doors behind them. Miranda would always remember the wonderful silence in the little palace that night, a silence broken only occasionally by the murmuring of the night wind.

Mirza Khan’s bedchamber was lit softly by hanging crystal lamps that cast a warm golden glow over the entire room. The lamps burned with fragrant oils that scented the room. The walls were paneled in ivory silk sprigged with green, the moldings were of a golden poplar, and the ceiling done in recessed squares of the same wood. Thick wool carpets of an ivory color with gold and green designs covered the floors. The large bed was hung with green silks.

The furniture was walnut and gilt, styled in the French manner of the Louis XV period. Scattered throughout were rare Chinese vases, Venetian crystal, gold and silver pieces. Never before had Miranda seen such opulent luxury in one room. Though it was an odd assortment, it all came together beautifully.

In a corner of the room stood a full-length Venetian mirror set into an ornate gold baroque frame. He set her down before the glass, facing it, and slowly began to undress her. She watched, mesmerized, as his beautiful hands removed the deep-mauve sleeveless robe edged on each side of its opening with a three-inch band of tiny crystal beads and then the belt of the same beads that sat upon her hips. His slender fingers quickly unfastened the pearl buttons of her soft rose tunic dress at the sleeves and the neck. Beneath the tunic dress she wore only sheer pale-pink harem pants and a little gauze blouse of the same pale pink.

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 were 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.