Tiffany Clare - The Surrender of a Lady

Her tears fell anyhow.

When he finished, he shuffled back a step and tilted his head to the side in question. “How old are you?”

She didn’t answer. Just gave him her most incredulous look through flooded eyes.

He had no right to question her, not after she’d begged for his help and made a fool of herself in the process. He had reduced her to an abject slave, throwing herself down at his feet. Begging for the safety of her son, only to be ignored and then punched in the stomach by the guards—who laughed as she cried out for them to stop.

“There are a number of ways we can go about this. So either answer my question, or I’ll have you chained to the wall in the slave quarters, where I will inspect you in the public room.”

She turned so she could look him in the eye; he was level with her face, one fist planted on the bench beside her thigh. “Four and twenty.”

“Old enough”—he pushed off the bench with his fist and walked away from her—“but not too old that this business will grow tiresome and wear your body down.”

He said it so bluntly she almost didn’t believe the words she heard. This business .

She had a good estimation what this business entailed. And this business was not a safe place for her son, nor a place she wanted to be. “Why are you doing this to me? Why won’t you help me?”

“I’m not doing anything, dear child. I’ve looked into your claims. You are who you say. A surprise, really. It’s not the first time I’ve heard such a tale.”

“Then why am I still chained here like a wild dog?”

“Because you belong to the slave master of this establishment. And now, I wish to purchase you for my employer.”

“I belong to no one.”

Oh God, what had happened to her family? Her baby? Please, please let Jonathan be safe.

His lip lifted in an arrogant smirk. What wasn’t he telling her? The blood pounded in her ears so loudly she almost didn’t hear his next words .

“I’m sorry to inform you, madam, but your husband is dead, his properties seized.”

She gasped. Though she had never professed to love Robert, he was her husband.

Helpless to stop fresh tears from flowing, she bowed her head into her hands, her tears washing away the dirt crusted there. Dead? How was that possible? He was part of the embassy here; how ludicrous that someone would harm him. No matter his flaws, he was an English gentleman.

But this wasn’t England.

He only mentioned her husband. Could her son still live? Every time she opened her mouth to ask, her voice caught on another sob. She swiped the tears away without success.

He went on. “It seems he didn’t make it through his negotiations. I know naught of all the gruesome details, nor do I care to. What I do know is his properties, including you, now belong to Ali Admen. You’re to be sold to pay off your late husband’s vowels.”

Was such a thing possible? Would this country trade in the enslavement of English women? She sucked in a breath and put a hand to her chest as she tried to calm herself. The air was hot and thin in this room, making it difficult to breathe. She needed to know about her child. “What of my son?” She was almost afraid to hear the answer.

“Let us discuss our business before the welfare of your babe.”

“How can you be so cruel!” She made to stand but the collar caught and jerked her back down to the bench. She clenched her fists in her lap to still the shaking from the rage and fear building throughout her body.

Was her son well? Was he hurt? She needed to know. She needed to be with him.

She took a deep breath; it did nothing to calm her tattered nerves.

He ignored her questions. “I’m here to make you an offer. One which will not only better your future, but also save you from a fate far worse than the one you’ve lived this past week. I should hate to think what will happen should you choose to be difficult.”

“How could all this come to pass? How dare you do this!”

“Madam, I dare do nothing. Your husband is the sole person responsible for your current circumstance.”

Feeling more bravado than she ought, she said, “And why should I take your offer?”

“I daresay mine comes at a prettier and much more advantageous price than you’re likely to find in the bowels of this hovel. I can also offer you the safety of your child.” His lip tilted upward the minutest amount in a satisfied sneer.

So that was his bargaining chip. Her cooperation might guarantee her son’s safety.

Could he really help her son? Did he even know the whereabouts of her child? She clenched her jaw and her fists as she stared up at her nemesis or her savior—one and the same at this point. Could she trust him? She was at a grave disadvantage. How was she to know if her son was even alive?

“How can I trust you?” Or anyone for that matter. Her own husband, sworn to protect her, had sold her to this fate.

This might be her last chance to see her son while they both lived. If she stayed here much longer, she wouldn’t survive the handling some of the other slaves endured.

Not in the long run. It was only a matter of time before they treated her like a mongrel, good to no one but for beating out their frustrations.

“You can’t trust my words. Nor do I expect you to. I’ll make you a generous offer.”

“Feeling charitable to a white slave, are you?”

The heavy weight of despair constricted her—suffocated her. He didn’t even flinch at her words. She didn’t care. It was hard to hold her tongue when death stared her in the eye daily. Eventually, she knew she’d beg for the end staying here.

“I’m employed by a wealthy man, madam. His sole indulgence is his harem. I would ask you to become one of his harem girls . in exchange for the safety of your son.”

She stopped breathing alltogether and repeated the words in her head. Could she really be hearing this right? A harem girl? A harlot? Is this what her husband had managed to reduce her life to—to become the plaything of some strange man in the hopes of saving their child?

She dropped her head into her hands and cried from the hopelessness of the situation. For the life she once knew, knowing it was no longer for her. She cried for her son, who would grow up with a whore for a mother if she agreed to this madness.

Should she agree to this? How could she not? There was no other option. Her tears came harder and faster with every despairing thought.

The Englishman waited quietly for her to compose herself.

She was to find her way alone. To sell her body for her son’s safety.

No one would even note her absence from society. Now her only escape from this slave trade was in sexual servitude. She’d be doing nothing more but trading one form of slavery for another. Rubbing the last of the tears away, she looked up to the only salvation left to her and Jonathan. His arms were braced, his expression blank as he leaned on the far wall, standing calmly as he awaited her decision.

She bowed her head and stared at her lap. “Will your employer be kind to my son?” Her voice was so faint she almost didn’t recognize it as her own.

It was her son’s welfare that mattered now. She would sacrifice her comfort a hundred times over for her child. Without Jonathan, there was nothing left to live for.

“If you obey him, he’ll have no reason to cause harm to either of you. He takes great pride in his harem and business. You’ve no need to fear him. He does not abuse his women, nor do I imagine he would abuse a child. He doesn’t have any so I cannot say for sure.”

Could she ask for more assurance than that? She could take this offer and what may come, may come. Or she could rot in this hell on earth and never see her son again.