Tiffany Clare - The Surrender of a Lady

“I can imagine.”

He looked away from Asbury and back to the voluptuous harem girls on display.

Asbury had brought him here in hopes of lifting Griffin’s ennui, and annoyance with society in general. He wouldn’t disappoint his friend. He’d indulge in whatever the island had to offer. Better that than slipping back into that dark, welcoming well of excess dissipation again.

A distinctive laugh caught his attention and had his gaze narrowing on the scene below.

He searched out the source; it came from the veiled bronze beauty. That sound took him back in time. There weren’t many women who expressed a free exuberance like that. He remembered the husky deepness of a laugh like that on another night—from another woman—some ten years ago. It was one of those contagious laughs that had everyone in a room turning, and every man rising in salute.

He leaned forward with his elbows planted on his knees and studied her.

There was the shy tilt of her head when she listened to another talk, the soft but clear timbre of her voice as she spoke Persian—which seemed the common language in the palace. The inborn grace with which she sat poised so ladylike made her seem as delicate as an orchid in bloom, so easily destroyed if not properly cared for. There was something about the way she brushed her hair from her brow, as though it were done up in some other fancy style society women liked. The motion stilled his breathing altogether.

It occurred to Griffin that his imagination had finally gotten the better of him.

After dreaming about Elena Ravenscliffe for what felt like a lifetime, he found it hard to identify the tangible reality from what could only be an illusion in front of him.

He stood, edged around the other men in order to see her from another angle.

She laughed again, halting his steps. He put his hand out on the rail to steady himself and leaned in close to the screen. There was no mistaking what he knew for the truth.

He knew her as well as he knew himself. His memory was like that of a bloody elephant. There were some things he wished he could forget. He might have fared better had he been able to forget her in the first place. He shook off the thought.

How had she ended up in a place like this?

When he’d moved back to England after his uncle’s death, the first thing he’d done was look for her. That had to be some five years ago. His sources had said she was still married to that lowly baron with an estate up north. Perhaps Griffin had given up his search too easily.

Lady Elena had proved impossible to find once she and her husband moved abroad. Her husband had sold his properties in York and left for Constantinople hastily.

Griffin had been disinclined to ferret out any other information. Really, he’d recognized it as a hopeless venture to pursue a married woman.

What could have happened between then and now to bring her to a place like this?

How had such a fine young English lady come to sell herself into such a degenerate life? He supposed she wouldn’t be the first to find herself in such a situation.

Well, now he’d know all of her sordid tale. Once he talked to the owner of this fine establishment.

Griffin turned away from the screen and looked for the man who had escorted them up to this section of the palace. Griffin had made his selection. Now it was time to see what his little lady friend was worth. For the first time in years he felt like smiling; he had reason to express himself happily. He’d had to pull himself through a long path of self-destruction to make it to this point. Was this some sick ironic award for moral behavior? It didn’t matter. It was what it was. After all these years, she was finally going to be his.

Asbury slapped him on the back. “I see I’ve brought you to the right place, my friend. Hope you aren’t taking up too many old habits.” There was censure in his friend’s voice. He didn’t want to hear it but the reminder was for the best. He had a feeling old habits were going to be hard to ignore.

“There’s not much else to do.” Griffin folded his hand. Standing from the card table, he bowed and took his leave. He was done gambling for the night. “I’ve found a beauty to occupy my time. I’ll bid on her tomorrow night, when she’s on auction.”

“Which one’s caught your eye?”

“That’s for me to know.” Griffin gave a slow smile. Asbury’s only response was to laugh.

That secret was his for now. The beauty could be none other than Elena, his fiancée for all of a day before he foolishly left her side, and she became vulnerable, unable to protect herself from the greedy clutches of the Baron of Shepley.

They walked toward some empty chairs off to the side of the room, and away from any ears. It was decorated like any Englishman’s establishment back home. Leather furniture—mostly chairs—a billiards table, gaming tables, Turkish carpets underfoot, heavy smoke from pipes and cigars that filled the dimly lit chamber. The walls were paneled with dark wood, and the room had been fitted with bookshelves. Though not many came here to read. Only a dozen gentlemen were there now, most of them trying their luck at cards.

Earlier, when he’d gone to inquire about the bronze beauty, the owner, Amir, had asked Griffin not to say anything about paying in advance. It didn’t matter either way to Griffin, so he’d readily agreed so long as he could have her history. Amir had given Griffin some cock-and-bull story of her being part of his brother’s harem in Turkey before she was sent to this island. There was a great deal of assurance as to her abilities in the arts of seduction, like so many of the women brought up in these settings. It made him want to snort in disbelief.

Griffin didn’t believe the concocted story for one second. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever heard a cleverer spouting of lies. She was no more a harem girl than he was an impoverished lord.

For now, he’d comply with house rules. And tomorrow, he’d finally know if he’d gone mad with his obsession for Elena, or if he’d been handed a second chance to court her. It would be a very different sort of courting they did this time around. He should be ashamed of his ungentlemanly thoughts. What he should be doing was attempting to remove her from this place. He might in the end, but not before he heard her version of the tale of how she came to be here.

“You always were a devil, Rothburn. It’ll be interesting to see which girls stand on auction tomorrow. I’ve my eye on a few. One I’ve yet to win, she’s damnably expensive. The others . well, we’ll see about the others.”

A slave brought over a tray with brandy.

Asbury waved her away, knowing how Griffin felt about the stuff. He rarely touched it—hadn’t for some years now—and for good reason.

He’d traded one addiction for another since he’d built up his empire in the silk trade. He had been schoolmates with Asbury; they’d attended Eton together. Griffin had disassociated himself from his old life when he’d left England, including all his friends.

He’d wanted to bury the past when he couldn’t have the one woman who had had a stronger effect on him than any opium he’d tried.

When he’d heard of her nuptials, through his uncle, he’d headed to the East: trading, whoring, luxuriating in depravity for some years. Then along came Asbury, his long-ago friend, who pulled him from the swarm of naked Asian beauties he’d been tasting in the opium den. Asbury had cleared away the fog clouding Griffin’s mind. Told him to pull it together or he’d beat the snot out of him. There was no doubting Asbury, always a man of his word. If Griffin had slipped over the years, and there were a few occasions he had done just that, he thought of the trouble Asbury had gone to and forced himself out of the grasp of obsession.