The Sheik's Son Read online

  Giselle lay naked amidst the bedclothes and eyed her lover from top to bottom. He was a handsome man, tall with a slender, masculine build. He had wavy brown hair, liquid brown eyes and cutting cheekbones, and seemed to be not wholly English but possibly something else as well. She had heard one rumor that said his mother was English and his father was some maharajah in the East. She dismissed this rumor as nonsense.

  Another rumor claimed he was the illegitimate son of an Asian woman and European father and that he had been sent to Paris to be placed out of the way. This she did not believe either.

  But she did know several things about the mysterious Sebastian Fairfax that were absolute fact. She knew that he was secretary to John Frederick Sackville, third Duke of Dorset and British ambassador to France. She surmised that this position was nothing to scoff at and believed that because of it, Sebastian must have parents and family of some repute.

  She knew that Sebastian and his set of friends, which included an Englishman named Andrew Holland and a Frenchman named Etienne Pousson, enjoyed Paris—which included its women, drink and gambling.

  It was well known that the Duke of Dorset had several passions and was known for his love of cricket, billiards, tennis and women. That the duke’s secretary and his friends should follow suit was not unusual.

  Sebastian had been frequenting the brothel since he had come to Paris and had exclusively kept company with Giselle.

  He chucked a finger under Giselle’s chin and smiled at her before leaving her alone. He strolled down the stairs and found his two friends drinking champagne on a small couch in the large salon. Two lovely women sat nearby. One woman, with messy blonde hair, had a shawl over her shoulders barely covering her breasts while the other woman, a brunette with large brown eyes and thin lips, stared vacantly into her empty glass.

  “Gentlemen.” Sebastian nodded to his two friends—Andrew Holland and Etienne Pousson.

  “So, how was the delectable Giselle,” Andrew asked, winking at Sebastian.

  “The same,” Sebastian returned. He did not have the desire, as some men do, to discuss his sexual exploits in detail.

  Andrew shook his head. “Women. When boredom sets, another one is on the horizon.”

  Sebastian took his whiskey and drank it straight. “What is it to be tonight?”

  He looked over at his two friends, as different from each other as night and day. Andrew was blond with blue eyes and was always looking for a joke—he loved to laugh at life. Etienne was serious with inky black hair and brown eyes, and was engrossed in politics. Women admired the trio wherever they went, but all three had declared themselves not ready for marriage.

  Already in his 30s, Sebastian knew that one day he would like to marry and have children, but he had obligations to his family—in particular, his father. He knew certain things were expected of him and he had to take any attachments or engagements very seriously.

  He saw Juliette in the back of the large salon speaking to the gloomy brunette woman and their eyes met.

  “Monsieur Fairfax.” She nodded to him and his friends.

  Juliette’s smile was a mere shadow on her face. Her brown hair was pulled back to reveal a slender neck and delicate collarbone. Her deep purple gown had a low, scooped neckline that showed a great deal of her breasts, yet everything else about the dress was modest, with elbow-length sleeves and a simple train. It revealed very little, but Sebastian remembered her alabaster skin underneath the fabric and her moans in his ear that one night.

  He wondered how many men she had moaned for. A hundred? Two hundred?

  “Madame Juliette. I hope you are in good health?” he asked.

  “Oui. Things are well. I try to keep the police informed and they in turn look after me,” Juliette replied.

  Sebastian nodded. He knew that in Paris the police were again arresting prostitutes and only the prestigious brothels stayed in business. It was an unusual arrangement: the brothel madams kept the police informed of their establishments, and the police left the brothels alone.

  Sebastian knew that Juliette’s clientele was influential and she had friends who had stepped in once or twice to help her when she needed them.

  “Le Duc is well?” Juliette asked.

  The Duke of Dorset, also known as John Frederick Sackville but simply called Dorset, was also the British ambassador to France and Sebastian’s employer. He enjoyed the brothel and its entertainment immensely and had been the first one to bring Sebastian there.

  “I believe he caught a slight cold, but I’m sure he will visit when he can,” he said.

  Juliette eyed the handsome Sebastian and allowed her hand to touch his shoulder and then move down his forearm.

  “He isn’t the one I would like to see again,” she said randomly.

  He was about to respond but she had moved away suddenly. He heard his friends arguing behind him and turned to them. They had been discussing where to spend the evening when Etienne brought up a suggestion.

  “What about the Academie Royale de Musique?” inquired Etienne.

  Andrew frowned. “The opera?” He yawned and looked over at his two friends, shaking his head. “I think not.”

  “Yes, the opera, my friend. For what is at the opera?” Etienne’s brown eyes danced with joy.

  Andrew shrugged, not interested in the least. “A portly, screeching soprano?”

  “The dancers, mon ami.” Etienne winked and caught Sebastian’s half smile.

  Andrew was suddenly very much interested in the opera. “The dancers!” he whispered.

  Already he could see the dancers in their frothy costumes of lace, with their delectable ankles showing. He knew they would enjoy the night very much.

  He clasped Sebastian and Etienne around the shoulders. “To the opera we go.”

  Chapter 2

  Sophie had made certain that Marie understood exactly what was expected of her. She gave her precise directions to the printers and enough coin to pay Monsieur Blanche. She had written one small pamphlet before, but it had not been anything important. He had accepted the small pamphlet as it was about women’s work and the household. He thought it might attract some attention, though her true identity remained shrouded in secrecy.

  But this new pamphlet that Sophie had poured her heart and soul into could be damaging. This pamphlet was about the equal rights that she felt French women should be given. It wasn’t earth-shattering but she did believe in the cause passionately. She wrote from her heart about how women were expected to marry and give birth and that was the extent of their existence. She wrote about education and how women were shockingly uneducated and all but dismissed.

  She told Marie to let Monsieur Blanche understand that this was a cousin of hers and that he had asked to be placed in touch with the printer. She told Marie to offer no more information if the printer pressed her for it.

  As she sent Marie off with the coin and handwritten pages, she realized her hands were shaking. She knew that her pamphlet did not contain any slander or libelous material, but her words were of a revolutionary sort. The minutes ticked by as she waited for Marie to return. When she did, she asked her if the printer had said anything or asked anything, but the loyal maid shook her head and went about her work.

  Sophie spent the day with her grandmother as they called on their neighbors and close friends. She tried to stop the excitement that raced through her veins and even earned her a stern look from Eugenie when she accidentally spilled tea on a Persian carpet at one of the residences.

  Eugenie scolded her in the carriage but Sophie was past caring. She had apologized to her grandmother’s friend for the accident but her mind was too focused on the pamphlet. Would Monsieur Blanche print it? How many would he print? Would anyone read it? She tapped her foot lightly but that earned her another look from the older woman, so she stopped the movement and instead focused on the passing Paris scenery.

  ***

  A week later her father had been invited to a colleague’
s salon and he very much wanted his mother and daughter to attend. He knew his mother would be extremely bored at the salon, which would include intellectuals and political figures, but he wanted his daughter to be exposed to such ideas and his mother would be the chaperone.

  When Jean Pierre mentioned the idea to Eugenie, she was shocked.

  “Is this at all proper? A Parisian lady at a salon?” Eugenie gasped.

  “Of course, Mère. It is entirely proper. Some of the great intellectuals of our time attend these salons,” he replied.

  “I’m not at all sure that is a good thing. Those les bas-bleus started in a salon,” she sniffed.

  Jean Pierre knew les bas-bleus—a group of intellectual women—had gathered in a seventeenth-century Paris salon to exchange ideas. It was not a positive example for his mother.

  “Be that as it may, I want my daughter open to ideas as an educated woman. You cannot shun these things. She wants to learn,” he explained.

  “Yes I know. She is as educated as most men. It is not a good thing, my son,” she said, shaking her head.

  “How can you say that, Mère? Would you prefer she remain ignorant and silly?” he asked.

  “Of course not. But she will marry and have children, and I do not understand what good her many languages and philosophy will do her then.”

  “She will be an excellent mother and raise intelligent children.” Jean Pierre knew better than to engage with his mother. Though he had not been instrumental in the day-to-day education of his daughter, she had a quick mind and he had allowed it to grow. As she was now an adult, there was no going back. “Let’s leave at 7. Inform Sophie and have the carriage readied.”

  Eugenie nodded but inwardly was vexed at her son. She did not agree with him. Though Sophie was an educated woman, she felt he need not encourage her. If her granddaughter had any true sense at all, she would accept Alphonse and marry, she thought. She climbed the stairs to tell Sophie, who—as she expected—was excited at the prospect.

  Sophie pulled on her cotton shift, a simple outer garment that she also used for sleep. She rolled on her silk stockings and placed the two garters on each thigh to hold the stockings in place. She wore a gown in the popular polonaise-style.

  The cream-colored silk gown had a scooped neckline and a fitted bodice with delicate lace along the elbow-length sleeves and neckline. Her tight corset ensured a defined waist while the full skirt was draped in front and then pulled back to reveal a delicately decorated petticoat with hand-embroidered floral designs. It was one of her favorite gowns. She decided to wear her ivory-colored silk shoes with the square heel.

  She sat before her vanity table to prepare her toilette. She kept her face pale but applied rouge to her cheeks and left her eyes bare. She darkened her eyebrows and used a red pomade on her lips. She pinned her long hair back but kept one long curl to coil down her back.

  As a French woman, Sophie enjoyed fashion and looking her best, but she was glad she had not lived during the time when fashion was excessive, with Queen Marie Antoinette’s extravagant wigs and gowns.

  As time had passed, Marie Antoinette had become increasingly unpopular with the French people and by 1785, the style of dress was more subdued, except at court. After giving birth to three children, the queen began to dress in a simpler fashion and had abandoned her more flamboyant wigs.

  ***

  Sophie joined her father and grandmother downstairs. Her father was elegantly attired in black breeches, a white waistcoat and hose, and a chocolate-colored coat over the waistcoat. His hair was powdered and clubbed.

  Her grandmother was dressed in the same style as she, but Eugenie’s gown was a striking vibrant lapis blue with a revealed petticoat of white. She had a wig of the older style, a little large and powdered blue-grey.

  They set off in the carriage and made the short journey to the salon. The French finance minister, Jacques Necker—a friend of Jean Pierre—was their host.

  As the trio made their way into the salon, Jacques’ wife, Suzanne Curchod—Madame Necker—took Sophie under her wing while Eugenie was amazed when she spotted an old friend of hers and joined her.

  Madame Necker hosted her own salon, where Parisian society gathered to discuss the arts and literature, as well as to gossip and flirt. She was well educated and fostered a love of the intellect and those who inspired it.

  “My dear Sophie,” Madame Necker said with a smile as she clasped the younger woman around the shoulders and moved her to the great fireplace, where two men were deep in conversation.

  “Madame Necker,” Sophie returned graciously.

  “Please call me Suzanne, Sophie,” she asked gently.

  “Suzanne.” Sophie accepted the informal name.

  She knew of the older woman and was thrilled that her father had invited her come to the salon. She was inside the intellectual world of a Paris salon and it was thrilling.

  Madame Necker introduced Sophie to the two gentlemen who sat before the grand fireplace: historian and writer Jean-François Marmontel, and playwright, writer and critic Jean-François de La Harpe.

  “Messieurs,” she said softly but with some slight force.

  They both nodded to her.

  “I very much enjoyed Didon, Monsieur Marmontel. My father took me to see it at the Paris Opera,” Sophie said to the older gentleman.

  Marmontel smiled at the beautiful young woman and the mention of his musical tragedy, in which he had supplied the words to Niccolo Piccinni’s music.

  “Thank you, my dear,” Marmontel said, warming to Sophie. “I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

  Madame Necker smiled as she saw the two men take a sudden interest in Sophie. They would soon see her intelligence and worth, as she had done. Though Madame Necker did not realize it, Jean Pierre had spoken to her husband on several occasions about his daughter. She had not attended a salon gathering before, but her father was extremely proud of her and wanted her to partake of whatever Paris society had to offer.

  Madame Necker moved to sit across from the two gentlemen and Sophie sat beside her as the hostess smoothed the lime green silk of her skirt and glanced at the men. Sophie noticed that the woman was dressed exquisitely, with her hair delicately powdered and a small amount of rouge on her cheeks and her lips. She exuded a sophisticated aura of refinement.

  “What were you discussing before we interrupted?” Suzanne asked them politely.

  La Harpe shrugged his shoulders and spoke lightly. “We were speaking of a new pamphlet circulating. That is all.”

  Madame Necker brightened up at once. “Oh, yes? A new pamphlet? What is the subject?”

  Pamphlets were produced in great quantity across France and printing establishments were many in Paris. The pamphlets ranged in topic from finance to public administration to essays on political concerns; many were anonymous, libelous and sometimes pornographic.

  A new pamphlet circulating the streets was typical fodder for the salons, and Madame Necker was curious about its content.

  “It appears that we have another bluestocking in our midst,” Marmontel replied as he sipped his favorite red wine.

  “Oh yes? How do you know it is a bluestocking? Is she named on the pamphlet?” Suzanne asked.

  Marmontel shook his head and turned his head slightly as several people entered the salon. He watched Madame Necker’s adult daughter Germaine enter with several men, one whom he recognized as the Duke of Dorset and the English ambassador to France. Several other younger men, not known to him, had joined them as well.

  Germaine was educated and had attended many of her mother’s salon assemblies as a child. She was influenced by the intellectuals who frequented the meetings and had become a writer herself. Marmontel watched Madame Necker and Germaine exchange a smile and returned to the conversation.

  “I think from the tone of the pamphlet it is quite obvious it is written by a woman, and the author’s name itself is a joke,” he said.

  La Harpe, who had been quiet until now, nod
ded to his friend and smiled. “Indeed.”

  “I’m intrigued, my friend,” Madame Necker replied. “Pray tell us the name and the pamphlet’s contents.”

  Sophie was only half listening to the conversation as she surveyed the salon and its people. Men and women were in small groups throughout the large salon room and everyone was dressed in their finest silks and satins.

  Some women, including her grandmother, did not seem at all interested in their surroundings and even seemed to snub the salon. Others, like her father, were engrossed in conversation; a small group of men was speaking heatedly about some topic unknown to her.

  “It was of women’s rights,” Marmontel began.

  “Yes?” Madame Necker said excitedly.

  A new pamphlet always generated a certain amount of buzz in the Paris salons.

  “It discussed women and their only expectations—to give birth and marry,” he finished.

  “I trust not in that order,” La Harpe said drily.

  Madame Necker ignored him. “How exciting!”

  “She also touched on the subject of education and women,” La Harpe supplied.

  Madame Necker smiled brightly. This was a subject dear to her heart as she had ensured her own daughter Germaine was educated. At that moment, Germaine herself joined their foursome after overhearing much of their discussion.

  “Are you speaking of the new pamphlet by Jean Inconnu?” Germaine asked.

  Sophie was jerked out of her reverie of people-watching as the younger woman joined them. ”What?”

  Marmontel smiled at the mention of the author’s name. “Exactly, Mademoiselle Germaine. Need I say more, Madame Necker? Jean Inconnu? Jean Unknown? Come now.”

  Madame Necker had to admit that a pamphlet written about women’s rights and education and signed “Jean Unknown” did not sound like a man. It sounded like a woman who wanted to write and do so anonymously.

  Sophie could feel her heart beat faster as she began to listen to the small group speak. Earlier, she had heard vaguely the words “pamphlet” and “women’s rights” but had not paid that much attention.