The Sheik's Son Read online

  She was a demon in the shape of a beautiful young woman. He knew he must never be alone with her again. No wonder her parents had sent her to France. He could well imagine some Arabian prince fighting to the death over her honor. He was certain Sebastian had no idea how badly his sister was pushing the boundaries with him.

  He tried to focus on the conversation. They were still discussing the other beauty that evening, Sophie. Etienne had no opinion about the woman other than the obvious, which was that she was a beautiful woman.

  “She is lovely,” Sebastian agreed with the duke.

  Etienne moved nearer the fire while Dorset clasped Sebastian around the shoulders. “I want her as my mistress, Fairfax.”

  “I don’t think she’ll suit, Dorset. She’s young, innocent. She’s never been married,” Sebastian explained.

  “Dammit all—you’re right. But if she married….”

  “Well, yes, if she married. But has she given you any indication that she wants to be—”

  “Hell, man! You’ve spent more time with her than I have, what with that grandmother lurking around like a human chastity belt. But you know women. Promises of jewels and furs and she’ll be mine for the taking.”

  Even though Sebastian had thought and said almost the very same thing to her face, hearing the Duke speak about making Sophie his mistress made him want to throttle him.

  “When you’ve spent time with her, what has she done, said?” Dorset asked, taking another brandy for himself.

  Sebastian remembered the rain falling down and those lush lips opening underneath his like a precious rosebud at the cricket game. He remembered the dark cloakroom at the theater and wanting to press her into the fur coats and feel her legs wrapped around his waist. And then this evening. This had been the worst yet.

  He had wanted to lock the door and push her into the large four-poster bed. He had wanted to strip every single piece of fabric from her body and wait until she moaned and begged for him to give her a release. He would kiss every inch of her and then give her what they both wanted. He would pull down that auburn hair and comb his fingers through it and press into her. He would be the first and last man she ever knew.

  “I’m sorry, what?” Sebastian asked.

  “Jesus, Fairfax! You have the strangest look on your face!” Dorset laughed and looked to Etienne, who was gazing stupidly into the fire.

  “Oh, you were asking about Sophie. She hasn’t done anything that I recall, sir. Now if you’ll excuse me.” Sebastian said.

  “Yes, yes,” Dorset murmured. “Christ! I feel like I’m friends with two monks.”

  “What?” Etienne asked, joining in the conversation. He still couldn’t get Leila out of his mind. All night had been torture and now she was just gone. A strange stillness had settled inside him.

  “Nothing,” Dorset said, shaking his head.

  ***

  Juliette had been surprised when late in the evening Sebastian came into the brothel. He didn’t say much and she knew that was his way. He seemed preoccupied but she didn’t ask. Most of the time the men that entered the brothel doors weren’t interested in talking.

  Sometimes there was an elderly gentleman who’d lost his wife and wanted companionship, or the younger man who, after finishing in one minute, wanted to talk, but for the most part it was sex.

  For Sebastian, that evening it was sex. And it wasn’t a sweet mating. It was a pounding coupling that left Juliette sore the next morning.

  He wasn’t brutal or cruel but he wanted nothing more than to pound into her and feel her walls ripple and constrict around his cock. He moved in and out of her and she moaned into his ear even as he withdrew and she was on all fours. He was pulling at her hips, pounding into her again, and she called his name.

  “Bash,” she cried, his hands on her and his hips slapping into hers. She could feel his rigid cock slide in and out of her and the pleasure was intense.

  She could hear the grunts and moans in other rooms, but she was consumed by the pleasure she felt. She climaxed briefly when she was on top of him and they continued in different positions for an hour until he climaxed.

  She moved to light a candle at one quiet interval but he spoke. “Leave it.”

  Other than those two words, he didn’t say anything to her at all. They lay together in the darkness and when she took him in her mouth, he didn’t stop her. She moved down the shaft, taking more and more of his thickness into her throat, almost gagging at his thick length.

  His hand threaded into her dark hair and he imagined long auburn hair against the white bedclothes.

  When she looked up at him he could see her in the darkness and he imagined hazel eyes in an oval face. The thought of Sophie sent him completely over the edge and he emptied his seed into Juliette’s eager, hot mouth.

  ***

  Leila combed her long dark hair and climbed into the bedclothes, naked and sleek. She had enjoyed every minute of torturing her brother’s good-looking friend Etienne that evening.

  She knew he couldn’t say anything to her brother and she, of course, would remain silent. She had dreaded leaving Arabia and everything she knew behind. Arab men were very masculine but not as easy to tease. She was also segregated much of the time with women and only able to freely mingle when there were large parties. She had been very careful and tested her feminine wiles on foreign men like the Turk, lest her father discover her ways.

  But Frenchmen were deliciously simple and poor Etienne had been like clay in her hands. She had been able to touch and tease him and she could see through his breeches that he had been rock-hard much of the night.

  She stretched her arms above her head and yawned delicately. She would try and behave herself next time they met. But she had so enjoyed herself that she didn’t think she would try that hard.

  Chapter 9

  Jean Pierre read the letter from Madame Necker and decided that he would show it to his mother. Though he had been invited, it was more than obvious his work would keep him in Paris and he would not be able to attend.

  However, the letter was a clear invitation for Sophie to attend a week’s party at the Neckers’ chateau in the country. Madame Necker had invited several esteemed people including the Duke of Dorset, Jean-François Marmontel and Jean-François de La Harpe.

  Madame Necker was very taken with Sophie’s grace and intelligence and would protect her as she would her own daughter, she assured Jean Pierre. It went without saying that Eugenie Gauvreau would attend as chaperone and she wrote that she greatly hoped he would consent to allow his daughter to join them.

  The Neckers often entertained at their chateau during certain times of the year and she felt Sophie would be a welcome addition to their lively discussions.

  Jean Pierre watched his mother read the letter and her lips pursed in grave disapproval.

  “I think not, my son,” she concluded.

  Jean Pierre stoked the fire with the brass poker and replaced it, returning to his mother. “Why ever not? Surely you don’t disapprove of Madame Necker? She is an intelligent and celebrated salonist.”

  “Well that’s as may be, Jean Pierre. But I’m not sure if those are qualities to be so admired in a woman,” Eugenie said imperiously.

  This old argument again. He sighed.

  “However, that in itself is not my concern,” she argued. “No, that is not my concern at all.”

  He waited silently.

  “I have heard about certain parties that go on in these country estates,” she began quietly.

  Jean Pierre resisted the urge to roll his eyes, a juvenile gesture. “I have also heard those rumors. Are you suggesting Madame Necker is inviting my daughter to the country so she can meet an illicit lover?”

  “Of course not! The very idea!” Eugenie looked shocked.

  “Well then?”

  “Well what?” she asked.

  “If you don’t think there is anything wrong with the invitation—and you are invited as well—why not accept?
If you will be there as well, what could occur?”

  “Are you suggesting that I spend every night in the same room with my granddaughter?”

  Now Jean Pierre did roll his eyes. “Are you suggesting that you must become Sophie’s shadow to ensure her honor remains intact?”

  “Jean Pierre! How vulgar.”

  “No, Mother. You again and again make assumptions that Sophie is some dim-witted child to be followed about lest some man ravish her in the street, when in fact, Sophie is more educated than you and knows how to act in society perfectly well.”

  Eugenie flushed at her son’s bold words. “She may be more educated than me, but she is not a woman of the world,” Eugenie said coldly. “And men can be very predatory.”

  Jean Pierre laughed. “Predatory? You make us sound like rabid dogs in heat.”

  “Your words, not mine,” she said looking away.

  “I leave the choice up to you, Mère. But do keep in mind that Sophie will not be the type of woman to remain quietly at home with her embroidery. She needs and requires stimulation.”

  “As long as that stimulation is not with some Frenchman who only has designs on her virtue,” Eugenie replied.

  “Would you prefer an Englishman?” he said drily.

  Eugenie shook her head. “Your flippancy is not appropriate, Jean Pierre.”

  Eugenie stood up and looked formidable in her royal blue gown of silk. She nodded. “I will accompany Sophie to this country chateau and write the necessary letter of acceptance to Madame Necker.”

  “Thank you, Mère.”

  Eugenie huffed and left the room, leaving behind a grinning Jean Pierre.

  ***

  Marie followed nearby as Lizette and Sophie walked through the outdoor market. Marie was searching for fresh vegetables and fruits for the household while Sophie was deep in thought.

  Her pamphlet “Marry, Carry and Bear” was everywhere and everyone was talking about it. She had heard her father mention the pamphlet to a friend and Lizette had told her that she had heard her parents arguing about it as well. Women seemed to be in support of her pamphlet and men thought it ridiculous.

  She didn’t know what to think until Monsieur Blanche sent her a note saying he would take anything her cousin had written. No one could talk of anything else. She told him that he was in Germany and that she would forward his request.

  “Sophie, what do you think?”

  “Of?”

  “Of? Of? Of your pamphlet! No one can talk about anything else! Are you pleased?”

  “I’m not sure. I think I’m terrified more than anything else if my father ever finds out, and what he will do,” she said softly.

  “He won’t. Only two people know the truth and we’ll never tell,” she assured her dear friend.

  “I know,” Sophie said, smiling. “I’m not worried. I trust you and Marie more than anyone. It’s just that things seem uncertain in these times. I don’t want to be the cause of anything.”

  Lizette frowned. Not an intellectual and preferring only novels, she was unaware of the unrest that was stirring in Paris and, indeed, France.

  “How could it?” she asked. “A simple pamphlet on women and childbearing?” Lizette shook her head.

  Sophie nodded, but couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a low smoke building in Paris and that her simple pamphlet had just lit the flame.

  The fact that she would be leaving town at the end of the week to go to the country at Madame Necker’s invitation seemed like a godsend.

  She would spend the days reading, basking in the sun and taking long walks with Germaine. At night she would converse with the men Madame Necker surrounded herself with and spar with the most intelligent men in France. Sophie was delighted at the prospect.

  ***

  “Enjoy yourself, Sophie. Madame Necker thinks highly of you.” Jean Pierre kissed his daughter’s forehead as she settled into the carriage.

  He smiled at his mother, who smiled back at him.

  “We’ll be back before you have time to miss us,” Eugenie said tartly to her son.

  The carriage ride was not very long before Eugenie and Sophie arrived at the country chateau, situated prettily along a green meadow surrounded by mature trees, with a small river running through the entire property.

  Madame Necker greeted them herself dressed in a chemise a la reine. It was a style of dress also called “gaulle,” introduced by Queen Marie Antoinette. The gaulle was made of thin muslin loosely draped around the body and belted around the waist with a sash.

  It was in sharp contrast to the silk and satin gowns worn in Paris by French society. Madame Necker looked younger and at peace in the woodland paradise.

  “My dear Sophie,” she said, kissing her cheeks. She smiled genuinely at both women, but was quite taken with the younger of the pair, whom she admired; she wanted to nurture Sophie’s intelligence. “Madame Gauvreau,” she said in greeting to Eugenie as well and ushered them inside.

  The chateau itself was large and old but the Neckers had spent a small fortune renovating it to receive guests and ensure it was modern, accommodating and outfitted with all one would expect in Paris.

  “You are the first to arrive so you will have the pick of rooms,” she said to Sophie, smiling warmly.

  “You are too kind, madame.” Sophie had taken a great liking to the older woman.

  “Not at all. I will show you my favorite rooms and you and your grand-mère will make your choice.”

  “May we have adjoining rooms?” Eugenie asked.

  “Is that necessary, Grand-mère?” Sophie asked, irritated. She wondered what exactly her grandmother expected to happen in this country paradise. A ravishment at the hands of the elderly intellectual men?

  Eugenie recalled her conversation with her son. Sophie was a grown woman. “No. Not if you don’t think it so.”

  Sophie instantly felt remorse for treating her grandmother badly. “No. I’m sorry. If you would like adjoining rooms, then it will be as you wish.”

  Eugenie smiled at the appeasement and backed down. “No. It is not necessary. You are a grown woman, after all, not a child. It was a foolish request.”

  The women weaved in and out of several rooms as Madame Necker pointed out certain things about one room and then something else about another.

  Sophie chose a room at the far end of one wing of the chateau. It overlooked the woodland trees and river and it was decorated in green, cream and rose, and reminded her of a cool Paris garden.

  Her grandmother by chance chose a room in the opposite wing from her. She’d immediately liked the grandeur of the room, which was one of the largest, and the gold furniture was immaculately decorated. It was a decadent room and Madame Necker nodded.

  “This room is one of the finest,” she concurred and Eugenie was smug in her acceptance. She had chosen wisely.

  ***

  Madame Necker and Sophie stayed up late the first evening talking before the fire over coffee and biscuits.

  “Madame, are you at all concerned about France?” Sophie asked tentatively.

  She never spoke of such issues with her grandmother and rarely with her father. Much of her discussions had been at the salon and this open discussion was new to her, though she understood that Madame Necker was of the same mind.

  “Concerned?” She pondered the question. “Yes, I see. Concerned. No, my dear Sophie, I’m not concerned. I’m frightened.” Madame Necker moved away from the fire to pour them both another cup of coffee and handed her guest back the cup and saucer.

  “Frightened?” Sophie asked. That was such a strong word, she thought. Surely Madame Necker was not frightened.

  “Oh yes. You see, my dear Sophie, I have watched my husband for many years. He may not think it, but I have made my own opinions of what has occurred and is occurring still.”

  “What has occurred?” she asked.

  “We have a weak king.” She sipped her coffee. “There is great animosity between the cla
sses.”

  “But surely a king, whether he is weak or not, does not matter. He is king. He will always be king,” Sophie argued.

  Madame Necker shook her head. “Oh, my dear. History is filled with kings being overthrown and executed because someone else feels entitled to the throne and has the money and men to do so.”

  “But surely we are living in a civilized time—”

  “Our queen is not liked and not even French, and I’m afraid this, along with our financial crisis, is leading up to a very uncertain future,” Madame Necker said.

  “Financial crisis?” Sophie asked.

  “Peasants pay taxes to land owners to grow crops but the taxes are steep and these people barely make a living from their harvests. The king’s court at Versailles is extremely costly and decadent and the king’s support of the war in America, though admirable, was an immense burden financially.” Madame Necker ticked off several grave issues affecting France’s purse.

  Sophie shook her head. “I didn’t know.”

  Madame Necker shook her head and felt suddenly very world-weary. “Of course you didn’t. You study classics written by dead men. You know several languages, and yet we are on the edge of something here. Right now.”

  “Yes, I see that.”

  Madame Necker suddenly snapped out of her brooding thoughts. “I’m sorry, Sophie. I am prattling away about such serious issues and I am not behaving as a good hostess should.”

  “No, that’s not true. I am grateful to you. I don’t want to be ignorant. I want to be included even if, as you say, the ending is frightening. I want to know.” Sophie spoke with concern, their eyes meeting.

  Madame Necker stood up and together they walked through the large marble foyer and upstairs to the wing where Sophie’s room was situated. “Tomorrow Messieurs Marmontel and La Harpe will arrive, so there will be many discussions in the evenings. And you will be included, have no fear.” They stopped outside her bedroom. “And if I’m not mistaken, Germaine is to arrive as well.”