Page 24 of Silver Angel

“You’re sure, Kasim? I really have no right to ask—”

“Christ, don’t start that again,” Derek said quickly. “And besides, I was asked by my government, unofficially, of course, to do whatever I can to eliminate the threat against you. With the risk of giving you the upper hand in your future dealings with England, I must admit they sort of prefer you to anyone else who might succeed you. And I suppose my taking your place, and thereby taking the threat away from you, will do pretty much what I was requested to do.”

“It is annoying that these foreign consuls know so much of what goes on inside these walls and report it to their respective governments.”

“They don’t know nearly as much as they’d like to, Jamil. But tell me, am I going to have to grow one of those, or are you going to shave yours?” Derek asked, reaching over to tug on Jamil’s luxuriant beard.

Jamil sighed. “I suppose it was too much to hope that you would have worn a beard yourself. There will not be time for you to grow one to my length. Allah help me, it is almost too much to sacrifice—”

Derek burst out laughing at Jamil’s expression. “Come now, you can see for yourself how you’ll look without it,” he said, rubbing his own clean-shaven chin. “I get no complaints from the ladies.”

“Yes, it does make you appear younger than I,” Jamil replied thoughtfully.

“And I almost have to fight the women off.”

“Braggart.” Jamil chuckled. “You cannot possibly have the same problems that I have with forty-seven concubines.”

“Is that all?” Derek prodded teasingly. “Mustafa must have had at least two hundred before he died.”

“Mustafa did not care how many languished in neglect.”

A dark brow shot up curiously. “You surprise me, Jamil. That possibly would be a concern of mine after nineteen years among the English—but you?”

“Perhaps we are not so different after all, even with such a long separation.”

“Perhaps,” Derek agreed, grinning. “Speaking of your women, what will they think when you don’t summon them for so long?”

Jamil lowered his eyes before answering, his tone subdued. “But they will be summoned—by you. You must do everything that I would ordinarily do for this to work.”

Derek was not so insensitive that he didn’t hear the pain in those words. “Don’t be absurd!”

Jamil’s eyes jerked up in surprise at the vehemence of that response. He had not expectedthisto be an objection.Heobjected. With every fiber of his being, he objected, for if he was anything, he was a possessive man. He might bemoan the fact that he had more women than he could possibly need or want, but they werehiswomen. It was the hardest thing he would ever do, to open his harem to another man, with pride demanding that it be without exception. Were it any other man, he couldn’t do it. But this was Kasim, his other self. There was no one he felt closer to, even after nineteen years’ separation making them almost strangers to each other.

“It is the only way,” Jamil said now with enough force to conceal his own reluctance. “Omar made me see this, and I agree. The eunuchs of the harem cannot be confined. They come and go at will, and you know as well as I that some of them gossip worse than women. And the fact is that I have never ignored my women for more than two or three days at a time. Even when I travel, I take my favorites with me. So if it becomes known that I am suddenly neglecting my harem, it will naturally be wondered why. Consequently, I would be watched more closely. The slightest error on my part, onyourpart, would take on new meaning. Someone might remember that I had a twin who died mysteriously, whose body was never seen by anyone. Do you see now why you must take on my habits as if they were your own, all of them? You must even assume my frustration, and frankly, I have been very difficult lately, which is why anger will be your easiest defense in any situation that arises, for my temper has become the expected, rather than the unusual.”

“I suppose I don’t have a choice,” Derek said, though he was frowning now, “if your freedom of movement is not to be jeopardized.”

“Exactly. Neither of us has a choice, if you still agree to do it.”

“Is that what you really want, Jamil?”

“I can see no other way.”

“Icould go after Selim.”

“Yes, but you do not know him as I do, Kasim. It would take you twice as long to find him, and I could be dead by then. Besides,” Jamil added with a wry grin, “I will go mad if I cannot get away from here, now that your presence offers me the chance. I don’t think I can even bear the time it will take to familiarize you with my habits.”

“You’ll have to try, brother mine,” Derek rejoined. “I’d rather not walk into this thing blind, if it’s all the same to you.”

Jamil chuckled at that very placid, dry English tone. He would indeed have to try.

Chapter Fourteen

Jeanne Mauriac glanced curiously around the large room into which she had just been escorted. Pallets lined the floor, most occupied by women with nothing better to do than lie about, counting the passing minutes of each hour even though it was only the middle of the afternoon. Boredom, apathy, fear—she saw it all, but it was nothing new to her. She had gone this route before, three times before, sold and sold again. The only thing surprising to her was the cleanliness of Hamid Sharif’s bagnio, the building where slaves were confined together before they were sold. Most bagnios in which slaves already sold were kept as a work force to be hired out, were as filthy as pigsties. But here even a fountain bubbled in the center of the room, and the fretted windows along two walls let in sun and fresh air for what would have made a very nice atmosphere—if it weren’t for the boredom, apathy, and fear.

Jeanne found an empty pallet and began to take note of the women. They were her competition, and it was a matter of competing, at least for her. She knew from experience that the best home to go to was a rich home, and the richer buyers bid only on the prettier women. Happily, she saw there weren’t that many women in the room, and none appeared really exceptional except for a black beauty who reeked hostility and was, in fact, chained to the wall. If she was as hostile as she looked, it was doubtful she would be put on the block, but would be sold privately.

Jeanne expected to go on the block. She had done so before, and it was an experience she didn’t find quite as humiliating as the other women did; she was proud of her attributes, and having the dark gold hair and blue eyes that were so prized here didn’t hurt. She knew that with the right posture and a few sensual looks, she could fire the lust of the bidders and thereby raise her price. She also knew from experience that the more her new owner was forced to pay for her, the more fortunate he would feel in having attained her, and the better she would be treated in his household.