Page 46 of Silver Angel

“Rahine,” Haji interrupted finally. “There is no time for this.”

“I know.” Rahine sighed, turning away. “Take her. If she angers Jamil by resisting him…other women have died for less.”

Chapter Twenty-four

Magic words, “do or die.” Until Chantelle could determine if it was true, she had to give in. She might be furious and terrified in turn that it had come to this, but she wasn’t stupid. There were a lot of things she would do to preserve her maidenhead. Dying wasn’t one of them.

She barely heard Haji Agha as he hurried her down the long corridor toward the Dey’s private apartments. The last-minute instructions and warnings fell on deaf ears. She was too aware of what was going to happen. Vashti had taken her through it step by step, and those were the words she kept hearing.

“It is over with very quickly. He will stick his thing in you and you will feel the terrible pain as it rips through your hymen. If his mood is good, he might allow you time for the pain to subside—most likely not, since what you feel does not concern him. Then he will thrust and thrust and finally cry out his pleasure. He will take a few moments to recover; then he will move away, and that is the end of it. Simple. All over quickly, and he sends you back to the harem. Rarely does he keep a concubine with him all night, since he prefers to sleep with his wives.”

Those words had haunted Chantelle ever since, intruding on her other lessons, in which her instruction had begun in the arts of enticement and seduction, but mostly pleasure. How to please a man. Not just any man, but one man in particular.

Chantelle had had to see a little humor in it or she would be fast on her way to going crazy. For so many people to be concerned with one man’s sexual delights was the height of ludicrousness, yet that was exactly the case here. Every single woman in the harem, every single eunuch, every slave, was concerned with only one thing, the Dey’s pleasure. If it weren’t so ridiculous, Chantelle would cry about it. But it wasn’t so ridiculous now, not when she was about to become the main course on tonight’s menu.

It had come about. It was actually happening.No, it’s not. It’s just a dream.

“You do not rise until he bids you to.”

“Rise?”

She was facing a door. Slowly she turned to see Haji Agha’s eyes narrowed at her.

“Shahar, have you heard nothing I’ve said?”

“I—I’m sorry, but I don’t think so. If you’d like to repeat it—”

“There is not another moment to spare,” he said in annoyance, fully aware she was playing for time. “Just remember to prostrate yourself before him and stay down until he bids you to rise. Do exactly as he says and all should go well. We can only pray he has not become annoyed with the delay.”

“What delay?”

“He wanted you here immediately.”

“Why?”

Haji sighed. “Allah only knows.”

Abruptly, he yanked away the short veil that had covered her lower face, then opened the door and escorted her to the center of the large room. Not trusting her to do as he said, Haji tugged on her arm until she sank to her knees. Satisfied to see her lower her head to the floor as well, he backed out of the room.

It was not out of respect that Chantelle prostrated herself. She had kept her head bowed and her eyes on the floor upon entering the room and would continue to do so for as long as she could, for the simple reason that she didn’t want to look at the Dey. In this position she couldn’t, and that suited her fine for the moment.

Where he was she didn’t know. He might not even be in the room—she didn’t hear him, couldn’t sense him. Or could she? Yes, she did feel as if she were being watched, and it wasn’t a pleasant feeling.

Derek remained quiet, not trusting his voice just yet. It seemed as if he had waited forever for this moment, though it had only been four days. Four days of misery and hoping he could later laugh at himself for building something up out of nothing. But it was later now, and there was nothing to laugh at. She was more lovely than he remembered: ethereal, willowy—and his.

But a virgin. He had to keep that uppermost in his mind, or he would carry her straightaway to his bed.

“Sit up and look at me.”

Not “Let me look at you”; he was already doing that, damn his eyes.

Chantelle had tensed at the sound of his voice but didn’t move otherwise. Not that she didn’t want to. She was just afraid that once she did, her defloration was going to proceed at an alarming pace.

“You know that you must obey me in all things, Shahar, though all I ask is that you look at me. Is that so unreasonable a request?”

His voice was calm, gentle even, and yet it was the same voice she remembered from before, slightly husky, with a deep timbre, a voice that could condemn a girl to brutal rape one moment and then rescind the order and ask without really caring if he hadn’t redeemed himself in her eyes. This man could never redeem himself in her eyes, no matter what he did.

But now that she was reminded of what a coldhearted bastard he was, she felt she could meet his eyes without showing her fear. It was her loathing she wasn’t so sure she could hide.