Master of Pleasure Page 10

  Nasser scrubbed his head. “Most military men do. You may not want to hear this, Dalir, but you were given five years to find a bride and did nothing. No more time will be granted regarding nikāh. Not given your age. In eight weeks you will be escorted to Persia, and when you arrive at the palace, you will be expected to find yourself a bride.”

  “But—”

  “Surely, if you are unable to find one at such short notice, one of my sisters would be more than willing to oblige. They are beautiful, are they not? Men crawl in their presence.”

  This wasn’t happening. Malcolm walked past Nasser and sank down onto the velvet cushion of the chaise. He raked his hair back. “Beauty is overrated.”

  “My father keeps asking if you would at all be interested in one of them. Any of them. He is praying with a pillow tucked beneath both knees.”

  “Keep him on that pillow. Because if I’m forced to marry in the name of nikāh, I’m damn well not going to settle for one of your sisters.”

  Amusement now flickered in those dark eyes. “Let us play a little game, shall we?”

  Life could be worse. He could be back at the monastery. “No.”

  “Yes. If there were no other women left in this world and you had to pick one of my sisters, which would it be?”

  Malcolm snorted. “I would end my life well before that ever happened.”

  “Dalir, Dalir. Play along.”

  “Why would I—”

  “My father and I have a bet going.”

  “A bet?” Malcolm echoed.

  “Yes. He has to give up his concubine if I’m right. The old boz thinks he knows which of my sisters you would pick. I disagreed. Worry not. We will not hold you to it. This is between my father and me. We do these sort of things all the time. Now go on. Tell me. Which one?”

  “If I had to?” Malcolm shrugged. “I don’t know. I…maybe…Nahasti?”

  Nasser grinned and snapped a finger toward the ceiling. “I knew it! I knew you had a twinkle for Nahasti!”

  “I don’t twinkle for anyone,” Malcolm said tersely.

  “Liar. Have you never wanted to grab a woman and show her the stars?”

  Malcolm paused, a pulsing knot seizing his throat. Why was it Miss Leona Olivia Webster and her bright green eyes came to mind? He slowly raked his hair back again. He knew why. Because she was a far better option than Nasser’s pouty-lipped, hip-shaking, jewelry-adorned sister, Nahasti. All of Nasser’s sisters only ever giggled behind veils and whispered about how dashing he looked in a turban.

  He didn’t want an irrational giggling adolescent girl. He wanted a woman he could hold a conversation with. Something he doubted even Nahasti, at nineteen, could offer. He wasn’t nineteen anymore. He couldn’t relate to nineteen. Even at nineteen he couldn’t relate to nineteen.

  He could, however, relate to…five and twenty. Which was what…Leona was. Wait. She also had a child. A boy. Which meant he’d already have an heir. Which meant…he wouldn’t have to worry about creating one. Which meant…

  It would fulfill his requirement of nikāh. By law, a marriage and a son qualified.

  He sat up and blinked. God save him. It was rather quite perfect. Leona would live in the palace, have servants, instead of being one herself, and be surrounded by a culture and paradise she and her son would endlessly enjoy. He wouldn’t have to worry about physical complications in the bedchamber because he’d be at sea most of the time anyway. Months and months at a time.

  It was…brilliant. “Tell your father I already have someone in mind. It’s done. All I have to do is ask her.”

  “Who? Nahasti?”

  “I’d rather gouge my left eye out with my left toe. No. Not her.”

  Nasser’s brows went up as brought over the two glasses of wine. He held one out. “Whatever is wrong with my Nahasti? She has been in love with you for years.”

  Which was exactly the problem. Love only made women crazy. Miss Silverthorn and crop sort of crazy. And he was crazy enough. Crazy atop of crazy equaled unending menace. No.

  Sensing Nasser wasn’t pleased, Malcolm took the glass. “Nahasti is stupidly young.” He gulped down all of the wine in his glass and set it onto the table with a chink. “I don’t want or need a kitten jumping into my lap, meowing at me every two seconds for attention or panicking the moment something goes wrong. I need a strong, dependable woman. A leopard capable of facing anything and handling me and my life. I’m not the easiest person to get along with.”

  “You do realize leopards have to be kept well fed and satisfied. Or they rip throats apart.”

  “Exactly. I know how to defend my own throat, thank you. So the rest is easy.”

  Nasser lifted the glass he held to his lips and after a few swallows said, “Now I am beyond curious. I never thought I would see the day. Who do you have in mind? This is absolutely marvelous. When did you and she meet? Who is she?”

  Malcolm’s body felt heavy and warm remembering how she had touched his chest in the stairwell. “Her name is Miss Leona Olivia Webster. I met her on the street a few days ago.”

  Nasser snorted. “A few days ago? You— Oh, yes, this sounds promising already. Toss aside a princess and take a peasant from the street instead.”

  “Cease. She isn’t a peasant. She is well-spoken, very intelligent, very articulate and incredibly honorable. I offered her a position at the house Holbrook and I are leasing.” He blankly rubbed the hand she held when assuring him of her trust the very first day they met. It was what made him want to stay and get to know her. She made him feel like the gentleman he always wanted to be. The uh…normal sort.

  Nasser lowered his gaze to the hand Malcolm rubbed and smirked. “Apparently, she makes you want to touch yourself.”

  Dropping his hand to his side, Malcolm rolled his eyes. “Your humor annoys me sometimes.”

  “At least I have a sense of humor. Is this the same woman you are having Grand-pére assist?”

  “Yes.” Malcolm cleared his throat. “She has a boy named Jacob. He reminds me so damn much of myself at his age. You should have seen how this halfling took me on in the name of defending his father. It was adorable.”

  Taking another gulp of his drink, Nasser paused. “His father? I am confused.”

  “About what?”

  “Are you saying this boy’s father is alive?”

  “Yes. She never married the man.”

  Nasser choked on his drink. “Dalir, what in Allah’s name is wrong you? You plan to take care of some other man’s child? Why? Never mind that you and she just met on the street, never mind that transitioning a foreigner to accept our ways is next to impossible, why would you be interested in marrying a woman with no self-respect?”

  Malcolm refrained from poking him. “Don’t be so judgmental, Nasser. A woman’s immodesty cannot be blamed for a man’s lack of control. Somehow you can get drunk and defile yourself with a turkey in the cellar of a ship, but a woman betrayed by her own fiancé has no self-respect? Damn you and that. She has self-respect. Too much, in fact. She made it very clear she isn’t interested in men because of it. Which I fiercely admire. I can relate to her.”

  Nasser took another sip and squinted. “Is she attractive?”

  “Is that all you ever think of?”

  “Attraction is the spark that ignites the fire. Without the spark, there is no fire. And with no fire, you will freeze come winter. Now is there a spark? For I will not begin to support this if there is no spark.”

  He knew there was. Malcolm let out a slow breath. “There was plenty of spark. So much of it, I felt it in my teeth. But it went beyond that. It was the strangest thing. I kept trying to leave, but couldn’t. I kept talking to her, and the more we talked, the more I realized I wanted to get to know her beyond the physical attraction I was feeling. It was like we were having a real conversation outside of her being female and me being male. I’ve never had that happen before.”

  Nasser slowly set his drink onto the table and sat besi
de Malcolm. He stared at the vase on the table. “In Persia, they say the soul recognizes one’s destiny even when our minds do not.”

  The back of Malcolm’s neck strangely tingled at the thought.

  “I envy you,” Nasser continued, his voice growing miserable. “You can meet a woman on the street and decide she suits you without being punished for it. Whilst I? Whoever I deem suitable, will be punished.”

  Malcolm glanced at his friend, his throat tightening. “Talk to your father in the same way you talk to your mother. Maybe he will embrace what you are.”

  “Or maybe he would shove a brick through my skull and name my younger brother the next king. Which is more likely.” Nasser was quiet for a long moment. He smoothed his coat sleeve. “I will write to my father and tell him you found a bride. He will be pleased knowing you are finally upholding nikāh.” He sat up, becoming more cheerful. “I have an idea.”

  “No. All of your ideas are the equivalent of a boat sinking.”

  “You exaggerate. My ideas are brilliant. Now. I suggest you go get this peasant of yours an expensive bauble from Rundell, Bridge and Rundell over on Ludgate Hill. That is where all the aristocrats go. Romance her and when you are ready, gift it to her.” Nasser smirked and nudged him. “Maybe she will reward you before the wedding night. Why wait for Persia?”

  He’d rather have his soul fried in hell than find out what such a night would bring. “If I’m to be honest, and I want to be honest, I’m not turning this into the Piccadilly Circus by giving her trinkets or a wedding night. I’m keeping this simple. Respectable. Civilized. Confined to an iron box that has thirteen keys buried around the world. Because I can’t have her going into this thinking I’m a normal man. I can’t. Our wedding night would be…I don’t even want to think about the horror.”

  Nasser hesitated. “The horror? I thought she was attractive.”

  “She is.”

  “Then what is the problem? What are you talking about?”

  “I’m not ready to bring a woman into my bed. Nor will I ever be.”

  “Shāk dar āvordam. Are you still holding onto that blessed virginity?”

  Malcolm shifted his jaw. “Maybe.”

  Nasser’s features now twitched in amusement he attempted to restrain. “You poor, poor Bisho’ur. How do you survive? Do you masturbate on an hourly basis?”

  “A real man only uses his hands for three things: defending others, defending himself and praying to God. And I adhere to all three.”

  Nasser leaned back. “I find it very difficult to believe you never entertain yourself at night.”

  Malcolm dropped his hand and leveled him with a stare. “Prior to going into the monastery, I used to do it all the time. But after spending a full year surrounded by degenerates who openly masturbated and sodomized each other when the luminaries weren’t looking, I decided to make a conscious effort to be what my father wanted me to be: a Christian gentleman. Because if I can’t master my own desires, it will master me, and the moment I give into it, I become a menace. Like those degenerates and my brother. I won’t ever touch a woman in that way. Not even if I marry. My wife will simply have to accept that I will never share her bed. And that is exactly why Miss Webster is perfect. Because she already has a child. I’ll raise him as my own and have the boy follow in my steps as admiral.”

  Those eyes widened. “You do not actually believe what you just said, do you? How can you rationally justify not bedding your own wife?”

  “How? Nasser. I’m already overly aggressive in nature. I enjoy beating the blood out of people and am not interested in finding out what I’m capable of when the doors close at night. What if I can’t control it? What if I start making women run for Scotland in fear? Like my brother did? What then?”

  Nasser swiped his face. “Twin or no, you are not your brother.”

  Malcolm stirred against the chaise, his throat tightening. “Am I not? I was drawn to the same damn woman he was. I was heading down that same damn path. Pain, as you well know, doesn’t bother me anymore than it bothers him. I savor getting it and giving it. Between the two, I’m a walking cannon.”

  A tense silence enveloped the room.

  “This is serious, Dalir. How will you ever marry?”

  “Marriage is not the problem. I never saw myself living alone. A companion would be nice.”

  “A wife is more than a companion. If you do not oversee her desires, she will suffer.”

  “She will also suffer nine months later giving birth. What is your point?”

  Nasser sighed. “Do you not like women, Dalir? Does your cock not respond to them? Is that what you are saying?”

  What a question. “Of course I like women. Too damn much. I used to pinch the bottoms of every female servant in my house as early as ten. I simply won’t let my cock overrule the responsibility I have toward the safety of the women around me. What if a woman ends up dead because of me? What if—”

  “Dalir—”

  “No,” Malcolm bit out in an effort to remain calm. “Your father may damn well expect me to uphold nikāh, but that doesn’t mean I have to uphold anything else. Because you’re not the one who has to live with whatever happens when I lose control. I have to live it. And this is how I live with it. By staying in control.”

  Nasser slowly drew up a leg, wrapping an arm around it. He eyed him. After a long moment, he digressed, “When my mother was fifteen, she met a very interesting woman in Paris during the rise of the revolution. This woman specialized in…men. Very rich men, in particular. Surprisingly, my mother and this woman became close friends during a turbulent time when the bourgeois and aristocrats were not even allowed to share the same road. My mother and Grand-pére were forced to flee France due to the danger and valiantly did something for this woman. They assisted her lover to escape Paris with them. He was severely injured after his house was torched. This French woman has long since relocated here to London to be with her granddaughter. My mother asked that I visit her and deliver a gift. Which I did yesterday. What was supposed to be an hour turned into eight. The life this woman has lived is…beyond words. I will have her call on you. Did you know her first lover was a profligate dedicated to the art of pain? She knows quite a bit about it. Maybe she can help you.”

  Malcolm felt his face flush. “Help me? With what?”

  “We all have fears that make us incapable of embracing ourselves, Dalir. She will help you.”

  “With what?” Malcolm got up and glared. “I’m happy being celibate. I’m happy keeping away whatever the hell swallowed my brother. I don’t want it.”

  Nasser rose and leveled him with a stare. “I do not think it wise you compare yourself to your brother. You are not your brother. You will never be your brother. Do you not understand that?”

  In his head, Malcolm knew that. But in his heart, he hadn’t been able to connect the two. Ever since he was old enough to breathe, he and his brother had always shared too many of the same interests. And when he’d forcibly grabbed and savagely kissed the same woman his brother enjoyed physically torturing, that was when it became obvious their souls were connected into wanting too much of the same thing. Not to say he wasn’t curious about exploring that side of himself with a woman. He was. But how could he even begin to… “What if I unleash something I’m not prepared to embrace?”

  Nasser set a hand gently against Malcolm’s cheek. “You are too good to hurt any woman. Trust yourself more. Talk to her, Dalir. If you do this, I will go to Persia and embrace who I really am. As you have always wanted me to. I will tell my father the truth and kneel to whatever happens in your honor. That way, we face our fears together. Like brothers. Shall we do this? Shall we become the men we have always wanted to be?”

  Malcolm gaped at Nasser, his heart pounding. “You’re willing to tell your father?”

  “Only if you are willing to embrace who you are. You have isolated yourself long enough. I know you want a family, Dalir. I have seen the way you look at mine. It
is time you accept yourself in the way I accept you. This woman will help.”

  Damn. “You have that much faith in this woman?”

  “No, Dalir. I have that much faith in you.”

  Thursday afternoon

  At least it wasn’t raining.

  Tightening her hold on Jacob’s hand, Leona bustled them down the narrow, cobblestone street doing her best to keep her flapping bonnet in place against the wind tunneling through the buildings. She only paused on occasion to make note of rusting iron gates, cracked windows, chipped stairs and unpainted houses. Everywhere.

  Jerking to a halt, she glanced down at the calling card Jacob held and squinted down at it. “Are you certain we’re supposed to be on this street? Let me see that.”

  Jacob angled it toward her and tilting his head, also squinted at it. “It reads…P-R-I-N-C-E and S-T-R-E-E-T. That spells Prince Street together. Does it not?”

  “It certainly does.” She glanced around. There weren’t even trees. The neighborhood looked like a row of workhouses rammed in together.

  An older gentleman with a frayed morning suit strode past, coughing up a gargling, crackling wad of phlegm. He leaned over one of the rusting gates and squirted a thick clump of spit before wiping his mouth against the sleeve of his coat and trudging past.

  Leona made a face she couldn’t hold in. “One has to wonder how the city even names a street. Because there are no princes here. Not one.”

  Jacob glanced around. “Maybe they’re all dead.”

  She coughed out a laugh she almost choked on. “Let us try and be a little more optimistic, shall we? Let us assume they are all sleeping or…hiding.” She nudged him onward. “We’re only a few houses away. If we move fast enough, we’ll only be a few minutes late.”

  Jacob hustled close beside her and glanced up several times, his wool cap shifting against his head. “We would have been on time but you kept going back to the mirror. Do you like looking at yourself?”