Free Taming Charlotte by Linda Lael Miller Page A

anything,” she said, with a toss of her head, and then she followed the servant out of Patrick’s apartments and into the hallway.
    They hadn’t turned more than one corner when another man appeared, wearing snug-fitting black breeches and an expensive silk shirt. He looked like Khalif, but was much smaller and thinner through the face.
    “Who is this?” he asked, with disquieting delight, stepping between Charlotte and the servant, who stopped and waited uneasily. “Has my brother found yet another jewel to adorn his couch?”
    Charlotte stepped back when he reached for her shoulders. “I don’t know who you are,” she said, operating solely on bravado, “but you’d better not touch me.”
    “I am Ahmed,” the man said accommodatingly, his jet-colored eyes dancing with lust and mockery. “The sultan, may Allah continue to bless him, is my half brother.”
    Charlotte saw the servant slip away and prayed she hadn’t been abandoned. “Please let me pass. I’m supposed to go directly back to the harem. I’ll—I’ll be in trouble with the
sultana valide. “
    Ahmed folded his arms, but other than that, he didn’t move. “Yes,” he said. “That withered old nanny goat will probably have Rashad bare your delectable little bottom and blister you in front of the whole harem, as an example, but I promise the memory of the pleasure I will give you will sustain you through even that.”
    Both fear and fury swelled in Charlotte’s bosom, tangled in her throat. She stepped back, red-faced and trembling, her hands clenched at her sides. His suggestion so stunned and angered her that she could not have offered a response even if one had occurred to her.
    “Enough, Ahmed. Leave the woman alone.”
    Ahmed tensed at the sound of the other voice, while Charlotte used all her strength to keep from sagging ingloriously against the wall in relief.
    Khalif stepped from the shadows to stand at his brother’s side, regarding Charlotte with a bemused expression. He spoke not to her, but to the servant who had surely summoned him, and the other man gestured for Charlotte to follow.
    She started to obey, but Ahmed reached out and grasped her upper arm hard.
    “Let me take her for just this one night, Khalif,” he pleaded furiously. “You have so many women, you will not miss her.”
    Khalif removed his brother’s fingers from Charlotte’s arm. “Go,” he told her gently.
    Charlotte hurried away, staying close behind the servant. She didn’t look back once, not even when she heard Khalif’s and Ahmed’s voices raised in anger.
    When they reached the entry to the harem, the servant drew back, eyes lowered respectfully, and the eunuch came forward to collect her. He cupped her elbow lightly in his hand and said, “Be very quiet. The
sultana valide
will not be pleased if she thinks you’ve been wandering through the palace at this late hour.”
    Once again, Charlotte was taken by surprise, for she had not expected the eunuch to speak English, let alone be kind. She wanted to explain that Khalif himself had summoned her, and then sent her to Captain Trevarren’s quarters, but she didn’t dare attract that vengeful old lady’s attention by speaking. She went crimson from hairline to toenails, just thinking about the scandalous things she’d let Patrick do to her on those soft cushions.
    Rashad escorted her past innumerable couches, where the sultan’s women slept, until they reached one in the corner, beneath a moonlit window.
    “This is your place to rest,” Rashad said. And then he moved away into the darkness, making no more sound than a soft spring wind ruffling new grass.
    Charlotte unfolded a silky, shawl-like covering lying across the foot of the long, low couch, and stretched out, using the shawl as a blanket. She fell into an immediate sleep, though she had fully expected to lie awake half the night, remembering.
    Instead, she relived her initiation into womanhood in her dreams, dancing with Patrick’s