Desert Rogue by ERIN YORKE

the moment, in the gentle light of morning, she wore her impatience for all to see as she paced the boundaries of the women’s quarters at the home of Zobeir, the slave trader, under the man’s watchful eye.
    He was concerned by the behavior of the Englishwoman so recently delivered to him. Despite her desperate circumstances, condescension toward her new masters marked her as a woman of spirit. Although her imperious attitude had prompted him to keep her from the slave pens where she could start an insurrection, the rotund Zobeir had yet to decide whether or not to beat the pretty female into submission. After all, her proud, uncowed demeanor could very well raise her asking price, he mused, aware that there were many who would pay an exorbitant amount for the chance to tame so wild a creature.
    Still, Zobeir concluded, witnessing the blonde issue a haughty denial to the servant who had brought her fresh garments to replace her own attire, she had to be gentled somewhat. No man would part with gold for a shrew, no matter how exquisite her looks.
    Watching the woman continue her graceful caged walking to and fro, Zobeir wished he could afford the luxury of humbling her himself. But with a sigh, the slaver put such thoughts aside. One did not get rich by giving in to temptation. To steal Victoria Shaw’s virginity or to mar her delicate flesh with whips would only lower her price along with her pride. No, she would be disciplined, to be sure, but in more subtle ways.
    Signaling to the serving girl who still stood holding the sheer harem garments, Zobeir approached his newest acquisition.
    â€œPerhaps you failed to understand that after bathing you were to don these,” he said, fingering the indecently transparent pantaloons. “Put them on now.”
    â€œI most certainly will not!” Victoria proclaimed, her frosty tones an indication that she considered the man her inferior.
    â€œYes, you will, or you will regret it,” Zobeir stated with a dangerous softness.
    â€œI hardly think that likely,” Victoria scoffed.
    â€œAh, but you underestimate the power I hold over your destiny,” Zobeir replied, his cheeks growing rounder in the wake of his odious smile. “Do as I say and you will be sold to a kind master. There are those with whom you would not fare well.”
    â€œI will not be sold at all,” Victoria said emphatically, though these last few days her belief in that statement had started to waver. “The Europeans living in Khartoum will not allow such an atrocity to be visited upon one of their own.”
    â€œAnd have you seen any of them since your arrival?” Zobeir asked with a chuckle. “With auctions of slaves as private as they are, no one will ever be aware you have been in Khartoum.”
    â€œI have already told you that I am a British citizen and the daughter of a wealthy man,” Victoria announced, tilting her chin defiantly. “I am worth more in ransom than any price you could ever hope to fetch for me in the slave market. If that is not enough to sway you, perhaps the idea of my fiancé’s terminating your vile life will change your mind.”
    â€œDo not try my patience, English flower, or I will see you transplanted into a garden not fit for dogs, rather than into one containing blossoms as delicate as yourself,” the slave trader threatened. He had no inclination to explain to the girl that she had been marked for death by the powerful figure who had charged him and his men with her abduction. It was only the result of his own greed and the fact that the one to whom he answered was miles away that he had dared to defy his orders and keep her alive at all. However tempting returning her to her father for reward was, Zobeir knew it was an option that he did not have—not if he wanted to live.
    â€œSee here, I have already traveled endlessly bound in the bottom of a falucca, only to find myself carted into your