Desert Rogue by ERIN YORKE Page A

despicable city under a pile of blankets. I survived that. Your talk doesn’t frighten me.”
    â€œBut my description of the sort of master to whom you could be sold will make an impression. Do you know how a man can treat a woman when he wishes to be cruel? Do you realize how he can tear into her body so that he rips at her very soul? If you do not fear pain, perhaps the idea of indignities will move you to do as I bid.” When the Englishwoman did not react, Zobeir decided to offer her details.
    â€œI can sell you to a man so slothful that he will not waste his time arousing you, not even so that you may bring him pleasure. There are those who have the female they have selected for the night held down by eunuchs while the other women of the harem inflame the chosen one until she is ready for her master. Should you think the women would refuse to do such a thing, realize that there are those in every large harem so starved for physical joy that they would find such a duty a treat. They would relish bringing their victim to the brink of ecstasy so that their master had merely to enter her with no more finesse than a rutting ram in order to find his own satisfaction. Do you think you would like to belong to such a man? Does the idea of other women kissing and caressing your most private parts excite you?”
    â€œHow dare you talk to me of such things?” Victoria whispered fiercely, face pale but her voice still drenched with contempt.
    â€œAh, it is not the talking you will come to fear,” Zobeir said, his fingers stroking his straggly beard. “Do as I ordered and change your attire.”
    â€œYou will find that Englishwomen have more backbone than you suspected. I am not frightened by your disgusting threats.”
    â€œPut on this clothing or I will beat you now!” the slave merchant thundered, his patience at an end.
    â€œYou wouldn’t,” Victoria retorted with a contemptuous laugh. “Lay one filthy finger on me and your life is over.”
    â€œYour bravado is almost commendable. Still, if fear doesn’t move you, I will have to persuade you to submission by other means. Clothe yourself in those garments now or I will beat this woman.” With that, he reached out to grab the serving girl by the hair and pulled her to him, striking her repeatedly about the face and head.
    Victoria couldn’t decide which sound she detested the most, the slap of fist upon flesh or the girl’s piteous cries. Unable to think of an option that would end the sobbing woman’s torment, Victoria Shaw reluctantly agreed to do as she was told.
    â€œAll right. Give me the clothing! Just stop hitting her!”
    â€œI thought you would see logic eventually,” the slaver said smugly, casting the other woman aside. “And realize that the only reason I did not forcibly dress you myself is that I do not want any marks on your fair skin when you mount the block.”
    â€œDo you promise to leave that girl alone if I do as you ask?” Victoria inquired in a calmer voice than Zobeir had expected.
    â€œI swear before Allah that if you but wear the things I have given you, I will not touch the slave again...at least not in anger,” the man said with a wicked laugh.
    â€œLeave, then,” Victoria directed, reverting to her usual position of authority despite her circumstances. But even as she held out her hands to receive the diaphanous garments, she vowed that this would not be the first step toward surrender.
    If only Hayden would arrive, she thought, her eyes boring into Zobeir’s retreating back. Surely her fiancé’s failure to materialize was the result of inordinate caution, caution prompted by his great love for her and his reluctance to act too precipitously. But didn’t he realize that if he didn’t rescue her soon, she might experience injury, anyway?
    True, she was English and would do her best not to let down the side, she mused,