The Sheik's Son

“While the men gallivant around town with whomever they choose like a dog in heat,” Sophie hissed. Her blood was up.

“Yes, some men are like that,” he agreed.

“Some men?” Her hazel eyes challenged him.

“Yes. But not all men. And as men and women, we each have our roles to play. You to marry, bear children and raise them. That is your role.”

“And yours?” Sophie asked suddenly, very irritated.

“To carry the seed for the child,” he said matter-of-factly. “To provide for them.”

“So you think like Monsieur Gerard? Women are to marry, carry and bear, and that is all?”

“Not exactly—” he began.

“You may be young and educated, and of course you are secretary to the duke. But you, monsieur, are nothing but a savage!”

She moved away from him quickly and was replaced by Andrew.

“Well, I think it’s safe to assume that’s one lovely that you won’t be bedding.” He smiled.

“Don’t bet on it,” Bash replied as he watched the lovely Sophie flounce out of the room.

***

“Do you miss Arabia?” Etienne asked Leila as they sat together on a small couch in the corner of the gambling room.

The room was filled with the smell of burning wax candles and the sound of porcelain gaming chips clicking together and people talking, but the two seemed to be in a world of their own.

“Yes. Certain things. I miss my mother and father, and I even miss the heat and the smell of it,” she added. “But France is another world entirely, and I like it very much.”

“We must see if Bash will allow you to attend some concerts and outings,” Etienne told her.

“I would like that very much, Monsieur Pousson.”

“Please call me Etienne.”

“Etienne.” Leila spoke his name quietly and looked away from his gaze.

Etienne watched the long curve of her neck and ached to press his mouth to it before he reminded himself to maintain a distance from her. She was, after all, his best friend’s sister and anything beyond the boundaries of friendship was not to be considered.

***

That evening Sophie had barely stepped out of her dress and corset before she sat before her writing table and began writing in a furious manner. She could still hear the mocking tone of Monsieur Gerard in her ear, which was bad enough.

But she also recalled Sebastian and his handsome face as he told her that he was charged with carrying the seed while she was the brood mare to be impregnated for man’s purpose. Dorset’s Devils indeed! She wondered how many seeds he had spread across Paris.

“Marry, Carry and Bear” was the title she chose for the next pamphlet. She had barely flung her necklace down on the table and had only taken one earring off before her quill pen was scratching away at the linen paper.

She was so angry after attending the salon that thoughts were racing through her head faster than she could place them on the page. These men were archaic and ancient and they belonged in the Dark Ages.

The tips of her fingers became black with ink stains as she wrote with her right hand and kept steady lines with her left. She wrote about education and the need for men to join the proper century with everyone else.

The morning light had barely started to creep over the horizon when she practically crumpled the pages into Marie’s hand as the maid began her duties for the morning. Marie nodded in understanding and Sophie was sure Monsieur Blanche would get more than he bargained for with the pamphlet.

She slept well past noon because of the night spent writing and Eugenie admonished her for being a lazy Parisian lady. Sophie eyed her grandmother with annoyance as she threw open her windows and filled the room with light.

“Up, up, Sophie. The day is passing you by,” her grandmother told her.