English heiress Diana Mayo is living the life few women of
her time could ever dream of. She's filthy rich, able to
travel at will, and spoiled beyond measure. Tiring of the
world of society and endless rounds of parties; she is
looking for new worlds to conquer, many of which are closed
to women who do not have her wealth and the power it brings
her. Diana's voracious desire to travel and see the world
lands her in Algiers in the winter of 1920. Here, she is
preparing to travel out into the desert with a caravan; to
see and experience the Algerian Desert in all its glory. At
a party just before her excursion is to begin, she catches
the attention of an intriguing man who is dressed in the
European fashion, but is obviously a native of Algiers.
Although Diana has been warned off the journey by her
brother and well-meaning friends, she is headstrong and
stubborn; and determined to have her adventure. Soon after
her desert trek begins, her caravan is attacked and Diana is
taken captive. She realizes that her captor is the same man
who she spied at the party. Sheik Ahmed Ben Hassan has
decided that he wants Diana, so he takes her; and spirits
her away to his home in the desert. Diana resists the
amorous attentions of the sheik; but when she realizes that
nothing is going to save her, she is pragmatic enough to
make the best of the situation.
Sheik Ahmed Ben Hassan is a man who has never been denied
his desires, and has the strong will and ego that goes along
with it. He is at turns tender with Diana and dominating,
as he attempts to subdue Diana's will, and break her into
submission to his desires. Between their spirited war of
words and time spent together gazing at the stars and
enjoying each other's company; a fragile relationship begins
to develop. Diana starts to understand and appreciate the
culture of Ahmed and his people. When Ahmed's good friend
Raoul Saint Hubert comes to visit, Diana learns of Ahmed's
past - things he has never told her or wanted her to know.
Feeling that she can never be what Ahmed wants her to be,
and that he will never love her as she desires; Diana
resolves to leave him. When she is captured by a rival
chieftain, however, Ahmed is forced to some hard
realizations as to how he really feels about Diana.
THE SHEIK RETOLD is an intriguing update to the classic
novel 'The Sheik'; a fascinating tale of two headstrong
people and their bumpy road to an improbable love. Diana is
strong-willed, passionate, and stubborn; and doesn't believe
she is capable of love. Ahmed is a brooding, dominant man;
the leader of his tribe who has a surprising past he wishes
to deny at all costs. This enticing tale by Victoria Vane is
a story of warring wills and cultures; action packed as well
as incredibly sexy, and a recommended read.
A haughty young heiress for whom the world is a
playground...
A savage son of the Sahara who knows no law but his
own...
When pride and passion vie for supremacy...
Blistering desert days are nothing compared to sizzling
Sahara nights...
"There will be inquiries." I choked out. "I am not such
a nonentity that nothing will be done when I am missed. You
will pay for what you have done."
"Pay?" His amused look sent a cold feeling of dread
through me. "I have already paid... in gold that matches
your hair, my gazelle. Besides," he continued, "the French
Government has no jurisdiction over me. There is no
authority here above my own."
My trepidation was growing every passing minute. "Why
have you done this? Why brought me here?"
"Why?" He repeated with a slow and heated appraisal that
made me acutely, almost painfully, conscious of my sex. "Bon
Dieu! Are you not woman enough to know?"
Excerpt
Chapter One
The city of Algiers, French Algeria– February 1920
"Diana, won't you please let me manage this," Jim
pleaded with me once more.
"Not on your life," I responded, hackles upright. "I've
already been "managed" as much as I can stand, thank you
very much."
"That's not what I meant." He gave me a look of dismay
that evoked a twinge of guilt on my part. My predicament was
not his fault. On the contrary, had I only listened to his
advice two months ago...
He continued in a placating tone. "What I am trying to
say is that you might be a bit too distraught at the moment
to handle this with the tact it may require. Won't you
please consider waiting another day, or better yet, let me
intercede on your behalf. Given the military governorship,
my presence alone should lend more credence to your story.
They may have trouble swallowing it, you know. It is quite
an incredible tale."
Deep down I knew he was right. First Lieutenant James
Arbuthnot was both an officer of distinction in the British
Army, as well as a gentleman of the first order, but I would
not listen. My mind was filled with a militant mania for
justice, vindication, and vengeance—in whatever order
might be achieved. I didn't care that I was at the
Governor–General's mansion sun–beaten,
wind–burned, wild– eyed, and dressed like a
heathen— I probably smelled like a camel too.
Nevertheless, I couldn't bring myself to concede once more
to a man—not after all I had been through at the
merciless hands of men.
I squared my shoulders and met him with my haughtiest
stare, one maybe not intended to kill outright, but
certainly to maim. "But it's also the truth."
I refused to back down, even though I wasn't certain
which office was the Governor–General's. With the lack
of British diplomatic presence in Algiers, I perhaps should
have gone first to the Secretary of Police, but I was a
lowly woman amongst the Arabs and knew the contempt I would
experience from them. No, I would begin at the top of the
pyramid—with the highest French authorities—
rather than letting myself be relegated to the bottom.
"Step aside, Jim. I'll speak for myself."
His grey gaze met mine and wavered, a sure sign of
weakness that I was quick to exploit. Leaving him gaping
after me, I barreled ahead and straight past the two armed
Legionnaires who took only seconds to give chase.
"Arrêtez–vous ou je vais tirer sur vous!" shouted one
of the guards.
"Shoot me then, by Jove!" I flung back over my shoulder.
I'd already proven that I had as many lives as a cat.
I'd survived a plot against my life, been shot at multiple
times, had endured almost two months of captivity, and had
now survived a three–hundred–mile trek across
the barren Sahara. Although, I'd surely used up at least
five by now, I figured I must still have three or four lives
remaining.
Amidst the melee, a portly man in a highly decorated
French uniform flung open a door and stepped into the
corridor with hands thrown up in classic Gallic fashion.
"Porquoi tout ce remue–ménage?" he demanded with
an
air of authority and then eyed me with patent surprise. "Et
qui est cette femme?"
"I am Diana Mayo," I answered back in French. "I came
here to see Monsieur Jonnart, the Governor –General."
"Diana Mayo? The English heiress?" He stepped closer,
regarding me with renewed scrutiny. He reeked strongly of
both garlic and disbelief. "She is dead these two months."
I laughed hysterically. "Au contraire, monsieur. Though
others may have done their best to achieve my demise, I am
very much alive."
"C'est incroyabale!" He shook his head. "No English
woman could survive in that wasteland!"
"I speak the truth!" I cried. "I am Diana Mayo. The
Governor– General knows me personally. We met in Paris
only a year ago at an Embassy soiree just after the signing
of the peace. My brother and I came to Algiers at his
express invitation. If you still do not believe me, there
are at least a dozen people in Biskra, citizens of my own
country, who can positively identify me." I took a deep
breath, willing a demeanor of cool authority that I seemed
to have lost. "Now, monsieur, I demand to see Charles
Célestin Auguste Jonnart, the governor of this backward
province."
He smiled slowly, revealing two gold teeth. "I'm afraid
that is not possible, mademoiselle. Charles Célestin
Auguste
Jonnart has been recalled to Paris on official diplomatic
business."
"When does he return?" I asked with growing impatience.
"He does not. Another has been appointed in his stead."
My stomach sank. "Then please tell me who acts in his
stead?"
He puffed his chest and raised a hand to twist the end
of his waxed moustache. "The acting Governor– General
of this backward provence... would be me, mademoiselle." He
completed the introduction with a curt bow. "I am General
Jean–Baptiste Eugene Abel at your service."
I closed my eyes with an inward groan. Damn! Why hadn't
I listened to Jim? It seemed I was defeated even before I
had begun to tell my story! I wondered if the new governor
would have me quietly carried out of the building, or
dragged through the streets as a madwoman.
Neither it seemed.
His gaze flickered over the two Legionnaires shifting
restlessly on either side of me, looking as uncertain as I
felt. He waved them away with an irritated gesture. He then
stepped back to motion me into his office. Large and
opulently furnished in gilts and silks, it was a fascinating
meld of Ottoman Empire and ancien régime.
"S'il vous plait." He waved me to a low Turkish divan.
"Come and sit, mademoiselle. I shall call for coffee and
then you shall recount to me all that is the cause of your
great distress." He smiled and settled his girth into a
large leather–covered chair. "I wish to know precisely
how such a delicate English woman managed to survive alone
for months in such inhospitable conditions."
"I am not so delicate, nor was I alone," I replied. "I
was abducted and held captive."
"Were you indeed?" He lit a cigarette and then offered
his case to me, but I didn't care for the scent of the cheap
Gauloises tobacco, having become accustomed to the rich
aroma of pure Turkish Murads.
"I suppose these savages demanded a ransom for your
release?" he asked and took a long draw on his cigarette.
"No, he did not."
"He?" His brows rose as he blew a wispy cloud of grey
smoke.
"Yes. My captor wanted nothing monetarily."
"Is that so?" He was silent for a long moment as his
beady black gaze swept over me. The unspoken implication and
his lascivious sent a profusion of heat to my face.
Nevertheless, I forged on. "It is my belief, monsieur, that
my own brother may have intended to kill me."
"You believe your own brother has intrigued against you?
And where is he now, this brother?"
"He is in New York or perhaps Newport. He has a perfect
alibi, of course, but I have evidence to support my
suspicions."
He nodded slowly and then pursed his lips. "Then your
abductor was an accomplice in this nefarious plot?"
"No. It is not as simple as that. As it turns out, my
captor inadvertently saved my life."
"Alors! This is fascinating indeed. I wish to hear this
tale en totalité, but first I shall summon my scribe
to
record this story. After which, I intend to send an urgent
dispatch to the British Embassy in Paris. I assure you,
mademoiselle, justice will be served."
He stubbed out his cigarette. "As to your abductor, I
shall deal with this heathen dog, this barbaric bâtard,
personally." His gaze suddenly narrowed on me with a
disconcerting intensity. "You must tell me now, Mademoiselle
Mayo, who was the perpetrator of this...this... outrage to
your person?"
And in that moment I knew.
It was not the details of my intended murder that had
captured his interest. No, he didn't care at all about me.
He desired only to know what I knew—specifically, the
name and location of the force behind the simmering
unrest—my captor and my lover— Sheik Ahmed Ben
Hassan.
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