Society Weddings (7 page)

At last he drew her inside the door of a room which was indisputably the room of the Ruler. The floors were also of marble, and priceless paintings of his ancestors clothed the walls. At the far end, looking almost a car journey away, stood the wide, low divan—hung with embroidered canopies, a coverlet of pure gold silk spread smoothly across its surface.

He could feel her trembling as he turned her to face him, and he stared down for a long moment into her heart-shaped upturned face.

‘Do not be afraid, Jenna,’ he murmured. ‘For you have nothing to fear.’

Save for her own shortcomings and being at the mercy of a man who knew everything there was to know about the art of love, while she knew almost nothing.

He began to draw the tiny jewelled clips from her hair almost absently, and placed them on an inlaid table. The style was far less severe now, he thought, and framed her face with soft waves of silky golden-brown.

He bent his lips to hers and for a moment she tensed, but the brush of his mouth was as light and as drifting as a feather, and it was barely there before it was gone again.

Rashid sighed. ‘You look as though you are just about to enter the lion’s den,’ he observed.

She felt a smile wobble its way across her mouth. ‘How very appropriate,’ she observed drily. ‘Since you are known as the Lion of the Desert!’

He laughed, and the white teeth gleamed in such contrast against the olive skin, and Jenna was startled by how long it had been since she had seen him laugh like that.

He tipped her chin upwards and looked down into her eyes. ‘You are tired,’ he commented wryly, and took her hand to lead her to the divan. ‘Come, let me undress you, and then you shall sleep.’

‘Sleep, Rashid?’ she echoed disbelievingly, and saw him knit the dark brows together.

‘Believe it or not, I am not the barbarian you once called me,’ he responded coolly. ‘Perhaps you have reason to fear my advances—presumably that is why you vowed never to enjoy sex. I will not force myself upon you, and neither will I beg you, Jenna,’ he asserted softly. ‘You will come to me willing, or you will not come at all. There will be no demands made on you which you do not wish to fulfil.’

Now she felt utterly confused. He began to deftly undo all the tiny buttons which adorned the front of her wedding gown, and his words set up a nagging feeling of doubt and insecurity. What did he mean? It was his right as her Sheikh and her husband to consummate the marriage, surely?

She threw him a look of challenge. ‘I feel as though I could sleep for a week,’ she admitted.

‘Then so be it.’ The last of the buttons was freed and he helped her step from the heavy dress, sucking in an instinctive breath as he saw what she was wearing. For the gown might be traditional Quadorian, but the undergarments beneath were sheer Hollywood.

An underwired bra in fine gold lace—which curved her breasts upwards into two exquisitely pale mounds—and an outrageous G-string in matching material which emphasised the darker triangular shadowing which blurred so tantalisingly before his eyes.

‘Who bought these?’ he questioned unsteadily.

She lifted her eyes to his. ‘My ladies-in-waiting instructed me to be beautiful for my wedding night. I sent to…to…America for them.’

And beautiful she most certainly was—but the haunted look
in her eyes was no spur to making love to her. He turned away abruptly, afraid that the reined-in control he could feel tightening his face would only add to her trepidation.

‘Get into bed,’ he said, more harshly than he had intended, and went to stand by the window.

She did as he instructed, and some of her apprehensiveness was relieved the moment her body sank into the welcome softness of the divan. She stretched beneath the coverlet, and the tension began to seep away.

She was here and she was Rashid’s wife, waiting in his bed, and the doubts which had nagged her all day suddenly crystallised into certainty. Had he not just been gentle and considerate with her? And would she not fulfil her own worst fears if she held him at arm’s length? Wouldn’t that almost certainly drive him into the arms of another woman?

From beneath her long lashes, she stole a look at him. His lean physique exuded the same kind of restrained power as a caged tiger, and a tiny throb of aching warmth made her limbs feel suddenly fluid.

‘Rashid?’ she questioned tentatively.

He turned around, but his face was so impassive that it appeared almost indifferent.

‘I am going to take a shower,’ he stated.

Jenna nodded, and swallowed down another doubt. Shouldn’t she have bathed herself? Come to her Sheikh scented and shining? For one mad and impetuous moment she opened her mouth, about to offer to wash his back, just like a modern, liberated woman.

Except she must remember that she was not—that her independence had only ever been an illusion. And besides, he had already stalked off into the bathroom and banged the door behind him.

Rashid stripped off his wedding clothes with a grim and ruthless efficiency and turned the shower on full, standing beneath it for long, countless moments.

When he returned, with only some of his ardour dampened by the cool jets of water, she was fast asleep.

J
ENNA
awoke late the next morning, blinking her eyes in confusion as her sleep-befuddled mind struggled to work out exactly where she was, and when she did her eyes flew open.

In Rashid’s bed.

His wife!

Slowly she turned her face to the empty space beside her, and saw that the pillow lay as smooth and as untouched as it had the night before.

‘Fear not, my beauty,’ came a mocking voice from what seemed like a long way away, and she narrowed her eyes to look at the far end of the room, where Rashid stood like an imposing statue suddenly brought to life as he began to walk towards her.

He was fully dressed in silken robes of creamy buttermilk, against which his dark and golden looks appeared all the more startling. But his face was hard and impenetrable, with a certain edge to it, and there was nothing of the appearance of the eager groom about him.

Her hand flew to her heart, feeling its wild fluttering as he continued to walk towards the bed. ‘Rashid,’ she said breathlessly, ‘you are up very early.’

He made a small murmur of dissent. ‘It is almost ten, Jenna—and soon the sun will be high in the sky. We must make haste for the lodge before that happens.’

She had to know. She
had
to. ‘Where did you…where did you—?’

‘Sleep?’ he interrupted, his dark eyes flashing with cruel humour. ‘Why, I slept on the divan beneath the window, Jenna—for fear of disturbing your sleep.’

Beneath the silk coverlet her body trembled, her other hand moving towards her breasts. She was still wearing her fancy
bridal underwear, she realised, her cheeks growing pink. She must have fallen asleep without remembering to take it off.

And Rashid had not removed it either—in fact he had not wanted even to share a bed with her. What she had been half-dreading and half-longing for had failed to materialise, and yet the fact gave her not one moment of pleasure. Better that he should have ravished her than treat her this morning with such insulting indifference!

She forced herself to meet the mocking black light of his eyes. ‘There was room for two, Rashid,’ she said quietly. ‘You didn’t have to sleep over there and be uncomfortable all night.’

‘On the contrary,’ he responded coolly. ‘It was not in the least bit uncomfortable.’ He hadn’t achieved much sleep, all the same—but he suspected that it was more than he would have gained if he had subjected himself to the torture of lying beside her sleeping body without touching her.

‘Oh. Well, I’m glad you had a good night’s sleep,’ she said, rather woodenly.

He allowed the faint drift of a smile to glimmer at the corners of his mouth. ‘That wasn’t what I said at all,’ he offered obliquely. ‘But you certainly did, didn’t you?’

She nodded. ‘Yes. I was very tired.’

Or just eager to lose herself in the safety net of sleep? His mouth tightened. ‘Now get dressed, Jenna, and we will leave as soon as you are ready.’

She waited until he had left the room and then distractedly showered and put on silk trousers and a slim-fitting matching tunic, which were more suited to travelling along the bumpy roads to the lodge than one of the more formal and elaborate outfits which comprised her trousseau.

When she went downstairs to where he was breakfasting a sudden dark gleam of approval softened the hard eyes and he motioned for her to come and sit beside him.

He poured her coffee and handed her a dish of fruit, and his hand suddenly reached out to trace the skin beneath her eyes.

‘All those dark shadows gone,’ he observed quietly.

‘Yes.’ The shadows beneath her eyes were only being re
placed by the shadows in her heart. But the tender gesture disarmed her, and Jenna found herself smiling in response before tucking into the exotic fruits with something approaching her normal appetite.

He refilled her coffee cup and she found herself relaxing. Yet his consideration and his restraint both charmed and alarmed her. This Rashid was more like the Rashid of old, she thought—and that was dangerous. For he was not the same man at all. The Rashid she had loved had been the ideal fantasy man of her dreams. The perfect man and the perfect lover—forsaking all others and loyal only to her.

But the true man had been as much of an illusion as her own hard-fought-for independence. And if a man like Rashid had known many pleasures of the flesh—then how long before he was tempted into tasting them again?

Especially a man who had not even spent his wedding night in the same bed as his wife…

She pushed her cup away and looked up to find him watching her.

‘Shall we leave immediately?’ he questioned softly.

Jenna nodded. ‘As you wish.’

Outside stood a gleaming four-wheel drive, and Jenna’s mouth curved into an instinctive smile. ‘No ancient Quador chariot, this,’ she observed.

‘You don’t approve?’ he murmured.

‘Of course I approve! I know only too well how treacherous the unmade roads can be! It’s just that in America these vehicles are used on suburban school-runs—I’m sure that many of my friends over there would be surprised to learn that it is also the honeymoon car of the Sheikh and his wife!’

He narrowed his eyes. ‘You mean that they wouldn’t think it romantic enough?’ he mused.

‘Possibly.’

His eyes glinted. ‘But comfort can be very romantic, Jenna—as you shall discover for yourself when you let me escort you in air-conditioned splendour!’

He was right, it
was
romantic. Beguilingly and misleadingly so.

Closeted together on the back seat, speeding through the sweetly familiar countryside, it felt almost like old times. They passed places where he had taken her riding as a child, and the past somehow became inextricably bound up in the confusing state of the present.

The child in her had dreamed of a moment such as this, and yet the woman she had become seemed less certain of anything than the child had been.

He watched the play of emotions which chased over her face as they drove deeper and deeper into Quador, forcing himself not to take her into his arms and kiss away all the barriers between them. She would come to
him
or not at all, he reminded himself grimly.

‘Will you miss America?’ he asked suddenly.

She turned to face him. His dark handsome face sent a spear of longing through her, surprised by an unfamiliar look of disquiet there.

She shrugged her shoulders a little. ‘I thought I would,’ she admitted. ‘But this is home—and home occupies a part of your heart that no other place ever can.’

‘That is a good start,’ he mused. ‘For a honeymoon.’

But what kind of honeymoon? she wondered as the car bumped along an unmade track to the hunting lodge she had not visited for years, and a small sigh escaped from her lips.

‘What is it?’ he questioned.

‘I—I’d forgotten how beautiful it was,’ she sighed, as the long, low building which stood in the shadow of snow-peaked mountains came into view.

And he had forgotten how beautiful
she
was—even with her magnificent hair all shorn off. He had allowed her perfect profile and those high, delicious cheekbones to fade from the forefront of his mind. He had allowed the two of them to become worlds apart. And now surely they
were
worlds apart?

‘It’s been a long time,’ he agreed. ‘Too long since I was here, also.’

‘Seriously?’ She squinted her eyes to look at him. ‘But you used to come up here whenever possible!’

His smile was rueful. ‘You think that extended breaks go hand-in-hand with ruling a country the size of Quador?’

‘You don’t delegate?’

‘Delegate?’ He gave a short laugh. ‘Delegation is a luxury I can seldom afford, Jenna. Being accepted by my people means that my profile always needs to be high.’

‘But you
are
accepted by your people!’ she said, with sudden passion. ‘You know you are, Rashid!’

He smiled. ‘Careful! That sounded very nearly like a compliment!’

She laughed back, caught in the dark cross-fire of his eyes. ‘Hold your horses—I wouldn’t go that far!’

For a moment they shared the compatibility of days gone by, and Rashid felt his heart thunder like the pound of equine hooves. ‘Speaking of horses—are you hungry?’

Hungry? How could she be hungry for anything other than the taste of his lips on hers once more? She shook her head. ‘No, not a bit. I had a big breakfast. Why?’

‘Then shall we ride together, Jenna? As we used to?’

There was a heartbeat of a pause, but she hid her disappointment. ‘Yes, Sheikh,’ she answered quietly. ‘I would like that.’

The driver had come round to open the door of the car. ‘Let us go inside and change,’ Rashid said, and his voice had deepened.

Shown inside by a delighted servant, Jenna felt a peculiar mixture of relief and disappointment to discover that she had been allocated her own separate room, complete with a large divan and a luxurious
en suite
bathroom. She guessed that Rashid had a mirror image, only larger—and she also guessed that this meant that they could spend nights apart should they wish. She told herself that royal custom decreed it, that it had always been so and that she must just accept it.

And wasn’t it easier to slither into her jodhpurs and a long-sleeved white shirt without those mocking black eyes fixed on her—reminding her that in every way that mattered this was not a
real
marriage.

But all her anxieties and fears were washed away when
Rashid led her into the stables and she was confronted by the sight of the Arab mare whose golden-brown and gleaming skin did, as Rashid had once commented, so cleverly mimic her own.

For a moment she was speechless, and then she turned to him, her eyes wide and brimming with tears which were not just about the horse. ‘Pasha!’ she whispered. ‘Can it really be so?’

‘Of course.’ His voice was very soft, but his heart beat strangely as he saw the luminous amber gaze she directed at him. ‘Did you think that once you had left for America I would let your father sell her to a stranger?’

Jenna put her arms around the horse and pressed her face close to its warm neck, breathing in the scent of a long-forgotten youth. ‘Why, Rashid?’

‘Because the horse belongs to you, Jenna, and always shall.’ His voice deepened into a sultry caress. ‘Just as you shall always belong to me.’

She thought that the words sounded more like a stamp of possession than any declaration of affection, but at least he wasn’t seducing her with false promises. Still with her arm draped around the horse’s neck, she stared into the irresistible dark glitter of his eyes. She didn’t
want
to be only half a wife, she realised.

His words to her came filtering painfully back. He would not beg her, and if she came to him it must be as one who was willing.

Should that moment be now?

But the eyes of the bodyguards who stood discreetly in the shadows of the stables were upon them, and Rashid would not approve of a display of feelings in front of his staff.

Instead, unaided, she swung herself up into the saddle and flashed him a smile of challenge.

‘Race you, then,’ she said.

And with a small exultant laugh he mounted his own night-dark stallion with the grace of the born horseman. ‘Done,’ he murmured, and trotted out of the stable before she had time to gather her reins.

‘Cheat!’ she called after him, but her cry was lost on the desert wind. And suddenly nothing else mattered other than the pounding movement and graceful strength of the animal beneath her. The sand flew up in fine clouds from beneath Pasha’s hooves and Jenna gave a whoop of sheer, unadulterated pleasure as she raced to catch her Sheikh up.

With the purity of the desert spread out before them, they rode for hours, but always within sight of the mounted bodyguards. Every now and then Rashid made them stop to drink from cool flagons of water, the sweat sheening their skin as they greedily tipped the liquid into their parched throats.

‘You look happy now,’ observed Rashid. Achingly, he noted a drop of water which had trickled down from her mouth and now fell with an enticing splat onto the shirt which clung to her breasts, and the heat which invaded his veins was hotter than the desert sun.

Not completely happy. But happier. She passed the flagon back to him. ‘So do you,’ she said softly.

‘It’s easy to be happy when you are unencumbered by the burdens of state,’ he said wryly, with a shrug of his broad shoulders.

‘If you’re trying to tell me that you’d be more contented as a nomad, living out here all the time—then I would challenge you, Rashid!’

She challenged him in more ways than she would ever know. He shook his head. ‘That isn’t what I’m saying—I’m just making the observation that a man is the sum of many parts, and that the carefree part of me can rarely be allowed to break free.’

It was odd that he had used that word.
Carefree.
Hadn’t she thought the same thing about the doves which had been released on their wedding day?

‘Well, it’s free enough now,’ she observed mischievously. ‘So why not make the most of it?’ And she galloped off to the sound of his soft laughter.

The sun was sinking in the sky by the time they returned to the lodge, and the mountains had grown mysteriously darker in shades of deepest blue and green.

Jenna was uncomfortably aware of being hot and sticky and covered in dust—but even more aware of being closed in. The vast open space of the desert had guaranteed them a certain freedom and ease, but now they were inside the lodge once more the tension was back.

And how.

Rashid’s face had taken on that cool, forbidding mask once more, and his words were almost clipped as he turned to her. ‘Dinner will be at eight,’ he told her formally. ‘I will see you then.’ And he turned on his heel as he headed for his own room.

Telling herself that she would
not
be disappointed by his abrupt change in attitude, she took herself off to bathe, then she slept for a while before changing for dinner. Just before eight she arrived in the dining room to find Rashid waiting for her. Her heart sank to see that his face was as darkly enigmatic as before.