Desert Rogues Part 2 (55 page)

Murat shrugged. “I had to detain her. Although she has defied me and spoken with disrespect, I was not willing to lock her in the dungeons. The harem is pleasant enough and will hold her until I decide I wish to let her go.”

Although that section of the palace hadn't been used for its intended purpose for more than sixty years, the rooms themselves were maintained in their original splendor. Daphne would be surrounded by every luxury, except that of her freedom.

“It is her own fault,” he added. “She had no right to interfere and keep her niece from me. Even though I was never interested in Brittany and only agreed to meet with her to please you, Daphne was wrong to try to foil me.”

“I understand completely,” his father said. “What do you intend to do with her now?”

Murat hadn't done anything but react. He had no plan where she was concerned.

“I do not know,” he admitted.

“Will you order the plane to return Brittany to Bahania?”

“No. I know you wanted me to consider her, but in truth, Father, I could not be less interested.” While Murat accepted that he had to marry and produce heirs, he could not imagine spending the rest of his life with a foolish young wife.

“Perhaps I will keep Daphne for a few days,” Murat said. “To teach her a lesson.”

“In the harem?” his father asked.

“Yes.” He smiled. “She will be most displeased.”

She would argue and fume and call him names. She would continue to defy him. Despite all that had gone on before—what she had done and what he had yet to forgive—he found himself looking forward to the encounter.

 

Daphne discovered her luggage in one of the largest bedrooms in the harem. The sleeping quarters consisted of several private rooms, reserved for those in favor with the king, and large dormitory-like rooms with ten or twelve beautiful beds lined up against the thick walls.

She doubted there was any furniture newer than a hundred years old. Handmade rugs covered the tiled floors in the sleeping rooms, while carved and gilded pieces of furniture added to the decor.

She ignored the suitcases and instead walked close to the walls. No one could have come in through the main door to deliver her luggage—she would have seen. Which meant there was a secret passage and door. The getting in didn't interest her as much as the getting out.

When a careful exploration of the rough walls didn't reveal any hidden doorway, she moved to the hall. It had to be somewhere. She felt around furniture and baseboards, paying particular attention to the inner walls. Still she found nothing.

“I'm sure I'll have plenty of time to keeping checking,” she said aloud as she paused in front of a French door that led to a massive walled garden.

Daphne stepped out into the late-afternoon sun and breathed in the scent of the lush plant life. There were trees and shrubs, tiny flowers and huge birds of paradise. A narrow path led through the garden, while stone benches offered a place to sit and reflect. Fluttering movement caught her attention, and she glanced up in time to see two parrots fly across the open area.

“Their loud cries cover the sound of women's voices.”

Daphne spun toward the speaker and saw Murat standing behind her. He still wore his suit and his imperious expression. She hated that he was the most handsome man she'd ever met and that, instead of being furious, she actually felt a little tingle of pleasure at seeing him.

Betrayed by her hormones, she thought in disgust. While leaving him ten years ago had been completely sensible, it had taken her far too long to stop loving him. Even the pain of knowing he hadn't cared enough to come after her hadn't made the recovery any shorter.

“Many of the parrots here are quite old,” he continued. “But there is a single breeding pair that has given us a new generation.”

“You no longer have women in the harem. Why do you keep the parrots?”

He shrugged. “Sometimes there is difficulty in letting go of the old ways. But you are not interested in our traditions. You wish to berate me and tell me what I can and cannot do.” He nodded. “You may begin now if you wish.”

Suspicious of his motives, she studied him. But his dark eyes and chiseled features gave nothing away. Still, that didn't stop her from wanting to know what was going to happen.

“What are you going to do about Brittany?” she asked.

“Nothing.”

Like she believed that. “Are you ordering the jet to turn around?”

“No. Despite what you think of me, I will not force my bride to present herself. She will be here in time.”

Daphne glared at him. “No, she won't. Brittany isn't going to marry you.”

He dismissed her with a flick of his hand. “The gardens have grown since you were last here. Do you remember? You were quite enchanted with the idea of the harem and disappointed that we no longer used it for its original purpose.”

“I was not,” she protested. “I think it's terrible that women were kept locked up for the sole purpose of offering sexual pleasure for the king.”

He smiled. “So you say now. But I distinctly recall how you found the idea exciting. You asked endless questions.”

Daphne felt heat on her cheeks. Okay, maybe she
had
been a little interested in the workings of the harem. Ten years ago she'd been all of twenty and a virtual innocent in the ways of the world. Everything about the palace had intrigued her. Especially Murat.

“I'm over it now,” she said. “How long do you intend to keep me here?”

“I have not yet decided.”

“My family will come to my rescue. You must know they have substantial political power.”

He didn't seem the least bit intimidated by the threat.

“What I know,” he said, “is that their ambitions have not changed. They still wish for a Snowden female to marry royalty.”

She couldn't argue that. First her parents had pushed her at Murat, and now her own sister pushed Brittany.

“I'm not like them,” she said.

“How true.” He glanced at his watch. “Dinner is at seven. Please dress appropriately.”

She laughed. “And if I don't want to have dinner with you?”

He raised one eyebrow. “The choice has never been yours, Daphne. When will you finally learn that? Besides, you
do
want to dine with me. You have many questions. I see them in your eyes.”

With that he turned and left.

“Annoying man,” she muttered when she was alone again. Worse, he was right. She had questions—lots of them. And a burning desire to deal with the unfinished business between them.

As for the man himself…time had changed him, but it had not erased
her
interest in the only man she had ever loved.

D
aphne stood in front of her open suitcase and stared down at the contents. While a part of her wanted to ignore Murat's demand that she “dress appropriately” for their dinner, another part of her liked the idea of looking so fabulous that she would leave him speechless. It was a battle between principles and beauty and she already knew which would win.

After sorting through the contents of her luggage, she withdrew a simple sleeveless dress and carried it into the bathroom. She would let it hang in the steam while she showered. She plugged in the electric curlers she'd already unpacked, then pinned up her hair and stepped into the shower.

Fifteen minutes later she emerged all cleaned and buffed and smoothed. The bath towels provided were big enough to carpet an entire room. An array of cosmetics and skin-care products filled the cabinets by the huge mirror and vanity.

Everywhere she looked she saw marble, gold, carved wood or beveled glass. How many women had stood in front of this mirror and prepared to meet a member of the royal family? What kind of stories had these walls witnessed? How much laughter? How many tears? Under other circumstances she could enjoy her stay in this historical part of the palace.

“Who am I kidding?” she murmured as she unpinned her hair and brushed it out. “I'm enjoying it now.”

She'd always loved Bahania and the palace. Murat had been the problem.

He hadn't been that way in the beginning. He'd been charming and intriguing and exactly the kind of man she'd always wanted to meet. As she reached for the first hot curler, she remembered that party she'd attended in Spain where they had first met.

Traveling through Europe the summer between her sophomore and junior year of college had meant doing her best to avoid all her parents' upper-class and political friends. But in Barcelona, Daphne had finally caved to her mother's insistence that she accept an invitation to a cocktail party for some ambassador or prime minister or something. She'd been bored and ready to leave after ten minutes. But then, on a stone balcony with a perfect view of the sunset, she'd met a man.

He'd been tall, handsome and he'd made her laugh when he'd confessed that he needed her help—that he was hiding from the far-too-amorous youngest daughter of their host.

“When she comes upstairs looking for me, I'll hide under the table and you will send her away,” he said. “Will you do that for me?”

He stared at her with eyes as dark as midnight. At that second her stomach had flipped over, her cheeks had flushed and she would have followed him to the ends of the earth.

He'd spent the entire evening with her, escorting her to dinner and then dancing with her under the stars. They'd talked of books and movies, of childhood fantasies and grown-up dreams. And when he'd walked her back to her hotel and kissed her, she'd known that she was in danger of falling for him.

He hadn't told her who he was until their third date. At first she'd been nervous—after all, even she had never met a prince—but then she realized that for once being a Snowden was a good thing. She'd been raised to be the wife of a president, or even a prince.

“Come back with me,” he'd pleaded when he had to return to Bahania. “Come see my country, meet my people. Let them discover how delightful you are, as I have.”

It wasn't a declaration of love—she saw that now. But at twenty, it had been enough. She'd abandoned the rest of her tour and had flown with him to Bahania, where she'd stayed at the fabled Pink Palace and had fallen deeply in love with both Murat and every part of his world.

Daphne finished applying her makeup, then unwrapped the towel and stepped into her lingerie. Next she took out the curlers and carefully finger-combed her hair before bending over and spraying the underside. She flipped her hair back and applied more hairspray before finally stepping into her dress.

The silk skimmed over her body to fall just above her knees. She stepped into high-heeled sandals, then stared at her reflection.

Daphne knew she looked tired. No doubt her mother could find several items to criticize. But what would Murat think? How was the woman different from the girl? Ten years ago she'd loved him with a devotion that had bordered on mindlessness. The only thing that could have forced her to leave was the one thing that had—the realization that he didn't love her back.

“Don't go there,” she told herself as she turned away from the mirror and made her way out of the bathroom.

Maybe if she arrived at the main rooms early, she could see where the secret door was as the staff arrived with dinner. She had a feeling that Murat would not be letting her out of the harem anytime soon—certainly not for meals. Which meant meals would have to come to her.

But as she stepped into the large salon overlooking the gardens, she saw she was too late. A small cart with drinks stood in the center of the room, but even more interesting than that was the man waiting by the French doors.

She'd been thinking about him while getting ready, so seeing him now made her feel as if she'd stepped into an alternative universe—one where she could summon handsome princes at will.

He turned toward her and smiled.

“You are early,” he said.

“I'd hoped to catch the staff delivering dinner.”

One dark eyebrow rose. “I fail to see the excitement of watching them come in and out of the door.”

“You're right. If they're using the door, it's not exciting at all. But if they were to use the secret passage…”

His smile widened. “Ah. You seek to escape. But it will not be so easy. You forget we have a tradition of holding beautiful women captive. If they were able to find their way from the palace, we would be thought of as fools.”

“Is that your way of saying you'll make sure I don't find the secret passage?”

He walked toward the drinks cart. “No. It is my way of saying that it is impossible to open the door from this side. Only someone outside the harem can work the latch.”

He held up a bottle of champagne and she nodded.

“I suppose that information shouldn't surprise me,” she told him. “So there really is no escape?”

“Why would you want there to be?”

He popped the bottle expertly, then poured two glasses.

“I don't take well to being someone's prisoner,” she said as she took the glass he offered.

“But this is paradise.”

“Want to trade?”

Amusement brightened his eyes. “I see you have not changed. Ten years ago you spoke your mind and you still do today.”

“You mean I haven't learned my place?”

“Exactly.”

“I like to think my place is wherever I want it to be.”

“How like a woman.” He held up his glass. “A toast to our mutual past, and what the future will bring.”

She thought about Brittany, who would be landing in New York shortly. “How about to our separate lives?”

“Not so very separate. We could be family soon.”

“I don't think so. You're not marrying—”

“To the beauty of the Snowden women,” he said, cutting her off. “Come, Daphne. Drink with me. We will leave our discussion of less pleasant matters to another day.”

“Fine.” The longer they talked about other things, the more time her niece had to get safely home. “To Bahania.”

“At last something we can agree upon.”

They touched glasses, then sipped their champagne. Murat motioned to one of the large sofas and waited until she was seated before joining her on the overstuffed furniture.

“You are comfortable here?” he asked.

“Aside from the whole idea of being kept against my will, pretty much.” She set down the glass and sighed. “Okay. Honestly, the harem is beautiful. I plan to do some serious exploring while I'm here.”

“My sister, Sabrina, is an expert on antiquities and our history. Would you like me to have her visit?”

Daphne laughed. “My own private lecture circuit? I'm sure your sister has better things to do with her life.”

“Than serve me?”

He spoke teasingly, but she knew there was truth behind the humor. Murat had been raised to believe he was the center of the universe. She supposed that came with being the future king.

He sat angled toward her, his hand-tailored suit emphasizing the strength in his powerful body. Ten years ago he'd been the most handsome man she'd ever met. And now…She sighed. Not that much had changed.

“Did you get a chance to see much of the city as you drove in?” he asked.

“Just the view from the highway. I was pretty intent on getting to the palace.”

“Ah, yes. So you could defy me at every turn. There are many new buildings in our financial district.”

“I noticed those. The city is growing.”

He nodded. “We seek success in the future without losing what is precious to us from our past. It is an act of balance.”

She picked up her glass of champagne and took a sip. The cool, bubbly liquid tickled her tongue. “There have been other changes since I was last here,” she said. “Your brothers have married.”

“That is true. All to American women. There have been many editorials in the papers about why that is, although the consensus among the people is new blood will improve the lineage of the royal family.”

“That must make the women in question feel really special.”

He leaned back against the sofa. “Why would they not be pleased to improve the gene pool of such a noble family?”

“Few women fantasize about being a good brood mare.”

He shook his head. “Why do you always want to twist things around to make me look bad? All my sisters-in-law are delightful women who are blissfully happy with their chosen mates. Cleo and Emma have given birth in the past year. Billie is newly pregnant. They are catered to by devoted husbands and do not want for anything.”

He painted a picture that made her feel funny inside. Not sad, exactly. Just…envious. She'd always wanted a guy who would love her with his whole heart, but somehow she'd never seemed to find him.

“You're right,” she said. “Everyone seems perfectly happy. You remain the last single prince.”

He grimaced. “A point pressed home to me on a daily basis.”

“Getting a little pressure to marry and produce heirs?”

“You have no idea.”

“Then we should talk about Brittany and why that would never work.”

His gaze lingered on her face. “You are a difficult and stubborn woman.”

“So you keep saying.”

“We will discuss your niece when I decide it is time.”

“You don't get to choose,” she told him.

“Of course I do. And you do not wish to speak of her right now. You wish to tell me all about yourself. What you have been doing since we last met. You want to impress me.”

“I do not.”

He raised one eyebrow and waited. She shifted in her seat. Okay, yes, maybe she wouldn't mind knocking his socks off with her accomplishments, but she didn't like that he'd guessed.

“Come, Daphne,” he said, moving closer and focusing all of his considerable attention on her. “Tell me everything. Did you finish college? What have you been doing?” He picked up her left hand and examined the bare fingers. “I see you have not given your heart to anyone.”

She didn't like the assessment, nor did she appreciate the tingles that rippled up from her hand to her arm. He'd always been able to do that—reduce her to pudding with a single touch. Why couldn't that have changed? Why couldn't time away have made her immune?

“I'm not engaged, if that's what you mean,” she said. “I'm not willing to discuss the state of my heart with you. It's none of your business.”

“As you wish. Tell me about college.”

She clutched her champagne in her right hand and thought about swallowing the whole thing in one big gulp. It might provide her with a false sense of courage, which was better than no courage at all.

“I completed my degree as planned, then went on to become a veterinarian.”

He looked two parts delighted, one part surprised. “Good for you. You enjoy the work?”

“Very much. Until recently I've been with a large practice in Chicago. My first two years with them I spent summers in Indiana, working on a dairy farm.”

She couldn't remember ever really shocking Murat before, so now she allowed herself to enjoy his expression of astonishment. “Delivering calves?”

“Pretty much.”

“It is not seemly.”

She laughed. “It was my job. I loved it. But lately I've been working with small animals. Dogs, cats, birds. The usual.” She took another sip and smiled. “If your father needs any help with the cats he should let me know.”