Sheikh's Mail-Order Bride (5 page)

‘I think you are a very brave creature, and a very honourable one.'

‘You do?'

‘Constance—Lady Constance—I never say what I do not mean.'

‘Constance. I like the way you say my name. You make it sound quite exotic, and quite unlike me.'

‘At this moment you look quite exotic but I believe you are very loyal, as your name implies.'

She rolled her eyes. ‘Reliable. Dutiful. Why not say dull?'

‘Because that would not be true. Come out of the sun.' He motioned her to a bundle of cushions, pouring them both a glass of lemon sherbet before sitting opposite her.

She took a long drink. ‘Thank you. And my apologies again. I assure you I am usually perfectly even tempered. Perhaps I have had too much sun. I have certainly taken up too much of your time, Your Highness. I can see that you are very busy,' she said, waving at his paper-strewn desk.

‘Lady Constance...'

‘Please do just call me Constance. It sounds so much nicer.'

‘Constance. Then you must call me Kadar.'

‘Oh, no, that would be quite wrong.'

‘While we are alone, then. When I am not the Prince, and you are not the Court Astronomer.'

‘I did not take your suggestion seriously. I assumed it was said in jest.'

‘I think it's an excellent idea.' Kadar topped her glass of sherbet up. ‘It solves several problems. First and most important, as Court Astronomer, you will have a legitimate role in the palace, so there can be no suggestion of your presence here being open to conjecture. A few months ago, another Englishwoman, a botanist, caused a great deal of speculation when she visited the court in the kingdom of Qaryma. I wish to avoid that.'

‘A female botanist? That sounds interesting. Is this kingdom far away? Do you think I would be able to meet her?'

‘I heard that she has since returned to England,' Kadar said, wondering fleetingly how his childhood friend, now crowned King of Qaryma, felt about his botanist leaving. Azhar had been most defensive when challenged about her position at court. All the more reason to make sure that he had no need to defend Constance.

‘To return to your own position. You told me yourself that you prefer to have an occupation. By coincidence, we have no accurate star maps of this region. It was my ambition to remedy that, but I now realise that, as Prince, I will not have the time to devote to it. Anything you can do to update the charts I have would be most welcome.'

He was pleased to see the sparkle return to her eyes. ‘You really mean it?'

‘I told you, I never say what I do not mean.'

‘Oh, my goodness, I could kiss you!' Constance's cheeks flamed. ‘Not that I meant— That is I would not dare— I mean, it would be highly inappropriate, given that I hardly know you. And even if I did know you, I am not in the habit of bestowing kisses on any man—and even if I was, well, I ought not to kiss you now that I am betrothed. So there's no need to look as if you...'

‘As if I want you to kiss me,' Kadar said.

‘What?'

‘I don't know what my expression was, but what I was thinking was that I would, notwithstanding all the perfectly valid reasons you have given why you shouldn't, like you to kiss me. And would very much like to kiss you back.'

Constance looked every bit as surprised as he by this admission. He should not have said it, but he had, and it was true. He wanted to do a great deal more than kiss her, and he hadn't been able to stop thinking about just what that entailed, in all its delicious detail, since her arrival last night. But if she was going to be here at the palace for the next three months, he'd have to find a way of ensuring that he did not kiss her, so Kadar said the one thing he was certain would make it impossible for either of them to act on their impulses.

‘But I can't kiss you. It would be, in your own words, highly inappropriate since I too am betrothed.'

Chapter Four

T
wo nights later, Constance stood next to the low parapet on the roof terrace, watching the sun sinking over the port of Murimon, evoking the completion of the daily journey of the mythical Greek Titan Helios and his sun chariot, returning to the east in preparation for the morning. The spectacle of night falling over the Arabian Sea filled her with awe. The colours of the last rays streaking the sky, reflected in the sea, were so blazingly vibrant they deserved new names. Existing colours could not do them full justice. The night fell so quickly too, dusk was over in a heartbeat. One minute the sky was blue. Then multi-hued. And then indigo. The stars did not emerge hesitantly like a gaggle of shy debutantes as they did at home, they exploded into the sky, huge discs of silver and gold, not cautiously twinkling, but with all the confidence and bravado of the most celebrated of courtesans.

She left the parapet to make her way over to the heap of cushions she had set out by the telescope. Lying back, she gazed up at the sky, accustoming her eyes to the dark. Above her, the nightly parade of stars had begun in earnest. The moon was on the wane, a mere sliver of a crescent. The moon god Anningan had been so busy chasing his love, the sun, that he had not eaten. In a day or so, he would disappear from the sky for three days while he came down to earth to hunt. When he returned he would grow fatter, waxing from a crescent to his full, buttery pomp. And then once again, he'd become distracted by his lady love, and forget to eat. This tale was Constance's favourite of the many depictions of the moon's phases, though she pitied poor Anningan, tied to the flighty sun, forced to do her bidding, without a will of his own. He might as well be a wife.

She wriggled more deeply into the mound of cushions and reminded herself that it was destructive to think such negative thoughts. Her mother had given her a list of positives, a litany she had recited over and over to her daughter, as if repetition would give them veracity. They were all variations on the same theme. Constance's marriage would be carefree because Constance's husband was rich. Constance would be happy because her husband was happy, because how could a rich man not be happy, when he wanted for nothing. At a stroke, Constance could both secure her own future, and rescue Mama's.

Her mother's logic was fatally flawed, but she could not be persuaded that replenishing Papa's coffers would secure nothing, save a hiatus while he invested it recklessly with his usual flair for picking those schemes most unlikely to succeed. As for Constance's future—that logic had more holes than a sieve. Mr Edgbaston's money was his own to do with as he wished, as was his wife. Having paid such a large sum for her, rather than increase her value to him, wasn't it likely that he'd expect a great deal in return, whatever the
devil
that turned out to be!

Far from attaining any sort of independence, as Mama had repeatedly claimed she would, for she knew her daughter almost as well as her daughter knew her, Constance would be entirely beholden. Papa had dismissed her pleas to include any personal allowance in the betrothal contract or even any widow's jointure, as a matter of detail, not wishing to risk asking for anything that might endanger the deal. Constance was effectively penniless. Worse in fact, because now that her trousseau was at the bottom of the sea, she was going to be starting out married life in debt to her husband for the very clothes on her back.

Just thinking about it made her anxious. What if she didn't please this stranger she was to marry? What if he disliked her? What if she disliked him? The very idea of pretending made her skin crawl. The fact that she would have to, that she would be expected to, that she would have no choice—that was the worst, the very worst part of it. She was twenty-five years old. She knew her own mind. She didn't want to get married. She never had. It was quite simple. She didn't want to do it. She really didn't want to do it.

But she had to, so there was no point in working herself up into a state. It had to be done. Though not quite yet, thank goodness. There would be no ship for months. Two months, perhaps three. Plenty of time for her to come up with a strategy to make the best of a bad lot. More than enough time. In fact, so much time she would be best putting it out of her mind entirely and turn her thoughts to more immediate concerns.

Such as the fascinating and enigmatic Prince of Murimon and the revelation that he wanted to kiss her. That he, Kadar, was engaged to be married. Constance could still not decide what to make of either fact. Or which was the most interesting to learn.

She knew absolutely nothing more than these stark facts, and since he had communicated with her only through brief dispatches since, she had had no opportunity to press him further. Mind you, she doubted very much that tactic would be successful. If he didn't want to talk about it, he would give her one of his looks. She had labelled them in her head. Number one, the Haughty Prince. Number two, the Mind Reader. Number three, the Sphynx. And then her two favourites. Number four, the Bone-Melter. And Number five, the Blood-Heater.

Kadar wanted to kiss her. Kadar would not kiss her because he was promised to another. And so was she. Was it sophistry to argue that such a kiss was permissible
because
it could mean nothing? Probably. Wouldn't she make a better wife if she knew how to kiss? Perhaps, though she couldn't pretend that she would be kissing Kadar for any other reason than that she wanted to kiss him. Which she did, despite knowing it was wrong of her, she really did. And he wanted to kiss her. If only he did not, it would be easier. She should be hoping that he had changed his mind. She would be fibbing if she told herself she hoped any such thing.

The sky above her was inky black, giving the brightest stars a bluish hue. With the moon so emaciated, and now that her vision was adjusted, she could see hundreds of distant pinpricks of light in addition to the main constellations. Libra, Scorpio and Sagittarius were all clearly defined tonight. As ever, looking up at all this celestial beauty, Constance was filled with a sense of wonder. She was one tiny being, on one tiny planet in a nebulae spinning at unimaginable speed through a vast universe filled with a myriad of other nebulae. All of this had existed for countless thousands of years, and would endure for thousands more to come.

In comparison, her lifetime was the mere blink of an eye. Her three months here in Arabia was too tiny a period to even register. Constance began to set up the telescope, making the necessary adjustments, deciding tonight to point it due south. She had better not waste a single moment. With a growing sense of excitement mingled with anticipation, she looked through the eyepiece and was instantly transported to the spellbinding creation that surrounded this little world.

* * *

The invitation to accompany Kadar on his early morning ride had been in her suite when she returned from her stargazing. The outfit which she wore for the occasion was perfectly suited for the purpose, consisting of a soft white sleeveless tunic under a long dark-red cotton coat with matching trousers. Her boots came up over her knees, the brown kid soft on her skin, the long pointed toes decorated with red stitching.

He had been waiting for her in the stables, had chosen for her mount the most beautiful Arabian mare she had ever seen. She rode astride like a man, there being no side-saddle available. It was a perfect morning, and she could not have asked for a more even-tempered equine companion. Above them, in the celestial blue of the early morning sky streaked with wispy cloud, the sun was pale gold, the air tangy with salt. As they reached the furthest edge of the long beach Constance reined in her mount. Kadar was already there, waiting. The sea was like liquid turquoise, breaking white onto the hard-packed golden sands, foaming around the legs of the steaming horses and pooling around an outcrop of rock. The shoreline was a cliff formed of the same ochre rock, the first trees which she had seen in the kingdom growing in neat rows further inland.

‘Olive trees,' Kadar said, in answer to her unspoken question. ‘They screen some of our precious crop-growing land from the salt and the winds coming in off the sea.'

‘It is so beautiful,' Constance said. ‘And this horse, she is so perfectly behaved. Whoever trained her is most skilled.'

‘She was bred in Bharym, as was my stallion. Rafiq, the prince of that country has the best stables in Arabia. I am fortunate enough to be one of the few men to whom he will sell his prized bloodstock.'

‘Does he sell only to his friends?'

‘He sells only to those he deems worthy to own and enjoy his precious horseflesh,' Kadar said, with a faint smile.

‘Ah.' Constance laughed. ‘I can see why he deems you worthy. You ride as if you were born in the saddle. I am extremely privileged to ride this beautiful creature.'

Kadar smiled. ‘Rafiq would approve of your horsemanship. My instincts told me you would know how to handle her. I was right.'

‘Thank you.'

‘The tide is far enough out this morning for us to venture around the headland,' Kadar said, ‘unless you have had enough?'

‘I don't think I could ever have a surfeit of this,' Constance replied. Sea, sky, sands, horse and man, any of it, she thought, following in his wake. Kadar's riding dress was similar to hers, consisting of plain cotton trousers and a tunic of blue-and-grey stripes. He sported long riding boots of black-kid leather. He sat perfectly upright in the saddle, holding the highly strung stallion with the careless-seeming ease of a naturally gifted horseman. His head was bare, his black silky hair dishevelled by the wind. Sweat made his thin tunic cling to his back, revealing the rippling muscles of his shoulders. For such a lean man, he was very powerfully built. He and the stallion were a perfect match.

The sea was receding further as they followed the headland, where the olive trees gave way to scrub on the cliff top, and the regular rush of the waves onto the sand quieted to a sigh. The mountains which Constance had spotted from the rooftop terrace yesterday came into view on the horizon now, and the cliff tops became more rugged in appearance. They turned sharply around the headland, and she gasped with delight at the perfect crescent of sand completely enclosed by the steep cliffs, a natural harbour formed by the outcrop they had just traversed, and an almost identical one on the other side of the bay.

‘What do you think of my special retreat?'

‘I am lost for words. Your country is so very, very beautiful. The light is magical. The blue sky, the azure sea, it is like living in a perfect picture. Everything here is so vivid, the colours so vibrant. So different from the muffled shades of grey so typical of England. It does something to the soul. Lifts the spirits.' She laughed, embarrassed. ‘I don't know what it does save that it makes me feel as if I am full of bubbles. I expect you think that is fanciful.'

‘I think that you reflect the scenery here,' Kadar replied. ‘Bright. Vivid. Alive.'

‘Oh.' Her cheeks heated. ‘Thank you,' Constance said, both flustered and ridiculously pleased.

He helped her down from the saddle, his hands light on her waist. She watched him as he hobbled the horses, seating herself in the shade of the cliffs which ringed the bay. Her boots were extremely comfortable, but her feet were hot inside them. She pulled them off, wriggling her toes into the deliciously cool damp sand, leaning back on her hands to enjoy the breeze on her face. When she opened her eyes, Kadar was standing over her, looking down at her bare toes. ‘I was hot,' she said, embarrassed, for she would never have dreamed of removing her shoes in company at home.

‘Yes,' he said, giving her his Sphynx look, and dropping onto the sand beside her, prepared to follow her lead.

His boots were much longer than hers. His calves rippled as he removed them. His skin was the colour of the golden sands darkened by the sea. His feet had a very high arch, like her own.

‘Tell me how your stargazing is coming along.'

A subject even more distracting than Kadar's feet! ‘I thought you'd never ask,' Constance said, smiling. ‘You're probably going to regret doing so.'

It was easy to be transported to the heavens, especially in the company of a man who shared her passion, and could plug several gaps in her knowledge. Finally, she forced herself to stop talking not because she had run out of words but because her mouth had run dry. ‘I did warn you,' she said.

Kadar was leaning back on his elbows. His hair was tousled by the wind. And he was smiling that special bone-melting smile. ‘I could not ask for a more diligent or enthusiastic court astronomer.'

‘You could, I suspect, easily obtain a far more learned one.'

‘Who would number the stars and plot their positions with mathematical precision. I much prefer your way of mapping the heavens. A night sky teeming with legends and mythological creatures. A romantic cosmos full of passion and wonder. I am very happy with my choice of court astronomer, thank you very much.'

He smiled again. Their gazes locked. He reached over to tuck her hair behind her ear. His fingers brushed the line of her scar. Her heart began to hammer. His fingers fluttered down her cheek, her neck, to rest at the pulse at the base of her throat. She surrendered to the urge to lean just a fraction closer, and he did the same. Shoulders touching. Legs. His breath on her cheek. She lifted her hand to his face, mirroring his touch, flattening her palm over the smoothness of his cheek, the roughness of his chin.

He dipped his head towards her. His lips were soft. His kiss was gentle. He tasted salty. She felt as if she was melting. Her fingers curled into the silky softness of his hair. She parted her lips for him, returning the pressure tentatively. Then he sighed. Lifted his head. Their hands dropped. Their bodies separated.

What had happened? Was that a kiss or wasn't it? How had it happened, when they had both been so clear that it could not? Constance stared out to sea, completely at a loss. ‘I don't understand it. I knew that I shouldn't, my mind knew it was wrong, but my body wanted...'