Читать книгу Historical Romance Books 1 – 4 - Marguerite Kaye - Страница 17
ОглавлениеAlone in her private dining room the next evening, Stephanie picked half-heartedly at the fragrant array of dishes set out in front of her and wished she could escape the somewhat oppressive atmosphere of the harem for a while. But unless she wished to pay another visit to the stables, she had nowhere to go. The huge palace was effectively out of bounds to her, without Rafiq’s express permission, and she wasn’t foolish enough to imagine that she could go for a walk alone in the desert after dark. Though that, she thought, wandering listlessly into the courtyard and gazing up at the stars, is what she would like to do.
Though she had not seen Rafiq since yesterday, he had obviously had words with Jasim. The Master of the Horse had taken himself off to the training grounds, and his absence had considerably eased the tension in the stables. Fadil had been apologetically co-operative, asking her quietly if she believed the measures would allow the Bharym horses to compete in the Sabr. Her answer in the affirmative had certainly expedited the implementation of her orders.
She was sitting on the edge of the fountain, gazing distractedly down into the darkened basin when Aida arrived, bringing with her the summons. Assuming that Rafiq wished her to report on progress, Stephanie picked up her notebook and was about to head for the door when the Mistress of the Harem stopped her. ‘Madam, you will surely wish to change first, prior to an audience with the Prince,’ she said, looking shocked.
* * *
Stephanie had changed, after a swift bath, into a clean tunic of mint-green, her hair tied back in a matching silk scarf. She had brown slippers on her feet. Aida was holding up the silk robe, the one in shades of pink that Stephanie had never worn, though she had tried it on privately one sleepless night, wandering around the courtyard, enjoying the caress of fine silk against her skin. It was a beautiful robe, and it was a very flattering one, but it was not a gown to be worn by a Royal Horse Surgeon, and she presumed it was in that capacity which Rafiq wished to speak to her. So she shook her head, told Aida not to wait up for her, knowing that her wishes would have no effect on the Mistress of the Harem, and followed obediently in the wake of the waiting guard.
She was not surprised to be taken to the Hall of Campaign, but she was very surprised to find it empty, and to be ushered through the door at the back of the chamber which led to the bathing pool. ‘Are you sure this was where you were to bring me?’
The guard nodded silently, and the door closed behind her. Alone, she made her way through the connecting corridor. Flambeaux had been lit around the pool in tall scones, the reflection of the flames dancing on the still waters. Rafiq had been sitting in his favourite spot, but he got to his feet when she arrived. He was dressed simply, in a white tunic. His hair was sleeked back, still damp from his bath.
Stephanie stopped just short of the covered terrace, opened her notebook and cleared her throat. ‘I am pleased to be able to report...’
‘I summoned you here in order to apologise.’
She stared at him blankly, her mind still on her report. ‘Whatever you said to Jasim has certainly paid dividends, he...’
‘...is a man one step from being summarily dismissed. While some of my sentiments were entirely justified,’ Rafiq said, ‘I should not have vented my anger and frustration on you.’
‘No, but it was a pertinent reminder—not that I needed one—that you are the Prince of Bharym, and that ultimately your word is law.’
‘You make me sound like a despot.’
‘You once told me you found my honesty refreshing.’
‘Refreshing, in the sense of a dowsing with ice-cold water from a mountain stream, on occasion,’ Rafiq said ruefully. ‘It is rather dishearteningly difficult for me to confess that I was wrong.’
‘You were not,’ Stephanie said, touching his arm. ‘As I said, you...’
‘No!’ He caught her hand, clasping it tightly. ‘No, I am sorry. And amidst all the fuss and commotion which Jasim created, amidst my quite unjustified fury at your putting an end to the daily business of the stud, I overlooked the single, most important point. Do you truly think that we can risk the race without infecting any of the other runners, Stephanie?’
She longed to promise him, but she could not bring herself to lie. ‘I cannot guarantee it, Rafiq.’
He laughed softly. ‘Of course you can’t. There is no accounting for the vagaries of nature.’
‘Exactly. But I do think there is hope. I think that the measures we have implemented stand a good chance of keeping the Sabr horses free from infection and therefore free to run in the race.’
He nodded several times, his lack of words making the depth of his feelings very clear. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s what you brought me here to do.’
He kissed her hand. ‘It is no excuse, but I find it difficult, at times, to distinguish between Stephanie and my Royal Horse Surgeon. When you quite rightly pointed out that I should have consulted you, rather than pay heed to Jasim, I was...’ He shrugged, shaking his head. ‘I could see I had hurt you, and I wouldn’t wish to harm a hair on your head.’
‘The important thing is that you showed faith in me.’ He was still holding her hand. ‘Rafiq, you are not the only one who has trouble distinguishing—may I ask if I am still talking to the Prince?’
‘The Prince has apologised to his Royal Horse Surgeon. The man wishes—hopes—to make it up to Stephanie. If she will allow him.’
Her mouth went dry. ‘What do you have in mind?’
‘I’ll show you,’ Rafiq said, kissing her hand again, and this time smiling at her wickedly. ‘This terrace, you know, was once known as the Pool of Nymphs. When the palace was first built, it was part of the original harem. The library was formerly the changing room for the hamam.’
He turned the key in the lock and ushered her in. ‘You may think it is luxurious now, but it was once fabulously ostentatious. Rich wall hangings, carpets from Persia, gold and silver embroidery on every cushion and covering, bone-china coffee cups and pots set with jewels. Would you like to see the next room?’
Stephanie nodded, intrigued and excited and just a little bit nervous. Rafiq opened the door into a small ante-room made entirely of white marble. ‘This is where one would disrobe before entering the tepidarium. Would you like to recreate that experience, Stephanie?’
Was he really suggesting they take a bath together? Naked. Rafiq naked. Now that was a very different proposition. She picked up the robe he handed her and retreated behind a screen.
When she emerged, clutching her robe to her body, Rafiq had also changed. His robe stopped just short of his calves. He had very elegant feet. Slim ankles. When he kissed her lightly, she was acutely conscious of their flesh, separated only by two thin layers of silk. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
She nodded, allowing him to lead her into the next room. The tepidarium was not, as she had assumed, an actual bath house. It was a white marble room set out with more divans, the marble cool underfoot.
When he kissed her again, she closed the gap between them. Their tongues touched. He cupped her bottom, pulling her closer. Her hands slipped and slid on the silk of his robe as she flattened her palms on his back. When they broke the kiss, his robe was gaping, giving her a glimpse of the swell of his pectoral muscles, the rough smattering of hair which covered his chest.
‘Another step further?’ he asked.
‘Onwards and upwards,’ Stephanie agreed readily.
Steam billowed out of the next room as Rafiq opened the door, obscuring her view at first. She stumbled forward. He caught her arm. The door closed. The steam cleared.
‘The Great Bathing Chamber,’ he announced.
They were in a room with a high cupola lit by what looked like stars, though they must be lanterns of some sort, covering the whole dome, like a night sky. There were more lights set into the outer walls. No windows. The steam hissed gently from gaps between the marble tiles underfoot. The marble here was not white, but veined with grey and black. Around the walls were basins. Slim marble pillars supported the cupola’s arches, forming a circle in the centre of the chamber. And here stood the bath, a massive star-shaped construction edged with marble so wide it formed ledges, the bath itself a much smaller pool in the centre. There were other marble tables too, beside each of the fountains, and around the walls, benches had been inset.
She was very hot. Rafiq’s robe was clinging to him. She could see the dark circles of his nipples. Looking down, she saw that her robe too was clinging, that her nipples were not only visible but quite obviously pert. And Rafiq had noticed too. His cheeks were flushed too. ‘Onwards,’ Stephanie said, pulling him to her.
They kissed slowly, lingeringly. He led her to the back of the room, to a large, low table draped with a sheet. Another kiss, this time as steamy, as languorous as the atmosphere in the bathing chamber, before he lifted her on to the table.
‘What are you doing?’
Rafiq untied the sash of her robe. ‘I am making it up to you. Apologising. Actions,’ he said, sliding her robe from her shoulders, ‘I have found, speak much louder than words.’
He cupped her breast, his thumbs caressing the hard peaks of her nipples. Stephanie was a mass of fluttering, tingling nerves, wild with anticipation and at the same time drugged by the heat.
She tugged the sash of his robe open, eyeing him blatantly as the garment slithered to his feet and he stood naked before her. His skin was damp, glistening with sweat. His muscles rippled as he breathed. He was already fully aroused. She ran her finger along his length. Satin smooth.
He kissed her, easing her down on to the table. And then, when she thought he would join her, he rolled her on to her stomach. ‘My turn to act,’ Rafiq whispered. ‘Your only requirement is to enjoy the results.’
* * *
She looked so luscious spread before him on the table that Rafiq struggled to control himself. The lovely curve of her spine, the indent of her waist, the delightful swell of her buttocks, the intriguing shadow between her legs, he wanted to kiss every inch of her, to lose himself in her.
He picked up the glass vial of precious oil, gently eased her legs apart, and knelt between them. The oil fell, drop by delicate drop, along the ridge of her spine. He applied it in sweeping motions, working along her shoulders first, where the muscles were tensest and strongest. Her breath came in little whispering gasps. He leant over her, his chest brushing against her back, the oil sleek between them. He kissed her nape. He nipped the lobe of her ear. She whimpered.
More oil was applied, and he worked his fingers down the knots of her spine. A strong back. She was not soft, though she was becoming delightfully pliant under his kneading, stroking, sweeping, touch. And down, to the twin mounds of her buttocks, the flesh yielding, her shape so perfectly feminine. Up, sliding his hands up her sides, his fingers brushing her breasts, then down again. When he leaned over, his shaft nestled against that perfect rear. The sweetest torture. Up, slid his hands, his palms flat, and then down. He sat back. He dripped more oil on the base of her spine, working it into the little creases at the tops of her legs, easing her further apart, to slide down the soft flesh of her inner thighs, making her moan, her moan making his member throb, the responsive arching of her body giving him a tantalising glimpse of her sex.
Down, his hands slid, from her thighs to her knees, to her slim ankles, then up again. The flesh at the backs of her knees was tender. He kissed it. Slid his hands back up again, his mouth resting on the base of her spine, a soft kiss there, the distinctive perfume of her arousal almost too much to bear, her little moans and whimpers constant now, her hands curled into the sheet. His fingers slid so easily into her. She tightened around him. She said his name, pleading with him in that smoky tone that was like nothing he had ever heard, pushing against his fingers, forcing them deeper inside her.
But he wanted to give her more. He slid his hand out, down her thighs again, then back up her bottom, before easing her on to her back. It was almost too much. Her eyes glazed with passion. Her nipples dark peaks. Those auburn curls between her legs. And her sex, inviting him, tempting him.
She said his name again. He used the sheet to pull her body towards him, standing between her legs. He leaned over to kiss her. Her breasts on his chest, nothing muscled here about her, she was all soft, lush woman. Another taste of her lips, and then another kiss, of a very different sort, between her legs, that made her cry out.
He stilled her, his oiled hands on her hips, his mouth on her sex, willing her to hold on, wanting to taste her, to savour her. Slowly, he licked her, teasing, coaxing, taking her to the brink and then stopping, holding her, stilling her, before starting again, sliding his fingers into her equally slowly, allowing her to hold him before easing back out, until he knew she could not hold on any longer, and he licked into her purposefully, feeling her swell and harden under his tongue, tighten around his fingers, until her climax rocketed through her, her wild cries, the deep pulsing inside her, almost setting him over the edge.
One last deep kiss, and he let her go, picking up his sodden robe and draping it around himself, before he helped her up, draping her robe around her shoulders, kissing her softly on the lips.
‘I will leave you now, for I believe I have reached the limits of my self-control,’ he said. ‘Enjoy the hamam bath.’
‘But what are you going to do?’
‘I am going to jump into the ice-cold water of the Pool of Nymphs.’
* * *
The hamam bath was deep, the waters hot, burbling from little jets. Stephanie lay back, closing her eyes and enjoying the sensation of the water pummelling her body. She let her mind drift, reliving the sensations of Rafiq’s hands on her, his mouth, his tongue. And that most intimate of kisses. She could never ever have imagined such a thing.
Opening her eyes, she gazed up at the twinkling lights in the cupola. She could admit now that she had lain awake last night, fretting. She could admit now that she was vastly relieved to have relations restored between them, and in such a delightful way. She could admit now that Rafiq’s opinion of her mattered a great deal.
More than it ought. Her insides did a strange somersault. Stephanie sat up. She had better be careful. She had better be very, very careful. Forcing herself out of the soporific warmth of the bath, she decided that a harsh dose of reality was required. Wrapping one of the huge drying sheets from a shelf in the tepidarium around her, she made her way back outside to the Pool of Nymphs. It was almost pitch dark, for the flambeaux had burned out, and the only light came from a hazy moon. The greeny-blue waters were perfectly still. Casting off the drying sheet, she plunged in.
The water was icy compared to the heat of the bath. The pool was much deeper than she expected. She emerged from it coughing, splashing, her hair plastered over her face, and with difficulty managed to reach the safety of the steps, where her scrambling was assisted by a strong pair of arms.
The scream died in her throat when she realised it was Rafiq. ‘What are you doing here? I assumed I was alone.’
He wrapped her in the drying sheet, guiding her to the cushions in the gloom of the terrace. ‘I was lying under the stars enjoying the sense of solitude. Does that sound strange to you, a prince who wants occasionally to escape his responsibilities?’
She shook her head, then realised that Rafiq wouldn’t be able to see her. ‘If you mean can I understand that you must sometimes feel both your duty to rule and this palace suffocating, then, yes, I can. There are so many rooms, and every one of them with a different defined purpose. The Hall of Campaign. The Royal Receiving Room. The Banqueting Chamber. The guards’ quarters. The menservants’ quarters. The harem. A place for everyone, and a guard to ensure that everyone is kept firmly in their place.’
She sensed from his stillness that she had upset him. ‘Including you?’ he asked.
‘I am not at all ungrateful Rafiq. I am living in the lap of luxury in this palace. I am eating the most wonderful food. My clothes are laundered for me, my bath is run for me—it is wonderful, but—oh, I don’t know. It’s that horrid locked harem door, more than anything. That little grille which Aida peers through. And the armed guard outside.’
‘The harem is locked and guarded in order to protect the privacy and virtue of those within it.’
‘I know. And it’s a tradition that is thousands of years old, and I truly am not meaning to sound like one of those awful people who visit foreign countries only to deride the customs. It is just that I am not accustomed to it, and I never could be, no matter how luxurious. I can’t help thinking that it must have seemed like a gilded cage to a nomadic Bedouin like the Princess Elmira.’
The moment the words were out, she wished them unsaid. The air between them seemed to freeze. ‘What have you heard?’
‘Nothing.’ Stephanie shifted on her cushion, but it was so dark now, she could make out only his silhouette. ‘I only meant that as a Bedouin, accustomed to roaming the desert, it must have been an enormous change for her.’
‘Too much of one.’
His voice cracked. Horrified Stephanie fumbled for his hand. ‘Rafiq, I didn’t mean to upset you. I’m so sorry.’
He shook himself free and got to his feet. ‘I recall telling you, here on this very terrace, that I do not care to talk about the past.’
Stephanie scrambled up, tripping over the drying sheet. ‘I’ve talked about my past with you. It was painful, and I was terrified that you would judge me harshly, but—but you helped me see it in a different light. You helped me put it behind me. So don’t you think...?’
‘No.’ Unlike Stephanie, Rafiq seemed to have the night vision of a predator. He steadied her with his hands on her shoulders. ‘There is only one thing which will allow me to put my past behind me.’
‘The Sabr,’ she said, not because she understood, but because it seemed to be the answer to everything.
‘The Sabr,’ Rafiq said heavily. ‘My only route to atonement.’ His grip on her tightened. His lips were cool on her forehead and then he was gone, his shadow merging with the night.
Stephanie shivered. Inside the library, the lanterns still burned. She dressed hurriedly in the changing room, and brought one of the lanterns back out to the terrace. Was there a group of servants responsible solely for the palace lighting? There must be a great many of them. It must be a very tedious occupation.
She sat down on Rafiq’s cushion, shaking her head to clear it. Rafiq wanted to win the Sabr for his people. He wanted to win it to restore his family name. She understood both of those things, but what had he meant when he said it would allow him to put his past behind him, to atone? It made no sense.
She furrowed her brow, trying to recall exactly what had been said before this strange declaration. Elmira. He had once again been refusing to talk about Elmira, but what could Elmira have to do with the Sabr? Poor Elmira, who had died in her sleep two years ago. Elmira who, according to Jasim, paid the price for contaminating the stables with her presence. What heinous crime had she committed to force Rafiq to take Jasim’s side against his own wife?
It was cold. The sky was dark, a layer of black cloud blanketing the stars and the moon. Rafiq couldn’t have made it clearer that whatever atonement the Sabr represented, he would not confide in her. It hurt a little, but it was another apposite reminder. There were boundaries she must not cross, had no right to cross. She must not confuse the physical intimacy between them with anything more profound.
Picking up the lantern, with a silent apology to the servant who would discover it missing in the morning, Stephanie left the Pool of Nymphs and headed reluctantly back to her own luxurious prison quarters in the harem.
* * *
Rafiq sat alone at the second of the four Sabr marker towers. He could hear Nura, the chestnut mare he had ridden out, snickering softly to herself, though the night was too dark to see her. Black cloud covered the moon and the stars, but he did not need his eyes to sense the desert that surrounded him. The vastness of it never failed to fill him with awe. He leant back against the cool stone of the Sabr post, rubbing his eyes. He had intended to come out here to think only of Stephanie, to relive those charged moments in the hamam, but Stephanie had unwittingly conjured Elmira’s ghost. The two women were so very different. When he was with Stephanie, he had a taste of his future, free of guilt. He didn’t want to think of Elmira when he was with her. He didn’t want to make any sort of connection between them.
But Stephanie had made it all the same. A gilded cage, she had called the harem. Rafiq dropped his head into his hands, groaning with despair. Guilt descended on him like a carrion crow, doubts, like the predator’s vicious talons, picking at his conscience. So consumed he had been by his dream of restoring the Sabr, he had not listened, had not attempted to understand the consequences of his inaction and subsequent overreaction, until it was too late.
The clouds were beginning to clear. A single star appeared, and then another, and another, and the silver scimitar-like half-moon lit the desert, casting a shadow over the Sabr marker. It was too late for recriminations. Too late for regrets. Too late to wish it all undone. Too late for anything, save atonement.
Getting to his feet, he reverently kissed the stone of the Sabr post. The time had come to seize the day, be bold and act. Stephanie had shown him the way. Rafiq leaned against the marker, closing his eyes. Tonight had once again been like no other he could remember. It made him wonder how it would be when finally their bodies were truly united.
He hadn’t liked being at odds with her, though it had taken him a good many hours to accept that it was this, and not Jasim’s behaviour which troubled him. Stephanie’s opinions had come to matter a good deal to him. She had forced him to accept he was human, capable of misjudgements. She was not his conscience, but she was rapidly becoming his touchstone. Who would fulfil that function when she was gone?
He did not need to think about that yet, because Stephanie would be here for a good few months more. Calling to his horse, Rafiq rode out into the dark desert night.
* * *
Stephanie shifted uncomfortably on the high saddle of her camel. The promise of a visit to a Bedouin horse fair had been too exciting to resist, though she had resisted, until Fadil had promised he would summon her immediately if any new case of infection arose. It was now more than a week since her precautions had been fully implemented, almost three weeks since the last case, so there were grounds for optimism. There was also the fact that since the hamam ten days ago, she had not had the opportunity to be alone with Rafiq.
Not that they were alone now. For the last hour, the desert trail they had been following had been crowded with camels, horses, mules and even men trudging along on foot. The surface consisted of hard-packed mud studded with jagged boulders and pockets of soft, sinking sand, which forced her camel to perform an occasional disconcerting ungainly curtsy, casting Stephanie forward in the saddle, a motion which the camel took great exception to, throwing his head back and expelling a cloud of his foul breath. She had never been so glad of the keffiyeh protecting her face.
‘Is it much further?’ she asked, manoeuvring her grumpy ship of the desert closer to Rafiq’s own mount.
He shook his head. ‘I promise you, it is worth it.’
She could tell by the way his eyes crinkled that he was laughing at her. ‘It had better be.’
A few moments later, they crested a hill, and she forgot all her aches and pains at the sight which greeted her in the valley below. There were hundreds of tents, rows and rows of them, every one seemingly identical, black and conical in shape. Smoke from the many cooking pots cast a pall over the encampment. The noise of children’s laughter echoed, mingling with the brays of mules and camels, the whinnies of horses. There were horses everywhere, some tethered by the tents, but the majority on long ropes attached to huge poles in the clearing in front of the tented village.
‘Those are the horses to be sold at the fair,’ Rafiq told her, edging them both to one side, away from the crowd.
‘An auction?’
‘It’s a little more complicated than that. Fortunately, I will have time to explain. The Bedouin have very strict rules of etiquette. If I were acting as host today, I would be required to attend a number of audiences, which must be held in strict order of importance, with the various Sheikhs—bearing gifts, naturally. But we are outside Bharym’s boundaries here, we crossed into the kingdom of Nessarah an hour ago, and my time is my own.’
‘I had no idea that there would be so many tents.’
‘There will be several tribes here today. The horse fair happens only twice a year in this part of Arabia, rarely in the same location. We are fortunate that it is so close to home this year.’
‘Are we likely to meet...?’ Stephanie hesitated. She did not want to spoil the mood, but it was an obvious question, wasn’t it? ‘Princess Elmira’s family...will they be here?’
‘I believe not.’
Did that mean he had checked? Because he wanted to meet them, or because he wanted to avoid them? His tone was carefully neutral. His expression was the one she thought of as princely, his lids languidly heavy, not a trace of emotion to be detected, not because it was lacking, but because Rafiq was being careful to disguise it.
‘What about the tribe who raised you as a boy?’
‘They travelled very far north from here some years ago, though I have heard word of them through the other tribes many times over the years. They did not raise me, Stephanie. I lived with them for periods of time in order to learn the ways of the desert.’
‘Oh, I thought when you said—I thought it was all of the time.’
‘You misunderstood. It was no different from the practice of the English aristocracy, to hand the care of their children to a governess or tutor who is expert in certain subjects, or to send their sons to school.’
‘If I had a child, I would not wish to hand him into anyone else’s care. Not that the occasion will ever arise.’
‘You have no desire for children?’
She could tell him it was none of his business, but his determination to disguise his own emotions riled her. She would not pretend. ‘I have always wanted children, lots of them, but now that is not to be. I wish I had had brothers and sisters. Though there were always lots of other children in the camp to play with, it wasn’t the same.’
‘I am sorry, I did not mean to upset you. I should not have asked.’
‘Rafiq, of course I find the subject upsetting, but I am not like you. I don’t want you to change the subject.’
‘Then what do you want?’
‘I want to know if you would like children. I want to know if you would have liked to have sisters and brothers.’ She was in danger of spoiling the day, and she had looked forward to it so much, but she couldn’t stop herself. ‘I’m tired of all the taboos you place on our conversation, Rafiq.’
‘What, by all the stars, are you talking about? I thought we had a very clear understanding between us.’
He was right. As far as he was concerned, he was sticking to the rules. It was unfair of her to expect him to comply when she tried to bend them a little. And it was wrong of her to try, because it was those very rules which protected them both. ‘We do,’ Stephanie said dejectedly. ‘I just wish occasionally you would trust me enough to let me glimpse behind the impenetrable cloak you use to shield your emotions. I would like to understand and, I suppose, be understood. But I am being illogical. Please let us forget it, and enjoy the day.’
‘You are contrary, often contradictory but never illogical.’
She was forced to laugh. ‘Thank you.’
‘Only you would take such a remark as a compliment. You are quite unique, Stephanie, and that is what makes you so special.’
‘Oh.’ The tears rose too suddenly for her to catch the first one as it trickled down her cheek.
‘Are you upset because I did not mention your skills as a veterinarian?’
His smile made her feel like the sun had come out, which was preposterous, because the sun was ever present here in Arabia. ‘I’m crying because that is the nicest thing that anyone has ever said to me.’
‘I wish very much that I could kiss those tears away.’
‘I very much wish that you could, Rafiq, but we are in the full gaze of half of Arabia.’
‘Then later tonight,’ he said.
‘It will be more like morning, by the time we ride back after the fair.’
‘The sentiment, not the hour, is what matters,’ Rafiq said. ‘Now, let us join the fair. It would be sensible to keep your face covered, as it will be very dusty. Also, although English visitors are not unknown here, for the quality of the bloodstock attracts buyers from across the world, you will attract a good deal less attention if you are veiled.’
