Читать книгу Postcards From Paris - Sarah Mayberry - Страница 15

CHAPTER FIVE

ZAHIR STARED AT the young woman at the far end of the table—the European princess who was soon to be his bride. Something he was still desperately struggling to come to terms with. He had no idea who she was, not really. Earlier, when she’d talked about the press attention she’d received over the years, his blood had run cold in his veins. But fear about her morals had swiftly changed to the urge to protect her, his whole person affronted that she should ever have been subjected to such assaults. Because deep down some instinct told him that Princess Annalina was vulnerable and certainly not a woman who would give away her favours easily. Which was odd, when you thought about the way they had met.

She was certainly regal. From the fine bones of her face to the dainty set of her shoulders and the elegant, refined posture. Her hands, he noticed, were particularly delicate, long, slender fingers and pink nails devoid of nail varnish. They looked as if they had never done a day’s work in their life. They probably hadn’t.

He looked down at his own hands. A warrior’s hands. No longer calloused from combat—he hadn’t gripped a dagger or curled his finger around the trigger of a gun for over two years now—they were nevertheless stained with the blood of war and always would be. They had been around the throat of too many of his enemies ever to be washed clean—had been used to pull lifeless bodies out caves that had become subterranean battlegrounds, or recover corpses shrivelling in the scorching heat of the desert with the vultures circling overhead.

His hands had closed the eyelids of far too many young men.

And now... Could such hands ever expect to run over the fair skin of the woman before him? Would that be right? Permissible? They wanted to, that was for certain. They itched, burned even, with longing to feel the softness of her pale flesh beneath their fingertips, to be able to trace the contours of her slender body, to travel over the hollow of her waist, the swell of her breasts. They longed to explore every part of her body.

Feeling his eyes on her, Annalina looked up and smiled at him from her end of the table.

‘This is delicious.’ She indicated the half-eaten plate of food before her with the fork in her hand. ‘Lovely and spicy. What’s the meat, do you suppose?’

Zahir glanced down at his plate, already scraped clean, as if seeing it for the first time. Food was just fuel to him, something to be grateful for but to be consumed as fast as possible, before it was covered in flies or snatched away by a hungry hound. It was certainly not a subject he ever discussed, nor wanted to.

‘Goat, I believe.’ He levelled dark eyes at her.

‘Oh.’ That perfect pink mouth puckered in surprise then pursed shut, her fork left to rest on her plate.

He stifled a smile. Obviously goat was not something she was accustomed to eating. No doubt Annalina was more used to seeing them grazing prettily in wildflower meadows than having them stewed and presented before her in a bowl of couscous. She knew nothing of the ways of this country, he realised, and the smile was immediately replaced with the more familiar scowl.

Had he been wrong to insist that she marry him, to bring her to this foreign land and expect her to be able to fit in, play the role of his wife? It was a huge undertaking to ask of anyone, let alone someone as fragile-looking as her. And yet he already knew that there was more to Annalina than her flawless beauty might suggest. She was strong-willed and she was brave. It had taken real guts to refuse to marry his brother, to stand on that bridge and do whatever she thought it took to get her out of that marriage. To kiss a total stranger. A kiss that still burned on his lips.

It had all backfired, of course. She had leapt straight from the frying pan into the fire, finding herself shackled to him instead. He was nothing like his brother, it was true. But, in terms of a husband, had Annalina made the right choice? Would she have been better sticking with the relative calm of Rashid, his particular demons regulated by carefully prescribed medication?

Or Zahir, whose demons still swirled inside him, drove him on, made him the man he was. Power, control and the overwhelming desire to do the best for his country was the only therapy he could tolerate.

He didn’t know, but either way it was too late now. The choice had been made. They were both going to have to live with it.

‘I hope I haven’t spoiled your appetite?’ The food, he noticed, had now been abandoned, Annalina’s slender hand gripping the stem of her glass as she took a sip of wine, then another.

‘No, it’s not that.’ She gave an unconvincing smile. ‘It’s actually quite filling.’

‘Then, if you have finished, perhaps you would like to be served coffee somewhere more comfortable.’

‘Um, yes, that sounds a good idea.’ She touched a napkin to her lips. ‘Where were you thinking of?’

‘I will take mine in my quarters, but there are any number of seating areas in the palace that are suitable for relaxation. The courtyards are very pleasant too, though they will be chilly at this time of night.’

‘I’m sure.’ She fiddled with a tendril of hair that had escaped the swept-up style. ‘Actually, I think I will join you.’ There was determination in her voice, but vulnerability too, as if she might easily crack or splinter if challenged. ‘I would like to see your quarters.’

Zahir stilled, something akin to panic creeping over him. He hadn’t intended to invite her to his rooms. Far from it. By suggesting that they took their coffee elsewhere, he had been trying to escape from her. Which begged the question, why? Why would he, a man who would take on a band of armed insurgents with the bravery of a thousand warriors combined, be frightened by the thought of sharing a cup of coffee with this young woman? It was ridiculous.

Because he didn’t know how to behave around her, that was why. This relationship had been thrust upon him so suddenly that he hadn’t had time to figure out how to make it work, how to control it. And being around Annalina only seemed to make the task more difficult. Rather than clarifying the situation, she seemed to mess with his judgement. He found himself torn two ways—one side warning that he must be on his guard, and watch over this wayward princess like a hawk to make sure she didn’t try to abscond, while the other side was instructing him to take her to his bed and make her his, officially.

The latter was a tempting prospect for sure. And the way she was looking at him now, eyes shining brightly as she held his gaze, her hands steepled under her chin, fingertips grazing her lips, it would take all his self-control not to give in to it. But control it he would, because control was something he prided himself on. More than that, something he ruled his life by, using it both to drive himself on and deny himself pleasure. Because pleasure was nothing but an indulgence, a form of weakness, a slippery slope that led down to the bowels of hell. That he had discovered to his cost with the most tragic of results: the murder of his parents.

On the eve of his country’s independence he had been in a rowdy bar, watching, if not actually participating, as his brave comrades had celebrated their tremendous victory with flowing alcohol and loose women. He had been relaxed, enjoying himself, accepting the accolades, full of pride for what he had achieved. And all the time, a few hundred miles away, his parents were being murdered, a knife being drawn across their throats. A tragedy that he would never, ever begin to forgive himself for.

But that didn’t stop the weight of lust in his groin grow heavier by the second, spreading its traitorous warmth through his body as he stared back at Annalina’s open, inviting face. He had no idea why she was looking at him in that way. The workings of a woman’s mind were a complete mystery to him, and not something he had ever thought he would care to concern himself with. But now he found he longed to know what was going on behind those eyes that were glazed perhaps a little too brightly—found that he would pay good money to find out what was going through that clever, complicated mind of hers.

‘I doubt you will find anything remotely interesting about my quarters.’

‘You will be in them. That’s interesting enough for me.’

There she went again, throwing him a curveball, messing with his head. Was she flirting with him? Was that what this was? Zahir had experienced flirting before. His position of power, not to mention his dark good looks, meant he had had his fair share of female attention over the years. Most, but not all, of which he had totally ignored. He was a red-blooded male, after all. Occasionally he would allow himself to slake his thirst. But that was all it had ever been. No emotion, no attachment and certainly no second-guessing what the object of his attentions might be thinking. The way he found himself puzzling now.

‘Very well. If you insist.’ Summoning one of the hovering waiting staff with a wave of his hand, he gave his orders then, walking round to the back of Annalina’s chair, he waited as she rose to her feet. ‘If you would like to follow me.’

Setting off at a rapid pace, he found he had to moderate his step in order for Annalina to keep up. She trotted along beside him, her heels clicking on the marble floors, looking around her as if trying to memorise the route back in case she should need to escape. Zahir found himself regretting his decision to allow her into his rooms more and more with every forceful footstep. No woman, other than the palace staff, had ever been in his chambers. There had been no need for it. There was no need for it now. Why had he ever agreed to let this woman invade his personal space?

By the time they had negotiated the labyrinth of corridors and he was inserting the key into the lock of his door, Zahir’s mood had blackened still further.

‘You lock your door?’ Waiting beside him, Annalina looked up in surprise.

‘Of course. Security is of paramount importance.’

‘Even in your own palace? There are guards everywhere. Do you not trust them to protect your property?’

‘Trust no one and you will not be disappointed.’ Zahir pushed hard on the heavy door with the palm of his hand.

‘Oh, Zahir, that’s such a depressing ideology!’ Annalina attempted a throwaway laugh but it fell, uncaught, to the ground.

‘Depressing it may be.’ He stood back to let her enter. ‘But I know it to be true.’

Taking in a deep breath, Anna stepped over the threshold. This was not going well. Maybe it had been a mistake to ask to accompany Zahir to his quarters. It had certainly done nothing to improve his mood. The resolve she had had at the start of the evening, to sit down and talk, try to get to know him a bit, discuss their future, had been severely tested during the course of the torturous meal. Every topic of conversation she had tried to initiate had either been met with cool disregard or monosyllabic answers.

All except one. When she had mentioned his parents, tried to tell him how sorry she was to hear of their tragic death, the look on Zahir’s face had been terrifying to behold, startling her with its volcanic ferocity. It was clear that subject was most definitely off-limits.

But, where their future was concerned, she had to persevere. She needed to find out what was expected of her, what her role would be. And, more importantly, she needed to tell Zahir about herself, her shameful secret. Before it was too late. Which was why at the end of the meal she had fought against every instinct to turn tail and run to the safety of her bed and had persuaded him to bring her here. And why she found herself being welcomed into his spartan quarters with the all the enthusiasm that would have been given to a jester at a funeral.

For spartan it certainly was. In stark contrast to the rest of the palace, the room she was ushered into was small and dimly lit, with bare floorboards and a low ceiling. There was very little furniture, just a low wooden table and a makeshift seating area covered with tribal rugs.

‘As I said.’ Briefly following her gaze, Zahir moved to put the key in the lock on this side. He didn’t turn it, Anna noticed with relief. ‘There is nothing to see here.’

‘Something doesn’t have to be all glitz and glamour for it to be interesting, you know.’ She purposefully took several steps into the room and, placing her hands on her hips, looked around her, displaying what she hoped was a suitably interested expression. ‘How many rooms do you have here?’

‘Three. This room, an office and a bedroom. Plus a bathroom, of course. I find that to be perfectly adequate.’

‘Is this the bedroom?’ Nervous energy saw her stride over to an open door in the corner of the room and peer in. In the near darkness she could just about make out the shape of a small bed, low to the ground, rugs scattered on the bare boards of the floor.

So this was where he slept. Anna pictured him, gloriously naked beneath the simple covers of this bed. He was so vital, so very much alive, that it was hard to imagine him doing anything as normal as sleeping. But she wouldn’t allow herself to imagine him doing anything else. At least, not with anyone else.

‘You obviously don’t go in for luxuries here.’

‘I do not. The basics are all I need. I find anything else is just an unwanted distraction.’

As was she, no doubt. Anna tamped down the depressing thought. ‘So why build a palace like this, then? What’s the point?’

‘Medira Palace is for the people, a symbol of the power and wealth of Nabatean, something that they can look upon with pride. I may not choose to indulge in its luxuries, but it’s not about me. The palace will be here for many generations after I have gone. And, besides, it’s not just my home. My brother lives here too, as of course will you.’

‘Yes.’ Anna swallowed.

‘You have no need to worry.’ Zahir gave a harsh laugh. ‘I don’t expect you to share these chambers. You may have the pick of the rooms of the palace, as many and as grand as you wish.’

‘And what about you? Will you be giving up these chambers and coming to live in splendour with me?’

‘I will not.’ Zahir’s reply was as bleak as it was damning. What did that mean—that they would inhabit different parts of the palace? That they would live totally separate lives, be man and wife in name only? A knock on the door meant that Anna had to keep this deeply depressing thought to herself for the time being, as a servant bearing a tray of coffee saved Zahir from further questioning. Bending down, she settled herself as best she could on the low seating area, tucking her legs under her before reaching to accept her cup of coffee from the silent servant. It was impossible to get comfortable in her high-heeled shoes so, with her coffee cup balanced in one hand, she took them off with the other, pairing them neatly on the floor beside her. For some reason they suddenly looked ridiculously out of place, like twin sirens in the stark masculinity of this room.

Raising her eyes, Anna saw that Zahir was staring at them too, as if thinking the same thing. She was relieved when he roughly pulled off his own soft leather shoes and sat down beside her.

‘So your brother.’ She decided to opt for what she hoped was a slightly safer topic of conversation, but as she felt Zahir stiffen beside her she began to wonder. ‘You say he lives here in the palace and yet I haven’t seen any sign of him.’

‘There is no reason for you to have seen him, as he occupies the east wing. Given the circumstances, I doubt that either of you are going to deliberately seek each other out.’

‘Well, no.’ Annalina pouted slightly. ‘Having said that, I don’t believe he wished to marry me any more than I did him.’

She waited, pride almost wishing that Zahir would contradict her, tell her that of course Rashid had wanted to marry her, ‘what man wouldn’t?’.

Instead there was only a telling silence as Zahir drank the contents of his coffee cup in one gulp then reached for the brass pot to refill it.

‘There is some truth in that.’ Avoiding her gaze, he eventually spoke.

Being right had never felt less rewarding. Drawing in a breath, Anna decided to ask the question that had been niggling her ever since she had first set eyes on Rashid Zahani. ‘Can I ask...about Rashid... Is there some sort of medical problem?’

That spun Zahir’s head in her direction, the dark eyes flashing dangerously beneath the thick, untidy eyebrows. So close now, Anna could see the amber flecks that radiated from the black pupils, glowing as if they were just about to burst into flames.

‘So what are you saying? That anyone who doesn’t want to marry you must have some sort of mental deficiency?’ Scorn singed the edges of his words.

‘No, I just...’

‘Because if so you have a very high, not to say misguided, opinion of yourself.’

‘That’s not fair!’ Colour rushed to flush Anna’s cheeks, heating her core as indignation and embarrassment took hold. ‘That’s not what I meant and you know it.’

‘Well, that’s what it sounded like.’ He looked away and she was left staring at his harsh profile, at the muscle that twitched ominously beneath the stubble of his cheek. There was silence as she battled to control the mixed emotions rioting inside her, as she waited for her skin to cool down.

‘My brother has some personal issues to overcome.’ Finally Zahir spoke again, leaning forward to replace his cup on the table. ‘He suffers from anxiety due to a trauma he suffered and this can affect his mood. He just needs time, that’s all. When the right person is found, he will marry and produce a family. Of that I am certain.’

‘Of course.’ Anna was not going to make the mistake of questioning that statement, even if secretly she had her doubts. There was something about Rashid that she found very unnerving. On the plane journey here she had looked up to see him staring at her in a very peculiar way, almost as if he was looking right through her. ‘But does Rashid not get to choose his own wife? You make it sound as if he has no say in the matter.’

‘Like me, you mean?’ The eyes swung back, lingering this time, tracing a trail over her sensitised skin, across her cheekbones and down her nose, until they rested on her lips. Anna felt their burn as vividly as if she had been touched by a flame.

‘And me too.’ She just about managed to croak out the words of defiance, even though her heart had gone off like a grenade inside her.

‘Indeed.’ Something approaching empathy softened his voice. ‘We are all victims of circumstance to a greater or lesser extent.’

Greater—definitely greater in her case. To marry this man, tie herself for ever to this wild, untamed, warrior, had meant taking the biggest leap of faith in her life. But Anna didn’t regret it. In the same way as some inner sense had told her that she could never have married Rashid Zahani, it now filled her with nervous excitement at the thought of marrying his brother. Excitement, exhilaration and terror all rolled into one breathtaking surge of adrenaline. But there was worry too—worry that maybe once Zahir knew all the facts he might no longer want to marry her. She was beginning to realise just how devastating that would be. Because she wanted Zahir. In every sense of the word. Drawing in a shaky breath, she decided she was going to have to just plunge in.

‘About our marriage, Zahir.’ She watched the play of his muscles across his back as he leant forward to refill his coffee cup again. ‘There are things we need to discuss.’

‘I’ve told you. I will leave all the arrangements to you. I have neither the time nor the interest to get involved.’

‘I’m not talking about the arrangements.’

‘What, then?’ He settled back against the cushions, his eyes holding hers with a piercing intensity that made her feel like a specimen butterfly being pinned to a board.

She shifted nervously to make sure she still could. ‘We need to talk about what sort of marriage it will be.’

‘The usual, I imagine.’

‘And what exactly does that mean?’ Irritation and helplessness spiked her voice. ‘There is nothing usual about this marriage, Zahir. From the fact that I have been swapped from one brother to another, to your disclosure just now that we won’t be sharing the same rooms. None of it fits the term usual.’

Zahir gave that infuriating shrug, as if none of it was of any consequence to him.

‘Will you expect us to have full marital relations, for example?’ She blurted out the question before she had time to phrase it properly, using language that sounded far more clinical than she felt. But maybe that was a good thing.

‘Of course.’ His straightforward answer, delivered in that raw, commanding voice and coupled with the burn of amber in those hooded eyes, had the peculiar effect of melting something inside of Anna, fusing her internal organs until she was aware of nothing but a deep pulse somewhere low down in her abdomen. It was a feeling so extraordinary, so remarkable, that she found she wanted to hold on to it, capture it, before it slipped away for ever.

Zahir intended that they should have sex. That in itself was hardly surprising, considering that they were going to be man and wife. Why had it sent her body into a clenching spasm?

‘Nabatean is a young country. It is our duty to procreate, to provide a workforce for the future, to build upon the foundations we have established.’ Ah, yes: duty. They were back to that again. ‘But I don’t intend to make constant demands on you.’ He paused, thick lashes lowering to partly obscure his eyes. ‘If that is what you’re worrying about.’

Did she look worried? Anna had no idea what expression her face was pulling—she was too busy trying to control her body. And the thought of him making constant demands on her was only intensifying the peculiar feeling inside her. She needed to get a grip, and fast.

‘In that case...there is something that you need to know. Before we get married, I mean.’

‘Go on.’

Suddenly her whole body was painfully alive to him, every pore of her skin prickling with agonising awareness. The hairs on her arms, on the back of her neck, stood on end with craving, desire and the tortured anxiety of what she had to tell him.

‘I’m not sure.’ She reached for the security of a tendril of hair, twisting it round and round her finger. ‘But it’s quite possible that I am not able to...’

‘Not able to what?’

‘Not able to actually have sexual intercourse.’