‘The pool is fed from an underground stream,’ Rafiq said, urging her forward into the courtyard. ‘You can see in the corner there, the bubbles where it comes to the surface.’
Stephanie couldn’t resist stooping down to let the ice-cold water trickle through her hands. ‘It is lovely. Quite utterly lovely.’
* * *
Rafiq, watching the curve of her derrière, clearly revealed through the soft fabric of her new attire, agreed wholeheartedly, but refrained from saying so. Instead, he retired to the shade, seating himself on his favourite cushion and taking a glass of mint tea in order to distract himself from the beguiling vision. Her clothes were modest, loose, and actually revealed a great deal less of her figure than the gown she had worn the first night to dine with him, yet the filmy fabric clung to her like a caress, drawing attention to the soft flesh beneath. Realising that he had, despite his best intentions, been staring, Rafiq hurriedly looked away.
What was it about her that made her so difficult to resist? He had known far more beautiful women, far more experienced women, women who were accomplished in the arts of love, but none of them challenged him the way Stephanie did, and certainly none of them questioned him. They smiled at him, they fawned over him, they were pleased by him, with however little he offered, or however much. He was a prince, it was how it should be, but the reality was, now he came to think of it, not tedious exactly, but rather predictable.
Stephanie didn’t bore him. She was like no other woman he had ever met, which most likely explained her appeal. That, and the fact that she had given him hope. Now he no longer despaired, he was coming alive again. It was not surprising that he should desire the woman responsible. It was a pity that he could not act on those desires, but he could at least indulge his curiosity about her.
He poured Stephanie a glass of tea, calling to her to join him. Smiling her thanks, she sank on to the cushion opposite him. ‘This pool reminds me a little of one I saw in Italy, though the waters there were warm, fed from a hot spring.’
‘You have travelled a great deal, then? Won’t you miss that when you set up your own permanent establishment?’ Rafiq asked.
‘I doubt it. I have been fortunate enough to visit a great many countries, but travelling in the wake of the British army leaves one precious little time to enjoy the scenery. So much of the day is spent setting up bivouacs, obtaining supplies or chasing lost equipment, and maintaining what meagre household possessions one has. You would not believe the amount of hours devoted to mending uniforms and clothing and sheets and all manner of things.’
‘No, I would not,’ he answered, smiling. ‘Have you never had a permanent home?’
‘There were times—when we were encamped near Madrid, for example—when we remained in our digs long enough for them to begin to feel like home. We had a little farmhouse there which Mama was very sad to leave, but more often than not our accommodation consisted of tents.’
‘It is no wonder then, that after such an itinerant life, you desire to settle in one place,’ Rafiq said. ‘Have you a location in mind? Near Newmarket, where your skills will be in high demand? Or near relatives, perhaps? Though you did say you wished for independence. Does that mean you prefer to live in solitude?’
‘I meant financial independence,’ Stephanie replied. ‘I don’t suppose you will understand it, having been born to all this, but to a woman in my position, an income is a necessity if one is not to live beholden to others.’
‘A woman in your position,’ Rafiq mused. ‘I confess, I don’t profess to understand your position at all. You are what—twenty-five years old?’
‘Twenty-six, though I don’t see...’
‘For twenty-five years you have been beholden to your parents, as you put it. Why the sudden desire to change that? Did you quarrel with them?’
‘No, of course not. I have never—not even when—I have never quarrelled with them.’
She was shifting around on her cushion, crossing her legs, uncrossing them. Clearly, the conversation was agitating her. He ought to change the subject, but he was far too intrigued. ‘Then why the desire for change? Why make life so much harder for yourself by swapping your parents’ protection and the work that you so obviously love, for an uncertain future?’
‘I am—it is simply that I can no longer live with them,’ Stephanie replied, colouring. ‘And since I don’t wish to be married, what other option is open to me, save support myself?’ she demanded. ‘Why do you think this appointment means so much to me, Rafiq? The money is not for pretty dresses and fripperies, it’s about putting a roof over my head, food on my table, while I establish myself. Do you think that’s going to be easy?’
Before he could formulate any sort of reply, she jumped to her feet. ‘Well it’s not. It’s going to be bloody difficult! I’m going to have to be twice, three times better than any man, and I’m going to have to accept half the recompense or less. Does that sound fair to you? No, of course it’s not, but that’s how it’s going to be.’ Stephanie crossed her arms, staring at him belligerently. ‘That is why your commendation will mean so much. That is why the remuneration which you have promised me is—it is...’
Rafiq held his hands up. ‘I did not intend to upset you.’
‘You haven’t,’ she said, glowering at him, clearly determined not to cry. When she spoke again, it was in a softer tone. ‘You have been fairness personified. Not only are you paying me what you would a man, once you recovered from the shock of my gender, you did not try to devalue my skills on the grounds of it. You have given me an opportunity that few other men would have granted me. I am truly very grateful for it, and I should not be burdening you with my personal travails. It is most unprofessional.’
‘If you tell me one more time that you are here to tend to my horses...’
He was rewarded with a faint smile. ‘Do I say that often?’
‘I suspect you recite it in your sleep.’
Her smile broadened. ‘I suspect I’m trying to ensure I know my place. When I came here I did not expect to be living in a royal harem, to be conversing with a prince. I assumed I would be given quarters in the stables.’
‘Now that would be guaranteed to make Jasim resign his post forthwith. My Master of the Horse has already made his views on the presence of women in his stables crystal clear.’
‘You have had a woman working in your stables before me?’
‘No.’ Interfering, was the word Jasim had used. And undermining. Then ultimately, and most damning of all, he had described it as contaminating. ‘He was alluding to my wife,’ Rafiq admitted unwillingly, realising that he had to say something. ‘She was a Bedouin princess. She had a great affinity with horses, which Jasim did not appreciate.’
‘A nomad?’ Stephanie said in surprise. ‘I suppose in some ways, my life has been akin to that of the Bedouin, which you experienced when you were a child. Though we never permitted our horses to enter the tent.’
It was an uncomfortable analogy. Rafiq did not want to think of Stephanie as a nomad. He did not wish to make the link between the ghost that haunted him and the woman sitting opposite, who would help him close the door on the past for ever.
‘Despite their itinerant lifestyle, some of the Bedouin tribes can trace their regal heritage back as far as I can,’ he said, happily reminding himself that Stephanie, without a single drop of royal blood in her veins, was really nothing like Elmira at all.
‘Well, I have no heritage to speak of, regal or otherwise,’ she agreed blithely. ‘It seems to me that if your Master of the Horse would not even tolerate a royal princess, he is likely to make the life of a mere army farrier’s daughter unbearable, even if we do share an itinerant lifestyle and an affinity with horses.’
‘You