Her companion’s mouth twisted sardonically.
‘Woman’s eternal cry when she knows there is little chance of it coming to pass. Faisal could no more live in poverty than you could yourself.’ He looked at the expensive linen suit she had bought for travelling, his eyes mocking. ‘Look at yourself, Miss Gordon. From the top of your undeniably lovely head to the tips of your feet, you evidence expensive grooming. Do you honestly expect me to believe that you would live in poverty with my nephew—a boy who has never wanted for anything in his life?’
But I have wanted, Felicia wanted to throw at him. And I’ve wanted the most important thing of all—love! But she knew better than to expect the man seated opposite her to understand her deep-seated need for that. Money was all he understood, she thought bitterly. Money and power.
‘I know what you’re trying to do,’ she said eventually, ‘but you won’t succeed. You’re a cruel, hard man, Sheikh, and I know you for my enemy!’
In the darkness she saw the white flash of his smile.
‘Enemies?’ His voice was like velvet. ‘Is that what you think? In our country there is no enmity between man and woman.’
‘There is between the hawk and the dove, though,’ Felicia retorted, ‘and that’s what you are—a cruel predator, determined to destroy our love.’
‘And you are the dove?’
He was sneering openly, his eyes contemptuous as they rested on her slender form beneath its linen covering. ‘Vulture would be a more appropriate description, don’t you agree?’
There was nothing to be gained by arguing with him, Felicia thought, blinking away weak tears. The uncle of her imaginings had been bad enough, but the reality was far worse. She, who had never hated anyone in her life, disliked him so acutely that the emotion was almost tangible, filling the silence between them with crackling hostility as the car swept past the oil tank farm, the glare from the oilfields illuminating the distant horizon, a sombre reminder that she changed her world for Faisal’s.
They were travelling parallel to the coast, the sky like a dark blue velvet cloak sewn with diamonds. If only Faisal was with her, Felicia thought unhappily. At this moment she needed the warm protection of his love as she had never needed it before.
‘Don’t bother to assume an air of mock modesty for my benefit, Miss Gordon,’ Raschid advised her coldly. ‘I have already learned how you comport yourself, from a friend who observed your antics on the dance floor with my nephew.’
The words were icy with a disdain that drove the colour from Felicia’s face. Her hands gripped together in her lap to stop them from trembling.
‘Apparently Faisal all but stripped you where you stood,’ the bored voice continued sardonically, ‘and you apparently made no protest at all. Do you honestly believe that is the sort of behaviour I would tolerate in a niece, or is it that having already granted Faisal the privileges of a husband, you feel confident enough to behave exactly as you wish?’
Felicia all but choked in her fury. Hot colour stained her cheeks. How dared he imply….’ Your friend!’ she managed to grit at him. ‘I suppose you mean that horrid man who looked at me as though I were a piece of merchandise he was contemplating buying?’
‘Perhaps he was,’ came the uncaring retort. ‘It is a long time since I was last in London, but my friends are amused by the low price your women put upon themselves. The British were once greatly respected, but who can respect a race that allows its women to sell themselves for so little?’
She was going to be sick, Felicia thought wretchedly. She could not listen to any more of this.
‘Faisal and I were dancing—nothing more.’
‘Do you always dance so close to your partner that you could be making love?’ was the biting response.
Felicia suppressed an urge to demand him to stop the car so that she could get out. He was deliberately and relentlessly destroying the fabric of her dreams, but she could not let him see it.
‘It was nothing like that,’ she told Raschid coolly. ‘Faisal respects me.’
Just for a second she thought she saw shock mingled with anger, in his eyes, and then he had himself under control.
‘Does he indeed?’ he drawled speculatively. ‘Then he is even more of a fool that I had imagined.’
The dulcet words held a subtle threat. She had handed him a weapon, Felicia acknowledged unhappily, and one that he would not hesitate to use against her if he ever got the opportunity.
‘If you were so convinced of my moral laxness, why did you invite me here?’ she challenged. ‘Aren’t you afraid that I might contaminate Faisal’s sister with my wanton behaviour?’
Raschid ignored her wild outburst, studying one elegant gold cufflink with apparent absorption for so long that she almost wanted to scream.
‘I have sufficient faith in my niece to know she would not be influenced by you,’ he announced at last. ‘And as to my reasons for asking you here…. You are an intelligent woman, Miss Gordon, what do you think?’
‘I don’t think you wanted me here at all,’ Felicia accused slowly. ‘You never really wanted to get to know me, did you?’
‘Most astute,’ Raschid acknowledged dryly. ‘But now that you are here, let me make one thing quite clear. You are here strictly on sufferance. My sister knows only that you are a friend of Faisal’s—nothing more, and that is all she will know…’
‘Until I can prove that I’m fit to marry her son,’ Felicia interrupted angrily. ‘Well, I don’t care what you think of me, but if it makes Faisal happy I’m quite willing to go through this farce of trying to get your approval. After all, in three years’ time he’ll be free to marry without it in any case.’
His expression warned her that she had angered him deeply. His voice harsh, he said coldly, ‘You are more determined than I realised, but then with good cause. After all, you do not have much to look forward to in England, do you? A very run-of-the-mill job; an aunt in the North of England who may or may not leave her home to you, and very little else….’
‘Must you reduce everything to terms of money?’ Felicia protested bitterly. ‘If I’d merely wanted financial security I could have married before now.’
‘But instead you chose to wait until a more attractive proposition presented itself to you,’ the hateful voice drawled smoothly. ‘How wise of you!’
Wearily Felicia sank back into the leather seat. What was the use of trying to convince him? She was wasting her time. He was determined to believe the worst of her. For a moment she contemplated demanding that he turn the car round and take her back to the airport, but to do so would be to acknowledge him the victor, and that was something she would never do. After all, she knew that she was none of the things he believed, and surely, in time, by just being herself, she would prove to him beyond any shadow of a doubt just how lacking his judgment had been.
This thought was enough to quell her desire to return home. Faisal loved her, and this was the raft to which she would cling throughout the stormy seas of Raschid’s displeasure.
Some hidden well of courage she had not hitherto plumbed enabled her to face Raschid with a composure to match his own, her voice controlled as she said calmly:
‘If you have so little faith in Faisal’s ability to choose a wife for himself, I’m surprised that you didn’t do it for him—an arranged marriage with the bride carefully selected to match up to his uncle’s very exacting standards.’
She had meant the words as a taunt, but something in Raschid’s face warned her that unsuspectingly she had stumbled upon the truth. Pressing a hand to her aching temple, she whispered,
‘Was there a girl?