She was sitting on the cushions with her book. Her feet were tucked out of sight, but he knew they would be bare. She relished the coolness of the tiles on her toes. He liked to see them peeping out from under the hems of her English dresses. He had not thought feet could be so sensual.
Engrossed in a volume of Mr Wordsworth’s poems, Cassie had not noticed the courtyard door opening and did not look up until he was almost by her side. ‘Jamil,’ she said, closing the book and rising gracefully from the cushions, shaking out the folds of her gown. ‘I wasn’t expecting you. Linah is in bed.’
‘I know.’
He looked different. Not angry but—different. His eyes were stormy. A flush stained his cheek bones. He was looking at her strangely. ‘Have you eaten?’ she asked. ‘I could ring for some food, if you like.’
‘I’m not hungry.’
She hovered uncertainly on the edge of the cushions. During the day it was just about possible for her to disguise the pleasure she took in his presence, the attraction to him that she continued to deny, but in the evening, alone with him like this, it was much more difficult. Try as she might, she could not see him as a prince, only as a man. An incredibly attractive man, who, at the moment, looked as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. ‘You’re wearing your official cloak,’ she said. ‘Have you come from the Council?’
‘Yes.’ Jamil tugged at the emerald pin that held the heavy garment in place. He’d forgotten all about it, another heirloom passed on from his father, who had received it from his. It fell with a soft whoosh on to the tiled floor of the courtyard. The priceless emerald pin he dropped with a careless clatter on top of it.
‘It will crease if you leave it there,’ Cassie said, stooping to retrieve it. ‘Let me—’
‘Leave it.’
Startled by the harshness of his tone, which she had recently so rarely heard, Cassie did as he bid her. ‘Is there something wrong?’
Jamil shrugged. ‘Nothing more than usual.’
‘Do you want to talk about it?’
‘No.’
She could not read his mood. He had his Corsair face, impenetrable and remote. ‘I was thinking—wondering—if you had considered what I was saying about Linah. About her having some friends of her own age, I mean. I think she’s ready for it now, she hasn’t had a tantrum in ages, and it will do her good to have someone other than you and me to talk to.’
‘Is she bored with my company already?’
‘Of course not, I didn’t mean that.’ Cassie smiled, but it was a nervous smile, her lips trembling. She sat down on the edge of the fountain and trailed her hand in the cool water, trying to regain control of herself. He looked so careworn, she wanted more than anything to comfort him, but did not know how to start when he was in such a strange mood. She stretched out her hand invitingly. ‘Sit with me a while. You don’t have to talk, just sit and enjoy the night. Look up, the stars are coming out, they’re lovely.’
But Cassie herself made too lovely a picture for Jamil to be interested in the stars. Her dress was made of lemon-yellow silk, with some sort of complicated trimming on the ruffle at the hem. The colour brought out the fiery lights in her hair. The sleeves were shorter than she usually wore during the day, finishing just above her elbow, though a fall of cream lace covered her forearm. There was cream lace at the neckline, too, almost the same colour as her skin. An evening gown, intended to be worn in the formal drawing rooms of London and yet looking perfectly at home here, in the stark wildness of the desert. He could see the roundness of her bosom, rising and falling beneath the creamy lace. He could see one bare foot peeping out, balancing her on the edge of the fountain. He moved towards her, took the hand she was holding out, but didn’t sit down. It was a delicate hand, lost in his. Easily crushed. For some reason, this made him angry. He let it go, and regretted it as soon as he had done so, and that made him even more angry.
‘Perhaps it is you who are bored with my company,’ he said harshly. ‘Are you missing your poet, Cassie? Are you missing the simpering compliments and admiring glances of your gaggle of gallants? I warned you that life with Linah meant seclusion.’
Turquoise eyes turned on him, dark with hurt. He hadn’t meant to lash out, but he couldn’t seem to stop. ‘My daughter is a princess of royal blood. She must learn there is a price to be paid for that privilege. And so must you.’
‘Jamil, why are you being like this? It’s not like you.’
‘But you are wrong, Lady Cassandra, it is very like me. You don’t really know me at all.’
‘I don’t agree. In these last few weeks, I think I have come to know you very well.’
‘You see only one aspect of me. You know nothing of my life as a ruler.’
‘Perhaps, but I know what you are like as—as …’
‘As?’
‘A man.’
‘You think so?’
He took a step closer to her. The air seemed to crackle with tension. Cassie’s hand lay so still in the water of the fountain that one of the little golden fish which lived there brushed against it. She couldn’t understand how the conversation had taken this turn, nor why it felt so—so … precarious? Precipitous? Was that even a word? Pre-emptive? But of what?
‘Tell me, then, what am I like, Cassie. As a man?’
Jamil had taken another step towards her. In fact, he was standing so close to her his knees were brushing her thigh. She could almost feel the anger pulsing from him, and something else burning there behind his tawny eyes that gave her goose bumps. ‘Jamil, stop this.’
‘Stop what, Cassie?’ He pulled her to her feet, holding her there, almost in his embrace, with his hands lightly on her waist. ‘Stop pretending that I don’t find you attractive? Stop pretending that I don’t think of you as I first saw you in the tent in the desert? Stop pretending that I don’t remember our kiss? Stop pretending that I don’t want to kiss you again? That every time I see you I see only an English governess? Why should I? Was it not you who told me I should acknowledge my feelings?’
‘I didn’t mean that. Please don’t do this.’
‘Why?’ He pulled her closer. She did not resist, nor did she comply. She dropped her gaze, closed her eyes. He didn’t want that. He gave her a tiny shake. ‘Look at me, Cassie. Tell me honestly that you don’t feel it, too. Tell me that you don’t think of these things. Tell me you don’t want me and I’ll let you be. Only, look at me when you say the words.’
For a long moment she did not move. Then, with a small sigh that could have been resignation, but might have been something quite different, she met his gaze, and all the secret thoughts, the shameful night-time dreams that she bundled up and held securely in the back of her mind during the day, tumbled forth as if the knot that held them had been untied. He knew. He saw it in her eyes. His gaze raked over her, her eyes, her mouth, her breasts, then her mouth again.
He was going to kiss her, unless she stopped him. He was going to kiss her and she couldn’t stop him. She wanted him to kiss her again, she had been wanting him to ever since that last unsatisfactory, cut-short kiss, though God knew she had tried not to.
‘Cassie.’ He pulled her close, his hands tight around her waist, pressing her hard against him. ‘Cassie, let us have no more of this pretence.’
She closed her eyes in an effort to try to regain some sort of hold on reality, but it was already too late. Too late for calm, rational thinking. Too late to release herself from his hold.