Lexie stole another glance at the arrogant line of Rafiq’s profile as he watched the herd. The angular lines of his face intent yet relaxed, he looked as though the sight of the herd satisfied a hunger in his soul. Her heartbeat picked up speed. How would she feel if he ever gazed at her like that?
Angry with herself at such futile longing, she lifted the binoculars to her eyes again. ‘How long have they been on Moraze?’
‘The bride of the first de Couteveille brought some of her father’s horses with her. They were set free up here, and here they’ve flourished ever since.’
Like the de Couteveilles, she thought. She said on a sigh, ‘I’ll always remember this day. Thank you so much.’
‘It has been my pleasure,’ he said calmly, and set the four-wheel drive in motion. As they started on the winding descent to the fertile lowlands, he asked, ‘Which did you enjoy most—the jungle animals in the mountains, or the horses?’
She laughed. ‘That’s an unfair question, but I was fascinated by the jungle animals, and can’t help wondering how on earth their ancestors got here.’
‘Biologists are working on their provenance,’ he told her. Without any change in tone he went on, ‘So you liked the horses better?’
Surprised at his perception, she admitted, ‘Yes. They’re so wild and free, and so lovely. I suppose I envy them.’
‘Perhaps we all do.’ He sent her a glance that set her toes tingling. ‘But you have independence. Or are you planning to give it up?’
Startled, she said quickly, ‘No.’
His glance sharpened before he returned it to the road ahead. ‘What appeals to you so much about the thought of freedom?’
‘Surely it’s everyone’s desire?’ She looked ahead to the vehicle that accompanied them, driven by a bodyguard with another by his side. Living like that would stifle her. How did Rafiq stand it?
‘Most people seem content to settle into comfortable servitude,’ he observed.
‘Perhaps. And perhaps they’re happier than those who long for freedom.’ She looked up. ‘Are you content with your chains?’
‘Tell me what you think to be my chains.’
‘Well, you’re forced to live as the ruler of Moraze. Don’t you ever have the urge to break free?’
His gaze flicked across her face, then returned to the road ahead. ‘Sometimes,’ he said, shrugging. ‘And you? What chains hold you?’
Lexie bit her lip. Like him, servitude to her forebears, but she wasn’t going to tell him about her father. ‘Oh, nothing really,’ she said lamely, wishing she hadn’t embarked on this.
She stared around, then said, ‘Oh! I recognise this place—it’s where we crashed!’ Frowning, she leaned forward to examine the road and the grassy bank as they passed the spot. ‘I wonder why I didn’t see the animal that ran out in front of us.’
‘It’s possible you did see it, but because of the shock you don’t remember,’ Rafiq said coolly. ‘The driver has recovered completely, by the way.’
‘I still feel guilty because I didn’t go to see her,’ Lexie said without thinking.
He shrugged. ‘You have high standards of behaviour. She did not expect it.’
Something in his tone made her say crisply, ‘Simple courtesy isn’t exactly a high standard.’ And without finesse she steered the conversation in another direction. ‘Tell me, what should I wear to the hotel party? I don’t know the sort of thing that would be appropriate.’
He sent her another enigmatic glance, almost as though she’d surprised him. ‘The dress you wore the night we met would be perfect.’
The flame-shot silk Jacoba had bought for her? Lexie loved that dress, and not just because the colour brought out a richness in her hair, and gave her skin a glow it didn’t normally have. In it she felt like someone else—a different, bolder, more confident person.
Torn between a desire to look her best and a cowardly caution, she hesitated, fixing her gaze on the scenery as Rafiq steered the vehicle around a set of hairpin bends.
When they’d been safely and skilfully negotiated, she asked, ‘Are you sure?’
‘I am,’ he said, and smiled, a slow, amused curl of his beautiful mouth that sent excitement flickering through her. ‘Colour is important here,’ he went on. ‘It seems to be a tropical thing. In cooler climates, people wear more subdued hues.’
‘Possibly because we have paler colouring, and vivid shades tend to wash us out.’
‘But not you,’ he told her with the confidence of a man who saw nothing unusual in discussing clothes with a woman.
The crisp note of challenge in his tone brought up her chin. ‘Then I’ll wear the dress.’
Only to stop there, because she didn’t know what to say next.
Although he didn’t seem to be flirting with her, there was definitely an appreciative glint in the greenstone gaze when it skimmed her face before returning to the road.
‘Whatever you wear you will look good,’ he said almost dismissively as he guided the vehicle around another hairpin bend.
Lexie didn’t know whether it was a compliment or a sop to her rare lack of confidence.
‘Thank you,’ she said spiritedly, wishing she’d dated more often, even indulged in a couple of affairs. Surely experience would have given her some idea of how to deal with him?
Probably not, she thought with a touch of cynicism, watching the trees flash by—a coastal forest sparser than the jungle. Rafiq de Couteveille, ruler of Moraze, was no ordinary man.
‘The jungle reminded me of New Zealand,’ she said absently. ‘Those massive trees with their huge trunks reaching for the sky, each notch and fork filled with epiphytes—just like home!’
‘Rain forest looks similar the world over. I’ve seen photographs of New Zealand trees; I was most impressed with the size and the majesty—the authority—of those huge trees that grow in the north. Kauri, are they not?’
‘Yes. Northern New Zealand’s iconic tree, along with the coastal pohutukawa, and true lords of the bush.’
She looked away again, longing to be safely back home, away from all this perilous beauty, the constant sensation of being watched and somehow under siege.
Sheer imagination, of course. And although she was out of her depth with Rafiq she wasn’t green enough to take his embraces seriously, no matter how powerfully she was affected by them.
Yes, he’d been kind—well, taking her into his home after the accident was more than simple kindness—but that didn’t mean anything. He’d probably have been just as considerate—without the kisses!—if she’d been fifty and grey-haired.
The road straightened once they reached the fertile plains, rich with sugar cane plantations and farms where flowers grew in ribbons and rainbows of saturated colour—seductive, scented orchids, the polished brilliance of anthuriums, and the erect, surreal stems of ginger in all their bold, vibrant hues.
Lexie let out her breath on a soft sigh. ‘This is so beautiful.’
‘Indeed,’ he said calmly, and sent her another sideways glance. ‘Are you tired? There is a place you might like to see a little farther on.’
‘I feel fine.’