The Harlot and the Sheikh

Home > Other > The Harlot and the Sheikh > Page 8
The Harlot and the Sheikh Page 8

by Marguerite Kaye


  Rafiq had led her out of the Hall of Campaign, through a door concealed in the wooden panelling. ‘To a less overwhelming part of the palace,’ he replied, as Stephanie followed him through a narrow corridor notable for its lack of guards.

  ‘Oh!’

  They had emerged into a courtyard surrounded by very high walls. The evening sun turned the stone mellow, casting soft shadows. There was a terrace on one wall, where a selection of cushions and low divans were set out, but the majority of the space was given over to a huge bathing pool. A wide set of shallow steps led down into the green-blue water, dappled gold by the sun.

  ‘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 c
an 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 are nothing like Elmira,’ Rafiq exclaimed, infuriated by what seemed to him her persistent desire to force him to compare the two.

  She mistook his tone. ‘I am sorry, of course I’m not. The subject is painful to you. I beg your pardon.’

  ‘The past is not a place I care to visit.’

  ‘We have that much in common then.’

  Her words were tinged with sadness. This independence she was so set on was costing her very dear. Not a choice, but a painful necessity. Whatever the reason, he was not inclined to pain her by further questions, but he had to admire her spirit. ‘When the Sabr trophy is restored to Bharym, my kingdom will be free to embrace its future. You will be free to embrace yours. And I, too, will be free to embrace mine.’

  Her dazzling smile made him forget everything save her nearness and the strength of his desire for her. ‘I confess I find myself thinking of a different kind of embrace at this moment,’ Rafiq said.

  The pink tip of her tongue flicked over her lower lip. ‘We said we would forget what happened between us,’ Stephanie said, making it clear that she was equally aware of him.

  ‘Have you forgotten?’ he asked.

  ‘No.’ Another flick of her tongue that made his blood stir. ‘I wish I could,’ she said.

  If only she had forgotten. If only she did not desire him, or he her. Was there really so much harm in a kiss? He pulled her into his arms, and her lips touched his, and his resistance crumbled.

  * * *

  It was an illusion, Stephanie tried to tell herself, as she pressed her lips to Rafiq’s. It would not last, this sweet, hot desire which had her in its heady grip. This tingling she felt as he kissed her did not herald something more profound, only a prelude to ultimate disappointment. Yet when he feathered those delightful kisses over her bottom lip, she shivered. Slowly, surely, his kisses coaxed her into wanting more, into believing that more would be even more satisfying. It was different this time. Was it? She didn’t want to compare. It didn’t compare. Did it?

  Rafiq stroked her hair, fluttered kisses over her eyes, nibbled on the lobe of her ear, kissed the sensitive skin behind it, making her shudder with delight. Then he began his assault on her mouth again and she forgot to think, surrendering to the slow dragging, drugging pleasure of his kisses, his tongue, his hands on her hair, caressing her back, her hair, her back again, showing no inclination to explore further. Only stroking her in the least provocative and intimate of places served to be provoking all the same.

  She didn’t want it to end. Could it be that Stephanie was, after all, the kind of woman she had been branded? The thought shocked her into dragging her mouth from his. ‘No.’

  Rafiq set her free immediately.

  ‘I can’t. I mean I must not,’ she added hurriedly. ‘You are my employer, and...’

  ‘And as such, I have already assured you that I would not take advantage of the situation. I may have your future in my hands Stephanie, but does it not occur to you that you have my future in yours?’

  It had not. Ashamed and embarrassed, she gazed at him mutely.

  ‘What do you imagine I would do if you rejected my advances?’ he asked, his tone softening. ‘Forgetting for the moment that all I have done is kiss you, nothing more. Do you think I would risk everything, my kingdom’s hopes and aspirations, my family’s reputation, my own solemn pledge, by summarily dismissing you?’

  ‘I thought that you would think—that you would say—you respect me, Rafiq. I don’t want to endanger that.’

  ‘Why would my desire for you as a woman endanger my respect for you as a veterinarian?’

  ‘You don’t understand.’’

  ‘Then enlighten me.’

  She could feel the flush of mortification burning its way across her chest, up her throat to sear her cheeks. Unable to trust herself to speak, she shook her head, keeping her eyes lowered, her fingers clasped tightly together. Her toes were curled up tight inside her slippers. Her throat felt clogged. She knew she owed him some sort of explanation, but the very thought of telling him the shameful truth was too much to bear. ‘I’m sorry,’ Stephanie said, ignoring the hot tears which were trailing down her even hotter cheeks. ‘I can’t.’

  ‘I respect you as my Royal Horse Surgeon. I kissed you because despite the fact you are my Royal Horse Surgeon, I don’t seem to be able to resist you, and because I thought that you too—but I should not have.’ Rafiq sighed, tugging at the high collar of his formal tunic. ‘When you kiss me I forget that you cannot be experienced.’

  ‘I’m not experienced, but I’m not an innocent either, and I seem to be just as unable to resist you as you—’ Stephanie broke off embarrassed, for she had taken herself as well as Rafiq completely by surprise. It appeared she was not as proficient at learning from experience as she had imagined herself.

  She gave herself a little shake. ‘However we feel, it doesn’t alter the fact that we have far too much to lose, to allow ourselves to be distracted, no matter how tempting. Now if you will excuse me, I will return to the duties which I have been appointed to carry out.’ It was cowardly of her, but Stephanie gave Rafiq no time to reply, heading for the sanctuary of the stables with necessary but most undignified speed.

  Chapter Five

  Stephanie was struggling to continue reading in the gathering gloom. With a sigh, she untied the scarf which held her hair back and closed the covers of The Compleat Horse Doctor, which she had been perusing in the hope that she might have missed something of import. She had not, and her battered copy of Instructions for the Use of Farriers Attached to the British Cavalry and to the Royal Board of Ordnance proved as irksome as ever, with its outdated remedies and procedures more likely to kill than cure. Checking her copious notes, she was forced to accept that she had done all she could for now. The sensible thing would be to go to bed.

  Lighting a lantern, she quit the little office space she had purloined, and headed into the main stable block, making her way down the row of boxes until she came to Sherifa’s stall. The mare snorted, taking the dates Stephanie offered with a haughty toss of her head. Two years ago, her mistress, Princess Elmira had died. ‘Do you still miss her?’ Stephanie whispered. Did Rafiq?

  ‘The past is not a place I care to visit,’ he had said yesterday. In that respect they were of like mind, though their motivations were very different. Rafiq’s past was tragic, whereas hers was simply sordid, her shame exacerbated by the knowledge that her downfall was entirely of her own making. She had allowed herself to be dazzled by the attentions of a handsome man. She had allowed herself to believe he meant his charming declarations of love. She had not allowed herself to reflect on the disparities in their situations. She had effectively let her heart rule her head, to disastrous effect. And now here she was again, dazzled by the attentions of an even more handsome man, whose station in life was so far above her own as to be risible.

  She fed Sherifa another date. She had imagined herself in love with Rupert. She was under no such illusions when it came to Rafiq. It was as unthinkable as it was impossible. Rafiq was a man of honour and integrity. Despite the apparent similarities, the two men, the two situations could not be more different.

  She smiled to herself. For the first time since she had fallen so catastrophically from grace, her loss of reputation struck her as strangely liberating. What’s more, looking at things from t
his fresh perspective, the fact that Rafiq was a prince was also a liberating factor, since he was so far beyond her reach as to inhabit another planet. She would never, ever be so foolish as to imagine that she could be anything to him other than his Royal Horse Surgeon. And that should, provided she always remembered it, make things both simpler and safer.

  It was a comforting thought. Not that she had any intentions of acting on it. Quitting the stables, Stephanie was taking the long way back to the palace, enjoying the cool night air under the glittering discs of the desert stars, when a painful hacking cough emanating from the mules’ enclosure stopped her in her tracks.

  * * *

  When he was roused by his personal servant in the middle of the night, Rafiq knew it could mean only one thing. Another outbreak of the sickness.

  ‘I was reluctant to have you disturbed, sire,’ his man said, ‘for the case in question is not one of your thoroughbreds but a mere mule. However, your Royal Horse Surgeon was most insistent you be alerted.’

  Were it not for his anxiety at this worrying new development, Rafiq would have smiled at that. Stephanie would not have insisted, she would have demanded. Quickly donning his riding clothes, he made his way through the silent and sleeping palace out through the courtyard to the stables, sick at heart at this new proof of the plague’s persistence. It would be wrong to expect too much from Stephanie’s first case. He could only hope she did not fail completely.

  Flambeaux had been lit in the stable yard. Stephanie had had the distressed beast brought in to one of the enclosed stalls primarily set aside for mares in foal. As he approached the hushed huddle of his stable hands gathered outside the door, he could hear the ominously familiar sound of the animal’s laboured breathing punctuated with a hacking cough. Until now, the sickness had confined itself to the horses, but even before he entered the stall, Rafiq knew with heart-sinking certainty that it had spread to the pack animals.

 

‹ Prev