by Anne Mather
But then he was an arrogant and infuriating man, Ashley acknowledged angrily; their interview had proved that. The initial impact she had felt at learning that he, as well as Alain, knew of her real identity had soon been displaced by a sense of outrage at the insulting things he said to her. She was here, he declared, because Alain had taken seriously her threats of reprisals against the family. He had smiled at this point, but there had been no humour in his face. He, he said, would not have succumbed to such contrived menaces, and he would have found some other method to deal with her hysteria.
‘We all know why you married my son,’ he said, steepling his fingers and regarding her across them. ‘As soon as you became aware of his identity, you conceived your plan to ensnare him, and when Alain proved too elusive you were prepared to settle for Hassan.’
Ashley had been struck dumb by the unfairness of this charge, and taking her silence as acquiescence, Prince Ahmed had continued: ‘My son died, Miss Gilbert, in what can only be described as suspicious circumstances. Had it not been for the fact that you proved to be carrying his son, I might well have felt incapable of controlling my desire to take revenge.’
Ashley had scrambled to her feet then, her chest heaving as she struggled to contain her own indignation. ‘Your son died by his own hand, monsieur!’ she declared, ignoring his customary title. ‘And so far as my reasons for marrying Hassan are concerned, if I had wanted money—security—call it what you will, I never received a penny!’
Alain’s father looked up at her with dislike. ‘I have said you may call me Prince Ahmed, Miss Gilbert,’ he reminded her. ‘Insolence will not be tolerated, whatever the provocation.’
‘Won’t it? Won’t it?’ Ashley was too incensed then to care exactly what she was saying. ‘And how am I supposed to cope with your insolence, Prince Ahmed? First you accuse me of running after your sons, and then you dare to suggest that I might have played some part in Hassan’s death! I am not a gold-digger, Prince Ahmed. Nor am I a murderess! And if it is your intention to make things so unpleasant for me here that I will wish to resign, then you will have to find some other method of persuasion!’
She had been dismissed then, without further ado. Prince Ahmed had bade the man, Muhammed, to escort her to her apartments, and had made his obeisance to her without even getting up from the cushions. Ashley had sensed Muhammed’s disapproval all the way to the women’s quarters, and he had left her there, with a dark-skinned servant girl he addressed as Nuzab, with evident satisfaction.
Ashley had to admit that the rooms she had been allocated were spacious and very comfortable. She had been given a suite comprising reception room, salon, bedroom and bathroom, all opening on to an inner court, where a blue-tiled pool invited her participation. The apartment was really too big for someone with the humble status of a governess, but Ashley doubted there were any rooms in the palace that did not possess a natural beauty. The architecture was so typically Moorish in design, with an economy of detail that was simple yet symmetrical. It was made for space and coolness in the heat of the day, and at night, as now, bronze lamps cast their own shadows over jewel-coloured tapestries and soft Bokhara rugs. There were wild silk curtains at the windows, moving sinuously in the draught, and again more bowls of flowers to spread their fragrance. In other circumstances, she could not but have been enchanted by her surroundings, but the recollection of why she was there swept over her in an unrelenting wave.
‘You—take bath, mademoiselle?’ Nuzab questioned at her elbow, and Ashley thrust her depressing thoughts aside and smiled at the Arab girl. Small and delicately formed, Nuzab was an exquisite example of dark-skinned beauty, and her evident desire to please was a salve to Ashley’s raw nerves.
‘You speak English?’ she exclaimed, with some relief, realising as she did so that she had taken it for granted that her son would do likewise, and Nuzab offered a tentative denial.
‘Princess Hélène—she teach me a little English, a little French,’ she demurred diffidently. ‘But Nuzab most happy to try and serve English lady.’
Ashley expelled her breath wearily. ‘Well, I suppose you’d better start by telling me what the arrangements are concerning meals,’ she declared, shedding the jacket of her suit into Nuzab’s waiting hands. By doing so, she revealed the white shirt with its frilled jabot beneath, and it was a little disconcerting to have Nuzab gazing at it with evident fascination. ‘Perhaps I will take a bath, after all,’ she decided, accompanying her request with a reluctant smile. ‘It may help. I am feeling rather—abused!’
‘Abused, lady?’ Nuzab obviously did not understand what this meant, but before Ashley could bring herself to explain, another voice interrupted them.
‘She means—she is tired, Nuzab,’ Alain’s brusque tones were harsh and unexpected. ‘You may leave us, little one. Run your mistress’s bath. She will join you presently.’
The peremptory note in his voice infuriated Ashley, and she swung round on him angrily, prepared to do battle. How dared he walk in here unannounced, and behave as if she was just another slave to command! She was not a servant. She was a human being, with her own will and determination, and Nuzab should not get the impression that he was welcome here.
‘What do you want?’ she demanded, facing him aggressively, and Nuzab, making a low obeisance, darted a startled glance up at them. ‘I do not recall inviting you into my salon, monsieur, and I’d be grateful if you’d leave me to make my own arrangements!’
Alain’s hard features registered his anger, and Nuzab, caught between their conflicting personalities, hurried towards the door. But not before Ashley had seen the warm admiration in her eyes as she gazed at the man she regarded as her master, and Ashley’s resentment ignited at this meek display of sympathy. No wonder the Gauthiers had such an inflated opinion of themselves! With unsolicited supplication like this, how could any man retain a sense of proportion?
‘Wait, Nuzab!’ she burst out impulsively, and the Arab girl halted with evident reluctance. ‘Don’t bother running me a bath,’ she added, maliciously enjoying the other girl’s confusion. ‘I’ve changed my mind. I’ll take a shower instead.’
Nuzab’s small face was a picture of anguish, and although Ashley consoled herself with the argument that she would not allow herself to be used as a pawn by either Alain or his father, she nevertheless felt incredibly mean for using the Arab girl in this way.
However, Alain brought the sparkle back to Nuzab’s eyes when he abruptly endorsed Ashley’s decision, and with a complaisant wave of his hand, he said: ‘Miss—Conway will doubtless change her mind a dozen times, as Englishwomen are prone to do, little one. Just follow her instructions, and do not question if they sometimes contradict themselves.’
‘Aywa, Said.’ Nuzab bowed low once more, and with another anxious look at Ashley, quickly left the room.
With her departure, Ashley felt curiously bereft, left as she was to face the wrath of the blue-eyed infidel in front of her. Right now, she did not feel equipped to deal with Alain, and she turned from him abruptly and crossed to the windows with short jerky strides.
That he had followed her, she was unaware, until his hands descended on her shoulders, and he swung her round to face him with not ungentle determination. ‘I would advise you not to repeat the little exhibition you have just enacted!’ he declared flatly, folding his arm* across his chest once he had her undivided attention. ‘There are limits even to my patience, and while I am prepared to allow that you are perhaps—hurt, and angry, after your interview with my father, I cannot permit you to make a fool of me in front of the servants.’
Ashley sucked in her breath. ‘And how will you prevent it?’
Alain sighed. ‘There are ways, believe me, there are ways,’ he assured her dryly, and her nostrils widened a little in recognition of his influence here.
‘Well, you had no right to come into my apartments without invitation,’ she persisted, weariness undermining her aggression. ‘I thought these were the wome
n’s quarters of the palace. I thought I was protected here.’
Alain’s mouth compressed. ‘You insist on provoking me, do you not?’ He shook his head. ‘Very well. These are the women’s quarters of the palace, and were my father or my brother to find me here, they would not approve. But I wanted to see you, and Nuzab knows better than to betray my whereabouts.’
Ashley put an unsteady hand to her throat. ‘I suppose you wanted to see the devastation your father had wrought,’ she exclaimed bitterly. ‘Well, as you can see, I am still in one piece, and fully prepared to go through with this, even if it kills me!’
‘You are tired and hungry, I understand this,’ Alain informed her quietly. ‘And I appreciate that my father is not the most tactful of men—’
‘Tactful! Tactful!’ Ashley almost choked then. ‘He—he is a tyrant, and—and a bigot, and if I never see him again it will be too soon for me!’
‘Ashley!’ Alain’s face burned with a dull colour. ‘I will not permit you to insult any member of my family, and most particularly not my father—’
‘Why not?’ Ashley’s hands clenched at her sides. ‘He doesn’t appear to share your inhibitions about me! What have you told him? Where did he get his information? What kind of a creature did you make me out to be?’
Alain’s expression hardened. ‘I do not propose to discuss your previous relationship to this family.’
‘Oh, don’t you?’ Ashley’s weariness was being displaced by cold resentment. ‘But perhaps you know why your father imagines I only married Hassan for his money, and why the fact of my son’s conception seems totally irrelevant to him!’
‘The two things are not compatible,’ retorted Alain harshly. ‘You married Hassan because I had discovered the fickle creature you were, and because his attentions flattered you—’
‘No!’
‘—and you were determined on a course of revenge!’
‘I was pregnant!’ Ashley protested, but Alain’s lips curled in contempt.
‘You were not pregnant, Ashley! Hassan did not touch you until that night I found you together, and ten days is not long enough to confirm such a supposition.’
Ashley’s lips trembled. ‘You won’t listen to me, will you? You would never listen to me!’ she cried, and Alain expelled his breath in unwilling agitation.
‘I do not wish to discuss this with you, Ashley. It is over. It is in the past. Hassan is dead, and nothing you say or do can bring him back. I did not come here for this reason. I came to speak with you, to explain your situation here—’
‘Oh, I understand my situation all right,’ Ashley retorted tremulously. ‘Your father made it perfectly clear. He wants me out of the palace, out of Khadesh, out of Murad, if it’s humanly possible, and he doesn’t care what means he uses to achieve it!’
‘You are overwrought,’ declared Alain flatly. ‘And I fear my father is not yet in a mood to be discreet.’
‘Discreet!’ Ashley caught her breath. ‘He accused me of marrying Hassan for his money, and went on to insinuate that I’d had some hand in his death! In God’s name, how can you stand there and plead his cause, when you know none of it is true? I’ve never touched a penny of your money. I wouldn’t even take it when you offered it to me! For mercy’s sake, tell him I don’t care about your oil wells, only about my son!’
Alain drew a deep breath. ‘It is about Hussein that I wished to speak with you.’ He unfolded his arms and pushed his thumbs into the low belt of his pants. ‘You will meet him tomorrow.’
‘So your brother told me.’ Ashley made a sound of derision. ‘I suppose I should be honoured that Tariq was sent to meet me. Didn’t he find it odd that a prince should be despatched to meet a governess?’
‘My brother does as my father tells him,’ retorted Alain stiffly. ‘And in the circumstances, it seemed a suitable arrangement.’
Ashley shook her head. ‘So much ceremony! I should be flattered—bearing in mind how flattering you Gauthiers can be,’ she added provokingly, and Alain’s brows descended.
‘Tariq offended you in some way?’ he demanded, his eyes narrowed and intent, and Ashley heaved a sigh.
‘Only to the extent that all you Gauthiers are offensive,’ she declared. ‘You all believe you’re God’s gift to womanhood.’ Her lips twisted, and she added with self-mockery: ‘Can you blame me if my head was turned?’
‘What do you mean? What did Tariq say to you?’ Alain demanded violently. ‘If he has insulted you in some way—if he has insinuated that your position here is in any way suspect—’
‘Well, it is, isn’t it?’ Ashley pointed out tautly. ‘Suspect, I mean. He probably thinks I’m your mistress, and your coming here can only heighten that supposition.’
‘I do not give a cent for Tariq’s suppositions,’ declared Alain harshly. ‘And he, like you, should know better than to question my behaviour. If, however, at any time either now, or in the future, Tariq—or anyone else, for that matter—gives you any trouble, I want you to promise that you will tell me immediately.’
Ashley gasped. ‘And what will you do?’ She gave a mirthless little laugh. ‘I’ve just told you that your father has virtually accused me of being a—well, you know what I mean, and you have just ignored it!’
‘My father is old. He is disturbed by what has happened.’ Alain pushed back a strand of his hair that had strayed with disturbing attraction across his forehead, ‘You must give him time. This is not easy for him.’
Ashley bent her head. ‘I think you’d better go.’
‘Not yet.’ Alain paced restlessly across the room to where a vase of long-stemmed blossoms drooped over a gilded screen. ‘It is necessary that you should understand how you will be expected to behave here, and—’ he held up a hand to silence her, as she opened her mouth to protest ‘—what will be expected of you, in regard to Hussein’s education.’
Ashley made an involuntary gesture. ‘I do know about teaching, monsieur,’ she exclaimed tensely. ‘What more is there to say? I have given you my word that Andrew shall not learn of his identity from me.’
‘That name—Andrew; you must forget it,’ Alain determined, and Ashley adopted a stubborn look. ‘I do not know why you use it,’ he continued. ‘You have never had charge of the boy.’
‘It was the name I called him before he was born,’ she replied, running an unknowing hand over her flat stomach. ‘He will always be Andrew to me, whatever Islamic names you give him.’
‘The boy is a Christian, as well you know,’ retorted Alain curtly, pacing across the room once more. ‘Do not forget the terms you negotiated. Unlike you, I do not break my promises.’
Ashley made no response, although the sudden passion in his voice aroused her inner indignation. What was the use of arguing with him? She never won. And now that she was here, in Khadesh, she had no reason to arouse those other emotions he had proved himself capable of displaying.
‘So.’ Alain halted in the centre of the floor, his feet slightly apart on the silky strands of the rug. ‘You will call the boy Hussein, and he will address you as Mademoiselle.’
Ashley steeled herself not to show her feelings. ‘Wouldn’t—Prince Hussein—be more in keeping?’ she enquired tautly, and Alain’s lean features grew sharply defined, as he struggled to contain his growing frustration.
‘Hussein will do,’ he informed her sharply, raising both hands to grip his shoulders, flexing the muscles of his spine, and releasing a little of his tension. ‘To the other matter of your position here, it is necessary that I advise you that you will not be permitted to leave these quarters unaccompanied—’
‘What!’ Ashley was horrified now, but Alain went inexorably on.
‘Women are not allowed to roam the palace un-escorted. You might conceivably stray into the male apartments—’
‘And that would never do, would it?’ she burst out hotly. ‘What are you saying, Alain? What am I supposed to do? Remain here in these rooms indefinitely? You can’t be serious. I—I’
ll go mad!’
Alain controlled his expression, and looked about him indifferently. ‘You are not happy here? These rooms are not to your liking? You would prefer others?’
‘Damn you, no! Yes! I mean—oh, Alain, what am I to be? A prisoner?’
His eyes darkened. ‘You will be treated with the same respect reserved for all the members of my father’s household,’ he replied bleakly. ‘You forget, this is not England. This is Murad. Here you obey our laws, our customs.’
‘So I am a prisoner!’ she exclaimed, unable to hide the tremor in her voice. ‘I wondered why I’d been given such splendid accommodation. Now I know. This,’ she spread her arms to indicate all the rooms of the apartment, ‘is the whole sphere of my existence! My world, condensed to four rooms!’
‘Ashley, the same is true of my mother and my stepmother,’ he told her, his voice showing some strain now. ‘For God! You are as fortunate as they are!’
‘Am I? Am I really?’ Ashley’s eyes were unnaturally bright. ‘But I might not consider them particularly fortunate either.’
‘You will do as you are told,’ intoned Alain roughly. ‘I thought all you wanted was to be with your son!’
Ashley paled a little under his savage scrutiny, and her hands trembled as they sought to pluck at the collar of her shirt. ‘Very clever, Alain,’ she complimented him tremorously. ‘Of course, that is why I’m here. And if I object to the circumstances, I am free to leave, aren’t I? Any time I want.’
‘That is your decision,’ he retorted, and as if unable to stand any more of this double-edged conversation, he made for the door. ‘You will eat your meals in your apartments, unless you are advised otherwise,’ he stated formally, pausing in the doorway, one long-fingered hand supporting his weight against the curved arch above him. His attitude tautened the buttons of his shirt across his chest, and exposed more of the fine dark body hair, but he seemed unaware of it. ‘So far as your lessons with Hussein are concerned,’ he continued, ‘you will be taken to the schoolroom at nine o’clock tomorrow morning, and Muhammed will be there to explain what is required of you.’