by Anne Mather
‘Oh, Nuzab!’
‘It is true!’ The Arab girl could see the unwilling acknowledgement in Ashley’s eyes. ‘He has made things—difficult for you, now?’ She licked her lips. ‘You do not like him, lady?’
‘Nuzab—’
But Nuzab was shaking her head with evident astonishment. ‘Prince Alain,’ she was saying, almost inaudibly. ‘Most women would consider themselves most fortunate if he chose to give them his favours.’
Ashley’s lips tightened. ‘Most Arab women,’ she corrected tautly. ‘Nuzab, I don’t want to talk about it any more. Let it rest, will you?’ She paused. ‘Did you give Muhammed my message?’
‘Yes, lady.’ Nuzab was a little sullen now. ‘He say the young Prince will miss you.’
Ashley had a struggle to keep her emotions in check, but she succeeded, and managed to say, almost carelessly: ‘He’ll soon forget me. I was only his governess, after all.’
This last was said with a note of bitterness, but Nuzab did not notice. ‘My lady, Princess Hélène, say it is good for Prince Hussein to have a female tutor,’ she declared severely. ‘She say you have much affection for him.’
‘I don’t want to hear what Princess Hélène said!’ retorted Ashley huskily. ‘Please, Nuzab! Just do the packing. I’m going to take a shower.’
During the long afternoon, she was tempted to send a message to Alain, to notify him of what she was doing, just in case he had not been informed. But she could not believe that Muhammed would not have related the news to his master at the earliest possible opportunity, and if Alain chose not to come and see her, how could she risk the chance of humiliating herself once again by sending for him? He might not come. He might be busy entertaining Princess Ramira, and Ashley’s skin crawled at the images her thoughts evoked. Images of Alain in another woman’s arms, sharing with her the rapturous consummation they had shared. She could not bear the thought of the Arab girl’s limbs entwined with his, her black hair spread out upon his pillow. But she could not dismiss the memory of the sensuous aftermath of passion, and Alain lying, relaxed and lazily satiated, in her arms…
She put on the same black corded pants suit to travel back to London that she had worn to come out here. For once, she allowed her hair to remain unbound, securing it at her nape with a leather thong, so that it cascaded down her back like a fall of golden silk.
She was ready and waiting when the servant arrived to escort her to the car, and although she knew a momentary compunction at not having bade goodbye to Prince Ahmed’s wives, she knew that if Hélène had been kind to her, she might have broken down completely. It was easier to say goodbye to neither of them than to single one out for the dubious honour, and she had left her apologies with Nuzab, to deliver after she was gone.
It was the same sleek limousine that had brought her from the airport a little over two weeks ago that was waiting in the courtyard, and Ashley had to steel herself not to look back as she climbed inside. Was Alain standing behind one of those arched doorways, watching her departure? Or had he taken it without dissension, too absorbed in his new companion to pay any attention to the withdrawal of a servant?
Only one guard accompanied her into the back of the car, before the chauffeur set the vehicle in motion. He was a dark-skinned Arab, with a scar on his left cheek, and Ashley felt a little uneasy under his vaguely speculative gaze. It crossed her mind briefly that Prince Ahmed might have some less welcome fate waiting for her then a seat on the plane to London, but she quickly dismissed it as the imaginings of a frustrated libido.
They passed through the city of Khadesh, and Ashley looked sadly out at the floodlit buildings and formal squares. She had not even set foot in the city, and she leaned back against the leather upholstery, feeling unutterably weary.
Until now, she had managed to keep the thoughts of Hussein at bay, but now memories of her son came to torment her. Being with him, working with him, sharing a little of his life, had been her dream: but it had turned into a nightmare. She had been a fool to imagine she could roll back the events of seven years—his whole life, in fact—and begin again, as if those seven years had never been. She had read somewhere that a child’s character was formed before he was seven years old. So far as Hussein was concerned, she had never existed—and never would.
Beyond Khadesh the road became very uneven, and Ashley was thrown about in her seat. She grasped the leather support that hung between the windows, and tried to stare out into the darkness, but all she could see was the limousine’s headlights, and a rough and bumpy road ahead of them. She frowned. It was only a few days ago that she and Princess Hélène had driven along this road, and it hadn’t been rough then. Could it really have deteriorated in such a short space of time, or was this not the road to the airport?
The panic she had briefly felt at the palace flowered anew. Who were these men? Where were they taking her? What awful scheme was this to prevent her from catching the plane? She should have written to Lucy, she thought impotently. As soon as she knew she was leaving, she should have written to her. As it was, no one but Prince Ahmed and a few servants knew she was leaving the palace, and it could be many weeks or months before her absence was reported.
With what she felt was extreme composure, she looked at the man opposite her. ‘This is not the road to the airport, she said, hearing the revealing tremor in her voice. ‘Where are you taking me? I want to know. By—by whose orders am I being kidnapped?’
She could not see the Arab’s face in the darkness, but his shrug was an eloquent reflection of his indifference. Then, as a sense of horror gripped her, she forced her hysteria away. Of course, she told herself severely, he would not understand English. Few of the servants did. Unless she acted in blind terror, she would have to wait until they reached their destination to find out what they had in store for her.
By the time the lights of some settlement appeared ahead of them, Ashley’s whole body was bathed in a cold sweat. She could not control her panic. It was an instinctive thing. And no matter how she tried, she could think of no innocent motive behind this silent abduction.
It was only as the car stopped, and the chauffeur came round to open her door, that Ashley realised they had been crossing the desert. Beneath her feet, the sand crunched alarmingly, and all about her were the unmistakable components of a desert encampment. There were tall tents and campfires, the aromatic flavour of meat roasting, and the disconcerting grunts from a group of camels.
Ashley’s lips parted, as she avoided the chauffeur’s hand and stared about her in amazement. But when her eyes at last darted upward to meet the man’s dark gaze, she started in astonishment as she recognised her abductor.
‘Muhammed!’ she breathed, moving her head disbelievingly. ‘Oh, Muhammed! I thought you were my friend.’
‘I am your friend, mademoiselle,’ retorted the tall Arab harshly, making a slight bow. ‘Come—follow me. There is someone waiting to see you. A Bedouin encampment may not be as luxurious as a palace, but I think you will not be disappointed.’
‘But, Muhammed—’
‘Come!’ he silenced her firmly, and with a helpless shake of her head, she followed him stumblingly across the rough ground. They passed several groups of people, gathered about their campfires, roasting meat for the evening meal. The firelight played across their faces as they watched Ashley’s progress with dark enigmatic eyes, and it warmed her trembling legs as she struggled to keep up with her escort.
Muhammed took her to a larger than average pavilion, set slightly apart from the rest, and with a little flourish pulled aside the flap. His hand in the small of her back propelled her into the warm scented atmosphere within its canvas walls, and she gazed about her wonderingly at its luxurious appointments. Purple and gold hangings gave it the appearance of an opulent apartment in the palace, there were polished bronze lamps, and an enamelled stove, that gave off a wave of heat, and a lushly-cushioned couch, strewn with satin covers, set squarely in the middle of the exotically
patterned carpet. It was like something out of the Arabian Nights, and when Ashley glanced round and found she was alone, panic gripped her again. What was this, the tent of some white slaver? she wondered sickly, but before her fears could catapult her into action, a man appeared from behind a screen at the other side of the tent.
‘Oh, God!’
To her ignominy, her legs refused to support her any longer, and with a little cry she collapsed on to the carpeted floor of the tent, shaking uncontrollably. Somehow, even though Muhammed had brought her here, Alain was the last person she had expected to see, and her last threads of composure vanished as he came irresistibly towards her.
He was wearing the djellaba, the loose robe that fell in folds of purple linen from his shoulders, but his head was bare. He epitomised the fascination of his father’s ancestry combined with the gentler sensitivity of his mother’s blood, and when he knelt on one knee and gathered her into his arms, she had no strength left to deny him.
‘Oh, Ashley,’ he said, against her mouth, ‘did you really think I would let you run away from me?’
It was that word ‘would’ that brought Ashley briefly to her senses. Not ‘could’—but ‘would’; as if she had no say in the matter. With a choked sound of protest she thrust his arms away from her, and scrambling to her feet, she staggered towards the flap of the tent and freedom.
She had scarcely got two yards before his arms captured her from behind, drawing her resisting body back against him, laughing softly when she struggled to evade his questing lips. ‘Stop fighting me, Ashley,’ he commanded huskily. ‘It is a losing battle, as I have found to my cost. I wanted to go on hating you, but I find that I need you, and contrary to my father’s wishes, I have to forgive you!’
Ashley was still as his arms continued to hold her, her head throbbing from the effort to understand him. ‘You—you have to forgive me?’ she articulated with difficulty. ‘I—I don’t understand. Forgive me for what?’
Alain bent his head, his teeth moving against the soft skin of her neck. ‘For marrying Hassan,’ he declared roughly. ‘For letting your resentment dictate your actions!’
Ashley stiffened then, twisting to escape him, but he would not let her go. ‘Be still,’ he said huskily, his hands sliding beneath the hem of her jacket. ‘You are not going to leave here, until we leave together, so you might as well accept that in fact I am the master.’
‘My master? Never!’ exclaimed Ashley fiercely, though her strength had been drained by the emotional strains of the journey. ‘Alain, I don’t know why you’ve brought me here, what devious plan you have in mind. But I’m leaving Murad just as soon as I can get on board a plane, and nothing you can say or do will stop me!’
‘Nothing?’ he taunted softly, his hands sliding deliberately upward, to cup the revealing swell of her breasts through the fine material of her shirt. ‘Oh, Ashley, your body betrays you! You want me just as much as I want you!’
With a swift movement he brought her round to face him, and when she still would have resisted him, he imprisoned both her hands within one of his, behind her back. Then, with deliberate slowness, he unfastened the buttons of her jacket, his lips twisting sensuously when he viewed with satisfaction the pointed peaks outlined against the tautness of her shirt.
‘I—I’ll hate you for this!’ she hissed, fighting the attraction he had for her almost as much as her attraction for him. ‘Alain, why are you doing this? What do you want? I thought you’d be glad I was leaving.’
Alain’s mouth curved. ‘You know, six weeks ago I would have agreed with you,’ he said, his voice deep and disturbing. ‘Six weeks ago, when I brought Hussein to London. I knew I was taking a chance, but I believed myself capable of running that risk.’
Ashley’s lips parted. ‘You—expected to see me?’
Alain nodded. ‘Oh, not at Brede School—that was a cruel irony. No, my intention was simply to visit you, to give you a report on Hussein’s development, to reassure you that he was happy and content.’
Ashley gazed at him. ‘But why? You had never done such a thing before.’
‘No, this is true.’ With a sudden groan, he propelled her closer. ‘But right now I suspect my motives were not as detached as I would have liked to believe.’
‘Alain—’ With her thighs crushed against his legs, she could not help but be aware of the pulsating hardness of his manhood against her, and while the way he was holding her made her arms ache, her lower limbs yielded to other sensations.
‘God, Ashley, I have got to do it,’ he muttered, releasing her wrists suddenly, and her arms slid almost compulsively round his neck when his mouth took possession of hers.
The jacket of her suit fell heedlessly to the floor, to be followed seconds later by her shirt. He pressed it off her shoulders, his mouth seeking and finding the soft flesh now exposed to his gaze, and when he looked upon the rose-tipped fullness of her breasts, his blue eyes grew dark and caressing.
‘Say that you want me,’ he demanded, pushing her back on to the couch. ‘Tell me you need me—that you cannot live without me, for as God is my witness, life without you has been hell indeed!’
The cushions were soft and satiny smooth to her bare skin, and Alain’s taut body crushed her down into their yielding depths. He didn’t seem to care that the tent flap was untied, or that Muhammed might return at any moment. He was totally absorbed in the process of giving her pleasure, and pleasing himself at the same time, and the urgent demands of passion drove all rational thought from Ashley’s head.
‘I want you, I want you,’ she breathed, winding her arms about his neck, and arching her limbs to accommodate him. ‘I love you, Alain, I always have. Oh, darling, darling, love me, too!’
Their lovemaking was a devastating experience for both of them, but when it was over, Alain did not move away from her as he had done before. Instead, he smoothed the strands of damp hair back from her forehead, and sought her mouth with his.
‘My love,’ he breathed, his hands sliding down her spine to the provocative curve of her hips, and she nodded her head energetically, still too bemused to say too much.
‘I must be careful,’ he said huskily, as she stirred sensuously against him. ‘I might get you pregnant again, and for the present I prefer to keep you all to myself.’
Ashley’s eyes widened disbelievingly. ‘A-again?’ she whispered, wondering if she had imagined the import of his statement, and Alain’s lips played with her fluttering lashes.
‘You told me Hussein was my son,’ he reminded her softly. ‘And for the present, I would rather not increase our family.’
Ashley’s mouth was dry. ‘Are—are you teasing me, Alain?’
‘Why?’ His teeth caught the lobe of her ear and nibbled persuasively. ‘Because I am prepared to accept what you say is true?’
‘It is true!’ Ashley spoke urgently. ‘But do you really believe me? Or are you just—pretending?’
‘Does this seem like pretence to you?’ he demanded, his eyes narrowed and heavy with emotion. ‘I believe you, Ashley. I believe you because I have to. Because if I look at Hussein honestly, without the distorted shades of jealousy, I can see that he resembles me more than he resembles Hassan.’
‘And—and is that all?’ asked Ashley tremulously.
‘No.’ Alain shook his head. ‘No, it was something else, something that made me question my reasons for doubting you.’
‘Which was?’ She was anxious.
‘The night I spent with you,’ he said simply. ‘The night I came to your apartments. The night when I discovered that I could not let you leave me again.’ He sighed, burying his face in the hollow between her breasts, so that when he spoke again his voice was muffled. ‘I have to ask you,’ he muttered. ‘Has there been another man? You can tell me. I can take it. Just—do not lie to me—ever.’
‘There’s been no other man,’ she assured him honestly, and he gathered her closer against him.
‘I knew it,’ he groaned,
cradling her face between his hands. ‘Do not ask me how—but I knew it. That was when I started to believe what I had wanted to believe for so long.’
‘You—wanted to believe it?’ Ashley was confused.
‘I suppose that was why I wanted to see you,’ he admitted huskily. ‘Living with Hussein, watching him grow, observing all the little mannerisms he has that reminded me of myself.’ He lifted his head. ‘I should ask you to forgive me.’ He drew an unsteady breath. ‘Why in God’s name did you marry Hassan?’
‘Because I was pregnant,’ she answered unevenly. ‘And—and I wanted to hurt you.’
‘That you did,’ he admitted with feeling. ‘Dear God, Ashley, I went through hell!’
Ashley looked into his blue eyes. ‘Perhaps you deserved to,’ she whispered, still not entirely convinced of his sincerity. ‘You were prepared to believe the worst of me, always.’
Alain inclined his head with weary self-denigration. ‘You are right, of course. But you must admit I had cause.’
‘Finding me and Hassan on your bed?’
Alain’s mouth tightened. ‘And if it had me—with some other woman?’
‘I know, I know,’ Ashley’s slim arms wound her closer to him. ‘Oh, Alain, hold me, hold me! I’m so afraid this won’t last.’
‘It will last,’ he assured her thickly. ‘But go on. I want to hear it all. I want us to have this conversation and then never speak of it again.’
‘What do you want to know?’
‘Everything.’ His lips touched hers and then withdrew as the contact evoked other, more disturbing desires. ‘What happened between you and Hassan? What did he tell you?’
‘Only that you were likely to let me down,’ she conceded reluctantly. ‘That you had many girl-friends. That he was a much more stable character.’
Alain gazed at her. ‘But how could you believe him?’
‘I didn’t,’ replied Ashley simply. ‘I wouldn’t listen to him. But he was so—persistent. And—forward.’ She sighed. ‘He used to touch me, whenever he had the opportunity. Oh, Alain, I know he’s dead, but he deliberately set out to break up our relationship!’