“She knows you are here and safe,” Kharun said.
“So I can’t call her?”
“Of course you can.” He gestured to the phone.
Piers started to rise, but Kharun shook his head.
He turned to Kharun. “Is it wise, letting her phone?”
“Is it wise to raise suspicions of her parents by not allowing her contact?”
She remained in the doorway, watching the interchange. “I can wait until later, when you’ve finished your business,” she said, turning to leave.
“This gets more complicated by the moment,” Piers said.
“Actually, it would probably be all right to let her phone whenever she wishes. Sara gave me her word she’d abide by the terms of our agreement. I trust her to do just that.”
Piers did blink at that comment. “You, trust a woman?”
“Within limits.”
“That’s a first. I thought after Andrea du Polline you’d sworn never to trust a woman again.”
“This situation is different. Sara has concerns for her father’s reputation, as well.”
“As well as her own desire to stay out of one of our jails,” Piers muttered sarcastically.
“That can be a strong motivating factor,” Kharun agreed. “What did Kinsale concede on?”
Piers opened the folder he’d brought and looked at his friend. “I trust you know what you’re doing about your marriage. And about the leases. Tell me what you think about this new counteroffer?” He indicated the paragraph of the report.
Kharun knew Piers was surprised by his comment. Hadn’t he said often enough in the past he didn’t trust women? They all appeared to be after one thing—his money. From his younger days in Eton, to his college days, and even the beginnings of his career, he’d been sought out by beautiful women who professed an interest in him alone—but had an eye on his inheritance.
Twice he’d come close to asking a woman to marry him, only to discover before he could ask the question that they were more interested in his wealth than their relationship. More interested in being seen in all the right places than in quiet dinners away from the “in” crowd.
How ironic, now he had married—and to a woman who didn’t even profess to care for him. But by the same token, neither did she seem especially interested in his wealth or indulging in hectic nightlife.
Sara wandered around the patio feeling frustrated and bored. She needed to talk to her mother—though she’d have to reassure her she was deliriously happy being married and probably make vague plans for a dinner together at some point in the not-too-distant future.
Her mother was big on family. She’d adopt Kharun into their extended family immediately. Plopping down on a chaise longue, Sara moodily contemplated Kharun and her mother. How would he take to the informal family gatherings? Was he too steeped in tradition to fit in easily with her parents’ casual private life? What did it matter? Theirs was a temporary alliance. They could stall any family overtures until time to separate.
For some reason, the thought didn’t make her happy.
“Bonjour, Sara.” Kharun’s mother stood in the doorway and smiled at her.
Sara scrambled to her feet, surprised to see Angelique. Did Kharun know his mother was here?
“Good morning. I didn’t know you were coming. Would you like to sit here, or is it too warm? Perhaps you’d rather go inside.”
“Here, of course,” Angelique said as she strolled onto the terrace. “The roses are lovely this year. But Matassin is a master gardener and has a special affinity for roses.” She sat on the chair beside Sara’s and indicated Sara should resume her own seat.
“I understand Kharun is back at work. So tiresome. But there is a lot to do. I do hope it won’t be long before he can delegate enough to allow time off. If he ever does. His father loved his work. Runs in the family, I guess. I understand he’s planning to go to New York to celebrate when the oil leases are signed. Maybe you and he can squeeze out a few extra days for a honeymoon then. You could show him your home—though I’m sure he’s already seen it.”
Sara smiled politely, noncommittally. It was the first she’d heard about a possible trip back to the States. That could simplify things when they separated. She’d have to speak to Kharun about the trip.
“I came on the off chance he was back at work. I know my son, you see.”
“Piers was here first thing this morning to see him.”
“Then perhaps while they attend to business you would like to have lunch with me and Jasmine. Then you and I could stop in a few boutiques afterward, to look for a dress for Friday. Unless you already have a gown you planned to wear.”
“Friday?” Sara asked.
“The reception at the British embassy. Surely Kharun plans to attend. I’m sure he wouldn’t risk slighting everyone by not attending.”
“Friday night?” Drat, she hated formal receptions. Especially any in which she was sure to be the center of attention. And as the new bride of Kharun bak Samin, she knew she’d be at the top of the list of people to stare at and gossip about.
“I wasn’t sure if you brought an appropriate dress, but I’d be happy to introduce you to the delights of several boutiques in Staboul which can provide the most fabulous gowns on short notice.”
Sara wondered if one of them was the place Jasmine had found her wedding gown only an hour before the wedding.
“That would be lovely. I don’t have anything suitable for an embassy reception. I’d love to come to lunch.” Anything would be preferable to her almost enforced stay at the villa.
Angelique knew nothing of the truth. Jasmine knew, and didn’t trust her. It should prove to be an interesting lunch.
Aminna appeared in the doorway, Sara’s camera in hand.
“I found this in the kitchen when I returned this morning.” Aminna held it out.
“My camera.” Sara rose and crossed to the doorway to take it. “I left it there yesterday when I fixed lunch.” Automatically, Sara checked the camera indicator.
“There’s film in it!”
Aminna nodded gravely. “I saw it was empty and replaced the film. Do you wish to have lunch in the dining room, or on the terrace?”
“I’m taking my new daughter-in-law out to lunch, Aminna. Please inform Kharun.”
Aminna nodded gravely and left.
“What a complicated camera. I didn’t know you were a photographer. How exciting. What do you like to shoot?” Angelique asked.
Pictures of your summer home without your knowledge, popped into Sara’s mind.
“Um, actually I’m still developing my style. I like working to get the right framing, contrast the light and shadows. Things like that.”
“What do you photograph? People? Scenes? Closeups of plants?”
“Horses, odd houses, old ruins.” She smiled. “Sometimes people. Whatever I find interesting.” She’d been taking photographs of her family and friends, of exotic locations and quiet homey places for years. The results had been gratifying. She’d been focused on her aborted plan to get pictures of the Samin’s summer place, hoping for unusual angles to make the shots distinctive. Maybe today she could get snapshots of Staboul to take home when she left.
And later, she’d photograph the villa. Surely no one could find fault with her taking photos of her own home, however temporary.
Aminna came quietly onto the terrace, a laden tray of tea and small cakes in her hands. She efficiently set the table, placed the food in the center and returned to the house, never saying a word.
“I would like to photograph her,” Sara said musingly. “Her face has such character.” She faced Angelique as she poured their tea. “And I’d love to photograph your son riding Satin Magic.”
“Do so. If it turns out, I would love to have a copy. He is a fine-looking man, isn’t he?” She looked at Sara from beneath her lashes.
The true reason a mother had come—to find out more about her son’s new wife. Sara smiled politely,
wondering how his mother would feel if she knew Sara’s true feelings.
Suddenly, she realized she wasn’t even sure of her true feelings. Granted, she felt confined to the house since he’d rescued her from the jail. Understandable, though frustrating. She was counting the days until she would be free.
Yet she was strangely intrigued by the man. Fascinated by the range of sensations that danced through her when in his presence. She liked sparring with him, liked hearing him discuss the matters of change he wanted for his country.
She was completely captivated by his kisses. She warmed at the memory. The last time they’d had someone not privy to their secret come to visit, he’d kissed her. Would he kiss her in his mother’s presence?
Her heart rate sped up a notch.
She’d soon find out. Kharun stepped out onto the terrace.
CHAPTER SIX
“MA MÈRE, Aminna told me you were here. I wasn’t expecting you.” Kharun glanced at Sara as he crossed the terrace to kiss his mother on both cheeks.
“I didn’t mean to interrupt you, chéri. Aminna told me you were hard at work. I thought Sara might have enticed you away from your duties for a little longer. First you take no honeymoon, now you neglect her. For shame.” The twinkle in her eyes belied her words.
“Things needed to be done. Sara understands.”
“Always things need to be done. Your new wife is a saint if she allows it. Such virtue deserves a reward. I’m taking Sara to lunch with me and Jasmine. Unless, of course, you have plans yourself.”
“Piers is here. We are working.”
“Times have changed from when I was young,” she said mockingly, with a conspiratorial look at Sara.
“How so?”
“Your father and I made sure our priorities included a long honeymoon.”
“It never ended.”
Her face saddened. “Not until his death. Cherish the moments you have, chéri, they seem so fleeting in retrospect.”
She rose and patted him on the cheek. “I will speak with Aminna for a moment, then Sara and I will leave. We’re going shopping after lunch. Bring your camera, Sara, you can start with Jasmine and me.”
He waited until she was out of hearing, then turned to Sara, apparently noticing the camera for the first time.
“Aminna brought me the camera. She found it in the kitchen,” Sara said, holding it in front of her, almost like a shield. “You mother suggested the photographs.”
“Take the pictures she wants, then. But I’ll have the film developed,” he said with a warning in his tone. “And none are to go to your newspaper!”
Sara stiffened. She knew he didn’t truly trust her, due to her own actions, but it still rankled. “I have no intention of sending any to the paper!”
“Jasmine knows the true story about our marriage, but my mother doesn’t. Keep it that way,” he admonished.
“Did you come out here just to tell me that? Of course I can remember that order from one day to the next. No one is to know. If I can’t tell my mother, I surely won’t be telling yours!”
She hurried into the house to change from the modest white pants she’d donned that morning into something more suitable to lunch with her new in-laws.
When she entered the large foyer several minutes later, Piers and Angelique were talking. Kharun leaned casually against the priceless Louis XV table watching them. He looked at Sara when she joined them. She wondered for a moment if the gleam in his eyes meant more than he still didn’t trust her.
“Have a good afternoon,” he said, deliberately crossing to her. He stood so close she could almost share his breath—if she hadn’t been holding hers.
“I wish I were going with you,” he said. Only she understood the full truth of the comment. He was wary about letting her out of his sight. Yet his comment undoubtedly sounded totally different to his mother, she was sure. Angelique thought Kharun longed to spend the day with his new bride. If she only knew!
“I’ll be back before dinner—nothing will happen.” It was the best she could do to offer reassurance.
His lips brushed against hers and he straightened and turned.
It wasn’t enough. Sara gripped the straps of her purse tightly. She wanted more!
Yet the brief kiss was more than she could have expected.
Pasting a bright smile on her face she faced Angelique. “Let’s do lunch!”
When the women had left, Piers looked at Kharun. “Is that wise?”
“Probably not. But it caused no comment. If I had kept Sara isolated from my mother, she would wonder why, and begin to question me, and speculate to all and sundry. I dare not risk any suspicion.”
“I understand, but what’s to stop Sara from running off the first moment Angelique turns her back?”
Kharun paused a moment, deep in thought. “Sara said she would stay, I believe her.”
“She could be a spy. At best she’s a sensationalist hack journalist searching for fodder for that rag she works for.”
“But she is Samuel Kinsale’s daughter. His ethics have never been questioned. I’m betting she’s enough like her father that she won’t disappear.”
“I hope you’re right,” Piers said, heading back toward the office.
“Me, too,” Kharun said softly. He wasn’t sure where the feeling of total trust had come from. His experience with women outside his family had done nothing to foster such a trust. But there was something about Sara—
He shook his head and followed his friend back to work. He hoped he wasn’t letting his desire for the woman cloud his judgment.
When Angelique’s chauffeur dropped Sara back at the villa later that afternoon, Sara held the half dozen bags of purchases balanced in her arms. She rang the bell and wondered if she should have asked for a key.
One of the maids opened the door, smiling shyly when she recognized Sara. She said something in Arabic, which of course Sara didn’t understand. Replying in French, she could tell the young woman didn’t speak that language. It was frustrating not being able to communicate. But the nods and smiles seemed sufficient.
Sara headed for her room. The afternoon had been unexpectedly fun. Jasmine never let up her cautious air, which thankfully Angelique didn’t appear to notice. Sara answered all their questions, dared to ask a couple of her own, and tried to pretend everything was normal for a newly wed woman getting to know her new in-laws.
But always in the background hovered the specter of Kharun and the reality of the true situation.
“Shopping, a woman’s delight,” Kharun said behind her.
Sara spun around, the packages flying every which way.
“I didn’t hear you!” she accused. How did he move so soundlessly?
“My apologies.” He leaned over and picked up two of the bags.
Sara reached for the others, and continued on to her room feeling a little snappy, with butterflies dancing in her stomach. What was wrong with her? Too much chocolate mousse for dessert at lunch?
Her skin seemed to tingle at his closeness. She wished she’d checked her hair, made sure her lipstick was fresh. Anticipation hummed through her veins.
He followed her into the bedroom as if he had every right. Which, she thought wryly, he did.
“I bought some things,” she said needlessly, dumping her bags on the bed. Kharun placed the two he carried and looked at her, his dark eyes disturbing. She fidgeted beneath his gaze.
“What did you buy?” he asked politely.
“A dress for the reception at the British embassy. Your mother said we would be going.”
He nodded his head once.
“When were you planning on telling me?” she asked. “Ten minutes before we were about to leave? Listen to me, Kharun, arranging my life without telling me is not something which I’ll put up with.” She waved her hands. “The first I knew about our wedding was when Jasmine showed up with the dress. The first I knew about this reception was when your mother told me. What else is going on that I
need to know that you haven’t told me?”
He shrugged. “I will have to check my calendar. Would you like to go over it with me?” he asked politely, amusement dancing in his eyes.
She flushed at the sardonic glint in his eyes.
“Of course not, just let me know ahead of time if there is an event you expect me to attend. And I will let you know, as well.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “An event you and I would attend that you arranged?”
“My mother will certainly wish to have us over for dinner soon. The few moments we had to talk after our hasty wedding certainly weren’t enough to satisfy her curiosity. Nor could we talk while I packed with you hovering around like a vulture.”
“Vulture? Somehow I had hoped for a more romantic turn of phrase. I thought I played the part of doting bridegroom perfectly.”
“I’m sure you’d have received rave reviews if anyone had known. But my mother’s big on family. She’ll love welcoming you into ours, the sooner the better for her.”
Sara bit her lower lip. “We’ll have to stall her.”
“Why is that?”
“There’s no point in her getting used to you when the marriage will be over soon.”
“As you say. Let me see the gown.”
She thought about arguing, but about what? She knew this was solely a marriage of convenience—his convenience. Showing him the clothes effectively changed the subject. Sara was pleased with her selections and wondered what he’d think about them. She pushed aside two of the smaller bags, taking the larger one. Withdrawing the dress, wrapped in layers and layers of tissue paper, she shook it free.
Almost a midnight-blue, shot through with silver threads, it was the loveliest dress she’d ever seen. And it fit like a dream.
She held it up, and looked at him.
His expression gave nothing away.
“Try it on,” he invited.
“Now?”
“It’s hard to see how it will look on you when merely held up in front.” He walked to the sitting area and sat as if he was settled for the rest of the afternoon.
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