The Governess and the Sheikh (18 page)

Cassie began the journey towards him. Part of her, the Cassandra part of her, rather relished the dramatic scene: the ornate room, the waiting prince, the green carpet, herself all in white, making her steady way to her fate. But Cassandra could not compete with Cassie. Cassie was terrified and horribly nervous, and on top of it all, seeing him again, knowing just how much she
loved him, she had to fight the urge to run all the way to the dais, cast herself at his feet and beg him to love her in return.

Or maybe that was Cassandra, too? Then she got to the first of the shallow steps of the dais and looked up at Jamil, and Cassandra melted silently into the wings. Cassie it was who took centre stage, shaking like an actress with first-night nerves.

He was dressed in formal robes, much more ornate than any she had seen him wear before. A head dress of gold silk edged with emerald, the
igal
that fastened it made of gold thread. His tunic was of the same green, the heavy gold belt buckle decorated with an enormous emerald surrounded by yellow diamonds, the like of which she had seen only once before, in the dazzling crown jewels that Ramiz had worn on his wedding day. A golden cloak, heavily braided and jewelled, pooled at Jamil's feet and trailed down the steps of the dais. It would take at least four pages to bear. It was fastened with another fantastically ornate piece of jewellery, the panther emblem in gold, a yellow diamond for his glinting, impassive eye.

Cassie curtsied low, taking advantage of her veil to survey Jamil's expression. He was not frowning, but not smiling either. Inscrutable. His Corsair look.
Why did he have to be so very handsome?
‘Your Highness.'

‘Lady Cassandra.'

‘You desired an audience with me, your Highness?' She was relieved to hear her voice sounded almost normal. Almost.

Jamil nodded. ‘I have some important news to impart to you.'

Cassie's knees began to shake. The moment she'd been dreading had arrived.

‘I have decided,' Jamil continued, ‘that it would be in the best interests of my kingdom for you to become my wife.'

Once, years ago, a friend of her father's who had been to the South Seas had brought back a huge pink conch shell. ‘Listen, and you can hear the sea,' he'd said to Cassie. She had, and had heard not the familiar sound of the sea, but a rushing, whistling kind of sound. She heard the same thing now, and her mouth went dry. The green carpet beneath her, Jamil's golden cloak on the steps, began to shimmer in front of her eyes, as if in a heat haze. ‘Your wife?' she said, her voice trembling on the edge of hysteria.

‘I have decided we are to be married,' Jamil said, frowning. ‘Obviously, there will be obstacles to be overcome.'

‘Obstacles?' Cassie repeated blankly.

Why was she not smiling her joyful acceptance?
They were alone, he had broken with tradition to ensure that they would be.
Why was she not embracing him?
‘Nothing that cannot be overcome, I assure you. The advantages of this match over the one that my Council has arranged—'

‘What?'

‘Obviously, that contract will have to be nullified before we can marry.'

Cassie hastily put back her veil. ‘What are you talk
ing about, Jamil? What contract? Are you saying that you are already betrothed?'

Save for a bright slash of colour across her cheekbones, and the luminous blue of her eyes, her face was as alabaster white as the dress she wore. ‘It is nothing,' he said dismissively, ‘a prior commitment arranged by my Council.'

‘Nothing! You call the fact that you are formally betrothed nothing! Why did you not tell me before?'

‘Why on earth should I? It was none of your concern.'

‘Good grief! Of course it concerns me. It concerns me very much that you were engaged to be married when you were—when you and I were…'

‘What you and I were doing had nothing to do with the Princess Adira.'

‘Princess Adira! So you at least know her name.'

‘I know her name, I know her family, I know what the alliance will bring in tangible terms of gold, silver and diamonds,' Jamil said angrily, ‘and I also know what breaking it will cost me in terms of ill will from my Council and from Princess Adira's kinfolk, but I am prepared to endure all that in order to take you as my bride.'

They were words that Cassie had not dared hope to hear, not even in her wildest dreams, and yet they rang hollow. He had not said the most important words of all.
I love you.
‘Why?'

‘I beg your pardon?'

‘Why do you want to marry me?'

‘There are all sorts of sound reasons. For a start, your own strategic connections to the British Empire
far outweigh any offered by Princess Adira's family, and though your dowry will be negligible compared to hers, it will not matter, for my own personal wealth is more than sufficient.'

Cassie stared at him, open-mouthed. ‘You talk about marriage as if it were some sort of commercial contract or diplomatic treaty. In fact, you sound
exactly
like my father.'

Jamil made a little bow. ‘Thank you.'

‘I did not mean it as a compliment.' She dashed a hand across her eyes. The man she loved had asked her to marry him. It should be the happiest moment of her life. It was turning into the worst. ‘I can't believe this is happening,' she said, a stray tear trembling on the end of her eyelash.

Jamil, who had been about to clasp her in his arms, paused. Somehow he knew these were not tears of joy. ‘It is not just a matter of your valuable connections,' he said, ‘it is the fact that your English heritage brings with it modern ideas. You will be an ideal role model for the women of Daar-el-Abbah. Much admired and copied.' He smiled encouragingly. ‘Then there is Linah. You have been an excellent influence on her. I would wish that to continue; anyway, I know you have grown very fond of each other. This way the bond need not be broken.'

‘All sound practical reasons, I grant you,' Cassie sniffed, ‘but what about the most important one of all?' It was a faint hope, but she had to know.

Jamil smiled. ‘You mean my need for an heir. Naturally, that is of prime importance. After yesterday, I have no doubt that we will both find the execution
of that particular duty a delightful and continued pleasure.'

Now she knew!
‘Execution of duty! That is what you call it! I can't believe what I'm hearing.'

‘Come, Cassie, our countries may be thousands of miles apart, but the customs are not so dissimilar. People of our class and rank marry for two reasons—mutual benefit, and the continuance of the line—you know that as well as I do. Are you not the great Lord Armstrong's daughter? Has he not approved just such an alliance for your sister? It is serendipitous that another such alliance will bring you and me great enjoyment.'

‘You may think so, Jamil, and no doubt so, too, may my father, but I am sorry to inform you that I do not.' Just for a moment she had allowed herself to hope. Just for a moment she had allowed herself to dream. Yesterday, she had been making love to Jamil while Jamil had merely been taking pleasure. That is all he would ever do. The realisation was like a kick in the stomach from a mule. Disappointment made her reckless. She felt as if he had taken her most cherished romantic dream and trampled on it. ‘I'm sorry, Jamil, but I can't marry you. You do not want a wife, you want a brood mare.'

She had gone too far. She knew that, in the way his face set, his eyes narrowed, in the way he withdrew, mentally and physically, retreating up the stairs of the dais to stand over her, every inch of his rigidly held stature emanating cold fury. ‘I had thought you had outgrown such intemperate remarks,' Jamil said. ‘I had given you credit for having acquired, in your time here
in Daar, a little of the sound judgement you told me at the outset you lacked. Obviously I was wrong.'

‘Obviously!' Cassie threw at him. She didn't care now. She had nothing left to lose.

‘I see now that you are quite undeserving of the honour I was willing to bestow on you,' Jamil said, bowing stiffly. ‘I will make the preparations for your departure. In the meantime, you will consider yourself confined to your quarters.'

He strode down the steps of the dais. Maybe there was something to be said for abiding by tradition after all. A lesson learned. As well for him that it had been one taught in private. Cassie was staring at him, her eyes wide with unshed tears. Something told him he was missing something vital, but his pride, which had ruled him from such an early age, was in no mood to explore what it was. His father was right after all! To expose a need is to expose a weakness. One alone is better than many. Or even two. Jamil walked quickly up the length of the room. The extravagantly long state cloak stretched out behind him. With an exclamation of annoyance, he undid the clasp and let it fall.

The doors slammed shut behind him. The huge room was eerily silent. Cassie's knees finally gave way. She sank down on to the lowest step of the dais and dropped her head into her hands. Tears trickled in a steady flow down her pale cheeks. She sat there, a solitary ghostly white figure, for more than an hour. When she finally rose, cramped and shivering despite the heat of the day, she was resolved. Her heart was broken, but her spirit was not. She must leave this place before that, too, succumbed and was shattered into a thousand pieces.

 

Jamil's fury knew no bounds as he made his way to his own apartments. That she had dared turn him down! And in such a way!

He could not believe it.

He could not understand it.

He would not accept it!

And still he wanted her. Having decided to make Cassie his wife, no other would now do. He did not know why that was the case, but it was. The fates had sent her to him for a reason. Not that he believed in the fates, but in this instance—in this instance, it felt
right
. Cassie was meant for him. He would not be denied her.

Jamil changed hurriedly out of his formal state clothes, cursing in any number of languages, none of them bringing him any relief at all. That he, Sheikh al-Nazarri, Prince of Daar-el-Abbah, should have been refused by a mere woman! The same woman, moreover, who had betrothed herself to a penniless poet in the teeth of her family's opposition.

He paused in the act of pulling one of his favoured simple white tunics over his head. Perhaps that was where he had gone wrong, not proposing through the correct channels? Hastily fastening the collar of a plain
thoub
of white cotton round his neck and ramming his head dress in place, he made his way out of his apartments to the stables, deep in thought. Having incurred her father's wrath as a result of her incomprehensible misalliance with the poet, Cassie was not likely to defy him a second time, he realised, springing into the saddle and spurring his horse into motion.

But she would not need to. She must surely know, as
he himself did, that Lord Armstrong would welcome this alliance with open arms. Her sister's marriage to Prince Ramiz had been a great diplomatic success. Cassie's marriage into the royal family of Daar-el-Abbah would consolidate Britain's position of influence in Arabia, protecting the vital fast-trade route to India. Lord Armstrong would do everything in his power to bring that about, were it proposed. Including bringing his daughter to heel.

But for some reason, this made Jamil uncomfortable. He did not want Cassie to be brought to heel. He wanted her to come to him of her own accord. More than that, he wanted her to come to him willingly. Yesterday, in the hammam, she had shown herself more than willing. Why then had she refused him?

Riding out at a gallop over his beloved desert, past the Maldissi Oasis in the direction of the cave in which he and Cassie had taken shelter from the storm, Jamil's anger dissipated as he pondered this most perplexing of questions. Cassie was wilful, he knew that. Truth be told, it was one of the things he liked about her, for it was part of her passionate nature. She spoke without thinking. If she was ordered to do one thing, the chances were she would choose to do the opposite, not because she was contrary, but because it was in her nature to resist having her will subverted to another. A little like him. Jamil smiled wryly. A lot like him. He had handled her badly, he could see that now. He should have allowed her the pretence of considering instead of presenting her with a
fait accompli
.

There was more to it than that, though. What was it she had said? The most important thing.

The most important thing to him was her. Startled by this thought, Jamil reined in his horse and took a long swig of water from his goatskin flask. The best interests of his kingdom, which had until now always been his primary consideration, no longer felt quite so important. He had never felt like this before and it was all Cassie's fault, Cassie who had awoken these feelings, Cassie who had made him see that such feelings were not wrong.

The most important thing to Cassie, Jamil realised hot on the heels of this revelation, was romance. Hearts and flowers and pretty speeches. What she called love. True love, such as she had described so fervently to him that day in the ruined east wing. Jamil's lip curled. Love. Upon that subject she had not changed his mind. Love of that kind was a myth dreamed up by those damned poets she favoured to explain away passion, nothing more. Poor, deluded Cassie—could she not see that the desire that flamed between them was far more tangible and even more long-lasting? Past experience should have taught her that much.

Jamil's fists clenched. No matter how shallow were her feelings for the man to whom she had been betrothed, he did not like to think of her feeling anything for anyone but him. A simple, primal possessiveness gripped him. She must be made to see that what they had together was something much more tangible. It was not love that made the heart beat faster, but desire. If he could make her see that, if he could show her how real could be a body's fulfilment, she would have no need for empty declarations. If he could show her that, she would see that what they had between them was
more than most had. He would prove it to her. He was already looking forward to proving it.