The Governess and the Sheikh (21 page)

She had to know. ‘Jamil, don't you feel any different, now that we have…?'

He nuzzled her neck. ‘Feelings, always feelings with you, Cassie. You know how I feel.' He took her hand and placed it on his manhood. ‘This is what I feel for you.'

Passion. Desire. Not love. It would never be love. She had her answer.
What a fool she had been! What a
complete and utter fool!
She felt the little fledgling of hope drop broken-winged to the ground. Jamil did not love her. Jamil would never love her. Worse! He'd made it clear, perfectly, abundantly, unequivocally clear, that he did not want her love. He wanted her body. It was all he'd ever want from her. She'd hoped he'd wanted her, Cassie, the person inside, not the packaging. She felt sick. And angry. And cheated. The pain enveloped her, a dense black mass of despair. She had to get out of here, away from him, before he saw, because that would be the ultimate humiliation. Pushing herself free from his embrace, Cassie sat up. ‘No!'

Jamil tried to pull her back down again. ‘Did I hurt you? Next time, I promise it will not…'

She struggled frantically to release herself, terrified lest her love, her poor wounded love, would clutch at the crumbs he offered, pleading that they would be enough, knowing they were not. She had to get away. ‘Leave me alone. Get off me.' She struggled to her feet, breathing harshly.

‘Cassie, I didn't mean to hurt you.'

‘You didn't hurt me. And there won't be a next time.'

‘If you mean you wish to wait until after we are married, then I would respect your wishes,' Jamil said reluctantly. It would be a compromise. A severe compromise, but the rites could be arranged quickly. Well, relatively quickly. Six weeks. The very notion of waiting six weeks filled him with horror.

‘We're not getting married.'

Her words had a finality to them that cut into him like a dagger. For a few moments Jamil could only stare at her in stupefaction as Cassie began to right her
clothing. ‘You are being ridiculous,' he finally managed. ‘I thought you understood. Tonight—'

‘I do understand. I wish I didn't, but I understand. You've made it perfectly clear.' She was trembling. Her fingers could not manage her buttons. She could not tie her lacings. Hastily clutching her dress together anyhow, she clenched her fingers into little fists and folded her arms across her chest, partly to steady herself, partly to hide her anguish from Jamil. If only he would not look at her so. If only…

She steeled herself.
If only
belonged in the world of fairytales and poetry. This was the real world. ‘I'm sorry,' she said, her voice cracking, ‘I can't marry you.' He looked so thunderstruck that she could not resist touching him, putting her little clenched fist to his arm, but Jamil shook her off angrily.

‘You still insist on love, Cassie? You are deluded, for you are looking for something that does not exist. You will not find it. Here or anywhere else.' Cassie flinched.
I have found it, I have.
But it was no use. ‘I'm sorry,' she said again, for there was nothing more to be said.

He felt as if the world was coming crashing down around him. All his certainties. All his plans. Gone, in an instant. Suddenly, it was too much. ‘Get out!' he roared. ‘Get out of here, and never let me set eyes on you again.'

She had the distinct impression that her heart was breaking, something that turned out to be no poetic licence. Not just her heart. Her world. She was on the brink of a precipice. The urge to hang on with her fin
gers was so strong she almost followed it. To have just a little was surely better than to have nothing?

Cassie wavered. To be his wife, to be desired, if not loved—surely that was still worth having? But one look at Jamil's face told her that option was no longer open to her. And anyway, in her heart, that poor, wounded heart of hers, she knew it would be wrong. She loved him absolutely. Nothing else would suffice.

Jamil's skin was pale, his lips two thin lines. Almost, Cassie did not recognise him. ‘I'll bid you goodbye then.' Her voice wobbled. She waited, but Jamil made no reply, staring resolutely over her head, as if she did not exist. Cassie turned, with a heavy heart, and made for the courtyard door.

After it closed behind her, Jamil retrieved his scimitar from the ceremonial case in which it lay glittering wickedly. Returning to the courtyard, with a fierce intake of breath, he lifted it high over his head and brought it down in a series of smooth, vicious arcs, neatly slicing through a row of ornamental bay trees, leaving the tops of the bushes lying like the heads of decapitated soldiers on a battlefield.

J
amil left Daar-el-Abbah early the next morning. Cassie had dealt a bitter blow to his pride, but the knowledge, lurking in the dark recesses of his mind, that it was not sufficient to quell his overwhelming need to make her his, was what made it necessary for him to leave the royal palace. Knowing she was there, within its walls, was too much of a temptation. He would not beg, he would not demean himself by showing such weakness, but Cassie had the ability to scramble his senses so effectively he decided not to take the risk. Taking decisive action would help restore his shattered equilibrium. He decided to act on Halim's advice and deliver the news of the broken betrothal to Princess Adira's family in person.

He rode out on his white camel at the head of a small caravan. At least, it was what Halim called a small caravan, for it consisted of ten guards, about the same number of servants, and twenty mules carrying,
in addition to the tents and hangings, a number of valuable gifts for the princess and her family. Jamil did not wish to be accused of a lack of generosity. Most certainly he did not want to risk offence. Though no one, he thought cynically, could possibly be offended by such an excessive hoard of gold and precious jewels.

He had no real reason to break the betrothal now, but he was more convinced then ever that he could not take the Princess Adira or the Princess Anyone as his wife. In fact, the very notion of a wife at all filled him with repugnance. With one exception. But
that
he would not think about.

Yet later, unable to sleep, padding silent as a panther beyond the perimeter of the camp, Cassie was all Jamil could think about. That he still wanted her with an unabated passion, he could not understand. She had rejected him not once but twice. That fact alone should be enough to tear her from his thoughts, to rip all desire for her from his body, but it was not. He could not fathom it, any more than he could understand Cassie's refusal. Her passion for him was as strong as his for her, there was no mistaking that. She had given herself with an abandon that fired his loins, had relished their union every bit as much as he. She would have given herself again with very little persuasion, he was sure of that, yet she would not take him as a husband. It was ironic—not that he was in the mood for irony—that all he believed of Englishwomen previously was proving quite untrue. They had a reputation for being keen to snare a husband, but less than enthusiastic about activity in the marital bed afterwards. Cassie, unfortunately, was proving to be the exception.

Jamil sat down on a large boulder at the furthest edge of the oasis and watched morosely as two scorpions carried out an elaborate mating dance on the sand. Ritual and instinct. The dance. The copulation. The production of young. Not so very different from the way he had been raised to think of his own marriage. The wedding contract and formal rites. The mating. The production of heirs. The separation of the harem, of women and children from men. As in the world of the scorpions, so in the world of the royal palace. He had his role. His wife had hers. So it had always been.

Not any more. He did not want it. He would not have it. Traditions had often irked him, but until recently he had not been inclined to challenge them. It was Cassie who had questioned, Cassie who had given him pause, Cassie who had, without him noticing, subtly altered his whole way of thinking. And Cassie who had made him realise how lonely life as a prince could be. She had taken away that loneliness, too.

Everyone needs someone!
A curse upon her! If she had not challenged and provoked and forced him to see his life through her eyes, then he could have carried on as he was. As he had always been. If not happy, then content.

But that was a lie. He had not been content; she was right about that, too. His past had always haunted him. He realised with a start that it no longer did. The dreams, the memories that had tortured him, had gone since that day she had broken his father's whip over her knee. Cassie had performed some sort of exorcism.

She did not deserve his curses, she deserved his admiration for the way she had adapted to a foreign
land, one with a fierce climate and an alien tongue. Had thrown herself with gusto into the fray, transforming his daughter in the process, demonstrating a love of the desert and Daar-el-Abbah's history that rivalled his own. She had even begun to master the rudiments of the language. Underneath that beautiful and desirable exterior lay a quite remarkable person, Jamil could now see.

He smiled, thinking of the many occasions upon which she had blurted out her thoughts, the way she would cover her mouth with her hand as if to push the words back, the endearing combination of guilt and defiance in her big blue eyes. The memories triggered others. The fearless way she rode, the endless patience she displayed with Linah, the care she put into the smallest of tasks, the way she smiled and the way she laughed and the way she frowned, chewing on her lower lip when she was thinking something over. The way she clasped her hands when she was nervous. The tender way she talked about her sisters. The hurt she tried to hide when talking of her father. She never lied, or even prevaricated. She said what she thought, often—too often, maybe—regardless of the consequences. She would not be ordered, but she would be guided. And she listened. She really listened, in a way that no one else did. She wore her feelings plainly on her beautiful face.

The scorpions had gone. The oasis was perfectly still. Above him, a crescent moon shone weakly through an unusual covering of light cloud. Jamil picked up a handful of sand and let it sift through his fingers. He had made no arrangements for her
departure, but he had given no commands to prevent it, either. That note of finality in her voice could not be ignored. She would go, might even be gone by the time he returned. He should be pleased. Temptation would be removed. But as he watched the sand trickle from his palm, Jamil felt a piercing sadness. Closing his fingers, he tried to catch the last few grains, but it was too late. His hand was empty. Beyond the oasis, the vast plain of the desert stretched. His desert. His kingdom. His life. Empty.

 

There was a time for enduring alone, a time for nursing one's feelings back to health without anyone ever knowing they had been hurt, a time for trying to prove that one could rise above one's reputation as the flighty, irresponsible one of the Armstrong girls. And then there was a time to seek solace with the person who had been her chief comforter and solid supporter since Mama died. Cassie's first action the morning after making love to Jamil was to write to Celia, urging her to send someone to fetch her as quickly as possible. She must get away, and until she did, she must stay clear of Jamil. After last night, she was under no illusions about her strength of will. She would surrender herself to him whenever he asked. Her body was his—and he knew it. Her heart, too, though that, he did not know and must not. And her soul. That, she must keep safe, for both their sakes.

It would take ten days, she calculated, for the letter to reach Celia and for her requested escort to arrive. When Linah informed her that Papa was gone, and would be away for at least three nights, she should have been
relieved, but was contrarily first offended that he had left without taking his leave of her, then simply hurt and very lonely. She missed him as if he had become part of her. His absence was like a permanent ache that served to emphasise the need to leave this place, for the more she had to endure his presence, the harder would their parting be. But part they must. And she must find the strength to get herself through the next ten days without betraying herself.

Tears, which had come so easily to her in the past, now refused to flow. Her grief was too great for such gratuitous expression; the devastation she was enduring at the destruction of her world was too fundamental a pain to articulate with extravagant gestures. The dramatic and flamboyant Cassie of old would not recognise this quiet, withdrawn and unutterably sad creature.

 

She endured. For Linah's sake, she even managed to put on a brave face. Though her smile felt rigid, and every movement was an effort, she managed it—or thought she did. She smiled and shook her head dismissively when Linah asked what was wrong. Then she claimed a headache. Then Linah stopped asking, and took to staring at her in a disconcertingly worried way, holding her hand tightly. She did not like to let Cassie out of her sight.

That, too, Cassie endured. At times she felt as if she were watching herself in a play. She wanted to scream at the fates for the unfairness of it all. Why could not Jamil love her? Why not? Why not? Tears would have been a relief then, but still they did not come. She felt as if she were hewn from stone.

 

What did arrive, unexpectedly, was Celia. While Cassie was sitting in the courtyard staring absently into space, the heavy door was flung open to reveal the familiar figure of her beloved sister.

‘Celia! Oh, Celia, I can't tell you how good it is to see you,' Cassie said, throwing herself with relief into her sister's arms. ‘But how do you come to be here so quickly? I only despatched my note the other day. And Mr Finchley-Burke,' she exclaimed, catching a glimpse of Peregrine, hovering uneasily in the background. ‘Quite a delegation!'

Peregrine stepped forwards and made an elegant bow. ‘Lady Cassandra. Pleasure to see you again.'

‘Are you here in some official capacity? Is something wrong? Have you a message from home? One of my sisters? Oh goodness, is it Papa?'

‘No, no, do not be alarmed,' Celia said, ‘it is nothing like that.'

‘Then what—oh, I beg your pardon, I am being most remiss, you will be wanting tea after your journey. Won't you come and sit down?'

With resignation, Peregrine followed the two sisters over to the ubiquitous heaps of cushions, lowering himself down carefully. While Cassie poured tea, and Celia took covert note of the dark shadows under her sister's eyes, Peregrine prayed for guidance. Warring tribes and broken treaties were one thing, but affairs of the heart and young lady's delicate sensibilities were quite another. A specialised field, in his experience. A field he had become bogged down in before. He need
not have worried, as it turned out. His plea for divine intervention seemed to have been answered.

‘I am so glad you have come, Celia,' Cassie said, ignoring her own tea, ‘I wish to leave here as soon as possible.'

‘Leave!' Celia exclaimed in surprise. ‘But I thought you were so happy here?'

‘Leave!' Peregrine exclaimed in relief, ‘Excellent news. Capital!' He was suddenly aware of two pairs of Armstrong eyes viewing him with disapproval. ‘Obviously hope there's nothing wrong. Didn't mean to imply—simply meant I'd be delighted to help in any way. Get you home, that is.'

Cassie addressed her sister. ‘I was happy. Very happy.' Her voice trembled, but she took a quick breath, and straightened her shoulders. ‘I just—things have become complicated—I just need to leave.'

Peregrine clapped his hands together. ‘Righty-ho. What say we just turn the caravan around immediately? Camels will barely be in the stables. If I just pop round now,' he said, creaking to his feet, ‘we can be on our way in jig-time.'

‘No, wait. I can't go today.'

‘Nonsense. Best not to put it off,' Peregrine said with an encouraging smile.

‘I can't. I have to say goodbye to Linah properly. Tomorrow, maybe, or…'
The next day. When Jamil might be back.

‘Tomorrow's not looking so good,' Peregrine said, dismayed by the sudden indecision in Lady Cassandra's voice. ‘Storms forecast apparently,' he said, quite untruthfully. ‘Best to go now.'

Seeing that her sister was in the grip of strong emotion, Celia put an arm around her. ‘Tomorrow will be soon enough,' she said firmly to Peregrine, ‘but there is nothing stopping you leaving today and returning to Cairo. After all, your mission would appear to be successfully completed without any need for your intervention.'

Cassie gave herself a little shake and freed herself from Celia's embrace. ‘Mission? Precisely why are you here, Mr Finchley-Burke?' she asked.

Faced with piercing eyes every bit as blue as he remembered, and a figure every bit as luscious and distracting, too, Peregrine felt his eloquence desert him. ‘I—your father, that is—worried about your safety, you know,' he spluttered. ‘Thought you'd be keen to get back to England—enough of the heat and the flies and what not,' he added, shuffling his feet.

‘As it happens, I do want to leave Arabia,' Cassie told him with a wobbly smile, ‘though how my father…'

‘Oh, you know Lord Armstrong,' Peregrine told her bracingly, ‘always one step ahead, always knows what's best.'

‘Cassie? Are you sure you really want to go back to England?' Celia said.

Cassie nodded. ‘I must.'

Peregrine rubbed his hands together and began to shuffle backwards towards the courtyard door. ‘So, in that case I'll be off then, back to Cairo. Secure you a place on a ship. Or I could stay and escort you, if you wish.'

‘No. Really, Mr Finchley-Burke,' Celia interposed,
‘my husband will wish to make those arrangements personally.'

Peregrine had reached the doorway now and made a bow from the safety of the other side. ‘As you wish, happy to oblige. Lovely to see you again, Lady Cassandra. Your humble servant, Lady Celia. If I can't be of any further service then? No. Right. Well. I'll bid you adieu.' With a final flourish of his hat, Peregrine Finchley-Burke concluded his visit to Daar. An hour later, anxious to be off before either Armstrong sister could dream up another commission for him, he was seen heading out into the desert with only a guide, a mule and a camel for company.

‘How very strange that Papa should have sent for me at this time,' Cassie said to her sister, back in the Scheherazade courtyard. ‘I suppose I should not be surprised; he never wanted me to out come here in the first place.'