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Felicia did not know what to say. She had imagined that Zahra was being forced into the marriage for reasons of policy and had even suspected that somehow or other Raschid would benefit financially from the marriage. Now she was being compelled to review her suspicions.
‘Of course Saud’s family demanded a very large dowry,’ Zahra continued matter-of-factly, startling her still further. ‘But Raschid has been very generous. You must ask Mother to show you my bridal chest. It will hold Saud’s gifts to me on our marriage, and it has been passed down through our family for ten generations.’
Felicia was still digesting this unwelcome insight into Raschid’s actions when Zahra excused herself, saying that she had some studying to do. When she had gone Felicia stared out into the darkness of the gardens. It seemed that she had completely misunderstood Raschid’s motives—at least as far as Zahra was concerned, for there could be no mistaking his attitude towards her. Was inviting her here a roundabout way to destroying Faisal’s love for her? With considerable misgivings, she wandered restlessly from the window to the door leading out into the courtyard, tempted by its inviting solitude and fresh air. It was cooler outside than she had expected and she shivered in her thin dress, but the music of the fountains was particularly haunting by night, suiting her mood, and she found herself drawn to where the clean, cool water splashed down into its marble pool. She passed the birds in their aviary and sighed faintly. She was as much a prisoner as they, although there were no walls to her cage other than custom and hostility.
‘Miss Gordon!’
She froze as the dark shadow loomed over her, the sound of her name on those cruel lips sending shivers of apprehension running over her skin. All at once the velvet darkness seemed to press down on her, every instinct warning her to flee as Raschid emerged from the shadows, crossing the courtyard with silent stealth.
She had thought that she had the courtyard to herself, Raschid the last person she had expected to materialise at her side, and she choked back her dismay, forcing herself to say coolly, ‘Sheikh—I didn’t see you. Zahra told me you’d gone out.’
‘So I had,’ he agreed. ‘But now I have returned, and like you I was tempted into the garden to enjoy its solitude.’
Felicia turned, intending to return to the protection of the house, but his fingers grasped her shoulder, forcing her to stand mute under his considering scrutiny. His eyes seemed to strip away her fragile defences, leaving her exposed and vulnerable, her eyes wide and uncertain as she tried to hold his gaze.
‘This meeting is most opportune,’ he drawled at length. ‘I am glad of the chance to speak privately with you.’
‘I thought my presence was yours to command,’ Felicia retorted bitterly. ‘Or are you no longer master in this house?’
He ignored her taunt, his eyes mocking as they pierced the darkness. ‘I was thinking of your embarrassment and my sister’s curiosity were I to send for you privately; not my own ability to command you if I so wished. Fatima tells me that Zahra was to have shown you the town this afternoon, and apparently my appearance on the scene deprived you of this treat.’
When Felicia refused to reply he continued coolly,
‘That being the case, I shall put myself at your disposal later in the week. You know, of course, that Friday is our holy day, but if you will name another, I shall make sure that it is free.’
Munificence indeed, Felicia thought wryly, but being escorted around Kuwait by a disapproving Raschid was the last thing she wanted.
‘There’s no need for you to go to such trouble,’ she assured him quickly—too quickly, she realised, when she saw him curse under his breath, his fingers tightening painfully.
‘It seems that you are determined to quarrel with me,’ he accused. ‘You British have a saying that is particularly relevant, and I suggest that you accept the olive branch I extend. We are extremely dependent upon the olive in our harsh climate, and we never take its name in vain. It is plain that Zahra has taken you to her heart—perhaps the fault for this is mine in not warning her more thoroughly about the type of woman you are—However, the damage is now done, and it will hurt her if she sees that we are enemies. She is to leave us soon, and I will not have her last days with her family spoiled and marred by ill-feeling between us.’
‘A pity you didn’t think of that before you insulted me so grossly this afternoon,’ Felicia reminded him bleakly, dismayed by the bitterness that swept over her.
‘So!’ He seemed to consider her for a moment, his eyes probing the darkness until she shrank under their assessing gleam. ‘Very well. If I cannot gain your co-operation through goodwill, I shall have to gain it in some other fashion.’
A frisson of fear ran over her skin. In the dark the fountain played, but the sound suddenly seemed heightened to her overstrung nerves, emphasising the solitude of the garden.
‘If you’re thinking of bribery,’ she said distastefully, ‘I suggest you think again. There’s nothing you could offer me that would change my love for Faisal.’
‘Nothing?’ Raschid taunted softly, coming towards her like a jungle cat, all feline grace and terrifying danger. Although it was dark she could see the faint sheen of his skin, marred by the dark shadow of his beard along his jawline. It was unfair that any man should possess such arrogant certainty of his own power to compel others to do his bidding, she thought nervously, her tongue wetting her dry lips, as long lashes flicked down over his eyes, hiding his thoughts from her. His touch had become less brutal, his fingers gently massaging the fragile bones of her shoulders, sending a warning screaming through her veins. This man is dangerous, it seemed to say, and with trembling certainty she knew that she had pulled the tiger’s tail and must surely suffer the consequences.
Without her being able to do a thing about it, Raschid slid his hands from her shoulders to her waist, propelling her towards him, his voice a mocking imitation of tenderness, as he murmured softly against her hair, ‘You leave me with very little choice, Miss Gordon. You have continually defied me, and must pay the price. You cannot expect me to believe you are naïve enough not to know how a man will retaliate when you challenge his most basic instincts?
‘Very well then,’ he said harshly, when she refused to answer, ‘let this be your punishment.’
Cruel hands imprisoned her against the hard warmth of his body, his voice cold as he commanded her to abandon her vain struggles to be free, as his mouth descended on hers with a punishing ferocity.
If she had once read passion into that full underlip, there was none now. It was a kiss of bitter anger; a contemptuous punishment of her defiance, breaking through the fragile cobweb dreams she had spun of a moment like this; alone in an Eastern dusk, in the arms of a man who could trace his origins back to the fierce tribesmen who called the whole desert home. But then, of course, she had been thinking of Faisal—not this man who crushed her against the steel wall of his chest, without a thought for the fragility of her own soft curves; who destroyed her dreams as easily as he might tear the wings from a foolish moth.
Furiously resentful, she withstood the harsh pressure of his mouth; rigidly refusing to admit defeat, her lips clamped shut against the demand of his. He might be able to physically restrain her, but nothing could make her respond to him in the way he had obviously intended.
This kiss could only have lasted seconds, but it seemed an eternity before she was released, feeling mangled like some poor creature set free from the talons of the falcons that sheikhs flew from their wrists.
She beat at his chest with ineffectual hands, but he grasped her wrists, smiling down tauntingly.
‘Well, do you still say that you can defy me?’
‘I’ll tell Faisal what you’ve done!’ Felicia all but wept, trembling with humiliation, but Raschid only laughed.
‘You would never dare,’ he told her softly. ‘We have a saying in our country, that it takes two to commit adultery. Mud sticks, Miss Gordon. By all means tell Faisal. I wish you