The Princess Brides. Jane PorterЧитать онлайн книгу.
any questions?’’
His question suddenly reminded her of why she’d woken in such a lousy mood. He might exude raw sensuality, but he was nothing short of a dictator. ‘‘I’m not a child, Your Highness.’’
‘‘I didn’t think you were.’’
She felt her temper swell, her anger was fueled by completely contradictory emotions. She’d never been so attracted to anyone before, and yet he was entirely unsuitable for a relationship. ‘‘So why have you—without consulting me, or asking for any input—put me back into school? According to my schedule, I have classes from morning until afternoon, starting with a two-hour Arabic lesson in fifteen minutes.’’
‘‘I’ve done only what is necessary—’’
‘‘Forgive me, Your Highness,’’ she interrupted sharply, ‘‘but these are decisions I should be making for myself. Perhaps here men decide for the women, but in my country women have a say about what happens in their lives.’’
CHAPTER THREE
HIS cool silver gaze rested on her face, his eyes touching her lips, her nose, her cheeks, her eyes. ‘‘A man naturally wants what is best for his woman.’’
She felt a shiver race down her spine. His woman. But she wasn’t his woman. She had no intention of ever becoming his woman. ‘‘A woman finds it difficult to respect a man that doesn’t allow her to use her brain.’’
‘‘This isn’t a political exercise, Princess Thibaudet. I’m simply asking you to study our language and culture—’’
‘‘All day long.’’
His jaw tightened. ‘‘It’s not as if you’re actually in school. You’ll be studying with my cousin Fatima, who is not only a member of the royal family, and close to your age, but a true Barakan scholar. I expect that the two of you will become great, close friends.’’
Great, close friends? Nic flashed back to last night, and Fatima’s cool welcome. The Sultan was dreaming. ‘‘Yes, I’ve met Lady Fatima, and Your Highness, my frustration isn’t with the teacher, but the lessons themselves. I’m concerned that less than twenty-four hours after arriving I’ve already lost—’’ she broke off, biting back the word control.
She wasn’t upset because she was going to learn a new language. She was upset because she was quickly losing control…of the wedding, her environment, her independence itself. Nic had spent her entire life fighting to keep the upper hand and yet less than twenty-four hours after arriving she felt as if she’d become a possession instead of a woman.
Nic struggled to find a more diplomatic way to say what she was feeling. ‘‘I’m asking you, Your Highness, to give me more input into organizing my schedule. I’d find the lessons and activities less objectionable if I had a choice.’’
‘‘But what would you do differently? Everything I’ve chosen for you is good for you.’’
He didn’t get it. Because he was a man, and a powerful man, he didn’t understand what it was like to be told where to go, when to go, how to get there. ‘‘But that’s precisely my point, Your Highness. Women want to choose for themselves!’’
He sighed, glanced at his watch, and shook his head. ‘‘As interesting as this is, I’ve people waiting in my office, and I’m afraid I’ve spent all the time on this discussion that I intend to spend. I regret that you’re unhappy with my choices, but I expect you’ll enjoy the lessons once begun.’’
And that was it. He was done. He turned away, headed for the door and Nic watched his departing back in astonishment. He was serious. He was really done.
The fact that he’d walk out on her blew her mind. Her temper surged yet again. ‘‘I’m not going to the lessons,’’ she called out. ‘‘I’ll look my schedule over and see if I can’t adapt the activities to better suit my needs.’’
Ah, that caught his attention. She suppressed a smile of satisfaction as he stopped at the door, and slowly turned around. His silver gaze grew flinty, his expression implacable. ‘‘The lessons are set.’’
‘‘Nothing in life is set.’’ She lifted her chin, temper blazing, emotions high. ‘‘And I won’t be dictated to. If you wish a marriage with a modern princess, than you’d better expect a modern partnership. I didn’t travel this far to become a royal doormat.’’
His dark head cocked, his jaw rigid. ‘‘A doormat?’’ he repeated softly. ‘‘I find the description highly offensive. I have nothing but the utmost respect for women, and the women in my life are cherished and protected. And if you learning our language is so objectionable—’’
‘‘It’s not the language, Your Highness!’’ She was walking toward him, frustration and irritation coiled so tightly inside her she couldn’t keep still. ‘‘I’ve never minded learning your language, but I shouldn’t have to be immediately immersed in language coursework first thing on arrival. Your country is bilingual. Everyone in Baraka speaks French. And my country is also bilingual. We speak Spanish and French.’’
He folded his arms across his chest. ‘‘But French is part of our colonial past while Arabic is the future.’’
She stopped in front of the sultan, arms folded just like him, mimicking his pose. ‘‘So why marry a European princess, Your Highness? There must be plenty of Arabic princesses if that is indeed, your future.’’
He didn’t answer her question but leaned toward her, brow furrowed, and she instinctively held her breath as his lips grazed her ear. ‘‘It’s not too late to put you on a plane and send you home.’’
She gritted her teeth, eyes narrowing. How typical. Met with conflict, he’d rather send her home than compromise. ‘‘Maybe you should. You’re not ready for the reality of marriage, Your Highness.’’
Suddenly his hand was against the back of her neck, his fingers curled against her warm sensitive skin. She shivered. He felt the shiver and his fingers tightened perceptibly. ‘‘You can not blame me entirely, Princess. You’ve changed. A month ago you were most eager for this union. Two weeks ago you expressed nothing but eagerness, willingness.’’
He’d drawn her close, so close that she was nearly held against his chest. She could feel his body’s warmth, his leashed energy, his innate strength. There was no escaping him this time. Not until he chose to let her go. ‘‘What has caused this change of heart, Chantal? You’re nothing but difficult today.’’
‘‘I’m not difficult. I’m merely honest.’’ He was manhandling her, dominating her, and his arrogance infuriated her. There was no reason to trap her like this against him, render her helpless with his body…his will. ‘‘Yet it appears I’m not allowed to have an opinion.’’
His fingers stroked the side of her neck, his thumb drawing small circles which she found maddening. She liked his touch. She hated his dominant strength. It was as if her body loved the pleasure, but her mind detested his control.
‘‘Of course you’re allowed to have an opinion,’’ he answered calmly. ‘‘But your opinions so far express only displeasure and discontent—’’
‘‘You can’t say that based on the ninety minutes we’ve spent together!’’
He forced her head back, ensuring that she saw his full displeasure. His jaw flexed. His silver gaze shone brittle. He was barely hanging onto his temper. ‘‘Do you ever stop and think before you speak, Princess?’’
‘‘And do you bully everyone into doing what you want, King Nuri? I understand you’re the sultan, but surely, others—your family, your subjects—are allowed a modicum of free speech?’’
‘‘You’ve tasted more than free speech,’’ he retorted, pressing a finger against her lips.