Her Royal Protector (a Johari Crown Novel) (Entangled Indulgence) (10 page)

Distance, and yet…some part of her seemed to be still attached. A tendril of connection between her heart and his, her body and his, like a new green shoot—she could almost see it in the air between them. A deep hunger of soul and body dragged her towards him like a magnetic field.

And she had to break it. “Ah well, what do they say?” she responded, with a shrug. “She died happy, doing what she loved.”

He knelt to tie the dinghy with expert ease, then straightened, the impatient blue gaze pinning her. “When God gives you a good brain, you are expected to put it to the maximum use, not the minimum.” He led the way down the hatch and she followed as weakly as an iron filing.

“Ah, you have a direct line? So many do.” If she made him really irritated with her, she would surely be in less danger from her own weakness.

“No direct line is needed for this wisdom. Your own Book tells you what happens to those who squander their talents.”

Each in front of the door to their own cabin, they paused. Too close again. Her spine was pulsing like an electric cable channeling maximum voltage, and her brain was alive with sparks.

“Another of my talents, you might say, is my dedication to my work,” Aly said, lifting her head to look into his face. She would taste salt on his lips if he bent his head. “In the moment I had for weighing up which talent to use, I chose the one that would contribute to a greater good, rather than ensure my own survival. Do you have an argument with that?”

It was a mistake to challenge him like this. Beyond foolish to want a reaction from him. But she did. Her blood pounded up under her skin in anticipation.

“You are a dedicated expert on a species threatened with extinction. One unmarked nest was not worth the price of your life and you know it,” Arif said. “Now, I want a shower before we continue this foolish discussion, if we must.” And he opened the door behind him and disappeared inside.

…

Arif stood in the shower, scrubbing the baked-on salt from his hair and skin, trying to wash the tension out of his arms and abdomen. No woman had ever challenged him the way the little scientist did, and never before had he had to fight down the urge to wrap his arms around any woman, pull her snug against his body, and shut her up with a kiss.

He was getting his wires crossed.

Her astonished rejection of the idea that she might need his protection, her total disregard for his decisions and commands and her own safety still infuriated him, but slowly his gut unwound. No doubt this was one of the benefits of the month as an ordinary citizen—a Cup Companion had power, and too many people in the world responded to power with subservience. It was salutary to get back in touch with reality once a year. And even though Aly knew exactly who he was, she had, it seemed, been born outside the mental loop of such power structures.

He wondered what had given her the ability to be so unmoved by authority. And only now did he really get just how obsequious most Western women were in his presence, especially beautiful women. If her disdain for his authority rubbed him up the wrong way, whose fault was that? Everywhere he went, his word was law.

Except with Aly Percy. He should be grateful to her.

There was one place, of course, where she would not be so dismissive. If there was one power that women could not be disdainful of, could not ignore, it was the power of sexual pleasure. He didn’t believe she was less susceptible than other women. She had simply never been fully awakened to its power.

Rubbing his scalp with his towel, Arif paused by the porthole and gazed out at the island. He frowned absently. Why had Farhad not raised the anchor and started the engine? He smiled ruefully. He would have the scientist on his case if they didn’t shift soon.

Or perhaps not. With an oath, Arif bent forward to stare more closely out at the island. At the tiny, black-clad figure running wildly down the beach.

Towards where they had found the second nest, it seemed. As he watched, amazed, she bent down, straightened, whirled, took a few steps, bent again and worked at something for a few moments. Then she turned towards the sea, ran full tilt into the waves, and struck out for the yacht in a fast, urgent crawl.

Chapter Ten

Arif was waiting at the top of the ladder, large and threatening, as she hoisted herself out of the sea. Aly’s heart sank, but her mouth smiled broadly.

“Sorry, are you waiting lunch for me?” she caroled, snatching up the towel she’d left on the rail and wrapping herself in it. “I just couldn’t resist a proper swim in this beautiful bay before we left.”

“So I see,” Arif said. “I am glad we didn’t sail away without you.”

“Oh, Farhad saw me go, I made sure of that,” she said, over her shoulder, running away from him towards the hatch. “I’ll only be a minute.”

Her heart was in her mouth. She’d been hoping to get there and back while Arif was still changing, but the swim had been a longer distance than she’d realized, and she was tired after the morning walking in the sun. Still—she’d done it. Both nests on this beach were now false marked—and although the two meters had been a rough measure, she was happy. Unless he’d watched her the whole way through binoculars, or had eagle eyes, Arif wouldn’t have been able to see exactly what she was doing. She could come up with some explanation if he asked.

Aly showered quickly, listening to the welcome sound of the anchor being raised. She hadn’t delayed their schedule by many minutes, and the benefits outweighed any time factor.

Another clean pair of shorts. She would have to do a laundry tonight.

“I saw a washing machine in the galley,” she said, as she joined Arif at the table on deck. The yacht was underway, and Jamila was there, waiting to serve lunch. Aly exchanged a nod of greeting with her, but the Arabic for the situation was beyond her. “Would you ask Jamila if I could use it tonight?”

Arif frowned, turned and spoke to Jamila, who replied energetically.

“Give your clothes to Jamila. She will wash them for you.”

Part of her wanted to resist this arrogant command, but the part that needed clean clothes won. “
Shokran jazilan,”
Aly said, and Jamila replied with a volley of exclamations.

“She is here to look after you,” Arif translated briefly. “Whatever you need, you are to tell her.”

“I am perfectly capable of doing my own laundry,” Aly said, when Jamila had served lunch and gone. “There was no need to trouble her, you know.”

“You have better things to do with your time. Don’t you? It is Jamila’s job to look after my guests. What is your problem with that?”

She was just exhausted and unnerved enough by the morning’s exertions to let her guard down. “It’s all too easy to think that there’s something that puts you above the common herd. Whether it’s wealth or birth or…”
She waved a hand. “That you deserve to live in luxury and have other people do your dirty work. Not because you were born lucky, but because you are somehow better than other people. It’s a corrupting idea and I don’t want it corrupting me.”

He gazed at her with those sapphire eyes for a moment.

“You are touchy on the subject of wealth and position,” he observed dispassionately.

“And you, naturally, are protective of the idea of inherited wealth,” she replied.

“And why do you think that is?”

“You’re a Cup Companion, aren’t you? A privileged position, I think. And you’re related to the royal family, and that means that in times past, your family had the easy road to riches. You can afford a yacht like this.” She shrugged. “Why wouldn’t you be determined to protect your exclusive lifestyle? Most people are.”

“It is not my lifestyle that I am determined to protect,” he said. “Why do you assume so?”

Aly lifted her hands. “Well, I did notice the other night that you were wearing more jewels than our own dear Queen ever gets under. And I also notice that there is poverty in Bagestan, as in every other country in the world. But you haven’t sold off that fabulous pearl rope to feed the poor, now, have you?”

“Most people take a little time to investigate before they judge,” Arif said. His eyes were hard now, and Aly was sorry she’d been led into this conversation. Not the man to offend, and definitely not the time to offend him. But she couldn’t seem to stop. It was challenge him or do something really stupid, like ask him to kiss her.

“Sorry,” she managed to get the word past her teeth. “But in what way have I misjudged you? Or is the truth offensive in itself?”

“Do you know anything about the recent history of my country?”

“If you mean the Silk Revolution, of course I do.”

“Before what you in the West call the Silk Revolution, which we call
the Return,
Bagestan was in the power of a megalomaniac madman named Ghasib for thirty years.”

“Everybody knows that.”

“This man broke into the treasuries of every family in the country, from the Sultan down to the simplest farmer, and took possession of the nation’s cultural heritage for his own pleasure. My family, along with many others, had all our property seized. Sometimes he merely stole the treasures he found and hid them in his own coffers. And sometimes it was his pleasure to take the treasures and melt them down for the sake of the gold and precious jewels they were made of. Ancient works of the greatest artistic merit and cultural importance were deliberately destroyed in this way. Perhaps a half of what once remained of Bagestan’s five thousand years of cultural heritage is now left to us. No one yet knows for certain. The rest is in ingots of gold and bags of rubies and diamonds, in Ghasib’s treasury. It is one of the great obscenities of his insane rule.”

“That’s appalling,” Aly whispered. She had heard some of this, of course, but she hadn’t known the extent of the man’s depravity.

“My own specific concern now is the destruction he also wreaked on the treasures of the environment. But that doesn’t stop me from wanting to protect what is left of my family’s heritage for future generations. My father was forced to turn from the management of his seized estates to business, and the fortune he amassed from that hard work over many years now finances the restoration of our family heritage. Not the other way around.

“What benefit will accrue to my people, Aly, if I sell the ceremonial sword of my ancestors to some greedy Western museum? There it will be divorced from the people whose heritage it is. Do you think that a people do not need the evidence of their forebears’ greatness in order to feel their own potential greatness? Do you think there is no nutrition for a people but what goes into their mouths? Do you think it contributes nothing to the psychological health of my country to see the great artistic creations of the past?”

It was a real question: he waited for an answer. “I—well, I never thought of it that way before,” she stammered.

“The Crown Jewels of your own monarch are on show for the people, are they not?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Aly rallied. “I suppose, because they bring in the tourists and tourists spend money.”

Arif shook his head. “That is the least valuable element of such works. That is the crudest level of their function.”

“You think?” she asked dryly, but in fact she was a little shaken by his vision.

“My ancestors were patrons of the fine arts. They commissioned work from the great Johari and Bagestani artists of every age, and attracted some of the finest artists from abroad to live and work here. Those treasures were added to and protected by every generation of my family for hundreds of years—not out of greed, as you think, but for the benefit of present and future generations. Many of them can never be reproduced, because the methods of so much of ancient art have been lost. I intend to guard and keep what is left. That is my responsibility as the future head of my family.”

“How can they benefit anyone if they’re kept from view unless you’re at a party?”

He stared at her, his eyes sparking with sapphire light.

“Who told you that it was so?”

Aly faltered. She had merely assumed it. “Are you telling me that your family treasures are on public show?”

“At certain times of the year my grandfather’s palace with all that it contains is open to the public, yes. The entry fee for Bagestani citizens is low. Our family treasures are also made available for viewing to researchers and students at any time, by appointment. More than this is not practicable. And it is enough to plant the seed.”

Aly thought of her own father’s selfish greed. He had felt responsible for nothing but his own gratification. She was doubly ashamed for him, and for her own assumption that everyone wealthy must be like him. Had her experience of him given her such a jaundiced eye she could see nobility nowhere?

And yet, what good would it do her, to understand and appreciate Arif’s true character? It would only make her unhappier in the end. She was better off thinking him a typical one percenter. Having the physical hots for the man was bad enough. It would be intolerable if she started to imagine herself in love with his soul.

…

At the next island, she discovered that Arif’s idea of not walking with her wasn’t quite the same as letting her go alone. Instead he tracked her along the beach in the dinghy. This meant saving time, as he was right there as soon as she finished, and it also gave her a solution to the false marking dilemma: she moved the stake only a meter away from the actual nest, on a direct line up from the beach. He would hardly notice that from where he was sitting in the water. It wasn’t the best protection against sabotage, but with luck she’d be able to move these stakes further away on the next pass.

“I see you are no longer putting the stakes in so close to the nests,” Arif commented one afternoon as they headed back to the yacht.

So much for his poor observation skills. Aly felt her cheeks get hot. “Yes, well, I thought over what you said about putting them in so close to the eggs,” she lied.

It passed, or seemed to, but she couldn’t help wondering why Arif was watching her moves so closely.

…

“Before you go, Fouad,” Arif said to his PA one evening, when their usual work discussion was finished. “There’s something else I want in tomorrow’s post. Send me the file of all the documents relating to the original application for funds by the scientist’s charity. Turtle Watch.”

Fouad said hesitantly, “It is late for that tonight, Excellency. I am not sure who would have seen the original application. I will have to enquire with Sadiq, who will not be in his office till morning.”

“All right. I want to see the entire file from first application to final approval, as soon as possible.”

There was a moment’s surprised silence. “Is—is there a problem, Excellency?”

“If there is, I don’t want anyone to have time to redact the file. Supervise this yourself, Fouad. Find whoever is responsible, and take immediate possession of the complete physical and digital file. Keep the original in your own office. Make a hard copy of everything, and also copy it all to a memory stick for me. Make sure the information is complete. Then do not let it out of your possession until you pass it to the helicopter pilot.”

“On my head and eyes, Excellency,” Fouad murmured, but Arif could hear in his voice that Fouad’s eyebrows were pinned to his hairline.

…

In the evenings, over drinks and dinner, they chatted. It was a perfect time of day, starlight glinting on black water, sometimes the sound of music coming from the shore, always the magical scents of a tropical night at sea.

Even in England this was one of her favorite times when sailing, and one night Aly happened to say so.

“What sort of boat do you have?” he asked.

Aly smiled grimly. “None. When I want a sail I go up to the Norfolk Broads and rent a little runabout for the day, or get a canal boat for the weekend. I was speaking generally.”

“But your father had a yacht, I think?”

“Oh, yes, he did,” she said, looking around the bay. The moon had risen now, and glowed heavy and red above the sea. “Long ago, and far away.” Her voice had the peculiar soft resonance of voices over water at night.

“Your father was not a good man?”

She snorted softly. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Tell me about him.”

“What?” The command startled her. “Why?”

“Because he so often seems to be present with you. I would like to know him a little.”

Aly set down her glass and leaned back in her chair. So much for the magic of the night. She slipped her hands to the back of her neck, linked her fingers, pushed her hair up in a ragged fan and, her elbows wide and resting on the night air, gazed up at the moon.

“Tell you about my father.” She heaved a breath. “You talk about Ghasib. My father is a psychopathic, megalomaniac villain. He is ruthless and manipulative and can’t abide being crossed. He thinks of nothing but himself, what he wants. It was always no holds barred with him, however young his children. However ill his victims could afford to lose their money.”

“Is that a fair assessment of him, do you think, or an angry daughter’s judgment?”

She dropped her hands, sat up and gazed at Arif. “Well, you be the judge, Arif. What can I give you as evidence? Oh yes. My father was once asked to invest the massive insurance payout of a couple—personal friends of his—who, through medical negligence, had a severely disabled only child to care for. The payout was supposed to pay for support while they were alive, and full care after they died, but it wasn’t going to be enough if Michael lived beyond the age of forty. They wanted a totally safe investment to ensure his future comfort and care however long he lived.