Innocent in the Sheikh's Harem (6 page)

‘So I’ll be going back soon?’

‘In a few days, I expect. As soon as they send someone.’

‘Oh.’ She should be relieved. ‘They’ll send me back to England.’

‘Don’t you want to go back? To see your family? I think you mentioned sisters.’

‘Yes, naturally I miss them—Cassie in particular. But—oh, it’s nothing. Just that I was expecting to be here in the East for a couple of years, that’s all. I was looking forward to seeing it, to learning something new, and now I shall have to go home to do—well, I don’t actually know what I’ll do, to be honest.’

‘What did you do before?’

‘Playing hostess for Papa took up much of my time. I looked after the London house, of course, and then there were my sisters. But Cassie, the next in age to me, is coming out next Season, under my Aunt Sophia’s chaperonage, and now that he has me off his hands Papa intends to marry again, he told me so himself.’

‘So you are worried there will be no place for you when you return?’

‘A little.’ Celia shrugged. ‘I’m being selfish, thinking of myself. I like to be busy, you see, and I’m used to taking charge, having done so since our mother died. It would be too awkward to stay at home if Papa has a new wife, I’d be forever treading on her toes without meaning to, and anyway I’ll be expected to go into mourning.’

‘But you will marry again, surely?’ The moment he said it, Ramiz realised he disliked the idea intensely.

Celia pursed her lips. ‘I don’t think so. I don’t think I’m very good at being a wife.’

‘Now you are feeling sorry for yourself,’ Ramiz said with a twisted smile. ‘You hardly had the chance to find out one way or another.’

‘True, but— Oh, never mind my worries. I am very sure they are extremely trivial compared to yours. The main thing is I shall no longer be your problem.’

‘No.’ Strange as it was, he had not thought of her simply quitting his life. Their paths would be unlikely ever to cross again.

‘And in the mean time,’ Celia said bracingly, ‘if there is anything I can do to help you, or—’ She broke off, seeing his sceptical expression. ‘You’re going to tell me that business is men’s work, aren’t you?’

‘I don’t have to now that you’ve said it for me.’

‘Papa said I had a brain worthy of a man. He often talked things over with me—not so much to get my opinion as to clear his own mind. He said it helped.’

‘You’re suggesting I confide the business of my kingdom in you?’

Celia could not help laughing at the shocked expression on Ramiz’s face. ‘The very idea of it—a mere woman giving her opinions. Too much time spent in the West, your people would say. It has infected him. We must lock him up until he is cured.’

Her eyes twinkled with merriment. Her smile was infectious. ‘I think Akil would agree with you,’ Ramiz said.

‘Who is Akil?’

‘He is what your father would call my under-secretary, I suppose, but Akil is much more than that. We have known one another since childhood. He is my other hand.’

‘And what did you say to shock him?’

Ramiz steepled his fingers under his chin, gazing thoughtfully at the woman across the desk. In the bright light of day her hair was a deep copper, burnished with darker shades of chestnut. When she laughed, it accentuated the upward slant of her lids, making it look as if her eyes were smiling. She had dared to tease him and to question him, and now she wanted to advise him, and she seemed completely unaware of all the rules she was breaking by doing so. She talked like a man, with the assurance of one accustomed to being attended to, but she had a way of listening, of making him feel she really heard what he said, that made him want to know what she thought, that took away any element of condescension or patronage.

‘Akil wants me to marry.’

‘And has he a list of worthy brides lined up?’

‘How did you know that?’

Celia shrugged. ‘Papa told me they did the same for our Prince of Wales. Not that I’m advocating Prinny’s marriage as a good example,’ she said hurriedly, thinking of the lengths to which the Regent had gone to have his wife exiled, and the string of high-profile mistresses whom he courted blatantly in her absence.

‘Your Prince George is a man who—you will forgive me for saying so—indulges in all the benefits of power while carrying none of its responsibilities,’ Ramiz said thoughtfully.

‘You are quite right. I would not dream of comparing you to such a man. In fact I think you are rather the opposite, for it seems to me that you put duty before all else. Many people envy princes and kings for having the world at their command, but I’ve never been one of them. It seems to me that it is rather the opposite.’

‘You mean A’Qadiz has me at its command?’

‘Yes, that’s exactly what I mean. Ruling can be a very lonely business, I imagine. I would think you’d be pleased to have a wife to share it with you.’

‘If—when—I take a wife, it will not be to reign by my side. That is not the way here.’

‘But surely…’ Celia bit her lip, realising she had been on the verge of overstepping the mark. Her previous exposure to royalty had led her to surmise that they were a selfish, conceited and not particularly intelligent race, decorative rather than useful, who relied upon others to actually get things done. Ramiz was different in every way. His authority was so ingrained that he thought nothing of it until it was challenged, but though the power he held was absolute, he wielded it for the general good, rather than for his own. Which did not mean that he took criticism, even well meant criticism, easily. ‘I beg your pardon. It is not my business. I have no right to express an opinion.’

‘What were you going to say? Go on. I promise I won’t call the
siaf
.’

‘Siaf?’

Ramiz grinned. ‘The executioner.’

‘Good God, I sincerely hope not. I’m very attached to my head.’

‘It’s a very clever head—for a woman.’

‘From you, Your Highness, that is a great compliment indeed. If you must know, I was thinking that, since you are a prince and can do no wrong, there is no reason for you to stick to something just because that’s how it’s always been.’

‘Tradition plays a very important part here. It is what binds many of the tribes together.’

‘I understand that, and I’m not suggesting you turn A’Qadiz into a miniature England, but there are some things you could do which surely everyone would see were for the greater good. Like having your wife play more than the role of a brood mare.’

The fact that he agreed with her, that her words were almost an exact repetition of his own thoughts, was disconcerting. He wasn’t sure that he liked it. ‘A woman’s first duty is to her children.’

‘A wife’s first duty is to her husband,’ Celia said tartly. ‘I fail to see how she can perform that fully when you lock her away from the world in a harem.’

‘I’ve told you before, it is to protect her.’ She was right, he knew that, but he didn’t like being forced into defending something he had himself criticised. It put him in the wrong. Ramiz was not used to being in the wrong. ‘Not all women are as—as
capable
as you, Lady Celia,’ he threw at her exasperatedly. ‘You forget that a wife’s role is also to be a woman. Women, in case you have forgotten, are supposed to be the gentle sex. We have a saying here: a good woman is one who listens with stitched lips.’

‘And we have a saying in England. The road to success is more easily travelled with a woman to mark the route!’

Ramiz threw his head back and laughed. ‘Admit it—you made that up.’

He looked so much younger when he smiled. ‘Yes,’ Celia conceded, ‘but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true.’

‘I’m afraid it is a road I will have to travel alone, albeit with a few beautiful princesses in tow.’ He did not quite manage to keep the bitterness from his voice.

‘Why shouldn’t you choose a wife you can like—grow to love, even? You’re the Prince. You can do as you wish.’

‘What I wish just now is to end this topic of discussion.’

‘Ramiz, when you said I was a
capable
woman, what did you mean?’

A faint flush, just the tiniest trace of colour, kissed her cheeks. Her heavy lids veiled her eyes. ‘You are not submissive. You speak your mind.’

‘I thought—at least I used to think—that was a good thing. It’s how I’ve been brought up—to think for myself, but not to…to trample on the opinion of others. I hope I don’t do that.’

‘That’s not what I meant, and you don’t. You listen. You’re a very good listener.’

‘But what did you mean, then? Did you mean that I’m intimidating?’

‘Not to me!’

‘But I could be to other men?’

He saw it then. She didn’t mean other men. She meant one in particular. Her dead husband. ‘A man who is threatened by a woman is not worthy of being called a man, Celia,’ Ramiz said gently. ‘Below the capable veneer you present to the world, you are every inch a woman. Did I not tell you last night? You are beautiful.’

She shivered as Ramiz lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm. It felt shockingly more intimate than being kissed on the back of her hand. His lips were warm. Instinctively her fingers curled, forming a little hollow for him. She felt his tongue licking over the pad of her thumb and closed her eyes as the muscles in her belly clenched in response. ‘Am I? Do you really think so?’ she said, her voice sounding as if she were parched.

Ramiz laughed huskily, his breath caressing her fingers. ‘Did I not prove that to you last night too? The point is not what I think, but what you think. Until you believe in your own beauty you will never be able to enjoy it. And if you can’t enjoy it…’

Celia tugged her hand away, blushing furiously. ‘That sort of enjoyment is what your women learn in the harem.’

‘As you did.’

‘We are not in the harem now.’

Ramiz pushed himself back in his chair, running his hand through his close-cropped hair. ‘No, we’re not. You’re right. You may select some books to take back with you. I have more business to attend to.’

‘Ramiz?’

‘Well?’

‘I meant it when I offered to help. If there is anything I can do—I’m used to being busy. Being waited on hand and foot, having nothing more to do than decide which scent to pour into my bath, is all very well for a few days, but—is there nothing?’

‘You’re bored?’

She nodded.

‘Would you like to see the city?’

Celia’s eyes lit up. ‘I’d love that.’

‘I can’t spare the time today, and I would not trust you with another escort, but I will take you tomorrow. I could arrange for you to pay a visit to Akil’s wife instead, if you wish. Yasmina speaks good English. You will still be spending the day in another harem, of course, but at least it won’t be this one.’

Celia smiled with pleasure. ‘That would be lovely. Thank you.’

‘One last thing. Delightful as it was, last night was a mistake. It won’t happen again. Ever.’

He was gone through the heavily draped doorway before she could answer him. Which is just as well, Celia thought, inspecting the shelves of the library, because I have no idea whether that is a good thing or not!

Deciding it was best not to even attempt to make sense of that, she instead busied herself in preparation for her outing to visit Akil’s wife. It would be good to spend time with another woman. It would also be good to spend time away from the deeply unsettling presence of one particular man.

Chapter Six

Y
asmina, a rather beautiful woman with eyes the colour of bitter chocolate and skin like toasted almonds, welcomed Celia warmly, pouring tea from a silver samovar into delicate crystal glasses in silver holders, speaking in careful English with a slight French accent.

The harem itself was a smaller version of the one occupied by Celia in the royal palace, a series of salons built around a courtyard with a fountain and lemon trees, but there the resemblance ended. The entrance was a gilded gate, not a door, and though it was guarded it was not locked. The rooms themselves were populated with Yasmina and Akil’s four children, Yasmina’s mother, Akil’s widowed sister and her two children.

‘I expect you think all harems are full of sultry slave girls,’ Yasmina said, offering Celia a selection of delicately sugared pastries stuffed with sultanas and apricots. ‘The fact is that most are like this. We all have our own salons, so we can be private when we wish to, but we eat and work together, we read and sew together, and as you can see we don’t have to worry about being veiled.’

‘But don’t you mind being confined to one place like this?’

Yasmina laughed. ‘We’re not. The gate isn’t locked. It’s just symbolic. It marks a border that we can cross only if we are covered. You will find it is the same in all households in the city. In the desert it is different. Women can wander more freely with their tribes.’

‘The door to the harem at the palace is locked.’

Yasmina nodded. ‘That was Ramiz’s brother Asad’s doing. Are there still eunuchs?’

‘Two of them.’

‘Akil says that Ramiz doesn’t know what to do with them. There used to be about ten, but the rest of them were happy to return to Turkey, where they came from, when Asad died. Akil says that Asad kept slaves there too.’ Yasmina pulled her cushion closer to Celia’s and lowered her voice conspiratorially. ‘Concubines, from the East. They say they knew things which would make a man faint with delight.’

‘What sort of things?’ Celia asked, as much fascinated as shocked.

Yasmina pouted. ‘I don’t know. I asked Akil, but he wouldn’t tell me. I don’t think he knew either, though he wouldn’t admit it. You know how men are—they like to think they know everything. Anyway, when Asad died Ramiz sent all the women home with dowries, and the wives went back to their families. We all assumed it was because Ramiz was going to take a wife, but he shows no sign of doing so. You should be honoured. You are the first woman to be permitted to enter Ramiz’s harem. You will be the envy of every woman in the region.’

‘But it’s not like that. There is no question of me becoming…’

‘His wife? Goodness, no,’ Yasmina said with a shocked gasp. ‘Of course not. A woman like you would not be permitted to marry Ramiz.’ She placed the large tray with the glasses and samovar out of reach and beckoned to her two youngest children, a boy of three and a girl of two. ‘This is my son, Samir, and my daughter, Farida.’

The little girl clung shyly to her mother’s arm, but Samir was bolder, and reached out to touch Celia’s hair. Smiling, she took him onto her lap and allowed him to play with her pearls, at which point Farida overcame her fear of the strange woman in the funny dress and demanded a turn. Laughing, Celia balanced the two children on her lap and taught them to play a clapping game which she’d used to play with her sisters, after which Samir insisted she accompany them on a grand tour of the courtyard to meet the other children. Rejoining Yasmina half an hour later, Celia was rather tousled, and extremely grateful for the cool drink of sherbet which her hostess handed her.

‘You are very good with children,’ Yasmina said, taking a sip of her own drink. ‘I hope you have the opportunity to have some of your own one day.’

‘That’s unlikely now. I doubt I will marry again.’ Celia bit her lip. ‘Yasmina, when you said a woman like me could never marry Ramiz, did you mean because I am from the West?’

‘Well, that is certainly an issue—it is expected he will marry a princess of Arabic blood—but it is not the main problem. It is because you were married.’

‘But my husband is dead.’

Yasmina looked at her in surprise. ‘That is not the point. You are not a virgin. Ramiz is a prince of royal blood. His first wife must be his and only his. His seed must be the only seed planted in her garden.’ Celia blushed, but Yasmina continued, seemingly oblivious of having said anything untoward. ‘His second wife now, or his third, if
she
were widowed it would not matter so much, but a first wife like me is the most important,’ she said proudly. ‘It is she who bears the heir. Not that I expect Akil to take another wife. Unless he tires of me—but that would be unlikely, for I am most skilled.’

Celia was fascinated and appalled. ‘You mean there are—there are things that women can do to…?’

‘Keep her man?’ Yasmina nodded, smiling coyly. ‘Naturally. One of the advantages of sharing a harem with other women is the sharing of such secrets. Wait here.’

Left alone, Celia cooled her wrists and temples in the fountain. What had possessed her to ask such a thing? To have such an intimate conversation with a woman who was a complete stranger? It was this place—the heat, the exotic strangeness of it all. The way the walls of the harem seemed to tempt curiosity about such sensuous matters out into the open. It was because she wanted to know. Not to experience, just to know. And if she didn’t find out here, then she never would.

Yasmina returned with a small parcel wrapped in silk. ‘Take these. They are charm pamphlets. You won’t be able to read the spells of course, but the pictures explain themselves.’

Celia took the package with some trepidation. She should not even be contemplating looking at such material, but it would be rude to refuse. ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘Shukran.’

‘It is nothing. You must come and say goodbye to the children now. Akil is waiting to escort you back to the palace. I hope you will come again before you go back to England.’

‘I would love to. I’ve had a lovely time here; you are blessed in your family.’

Yasmina smiled. ‘I hope you too will be blessed one day.’ She pressed her visitor’s hand. ‘You must not grow too fond of Ramiz, Lady Celia. He is a very attractive man, and he has an air about him, no? Potent, I think that is the word. But he is not for you—and you, I think, are a type who loves only once. Forgive me for speaking so, but I have the gift. I don’t think you loved your husband, but I think you could easily love Ramiz if you let yourself. He is well named. Ramiz means honoured and respected. He may indulge himself with you—he is a man and you are a woman—but he would never do anything which goes against the traditions of A’Qadiz. You will be hurt if you expect too much of him. Don’t let that happen.’

‘You’re wrong, Yasmina, I promise you.’

Yasmina shook her head. ‘I have the gift. I am never wrong in these matters.’

Celia returned to the palace in a thoughtful mood, having thoroughly enjoyed the time spent with Yasmina and her family. She had been surprised to discover that Yasmina’s eldest daughter attended school every day. A different school from her brother, but she was, contrary to what Celia had been told by the Consul in Cairo, receiving an education.

Seeing a harem as a family enclosure rather than a bordello had been a revelation which made her look at Ramiz and his kingdom in a completely new light. Not that she agreed with everything Yasmina had said, mind you. Offering a home to her mother and her sister-in-law was one thing—indeed, it was in many ways exactly as things were done in larger families at home, right down to the disgraced, divorced aunt Celia had discovered lived in seclusion on the second floor of the harem. Every family had its skeletons. But as to Yasmina’s acceptance of the possibility of sharing her husband with another woman simply because Akil had grown tired of her—no! Absolutely not. All Celia’s instincts rebelled at the very thought. She knew, as everyone did, that the Prince Regent had married twice, though poor Maria Fitzherbert’s wedding was not legal. She knew that many couples, Prinny included, tacitly consented to each other’s
affaires
once an heir had been secured. She did not approve, though she knew she would be deemed prudish to say so. But the idea of living in apparent harmony with what must surely be one’s rivals—no!

‘That,’ Celia said decisively, ‘I could never do. As well put a notice in the
Morning Post
that my husband finds me lacking.’

‘
Afwan
, Lady Celia?’

‘Nothing, Adila,’ Celia said, smiling at the maidservant and shaking her head, realising she had spoken out loud. ‘It’s nothing.’

They had run her a bath. Wishing to be alone with her thoughts, Celia dismissed Adila and Fatima, insisting that she could undress herself. She had come to enjoy their gentle ministrations, the daily oiling, massage and bathing ritual, and would miss it when she went home.

Home. The word sat like a stone on her chest. She didn’t want to go home yet. ‘So much more to learn,’ she told herself as she stripped off her stockings and unlaced her stays. ‘I’ve hardly seen any of the city.’

She’d never used to talk to herself. It was a habit she’d acquired here from being so much alone, and now it felt quite natural. Draped in a loose silk robe, she padded barefoot through to the bathing room. White-tiled, it was decorated as all the salons, with a blue and gold mosaic frieze, the bath sunk into the floor, surrounded by four pillars, with a small fountain bubbling icy cold water at one end. The walls above the waist-height frieze were covered in tiles like mirrors, and above the bath the ceiling arched dark blue, painted with a galaxy of silver stars.

Celia climbed up the shallow step and sank down into the soothing water. Tonight it was scented with cinnamon and orange blossom. The bath was deep, unlike the copper tub they used at home, and she did not need to hunch up, but lay stretched full-length, her head resting on the tiles, gazing up at the stars twinkling in the ceiling, her mind floating, randomly sifting through images of A’Qadiz like a colourful collage. The sunrise over the mountains of the desert. The way the sand changed colour during the day, from toffee to the creamy yellow of fresh-churned butter, to white-gold. Her first glimpse of Balyrma, the astonishing green of the fields, the jumble of fortress-like houses, the tiled walls with their keyhole-shaped doors, the minarets and the sparkling fountains, like a child’s drawing of a fairytale land.

And Ramiz. She could not think of A’Qadiz with out Ramiz. Her first glimpse of him at his most god-like, watching her from the hilltop above the port. Ramiz the warrior, his scimitar glinting like a vicious halo above his head. Ramiz the man, naked in the moonlit water of the oasis.

She had never met anyone like him, and was not likely to again. Every time she saw him she learned something new. He was intelligent. Amusing. Sophisticated. Intimidating. Arrogant. Above all fascinating. Last night when he had confided in her she had glimpsed a vulnerability in him, though it had been quickly cloaked. There were layers to him that no one was allowed to see. He kept himself apart, wearing his princely personality like a costume. No doubt about it—he was the very epitome of a magnificent and omnipotent ruler, but she liked the man beneath even more.

Celia smiled softly. His eyes—the way they changed colour with his moods as the desert sand did with the heat. The way that little lick of hair stood up like a question mark when he’d been running his hands through it. His lids were heavy, the same shape as her own, and, like her, he used them when he didn’t want anyone to know what he was thinking. She liked that she knew he was doing it because she did it too.

And his mouth. Celia touched her fingers to her own mouth, remembering. Kisses like honey. Darker kisses—exotic, crimsoning kisses, filled with promise. She closed her eyes. The way his mouth fitted so exactly to hers. The way his tongue and his lips spoke to her without words, telling her what to do now, and next, and next. Her fingers fluttered down her throat to the soft flesh of her breasts. She traced their shape, made liquid by the lapping water of the bath, trying to recapture the magic of Ramiz’s touch as he’d cupped them, grazing her nipples as he had with his palm, his thumb—like this. Like this…

Her breath came shallow and quick. Her heart fluttered like a bird against the bars of a cage. Warmth seeped through her, as if her blood was heating, trickling to the place just below her belly, where it built so slowly she barely noticed it. Last night Ramiz had said she was beautiful. He’d made her feel beautiful. The way he’d traced the lines of her body, as if he would sculpt her, or draw her a picture of herself. Below the water line her nipples puckered and hardened, needles of feeling, bursts of intensity, feeding the pooling beat of arousal lower down, as tributaries would feed a river.

Celia moaned softly. She traced the path of feeling down, cupping the point where it gathered like a delta. Beneath her palm she could feel herself—a tiny flutter like a whispered cry of need. Tentatively she touched it with her fingertip. Her stomach clenched. The thing inside her, like last night, bunched. The river was dammed, readying itself for the wall to burst. She touched herself again and moaned, imagining it was Ramiz, wishing it was Ramiz, aching for it to be Ramiz.

She moaned again, turning her head restlessly on the hard-tiled edge of the bath. Something moved on the periphery of her vision. She snapped her eyes open, and it was as if she had conjured him. He was standing in the doorway of the bathing chamber, frozen to the spot, dressed in a robe of pale blue, his face set into rigid planes.

‘I came to find you to talk about tomorrow. I thought you would be having dinner.’

His voice was harsh, as if he were angry. Celia swallowed. She shook her head, licked her lips. Her mouth was dry. She tried to sit up, remembered her nakedness, and slumped back under the water.

She looked like Venus rising from the waves, her glorious hair tumbling down the side of the bath, damp curls clinging lovingly to her face. The flush of arousal coloured her cheeks and darkened her eyes. He had never seen anything so lovely. Never witnessed anything so intimate as the way she touched herself. Never been so aroused.