Sheikh's Mail-Order Bride (13 page)

And it was setting her alight. Something snapped in her. ‘How far,' she asked, allowing her hand to mimic his, smoothing down his spine, feeling the rippling response of his muscles, flattening on the taut slope of his buttocks, ‘how far may we go, Kadar, without getting burned?'

His laughter was a low rumble. ‘I am already smouldering.'

His fingers curled into her flesh. She could feel the unmistakable ridge of his arousal against her belly. It excited her, this physical evidence of his desire, eliciting a shuddering response from deep inside her. Though their lips were still touching, they had not kissed. They had not even kissed, and she felt as if she would melt with wanting. ‘I know we cannot,' Constance said, ‘I know that, but if we could, Kadar, what would we do?'

His eyes flickered shut. When he opened them again they blazed, as if the fire they felt was raging was about to conflagrate. ‘You should not ask such a thing.'

‘But I am curious to know.' She curled her fingers into his hair. ‘You told me, after we kissed on the rooftop, you told me that now you would stop wondering about kissing and start wondering about making love. I want to imagine that too, Kadar. I cannot have you, but I want to be able to imagine what it would have been like if I could. Don't you?'

He groaned. ‘Yes.' Once again his lips brushed hers. ‘Yes,' he said, ‘I want to know.'

‘Tell me then, for I know nothing beyond our kisses.'

‘Do you have any idea what that does to me, knowing that you have not—that I would be the first?'

The naked desire in his face provided the answer. Here was Kadar, the man beneath the princely cloak, revealed just for her. Constance smiled, pressing herself just a tiny fraction closer. ‘Yes,' she said, ‘but I want to know more.'

Her words, her touch, her smile, seemed to release something in him. His mouth curled into the most sinful smile. ‘Beyond our kisses,' he said, ‘the kisses we have already shared, there are other kisses. Though I could never tire of kissing your mouth, of tasting you, of the touch of your tongue to mine, there is so much more of your delightful body to explore.'

Every bit of her body responded, as if Kadar's mouth, as if his hands, roved over her. ‘Go on,' Constance urged.

‘Your breasts. I would kiss your breasts. Not through your tunic as before, but my mouth on your skin, my tongue on your nipples, tasting you, teasing you. Tell me what that does to you, Constance.'

‘Tingling. Hot. I feel hot.'

‘Where?' Kadar asked.

She pressed herself against him, brushing the aching peaks of her nipples against his chest. ‘All over.' She slid her hand between them, her palm flattened low on her own belly, the back of her hand just grazing his arousal, making them both shudder. ‘Here,' she said. ‘Especially here.'

Kadar shuddered, muttering something in his own language. ‘Yes,' he said, ‘especially here.'

He took several deep breaths, struggling to control himself. It was intoxicating, seeing the strength of his desire, seeing the effort he was making to contain it. And a challenge too. Constance felt light-headed, far beyond reason, intent only on feeding her body's urgent pleas for more and for more. There was only a breath between their lips. Their foreheads rested together. Her hair had fallen over her cheeks, tangled over his face, a screen from the world, a gauzy curtain to shield them from looking too closely, from facing consequences. ‘What next, Kadar?'

‘Your first time,' he said raggedly, ‘for your first time, it is better for you to be more...' He moved her hand from where it rested between her belly and his manhood, slipping it down, making her cup between her legs. ‘Kisses,' he said. ‘I would kiss you again, your mouth, your quite captivating mouth, and I would touch you, here.'

His hand covered hers. Her hand covered her sex. She was wet. Tense. Hot. No, not just hot. Every bit of her was burning. The gentle pressure of his hand on hers, the friction of her damp pantaloons against her damp sex, made her tenser, did strange things to her insides.

‘Tell me,' Kadar said, his tone quite hoarse, ‘tell me what that feels like.'

‘As if I am being tightened inside. As if I might fly apart. As if...' Constance let out a low groan. ‘As if I cannot— Kadar, I think I might— I cannot...'

‘Yes, you can,' he urged, increasing the pressure, subtly coaxing her to increase the pressure, to increase the friction.

She had to clutch at his shoulder with her other hand. She was panting. She closed her eyes, unable to look, to think, to do anything save focus on that mounting pressure, that dizzying combination of intense pleasure tinged with fear as she climbed. Yes, that is what she was doing. Climbing. ‘Higher,' she heard herself say in a voice that was not hers, ‘higher', until suddenly she reached the top and there was nothing she could do but to jump.

Her climax made her cry out. Her knees buckled, and her grip on Kadar was so tight that she pulled them both down into the water. ‘Now,' he said to her, his own voice hoarse, ‘now I would enter you, now I would ride the waves of your climax, letting them take me high inside you.'

Another violent shudder shook her as he fell backwards into the shallows, pulling her on top of him, astride him, his hands cupping her bottom, her sex cupping his rigid arousal, separated only by two layers of saturated clothing. Constance shuddered again, cried out again, as her climax washed back over her. ‘And now, Kadar? What now, Kadar?'

His chest rose and fell. His eyes were closed. But his mouth, it was his mouth which alerted her to the change in him. His lips thinned. When he opened his eyes, they were stormy, though not with passion. He sat up, lifting her gently from him. ‘Now,' he said, ‘we have managed to turn temptation into torment.'

Getting to his feet, he pulled her out of the shallows. She was soaking, covered in sand, her hair dripping, her body still thrumming, her mind utterly confused. ‘Now,' Kadar said grimly, ‘we know precisely how far we can go without getting burned.'

Chapter Eight

F
ollowing their encounter in the surf, in fact almost certainly
because
of it, it was almost a week before Constance found herself alone again with Kadar. She had seen him briefly at the coronation rehearsal two days ago, and she had twice bumped into him by accident, once on the roof terrace and once in the library, when they had both acted as if they had been scalded. Which she supposed they had. She could not regret what had happened between them on the beach, yet she wished she did not recall it quite so vividly or so often.

‘Though wasn't that the point?' she muttered to herself as she gazed out at the port from the roof terrace, where she was sitting under the protection of the awning, writing up her copious notes from her many long nights of stargazing. It was human nature to want what one could not have. Was that the cause of this very persistent mutual attraction of theirs, which no amount of reasoning seemed to affect and no moral barriers seemed to keep at bay? Her decision not to marry hadn't affected her desire for Kadar, though it had made it, she secretly admitted, harder to ignore. Kadar's sense of honour, his determination to go through with his marriage seemed equally to have no effect on his desire for her. Passion, it seemed, had little to do with honour. Nor was it necessarily related to love. How odd that she hadn't thought of that before.

Returning to the desk to flick sightlessly through her notebooks, Constance pondered this. There was absolutely no question of love blossoming between them. Unlike her, he had experienced love once before, albeit an unrequited love. A forbidden love, for a woman who could not marry him. A love which had hurt him so much he was determined never to love again. It explained that way he had, of shutting one out. It explained look Number One, the Haughty Prince too. He didn't like to have his feelings probed. He didn't like to admit to having feelings. Which was why there could be no prospect of their falling in love. Even if she were foolish enough to do so, it could not be reciprocated. She would become the victim of unrequited love, just as Kadar had been.

Who was she, the mysterious woman who had broken his heart? Why couldn't they marry? She wasn't sure she wanted to know. She was certain Kadar would never tell her. Had their love affair blossomed here in Murimon? He had said only that it happened a long time ago. And that he would never allow it to happen again.

Constance closed her notebook. She had absolutely no reason to be jealous, and she, who was so determined never to marry, would be a hypocrite to judge this unknown woman harshly for refusing to marry Kadar. What mattered now was not his lost love but his new-found bride. Which brought her back in a full circle.

No, wait. She stared off into space, replaying her thoughts of the last few moments.
Her decision not to marry had not affected her desire for Kadar.
Had she really come to that most terrifying conclusion? With a sigh, she dropped her head onto her hands. It was all too much. Her eyes drooped closed. Suddenly exhausted, she lay her head on top of her notebook and fell asleep.

* * *

When she awoke, Kadar was standing over her. ‘I thought you were working in the library,' Constance said, rubbing her eyes. Today, his tunic was the colour of sand, his trousers cream. His hair was as ruffled as ever, but he looked tired. Dark shadows rimmed his eyes. Her first reaction was a ridiculous amount of pleasure at seeing him, quickly quelled and followed by a pang of regret. ‘I didn't realise you planned to work up here today,' she said. ‘I'll go.'

‘No, please don't. I actually came up here to find you.'

Her heart sank. ‘Has a ship arrived unexpectedly?'

‘No ship, for which I am frankly grateful. I am in no rush to see you leave. I...' He rubbed his jaw. ‘I want to put an end to this awkwardness between us. There is no reason why we must avoid each other's company. It would be exaggerating something, which meant nothing, out of all proportion.'

Something which meant nothing.
Well, that put her in her place. ‘I see,' Constance said.

‘No, you don't.' He held out his hand. ‘Come and sit by me.'

She did as he bid her, though she did not touch his hand, and she made a point of seating herself on a large cushion opposite him. As usual, she had kicked off her slippers, but she took care to tuck her bare feet under her tunic. ‘I've been working on my star maps,' she said, indicating her work which was set out on the large desk.

‘And I have been working on my revised plans. I would appreciate your views on them at some point. But that's not what I came to talk to you about.'

Kadar steepled his hands and treated her to his Sphynx look. She had almost forgotten how very off-putting it was. The silence stretched, begging to be filled. ‘I'm glad there was no boat,' Constance said, ‘because I've decided I'm not going to India to marry Mr Edgbaston.'

He looked as confounded as she by this statement, for though she had been thinking it, she had not meant to blurt it out. ‘What made you change your mind?'

‘I think I knew from the moment I set sail from Plymouth that it would be a mistake.'

‘It might have been better if you had decided that before you set sail,' Kadar replied tersely.

‘I thought you would be pleased,' Constance said, confused by his tone.

‘Why would you think that?'

She flinched, reminded of that first night in the Royal Saloon, when she had felt as if she were being interrogated in a courtroom witness box. ‘I was under the impression that you did not approve of my betrothal.'

‘I have no right to approve or disapprove.'

His manner was beginning to irk her. ‘You are entitled to an opinion, Kadar.'

‘But I have been at pains to keep that opinion to myself. It is not for me to influence you.'

‘But you do have an opinion,' Constance persisted.

Kadar folded his arms. ‘It is quite irrelevant.'

‘Right,' Constance said, folding her arms too and adding a glower for good measure. ‘I see.'

This time the silence lasted so long that she had to curl and uncurl her toes to prevent herself from speaking, but she was finally rewarded. Kadar sighed. ‘What is it you think you see?'

She
knew
he did not approve of her betrothal, but he was determined not to tell her so. Constance let out a little mewl of frustration. ‘I think you think that I have changed my mind because of what happened on the beach, and therefore feel responsible. I also think you are worried that I now have—I don't know—expectations or something.' She threw another glower of formidable proportions at him, but Kadar was as stony-faced as the Sphynx again.

‘Well, I don't,' Constance said, ‘so you don't have to worry on that score. I have absolutely no expectations, and even if I did—which I don't—I would never, for a moment, allow them to come to fruition, because firstly, Kadar, for the avoidance of doubt, what I value more than anything is my independence, and secondly,
Your Highness
,
not only am I perfectly aware that you are already betrothed to another woman, but I am also perfectly aware that even if you were not, or even if Murimon allowed you to have two wives, then I am undoubtedly the least suitable female you could possibly choose. So there you have it,' she concluded with a shuddering breath and a decidedly shaky tone, which she tried to counter by throwing her hair back and glowering once more, ‘I trust I have reassured you?'

‘I'm sorry.'

Two words, spoken with genuine remorse, and the last two words she had expected. Constance blinked and scrubbed her eyes. ‘Why?'

A ghost of a smile and a shake of the head. ‘You are right. I was egotistical enough to imagine that your decision was influenced by what happened between us on the beach.'

‘“Something which meant nothing”, you said. I did not need to be warned off, Kadar.'

He cursed under his breath—or at least she assumed that was what the vicious-sounding words were. ‘It did mean something—to me, at least. That is why I have avoided you. What I meant was it must mean nothing because it simply cannot mean anything.'

‘But I already know that.'

Another faint smile. ‘Clearly,' he said. ‘Forgive me. It has been a very long week, my coronation is only two days away, and I have been working long hours trying to— But that is no excuse for being so out of temper.'

‘Actually, I think you have every excuse.'

This time she was rewarded with a much warmer smile. ‘I have been debating with myself on whether it is best to leave matters between us as they are or whether to try to—to recover the situation,' Kadar said, in his more usual, considered manner. ‘If you would rather I leave, then please say so.'

‘No, don't go. I've missed your company dreadfully,' Constance answered, without any consideration at all. ‘I don't want to lose something precious over some stupid—this obsessive passion that binds us.'

‘Some would say the only way to satisfy an itch is to scratch it, just once,' Kadar said with a wry smile.

‘I confess I have considered suggesting that.'

He laughed. ‘I confess, so too have I, but I doubt once would be enough.'

Exactly the conclusion Constance had reached. Realizing they were straying into very dangerous territory, she did not say as much, however. ‘And it would also be very wrong,' she said instead.

His expression became immediately serious. ‘Very.'

This silence was uncomfortable, but Constance could think of no way of filling it. She shifted on her cushion, adjusted her tunic over her bare feet, and tried very hard not to feel as if a door had slammed in her face. If there had been a clock on the terrace, its ticking would have been unbearable.

‘So tell me,' Kadar said, for once the first to speak, ‘why have you decided you will not marry your East India merchant?'

Constance spread her hands. ‘Many reasons, but the main one is that I simply don't want to marry anyone.'

‘Because marriage is a prison.'

‘Did I say that? Yes, it is—for a woman. I've always known it, I've never wanted it, but I have never—not until I was cast upon the shores of Murimon—I have never seriously considered that I had any alternative, save to remain beholden to my father. Being here, experiencing this taste of true freedom—it has changed me.'

‘When I first met you I had the oddest notion of wanting to set you free,' Kadar said pensively. ‘I knew almost nothing about you, but I had a—a vision of you, a wild creature fettered by duty, and I wanted to sever the ropes which tethered you, I wanted—' He broke off, flushing. ‘I am not usually so fanciful.'

‘Well you have, in a way,' Constance said, snatching the hand back which was halfway to reaching out to touch him. ‘Unfettered me, I mean. Not by kissing me, but by making me see that I am capable of standing on my own two feet. You made me realise that I am stronger than I thought I was, and you made me see that I am tired—I am very tired—of being used. Not only by Papa but in a way by Mama too.'

‘Constance...'

‘No, I'm not upset.' She sniffed. ‘Only a little. I thought—I persuaded myself that she loved me. I'm sure she does, in her own way, but it's not enough, Kadar.' She pushed back her hair, meeting his gaze. ‘I would never, ever force—blackmail—persuade— I would never make someone I loved do something I knew went against their deepest feelings, and that is what she did to me.'

She sniffed again, and rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. ‘That is what I finally realised this last week, while I have been alone up here gazing at the stars. I don't owe my parents anything, I have done my duty by them for twenty-five years. I owe it to myself to make the next twenty-five or ten or fifty or whatever I am granted, mean something to me. Don't ask me what that will be for I haven't a clue, save that it doesn't involve either marriage or going to India, and it does not involve my relying on you to help me out either—well, except that I will need your assistance to get me back to England.'

Constance drew a breath, scrubbed at her eyes, and managed a watery smile. ‘I'm not going to be grounded by my own fears ever again, but I am done throwing the unedited contents of my mind at you for now. It's your turn to speak.'

‘Are you certain you wish to return to England?' It was not the question uppermost in his mind, but Kadar needed time to try to order his thoughts.

‘Where else would I go?' she asked simply.

There was no obvious answer to this. Kadar shook his head. ‘You have taken me quite by surprise.'

‘And myself. I didn't plan to say any of this. Well, obviously I couldn't have planned to, since I didn't know I was going to see you, but even if I had—I mean I'm aware how preoccupied you must be with the coronation.'

‘So you were going to share this change of heart with me afterwards?'

‘Yes. No. I suppose so,' Constance said. ‘I don't know. I assume it will be easier to transport me to England than to India, since I can sail relatively easily from here to Cairo?'

She was quite correct, Kadar realised with some dismay. If he handed the task to Abdul-Majid, Constance would be spirited away from Murimon before the coronation had even taken place. He should not be feeling dismay at the prospect, should he? Constance was a temporary encumbrance, nothing more. He should be relieved, rather than dismayed. ‘You say you have no notion of what you will do, once back in England?'

‘None at all.'

‘Then you would probably benefit from some contemplation time.' Kadar nodded, giving Constance no time to reply. ‘You are not expected in England. In fact, the addendum I sent to the Consul General stated that they should expect you in India some time in August.'

‘So in fact I still have a month or so to consider in which form I shall rise from the dead,' Constance said.