But Jasim was not so easily cowed. He moved in, pointing his finger, his breath hot on her face. ‘Can you be certain of that? Are you claiming to have found a guaranteed cure? Of course not, you are floundering around in the dark just like the rest of us. That is the truth of it. Do you know how much this mare was worth? And only a week ago, put to stud too. That counts as two we have lost, Miss Royal Horse Surgeon Darvill. I pray that we find a cure, though I doubt it will be thanks to you. The sooner the better, for it is an ill omen to have a woman on these premises.’
‘Do not be ridiculous,’ Stephanie said firmly, ‘that is mere mischief making.’
‘Ridiculous?’ Jasim shook his head, his smile contemptuous. ‘Once before, he allowed a woman here, and look what came of it.’
‘You are referring to Princess Elmira, I presume?’
‘She despoiled the place. She upset the harmony. She contaminated our male domain with her presence. And she paid the price for it, Miss Darvill. He took my side, in the end. You would do well to remember that,’ Jasim added, before turning on his heels and striding from the stables.
* * *
Batal was still being kept in isolation in a loose box. The mule, it seemed to Stephanie, was the only male in the entire stables who was pleased to see her. She sat down beside him in the straw thinking to close her eyes for a few moments and order her thoughts. She was certain that somewhere in the uncomfortable exchange she had just had with Jasim lurked a clue to this wretched, horrible sickness. A vital piece of information, but for the moment she could not put her finger on it. Rafiq would be expecting a report from her. She didn’t want to go to him without something positive to say. Truth be told, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to face him at all.
Today had begun on such a high note, she thought, ruffling Batal’s ears. She had been so full of hope. And then this afternoon—oh, this afternoon! It had been astonishing. Astounding. Ecstatic.
Batal gave a wheezing little bray. He was still very congested. The sickness seemed to particularly affect the lungs and the heart. She settled him as best she could, then went to fetch him some fresh water. The stables were quite dark. Outside, the night sky was littered with stars. Returning to the loose box and setting down the wooden pail, Stephanie shivered. Someone walking over her grave, Papa would say. A shadow in the corridor moved. She knew, though she could not see him, that it was Jasim.
She despoiled the place. She upset the harmony. She contaminated our male domain with her presence. And she paid the price for it. He took my side, in the end.
Whispering goodnight to Batal, Stephanie closed the door of the loose box and crossed the courtyard of the stables. Rafiq had taken her side today. Rafiq had told her, right from the start, that Jasim would resent her, that Jasim would think her an interloper. And he’d told her too, that Princess Elmira had had an affinity with horses, which Jasim had not appreciated. Jasim was simply trying to frighten her. He was trying to intimidate her, put her in her place. Rafiq was on her side. They were all on the same side, if only Jasim could see that.
She tapped lightly on the door of the harem. Time and again, she had tried to persuade Aida not to wait up for her, to no avail. Luxurious as her surroundings were, delightful as it was to have her warm bath run, a cool drink poured, there were occasions like this when the harem felt claustrophobic. She didn’t like being locked in behind that huge door with its observation grille and Aida as its gatekeeper. She didn’t like feeling watched. She didn’t like the sense that she was never, ever alone.
She was exhausted. Whatever price the Princess Elmira had paid for whatever perceived crime she had committed by being in the stables, it could be nothing compared to the price Anadil had paid tonight. The loss of the mare hit her anew, as Aida ushered her into the steaming bathroom. Stephanie climbed into the bath, immersed herself in the water, and wept.
* * *
Stephanie had requested that Rafiq stay away from the stables for a week in the wake of Anadil’s death and Jasim’s return, and that week was now up. Rafiq had spent the morning in Council.
Apart from the Sabr, only one topic roused the Council from their apathy. It was not the new trade deal which Rafiq had struck with the neighbouring kingdom of Nessarah, but the fact that beautiful Princess Tahira of that kingdom was betrothed to the Prince of Qaryma, for the Council believed she would have made Rafiq a most suitable bride. This last had been stated at the end of the meeting with an air of expectation. The twelve men of his Council had failed to disguise their disappointment when Rafiq had made no comment, but he knew it would not be long before the subject of his lack of a wife was raised formally, especially if victory in the Sabr was secured.
But the Sabr was very far from won. Though Jasim continued to put the potential runners, now housed permanently at the training grounds, through their paces, Rafiq had not had the heart to watch.
One step at a time. One week, and no more cases. He changed out of his formal robes and made his way to the stables. Stephanie was sitting on her favourite seat. Though they had made no arrangement to meet, she had obviously been waiting for him, jumping to her feet and crossing the courtyard to greet him. She was wearing a tunic he had not seen before, alternating blue stripes the colour of the morning sky and the Arabian Sea, with her usual plain white abba over it. Her hair had lightened considerably, the golden streaks like new-minted gold now predominant, her skin also burnished by the sun, making her lips look pinker. Her smile lifted his mood. He had missed her company. He had not noticed, until she came to Bharym, how much of his time was spent alone.
‘I hoped you would come,’ she said. ‘I heard that you had a Council meeting, but I hoped...’
‘A week, you asked me to stay away,’ Rafiq said, returning her smile. ‘It has been a long week.’
‘Did I ask too much? I wanted to prove...’
‘That you did not need my protection,’ Rafiq said.
‘Yes.’ Stephanie glanced back at the stables.
‘Jasim is at the training grounds.’
‘It’s not only—it’s all of them. Even Fadil. I feel that they are all looking over my shoulder, waiting for me to make another mistake.’
‘Stephanie, Anadil’s death was not your fault.’
‘No, but if I had been summoned earlier, then perhaps I could have stopped...’ She coloured.
Rafiq stiffened. ‘Stopped what, precisely? Did Jasim have the nerve, against my express orders, to try to treat the mare in your absence? Do not answer me, I can see from your expression that he did. Why have I heard nothing of this?’
His tone made her flinch, but she straightened her shoulders and glared up at him, just exactly the way she had squared up to him that first day. ‘I did not tell you, because I did not want you to intervene again. I know your intentions were noble, but I recall quite clearly telling—asking you not to command Jasim to co-operate with me the very first night, when we dined together, I told you—suggested—that it would only make him more defensive. I thought you agreed with me, Rafiq, but obviously you simply thought that it would be easier not to argue with me, and to do what you thought was best regardless.’
‘With your best interests in mind.’
‘But you still went behind my back.’
‘So you repaid me in kind by omitting to tell me that Jasim had interfered with Anadil’s treatment?’
‘I did not...’ She stopped, running her hand through her hair, heaving a sigh. ‘You had already berated the man in front of everyone, Rafiq, and as far as I know he has not disobeyed you since.’
‘He should not have disobeyed me in the first place. I will make it clear to him that I will not tolerate another incidence.’
Stephanie sighed again. ‘He is your Master of the Horse and vital to your aspirations regarding the Sabr. I did underestimate the extent of his—his resistance to women. So
it was unfair of me to berate you when all you were doing was trying to protect me.’
He had been protecting her, but he had also gone against her wishes. And although he had been right to do so, he had been wrong not to tell her, as Stephanie had been quick to point out. Having his actions questioned was a novel and slightly unsettling experience. ‘Stephanie, it is done and dusted. Let us forget it.’
‘No, you’re right to be angry. You are, after all, my employer and a prince and on both counts are entitled to know exactly what is going on.’ She screwed up her face apologetically, tried to smile. ‘Sorry.’
‘Stephanie,’ Rafiq said, utterly beguiled, ‘I am not angry, I am discomfited. Something you can evoke in me with frightening ease. That is a compliment. I think!’
‘Truly?’
‘Truly,’ he said with a smile.
Chapter Seven
Two days later, Rafiq was waiting for Stephanie in the Hall of Campaign. ‘You wanted to see me?’
‘More often than I ought to,’ he answered, kissing her hand. ‘I was thinking that my Royal Horse Surgeon had earned a well-deserved break from her duties. Does she agree?’
‘I think she may, if the Prince intends to join her.’
‘He would be delighted to.’ Rafiq led her through a door located at the back of the Hall of Campaign. ‘My grandfather, Bassaym, was known as the Smiling One,’ he said, heading towards the far corner of the covered terrace, where he reached into a niche built into the wall, and emerged with a key for a door she had not noticed. The lock turned with some difficulty, and he ushered her through. ‘This was his private sanctuary. It is not a place which I am in the habit of visiting.’
‘It’s a library,’ Stephanie said in surprise, looking at the elaborate glass-fronted book cases that lined the room.
‘Dedicated to books on one very specific subject,’ he informed her.
Her eyes widened. ‘All of them?’
Rafiq smiled his wicked smile. ‘I believe so, though I have not actually browsed more than a few, and then only when I was much younger.’
She eyed the bookcases dubiously. ‘I find it difficult to believe that the subject merits quite so many tomes.’ These shelves of books made her uncomfortably aware of the extent of her ignorance. Last week, in the tower, she had been so sure she wanted to experiment, but now, in the cold light of day, while she did still want to, she desperately didn’t want him to think her utterly clueless.
‘Stephanie, was I wrong to bring you here?’
‘I had no idea—it’s all a bit overwhelming.’
‘I am not expecting you to peruse them all.’ He smiled. ‘You bemoaned, in jest, the lack of a text book for fallen women. I simply wanted to demonstrate that such things do exist.’ Rafiq opened one of the cases and selected a large folio which he set out on a low table, indicating that she should sit beside him.
It took her a moment to realise what she was looking at, and when she did, colour flooded her cheeks. Each illustration was a drawing of a man and a woman, naked and entwined, but not in any way she recognised. Who would have guessed that behind those elaborately scrolled and embossed covers lay such shocking images? And who would have imagined that a man and a woman could enjoy carnal relations in quite so many different ways? ‘I don’t believe that one is physically possible,’ Stephanie said.
Rafiq shook his head. ‘The risk of potential injury to both parties would be a fatal distraction. I much prefer this one.’
They had names, the illustrations, she noticed now. The one Rafiq indicated was called Bend in the Rainbow. There was Tail of the Ostrich, something about Archimedes, and Love’s Fusion, which name, at least, seemed to bear some relation to the illustration. Her curiosity began to override her embarrassment. Stephanie scrutinised the man and woman portrayed in Love’s Fusion. ‘That one, have you...? Oh, no, don’t answer that. I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘As it happens I haven’t, no,’ Rafiq said, ‘but I admit it looks—tempting.’
‘Have you tried—these drawings—have you, with other...?’
Rafiq closed the book over and turned on the cushions to face her. ‘Stephanie, I do not measure you against any other woman. You are literally incomparable,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘I want the time we have together to reflect that.’
‘I’m not sure I’m ready to try anything quite so exotic.’
He pulled her towards him, kissing her softly. ‘I showed you that book only to demonstrate that lovemaking is an art which takes many forms, but those illustrations, they represent the—the summit of the ascent of pleasure. We are barely in the foothills.’
‘Speaking for myself, I have barely climbed one step. So you really do expect me to study the theory first?’
‘Not on your own. We agreed to experiment together, remember?’ He pulled her down on the cushions beside him.
‘I cannot imagine any library in England containing books such as these.’
‘I suspect there will be some, though kept firmly under lock and key. In England, I think lovemaking is not a subject much discussed, is it?’
‘Not among the female gender, certainly.’ Rafiq was stroking her hair. Her head was nestled on his shoulder. Her leg rested against his. ‘That is, perhaps among married women, it is talked of in whispers, but...’ She relaxed against him, placing her hand on his chest. She could feel his heart beating. ‘Is it so very different here?’
‘Here in the East, it is not a taboo subject. We understand that ignorance is not bliss, that knowledge is the key to pleasure.’
‘The kind of knowledge contained in these books?’
‘Books are only one way to learn. Most people don’t have access to books.’
She lifted her head. ‘Then how...?’
‘By talking,’ Rafiq said. ‘By understanding that pleasure is always enhanced when it is mutual. By practice, and...’
‘...by experimentation.’ Stephanie kissed him. The butterfly kisses she had learnt from him, fluttering over his lips, licking, teasing. Resting her hands on his shoulders, she kissed his brow, his nose, then his mouth again. ‘What is the next step on our climb to dizzying heights, Rafiq?’ she whispered, nipping at his earlobe.
He ran his fingers through her hair, pulling it free from the scarf which tied it back. ‘I have no idea—that is the beauty of it. It doesn’t matter where we go, save that we go somewhere,’ he said, with one of his sinful smiles.
She laughed, kissing his mouth again, touching the tip of her tongue to his. The kiss deepened, making her heart beat faster, setting up that familiar fluttering low in her belly. ‘What have you in mind?’ she asked, dragging her mouth away.
Rafiq’s eyes darkened with simmering passion. ‘Absolutely nothing, save to know what you want, what you have in mind.’
‘I can’t possibly—I don’t even know the correct terminology.’
‘Then describe it to me in your own words.’
He ran his hand down her spine to rest on her bottom. She looked at him, dark eyed, impossibly handsome, and she knew exactly what she wanted from him, this man who could surely have any woman, yet who wanted her. This man with so much experience, who knew so many ways to please, yet who wanted only to please her. It was intimidating, but it was also very arousing.
‘I want to do to you, what you did to me,’ Stephanie said. ‘I want to touch you as you touched me, to make you feel what I did. I want to explore your body, as you did mine.’
He laughed, a low growl that she felt in his chest. ‘You never fail to surprise me.’
‘I hope to continue to do so.’ She pushed him back on the cushions, refusing to allow her lack of experience to dent her confidence. Lying on top of him, her breasts pressed into his chest, her legs curled on either side of him, it was impossible not to notice that he was alread
y aroused.
She leant into him and kissed him, her kisses soft and fluttering. He sighed, his hands stroking her bottom, encouraging her to meld herself into him, and she opened her mouth, deepening the kiss further.
More kisses, and still more. Mindless kisses, hot kisses, sweet, rousing kisses.
‘Take your top off, Rafiq. Since we are not prince and veterinarian at the moment but a man and a woman, I may ask what I will.’
‘I cannot imagine a command I am more happy to obey.’ He pulled his tunic over his head and sat back on the cushions. ‘I am completely yours to do with as you wish.’
His skin was the golden colour of desert sand. His musculature was every bit as defined as she had imagined. His chest was covered in a smattering of soft hair, arrowing down the dip of his abdomen, disappearing below the belt of his trousers.
The temptation to feel his skin against hers was too great to resist. Stephanie pulled off her own tunic. Rafiq’s eyes widened at the sight of her in her camisole. Colour slashed his cheeks. Emboldened, she slipped the garment over her head. He drew his breath in sharply. His chest lifted. The taut muscles of his belly rippled. She pulled him towards her, so that they were sitting facing each other, though twined together. Their kiss had a new, exciting intimacy. Mouth on mouth. Her breasts against his chest, the rough hair making her nipples tingle, teasing them into hard buds.
What now? She remembered the way he had cupped her breasts, making her nipples tauten. Would it be the same for him? She touched him, tentatively flattening her hands over his chest. She could feel his heart thumping. His skin was damp, hot. His nipples were dark brown. When she covered them, they peaked just as hers did, and Rafiq breathed faster, just as she did. She used her thumbs to stroke, to circle, and when his breath became even more shallow, she leaned over, took his nipple in her mouth and sucked. He shuddered, and she felt an answering twist inside her. ‘You like that,’ she said. A statement, not a question.
The Harlot and the Sheikh Page 12
