by Penny Jordan
Something flashed briefly in Raoul's eyes, whether anger or contempt Claire could not be sure, and for a second she held her breath, wondering if he would look at her again, and see in her face what his father had.
'It seems your sins have caught you out, my son,' the Frenchman was continuing. 'Ahmed always was strongly morally motivated…'
'A fact of which you were undoubtedly aware when you seduced my mother and implanted her with your seed,' Raoul grated back. 'I hope you are praying to Allah that Ahmed might be granted a long life, Father, for once he is dead you need not look to me to continue the generous allowance he permits you.' His mouth curled contemptuously as he looked past Claire to the brunette standing by his father's side. 'How will you pay for your little diversions then, I wonder?'
'How easy it is for you to condemn. But then you have never gone hungry, never felt the gnawing ache that springs from poverty. You are more my son than you will ever allow yourself to admit. There was only one woman who mattered to me. Your mother knew that. I was always honest with her on that score. My little Marie was killed, killed by the Germans just before Paris was liberated. Your mother knew of my love for Marie. I made her no excuses for what I was, no apologies for loving Marie more than I loved her. Your mother was a spoiled child, Raoul, and I was lonely and bitter enough to think that what she could give me might be some sort of compensation. One day you will love a woman as I loved Marie, and then you will understand.'
When he had finished speaking there was silence. Claire had expected to dislike him, but instead she felt moved to a reluctant pity. She glanced into Raoul's face, shocked by the bitter contempt she saw there.
'I might feel more charitable about your denial of my mother, and of myself, if it were not for the fact that you have lived off us both for so many years.'
'No, you hate me because I couldn't love you as a man should love his son,' his father said calmly. 'I cannot lie to you, Raoul, nor put right an old wrong. From the moment of your birth you were your mother's son, a child of her heritage. I confess I was surprised when I read that Ahmed had compelled you into this marriage for the sake of the child you had conceived. Knowing you as I do, I thought you would rather have cut off your right arm than deny yourself to your own child, especially a son, but then perhaps there is more of me in you than you wish to admit.'
Raoul's face was bone-white with fury, his eyes glittering almost black in the mask of bone and skin, and Claire reacted instinctively, speaking almost without thinking as she sought to defuse the situation.
'Raoul didn't know about… about the baby,' she interceded huskily. 'We quarrelled and I didn't tell him…'
'But somehow Ahmed found out, and now you are married? She is very loyal to you, this wife of yours, Raoul, more loyal than your mother ever was to me. She couldn't wait to run home to her family to complain that I didn't love her as she believed I ought, even though I had told her what our marriage would be.'
'Lucien…' The brunette pouted, bored with a conversation which excluded her, and Claire shrank from the contempt in Raoul's eyes as they moved from his father to the pouting girl at his side.
'You insult the memory of my mother to speak her name in the company of such a… putain as this, and if you were not my father…'
'You would what? Have me stoned to death? There is little of the Frenchman in you, is there, my son? Take care that fierce pride of yours does not blind you to what you really want from life. You are very like your mother. Had she listened properly to what I told her, our life together could have been a comfortable one…'
'With both of you living on her wealth?'
'We made a bargain, she and I. Which is the greater dishonour I wonder? To renege on one's word or to live off one's wife?' With a sudden switch of mood that startled her, Raoul's father turned to Claire and said courteously, 'When you have finished dining perhaps you will allow me to dance with you, always supposing, of course, that my son permits?'
'I…'
'We are newly-married, mon père. Tonight Claire will be in no one's arms but mine.'
Raoul's fingers on her arm urged her forward before his father could add anything further, and although he seemed to be completely in control of himself, Claire was painfully aware of the biting grip he had on her arm and knew that in the morning her skin would bare bruises from his touch.
The altercation with his father had taken away what little appetite she had had, and she shivered as she tried to study the menu, stunned when Raoul took it away from her.
'I am not hungry and neither, I suspect, are you,' he said abruptly, 'we will dance and perhaps our appetites will return.' He made no other reference to his father, and Claire was reluctant to bring the subject up. Neither did she particularly want to dance with him, but she sensed that to refuse him would be like a torch applied to dry tinder, igniting the temper she could sense he was struggling to control.
He was an excellent dancer, but she was too acutely conscious of the proximity of his body to hers to relax completely. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder and she was strongly aware of the warm, musky scent of his body, of the tautly controlled anger he was banking down. He bent his head and she had a momentary glimpse of something approaching deep pain in his eyes, before he banished it. Her heart ached with a tender pity and an insane desire to comfort him.
Was she completely mad? It would be like trying to comfort a wounded cheetah, and she would be mauled agonisingly in the process. His experiences with his parents had left him emotionally scarred and defensive, so much so that she doubted that any human being could get really close to him, and those foolish enough to try would receive the full force of his raging anger.
Across the room Claire's eyes instinctively searched for Lucien D'Albro. Did he realise how severely his rejection had damaged his son?
'What's the matter? Wishing you were with my father?' The bitter savagery of his taunt caught Claire completely unawares. 'I know you were speaking about him,' Raoul continued before she could speak. 'He has the reputation for being a first-rate lover.'
'Unlike you,' Claire retorted scathingly, hating the way he was looking at her, with a cynicism that bordered on complete contempt. 'Making love with you would be like… like being mauled by a… a wild animal,' she flung at him without bothering to weigh her words, realising her danger only when his lips parted in a feral smile that froze the blood in her veins.
'I think we will finish this conversation in the privacy of our suite.' It was impossible for her to resist the pressure of his fingers curling round her arm as he practically dragged her bodily from the floor. Pride and pride alone kept her from crying out in protest as he propelled her into the foyer and towards the lifts.
By the time they got upstairs he would have got his temper back under control, he was furiously angry with her now but it wouldn't last. He didn't even desire her, Claire comforted herself as the lift bore them upwards and he retained his savage hold on her. In a thick silence he pushed her into their sitting-room. All the protests and objections she had prepared mentally died on her lips as he dragged her through the sitting-room and into his own bedroom, locking the door behind them. It was only when he pocketed the key that she realised the extent of her danger and how far she had underestimated his mood. Black, terrifying rage simmered in the depths of his eyes as he released her arm, and laughed mirthlessly as she fled to the locked door.
'Oh no, you won't escape that easily,' he taunted her. 'Downstairs you sympathised with my father, didn't you?'
'I always try to see both sides of a story,' Claire palliated.
She had hoped to soothe him, but fear raced through her as he smiled coldly, his voice chilling her skin as he said softly, 'Oh good, then you'll understand why I want you to fully appreciate my mother's. Tonight it seemed to me that you were distinctly unsympathetic towards her—a young girl, the wife of a man who neither loved nor respected her. By tomorrow you should be much closer to appreciating her position.'
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He took off his jacket and started to unfasten the buttons of his shirt with a slow purposefulness that mesmerised her. 'Of course, she was an innocent virgin, while you are a woman of the world, but then by all accounts my father is a far more considerate and appreciative lover than I. What was it you said… it would be like making love with a wild animal? I shall try not to disappoint you.'
This couldn't be happening to her, Claire thought wildly, closing her eyes to blot out the terrifying image of Raoul slowly and deliberately removing his shirt, his eyes pinpoints of black ice in the taut sleekness of his face. Her fingers tugged ineffectually at the locked door, panic stirring deep inside her, threatening to overwhelm her, in a primitive and helpless bid for flight. She wouldn't add to the futility of what was happening by running from him like a terrified animal trying to escape the talons of its captor. She would try to retain the remnants of her self-control, to…
A small sob escaped her as she felt ungentle hands on her shoulders, quickly turning her, seeking the fastening of her gown and sliding it from her shoulders. As Raoul turned her to face him, she crossed her hands over her exposed breasts instinctively, her eyes opening wide as she heard Raoul's acid exclamation, overriding her small cries of protest as he pried her protective fingers away from her body, forcing her hands down to her sides as her gown slid in a silken heap to the floor and his gaze roamed boldly over her naked curves. No man had ever seen her like this, nor studied her so intimately, and a deep flush of shame seared her skin.
In the lamplit room, Raoul's skin gleamed soft bronze, a tangle of dark hairs revealed by his open shirt. His flesh so dark in contrast to hers transfixed her gaze, her mouth suddenly so dry that she had to touch her tongue to her lips to moisten their contours. Dark eyes followed the intimate gesture, the fingers which had been clamping her arm to her side moving slowly over her body, stroking the curve of her hip which the brevity of her silk briefs did nothing to conceal. Tremors of reaction coursed through her body, the silken intimacy of Raoul's fingers against it triggering off strange waves of sensation. The soft pink areolae of her nipples seemed to swell and harden, and cool brown fingers were leaving the curve of her waist to investigate the rosy peaks.
'How very responsive you are, an enticement any man would find hard to ignore.' Without her being aware of it, Raoul had moved closer to her. His tongue brushed the soft outline of her lips, her eyes widening in astonishment as her body registered its response to his light touch. His tongue moved over her mouth again and Claire found her lips parting, wanting against her will a deeper contact. Her near nudity was forgotten as Raoul's mouth moved lightly against her own, teasing and tormenting until without being aware of it she was moving closer to him, like a moth attracted to the flame; realising too late, when she was helpless, held fast in his arms, his mouth plundering the innocence of hers with a bruising pressure that shocked and frightened her, what she had done.
Her breasts were crushed against the hard wall of his chest, his mouth enforcing his dominance over her, his fingers tightening on her hip bones as he moulded her against his body.
'Raoul, please don't do this,' she begged in a panicky voice when his mouth finally released hers. Her lips felt swollen and bruised, her voice unfamiliar even to her own ears, edged with fear and hysteria.
'Pleading with me, Claire? You should know better than to plead with a wild animal.' His voice possessed a hypnotic quality that held a deadly fascination, and despite the warmth of his room Claire shivered, gasping in shock and outrage when his hand spread possessively against her breast. His thumb stroked slowly over her nipple and the dark head bent. Fierce shafts of pleasure seemed to jolt through her body, a crazy, mindless frenzy taking possession of her. 'Claire…'
The shrill command of the telephone cut through the heavy silence, and Raoul released her almost instantly to go and answer it. He spoke into the receiver in Arabic, frowning as he turned and saw her, her gown still on the floor, her arms wrapped round her body. Murmuring something curtly into the receiver, he put it down and came towards her, taking the door key out of his pocket.
'Saved this time from the mauling of the wild animal.' The anger had gone completely from his expression. 'Is that relief or disappointment I see in your eyes, Claire?' he added mockingly as she edged away from him. 'Your body is quite intoxicatingly responsive. Your lovers must have taught you well… or is it simply frustration that made you so hungry in my arms?'
He picked up the receiver before she could retaliate and tell him that she had felt nothing in his embrace apart from fear and loathing. He had treated her as though she were a rag doll incapable of feelings and her pride was as bruised as her mouth. He was an animal, a dangerous animal she would be wise not to tangle with again if she valued her self-respect and her safety. She had always sworn that when she did share the pleasure of intimacy with a man, it would be with a man she respected and trusted as well as loved, and yet she was forced to admit that she had come dangerously close to forgetting all the tenets by which she had previously lived her life when Raoul held her in his arms. Those light teasing kisses had inflamed her to the point where nothing else had mattered other than the hard possession of his mouth, and without the brutality of the kiss he had forced upon her she doubted that she would have been able to break free of the spell he seemed to have woven round her senses.
Safe in her own room she dismissed the maid and then locked the door behind her, telling herself that it was just as well she had found out what manner of man lurked behind the urbane exterior Raoul showed to the world. Now there would be no danger of her falling prey to his potent maleness. But as she lay on the verge of sleep she was forced to admit that there had been excitement as well as fear in her reaction to him; that her body had responded overwhelmingly to his touch and that she would have to keep a stricter guard over her emotions.
'Welcome to Omarah!'
They had flown Concorde to Omarah in less than half the time it would have taken on a normal flight, and Claire inclined her head slightly towards Raoul as she followed him down the gangway, her body trying to adjust itself to the intense heat of the Gulf afternoon. Heat lay in a haze of dust over the city beyond the modern airport; minarets and mosaics vying with skyscrapers, the mingling of East and West an assault on Claire's senses as she tried to assimilate the contrasting cultures.
A Mercedes limousine was waiting to ferry them from the airport to what was to be Claire's home for the duration of their stay. She knew that Muslim families lived together, and had somehow expected that she would be sharing the woman's quarters of someone else's home but Raoul announced, as their driver negotiated the narrow streets of the souk, and then open, gracious boulevards, that the Sheikh had put one of his palaces at their disposal. 'It is on the gulf, away from the city. The air is more healthy there for Saud.'
It was disconcerting to learn that they would be living alone together. When she had visualised her life in Omarah Claire had envisioned a life shared in the main with other women, rather than with Raoul who she had imagined would have as little desire for her company as she had for his, but her doubts and fears were forgotten as the city was left behind and they took the coast road along the gulf, past sugar-icing palaces, Moorish in concept, decorated with iron grilles.
They had gone several miles before they turned off the main road and bumped down a narrow track which came to a full stop in front of a pale pink palace, its narrow slit windows staring haughtily in the direction they had just travelled. As though by some magic signal, two doors opened in the high wall surrounding the palace and the Mercedes purred silently inside.
They were in a courtyard enclosed by the high wall on one side and a row of what seemed to be garages and outhouses on the other. In the distance, Claire could hear the sound of water, and the brilliant sunshine cast harsh shadows over the coloured pavings. More utilitarian than decorative, the courtyard was faintly disappointing. She had expected something more exotic.
Raoul w
as climbing out of the car and coming round to open her door for her, a courtesy she hadn't expected, bearing in mind the much-publicised superiority of the Middle Eastern male. The heat of the afternoon struck her like a blow after the air-conditioning of the car, and a wave of faintness swept over her. Her body shrank from even the most accidental contact with Raoul's, her eyes darkening as she remembered the savagery of his assault on her body. If the phone hadn't rung when it had…
She shivered suddenly, forcing down her fear. If Raoul had been savage it was because he had been angry. Meeting his father had opened old wounds and he had reacted instinctively, wanting to hit out and hurt as he had been hurt.
'Are you all right?' He asked the question automatically and Claire nodded her head.
'Just tired, that's all.' She leaned into the car to take Saud, as always finding comfort and strength in holding the child. A link had been forged between them the day she had saved Saud from death, and in some strange way it was almost as though he were her child.
A door opened in the palace wall, and taking a deep breath Claire followed Raoul towards it. She was now in his country, and would be judged as his wife; the woman who had borne his child outside marriage and who he had been forced to marry by his uncle. For Saud's sake she must play her part perfectly. Head held high, Claire followed him into the cavernous darkness waiting beyond the open door.
CHAPTER FIVE
'IF the Sitt would come with me.'
As her eyes accustomed themselves to the darkness, Claire saw that she was being addressed by a girl in her late teens. Pretty and slender, her dark eyes regarded Claire rather anxiously, but her smile was warmly welcoming, and Claire was too tired to do anything other than follow her up what seemed to be an everlasting spiral of stone stairs, narrow slit windows giving her the occasional glimpse of sea and land spread out below them. By the time they reached the top, Saud had become a heavy weight in her arms, but mindful of the real reason for her presence here in this palace which made her feel totally alien, she was reluctant to let him go.
