"I thought you were homesick for a bit of the British way of life!"
"I am. But..
"There's always a "but' in everything," her godfather said.
"Not enough of one to make me want to return home."
The gray eyebrows were raised. "Never?"
"Oh, no." She flushed. "I didn't mean that. But I'll be quite happy to remain here until my contract is ended."
"How do you like the Khans?"
"They've been charming to me."
"Does that include Karim?"
"They're all charming." Her voice was even but the glass of mineral water she was holding shook in her hand. Quickly she pretended to drink some. "I've got so used to drinking this stuff that I'll hate water when I get back to England!"
"You may not get back to England at all if you don't drink it," her godfather smiled.
They were still discussing drinks and food when Karim Khan disengaged himself from a group of people and came to join them. His skin seemed even more golden by comparison with the startling white of his silk shirt. He was not as tall as Desmond Anderson, who was nearly six feet four, but his shoulders were broader and his carriage extremely erect
"I didn't realize you knew Miss Peters," he said. "My father didn't mention it to me."
"I've known Fleur since she was a twinkle in her father's eye."
"And now she brings a glitter to the eyes of other men," the young man concluded.
"You are never short of a compliment, Mr. Khan," Fleur said. "Are all your countrymen as adept as you?"
"I must deny that I was paying you a compliment," he smiled. "All I did was to state a fact."
"Does that mean compliments are usually lies?"
His lips curved and, as always, she was fascinated by the lower one. "I must be on my guard when I speak with you."
Desmond Anderson moved beside her, and she saw that Ibrahim Khan was leading their guests in to dinner. Glad of a chance to end a conversation that could have become more serious than she wanted, she accompanied her godfather to the dining room.
The table could seat forty, and as many silver place settings were laid out on its surface. Individual silver and gold bowls held rose water for washing one's fingers, and a silver ring held a silk damask napkin. The food, when it came, was sumptuous, with huge mounds of caviar set in ice and served in silver bowls. This was followed by numerous pilafs: lentils and beans, rice with various kinds of meat, lima beans and lamb, and chicken and apricot. Finally there was a variety of desserts accompanied by the inevitable yoghurt and a magnificent array of fresh fruit, some of which had obviously been flown in from abroad.
Fleur tried to do justice to the dinner but found it impossible, for every time she looked up from her plate she saw Karim Khan watching her from the other side of the table. She had been delighted to find she was not sitting next to him but, after the first course had been served, would gladly have had him beside her. At least then she could have avoided his penetrating gaze. As it was, whenever she lifted her head it was to see him focusing upon her. She knew her godfather had noticed it and was glad Ibrahim Khan was seated at the far end of the table; otherwise he would have become aware of it, too.
"Karim seems rather taken with you," Desmond Anderson murmured as they rose to leave the dining room.
"It's not because I've given him any encouragement.
I'm very careful to keep my place while I'm living here," Fleur said.
"Wise girl. These ancient Persian families have a strong sense of tradition. For a Westerner to try and become part of it is courting trouble."
They crossed the hall and, at the salon door she stopped, knowing that the women would go to Madame Khan's quarters, where they would remain until their menfolk were ready to take their leave.
"I'm surprised Ibrahim Khan still sticks to this old custom," Desmond Anderson commented.
"I'm not," Fleur replied and hastily moved to the stairs as she saw Karim Khan approaching. "I doubt if I'll see you again tonight, Uncle Desmond. What time are you leaving tomorrow?"
"After lunch. We'll have plenty of time to talk in the morning."
"Why don't you come down again later, Miss Peters?" Karim Khan's voice was vibrant in her ear. "The women won't be retiring for long."
"I'm feeling tired," she lied and slipped past him to the stairs.
Only when she was alone in her room did she chide herself for letting her nerves get the better of her. The evening was still young and she was not in the least tired. On the contrary, excitement had keyed her up, and she knew it would be hours before she could sleep.
She went to see Nizea and found the girl engaged in a complicated game of backgammon with her elderly companion.
"It'll soon be over," Nizea proclaimed. "Then we can talk."
"Not tonight," Fleur said hastily. "I'd just as soon go to bed."
Before the girl could argue, Fleur closed the door and returned to her own room where she settled in a chair on the balcony. Below her the garden was illumined here and there by little pools of light. The night was silent except for the faint sound of waterfalls and the occasional call of a bird. She tried to read but felt a restless longing to go down and walk along the narrow twisting paths; to dabble her hands in the pool where the goldfish swam; and to touch gently the petals of the lilies that lay, in waxlike perfection, in their watery graves.
Unbidden, she remembered Karim Khan calling her a goldfish and was glad she had not known he was watching her. From now on she would not swim without making sure he was miles away. How had he had the opportunity of seeing her without her knowing? The book slipped between her fingers and fell unheeded to the ground, and she sat for a long time thinking of him and trying to guess what future he would have and with whom he would share it. It was odd that he was still single; as an only son it was incumbent on him to produce an heir, and she was surprised that this duty had not urged him into marriage.
The night air sharpened, and a sickle moon gave sparkle to the stars that lay cool in their background of black velvet. The watch on her wrist showed midnights, and she rose and went into her bedroom. The room seemed to stifle her, and again she felt the urge to walk in the fresh air. She went into the corridor and tiptoed to the head of the stairs. There were no sounds from below and she surmised that everyone had retired for the night. Quietly she went down to the marble hall, careful not to let her high heels make any sound. The long terrace was deserted, the tall slender columns that supported it resembling pale, unlit candles. For a moment she stood there with the moonlight drenching her white gown. With a brief backward glance she stepped forward, lifted her skirts slightly, and sped along the path in the direction of the rose garden.
Roses grew everywhere in abundance, but in one particular area huge clusters of the flowers formed arbors whose perfume made the air shiver with its intensity. Walking here was like drifting in a rose petal sea. Even in the dark night air the scent was overpowering as she wandered from one bush to another, pausing occasionally to look at a perfect bloom.
From somewhere close by, a waterfall tinkled as it splashed into a marble basin. She hadn't remembered seeing one here, and she wandered along a twisting path in search of it. Yes, there it was, straight ahead of her: a pale urn, graceful as a Grecian vase, with crystal clear water spouting from two sides. She trailed her hand in the basin, then touched her water-cooled fingers to her cheek.
"In the moonlight your hair shines like silver," a deep voice said and with an audible gasp she swung round and saw Karim Khan.
"Are you spying on me again?" she accused.
"I followed you into the garden. Do you call that spying?"
"Why did you follow me?"
"Don't you know?"
All she knew was that she should not have asked the question, and she took a step backward. He did not stop her, and she took another step away from him, then swiftly went into the rose garden again, intent on returning to the house. As she ran, her skirt flared out around her
and a silky layer of the material caught against one of the bushes. She stopped in midflight and turned to disentangle herself from the thorns, seeing Karim Khan's dark figure almost behind her as she did so.
This time her voice shook with anger. "Will you please leave me alone? Why do you persist in following he?"
'I'm bowing to Fate," he said heavily and then leaned forward and expertly removed the thorns that were binding her to the bush. Her skirt fell around her ankles again, and he stepped to one side. "You are free to go," he said, "but I hope you won't."
As he had helped to rescue her and had probably got several thorns in his flesh in the process, it seemed ungracious to run away immediately.
"I was delighted to see Desmond Anderson," she said as composedly as she could. "He was not only my tutor at the university but a great friend of my family."
"Is that what makes him acceptable?" Karim Khan's voice was heavy. "Does a man have to be a great friend of your family before you will smile at him?"
"Of course not."
"Then what do I have to do to make you smile at me?"
"You… you don't have to do anything. I… I often smile at you."
"Without looking at me," he said savagely. "Sometimes you remind me of a cat… they don't like staring you in the eyes, either."
"Nor do dogs," she said quickly. "Most animals refuse to look at you for more than a few seconds at a time."
"But you aren't an animal," he muttered, "you are a woman. A beautiful, desirable woman with eyes like green peridots, and I'm crazy about you."
He didn't reach out for her so much as enfold her within his arms, wrapping them around her as if they were a barrier of protection. It gave Fleur the most extraordinary feeling of coming home and, though she tried to resist, it was impossible. But if she could not resist, neither would she capitulate, and she remained tense as a quivering arrow within his hold.
"I'm crazy about you," he repeated. "From the moment I saw you I haven't been able to get you out of my mind, and now I can't get you out of my heart."
"Don't say that," she gasped.
"Why not? You don't know how I want to hold you like this. To touch you… to feel your body against mine. The warmth of your skin; the scent of your breath; the mystery of your mouth. Darling…"
He gave her no chance to draw away before his mouth fastened on hers. Its pressure was gentle but inexorable and, though she struggled, he did not release her but went on moving his lips over hers. At last she knew the touch of his mouth and realized that his skin was as soft as it looked; smooth as velvet except where one felt the hardness of his cheekbones and the firm line of his jaw. She put her hands against his chest to push him away, but he caught them and pulled them behind her, making it impossible for her to escape. She tried to turn her head to one side to escape his devouring mouth and as he felt her desperate movements, he raised his Hps slightly above hers and spoke against them.
"You are too honest to say you don't want me to kiss you," he said. "You have wanted it as much as I have."
"That still doesn't make it right. Please let me go."
"I can't." '
"Of course, you can," she said angrily.
"No, Fleur, I can't." He moved his hand along the slender column of her neck until his long, brown fingers rested against the whiteness of her throat.
"Do you think I wouldn't let you go if I could?" he demanded. "Don't you know how hard I've fought against my feelings for you? I've tried with all my strength to put you out of my heart, but it's useless. I want you," he whispered. 'Til have no peace until you're mine."
"You're crazy to talk like that."
"Maybe I am. But it's a craziness I can't fight any longer."
Looking up into his face her fear grew. If moonlight had robbed her hair of color, it had also done the same for him. But instead of making him pale, it made him dark, giving him a sinister quality that sent the blood rushing turbulently through her body. There was no doubt he wanted her. She felt it in the trembling of his limbs and the heavy throbbing of the thighs that were pressing against hers. But to want did not mean the right to take, and he had to be made to see this.
With a mounting sense of danger Fleur knew why she had always been so much on her guard with this startlingly handsome man whose features had etched themselves upon her brain. She loved him—blindly, willfully, and against all logic she loved this demanding, dominating stranger. And he was a stranger. Strange in his looks, his traditions, his culture, and in the way he intended to live his life. The thought of the future was the most frightening of all, and she knew that unless she fought against her love for him, she would be irrevocably lost.
"You don't love me," she said tremulously. "You want me because I'm different from the women you've known. I've answered you back—made you angry and aware of me."
"If it were only that," he groaned, "do you think I would have succumbed like this? You aren't the first woman with a serpent's tongue."
"Perhaps I'm the first English woman who hasn't fallen for you!"
"I knew you'd say that." His smile was sharp and sudden. "But you're wrong there, too. Do you think it's your lily-white skin that attracts me? That I desire you because you're different from the other women I have known?"
His fingers moved from her throat, hovered above her breast and then lowered to encircle her waist. He drew her hard against his chest, and she felt his heart pounding fiercely.
"What's so unique about one pale-faced Western woman that I should want her above all others?" he went on remorselessly. "Would it surprise you to know that I've had more than I can count?"
"I'm not interested in your past!" she cried. "Nor do I care about your future."
"But you've got to care. I won't have you thinking that I want you only because you're different."
"It can't be anything else," she panted, trying to twist away from him. "You don't know me. We're strangers to each other—aliens."
"All men are aliens to all women," he said heavily. "Only their need for each other makes them compatible—the way you and I will be compatible once you have learned to accept me."
"I'll never accept you! Can't you understand that?"
For answer he caught back her hair and twisted it round his hand, then used the tautened strands to pull her face close to his. His features became a blur and all she could see were the black, dilated pupils of his eyes.
"I'll never let you go," he murmured and once more took possession of her mouth.
It was impossible to defend herself against the onslaught of his passion. It overcame her, dissolving her reason, and making her abandon her defence. The blood that coursed through her veins was like the water from the fountains of this Persian garden, rising higher and higher to the skillful play of his hands. Her lips parted and her head fell back against his shoulder. His tongue accepted her surrender and moved inside the warm sweetness of her mouth. Fleur's body awakened as though it had been given another life. Every limb trembled and her innermost parts pulsated with an urge to take and to be taken. It was a new emotion, and it thrilled her with dread. She would never be the same again. Desires had been released which, even if she denied them, could never be totally absorbed or totally forgotten. Yet she could not accept this man. To do so would be death to her freedom.
Desperately she pushed against him, pummeling her fists upon his chest. Her attempts to be free only excited him more, and his tongue penetrated deeper. She tried to claw at the side of his face and instead felt his hair beneath her fingers. It was thick and silky as cream, and she began to shake as though with fever. How could she push him away when she wanted him close, when she wanted to cradle his body against hers, to feel the weight of his head on her breast, the tautness of his stomach on the softness of her own? Like a leaf she shook against him and where her strength had failed to gain her her freedom, her weakness did it for her. With a murmur of distress he raised his face away from hers and swung her off the ground and into his arms.
&
nbsp; "Don't be afraid of me," he said tenderly and moved with her to a marble bench. He placed her upon it and sat close beside her.
"Fleur," he whispered. "Fleur. I've wanted to call you by your name for so long yet I never dared. Do you find it strange to hear me say it?"
"No." With an enormous effort she made the word firm. "Calling people by their first name doesn't mean anything these days."
"Not in your world, my princess, but it does in mine. Fleur." He nuzzled his face into her hair, breathing it in deeply. "How aptly named you are. You're like a flower. A scarlet and gold rose with the petals still tightly closed and the heart of it hidden from everyone's sight but mine."
"Not yours, either," she said sharply and tried to rise.
His arms pulled her back down. "There are things we must talk about first. There is much I wish to say to you."
"I don't want to hear it!" she cried and was so near breaking point that her voice cracked.
Nothing could more easily have gained his sympathy, and he was instantly contrite. "Darling, don't be frightened. I'll never hurt you. But you've always attacked me with such spirit that I've thought you stronger than you are."
'I'm not at all strong," she said shakily and this time was able to rise unhindered.
"No one will ever take advantage of your weakness again," he said. "1 will cherish you for the rest of my life."
"Then let me go free," she whispered and, picking up her skirts, ran out of the rose garden.
She did not cease running until the facade of the house came in sight, its marble gleaming almost iridescent in the moonlight. Only then did she slow her steps and let her skirt drop to the ground. The hem was bedraggled, and the bodice of her dress was crumpled from Karim's hold. She put the back of her hand to her lips. They felt bruised and swollen, but she knew it was only the tingling from the hardness of his mouth. There were steps behind her, and she swung round nervously, tensed for another onslaught from him. But this time the man watching her was older, the lower portion of his face masked by a black beard.
Roberta Leigh - Flower of the Desert Page 8
