Romancing the Crown Series

by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)

  Telling himself the contact was part of his investigation didn't make it the truth. Finding evidence of Dabir's culpability was likely to indict her or clear her, as well. Spending time with her wouldn't make any difference to Gage's report to King Marcus.

  Gage wished he could promise himself that he would stop seeing her, but knew he couldn't. Something about the princess attracted him like iron filings to a magnet. Pity that a princess of Tamir couldn't just have an affair and be done with it. Making love to her might be one way to get her out of his system.

  The heat pouring through him at this idea made it seem unlikely. In any case, being who and what she was, a love affair was out of the question. Talking to her alone was difficult enough. Taking her to bed without benefit of a wedding ceremony would probably get him beheaded.

  He massaged the back of his neck as if feeling the kiss of cold steel. Conrad used to joke about men losing their heads over women. Gage knew he would have to watch himself if he didn't want it to become a literal truth.

  Chapter 7

  The dinner was a dignified affair, held in the Great Hall, which was lit by torches, their stuttering flames creating giant dancing shadows that made Nadia feel distinctly uneasy.

  Her traditional costume would have looked more at home in such a setting than the Grecian-style gown she had chosen to wear. The flowing dress of opalescent blue silk had long sleeves that ended in peaks over her hands. Seed pearls embellished the high collar and were sewn around the hem of the long skirt, the precious pearls having been Tamir's wealth before the discovery of oil.

  Like the other guests, her feet were bare and sank into the sumptuous Shirazi carpets piled one on top of the other as carelessly as if each one wasn't worth a king's ransom.

  Nargis had dressed her black hair into a shining cap of curls threaded with more pearls and miniature gold coins, which tinkled as she glided across the room to where Butrus waited for her.

  He wore a superbly cut white dinner jacket, its snowy perfection suggesting that this was the first time he'd worn it. She knew that wasn't unusual for Butrus. He frequently wore garments only once before passing them on to his servants. One of them had told Nargis, who had inevitably shared the information with her mistress.

  Nargis had thought Butrus's behavior splendidly magnanimous. To the princess, it seemed more as if her fiance needed to prove to himself that he could always have more of whatever he wanted. Was marrying her a further expression of this need?

  So what if it was, she reproved herself. She had her own agenda for agreeing to marry him. Wasn't she trying to finally win her father's approval by accepting his choice of husband for her? If she also gained more freedom as mistress of her own domain, so much the better. It was only proper that they both gained something from the match.

  As she reached him, Butrus stood and held out his hand to help her to a seat beside him on one of the cushion-strewn divans at the head of the long low table. "You look enchanting tonight, little one," he said, adding close to her ear, "However, I miss the veil. So mysterious, so provocative."

  "So medieval," she murmured under her breath.

  "Excuse me?"

  "I said the hall looks so medieval tonight. I feel as if I've been transported back to ancient Arabia."

  He gave her a gratified smile. "Exactly the impression I wanted to create. I've arranged a banquet fit for the sheiks and sheikas of old."

  Butrus would favor the old traditions, she thought, suddenly glad that he wasn't in line to the throne. If he were ruler of Tamir, he would probably insist on every woman being veiled from head to toe. She gave a slight shudder at the thought.

  Butrus probably thought he was being astonishingly liberal by allowing the women to share the same table as the men. Not so long ago, they would have been sequestered behind rugs and hangings. In many countries, they still were, she thought with another shudder.

  She watched with interest as the guests took their places at the long banquet table. She had seen some of them going to the meetings Butrus had dissuaded her from attending. One group of men, wearing western dress, was unfamiliar to her. They looked foreign, possibly American, she thought, her curiosity piquing.

  "Who are those people?" she asked Butrus, who had turned to speak to the man on his left.

  Turning back to her, he gave a dismissive wave of his hand. "No one you need concern yourself about, little one. Foreign business associates I deemed it politic to invite."

  To Nadia, they looked more like the shady types she'd seen in the souks, watching warily from the narrow doorways of shops or talking furtively with others of their ilk in back alleys. Hardly the kind of men she would have expected Butrus to welcome to his estate.

  Still, as he'd said, they were not her concern and for once she was glad. None of them looked like the sort of person she wanted to associate with.

  Then there was Gage Weston.

  She realized she'd been studying the unsavory-looking group to avoid letting her gaze come to rest on Gage, but he was impossible to ignore for long. Almost a head taller than most of the other men, he radiated an air of assurance that had her wondering about his true nature yet again.

  He was seated between two of Butrus's associates, and was deep in conversation with one of them, so she could look her fill for the moment. She was troubled by how much she wanted to.

  Unlike many of the foreigners, including the unsavory-looking ones she saw squirming in obvious discomfort, Gage had no difficulty relaxing on the low divan. He had one knee raised, the other tucked under him, one arm resting easily atop the raised knee. He had also pulled up his right sleeve, evidently aware of the local custom of using only the right hand for eating.

  How easily she could imagine him in the flowing robe and headdress of the desert, enjoying the same meal on rugs spread on the sand as he leaned against a camel saddle, the smell of brushwood and cardamom coffee tangy in the night air.

  He looked up and caught her studying him. In a gesture that brought color rushing to her face, he lifted his hand and touched the fingertips to his lips, the message unmistakable. He was reminding her of how he had kissed her hand beside the lake this afternoon.

  As if she could forget. Maybe there was some merit in being segregated behind rugs and hangings, she thought as she felt warmth suffuse her. She refused to look away, which would reveal how much his gesture had discomfited her.

  Picking at her food was not an option, lest she give Butrus the impression his hospitality was lacking, but the sight of so much food being served made her sigh inwardly. To a Tamiri, hospitality was not a favor to a guest, but an obligation. Providing only enough food for the invited number would be shameful. What if one of them brought friends, or travelers arrived unannounced?

  No one could accuse Butrus of neglecting custom, she thought as the servants carried in immense silver trays piled high with everything one could possibly want. The centerpiece was a bed of rice topped with a whole roast lamb. Around this radiated dishes of tomatoes, pigeons in wine sauce, a stew of chicken, figs and honey, the finely ground wheat dish called couscous royale with more stew, this one of lamb with vegetables,

  chick peas and raisins. There were also pastries of meat, onions and eggs, and stuffed vine leaves, many of the recipes originating in the elegant days of the Caliphates.

  The guests murmured a prayer of thanks and soft-voiced compliments to Butrus on the size and appetizing look of the feast, then deftly began to dip pieces of flat bread into the stews and sauces, tearing loose portions of the roast lamb and kneading helpings of rice into neat balls with their fingers.

  She tried not to watch Gage, but found herself drawn to him, mesmerized by the skillful way he handled the food, unlike many of the foreigners who looked frustrated as rice cascaded from their inexperienced hands.

  There was little conversation; it was mostly reserved for the leisurely drinking of coffee and mint tea before and after the meal. Occasionally a guest spoke to a servant standing behind the
diners to request a glass of water, which was quickly brought from outside the hall. But otherwise, the only sounds were soft music and of the enjoyment of the food.

  For a moment Nadia found herself wishing her people practiced the dinner-table conversation she had encountered during her studies abroad. Anything to distract herself from her awareness of the man seated halfway down the table, where she couldn't avoid seeing him every time she looked up.

  She solved the problem by simply not looking up. When she couldn't restrain herself any longer, she found Gage watching her with a kind of wary interest, as if he suspected her of something and was waiting for her to betray herself.

  Nonsense, she told herself. He had no reason to suspect her of anything, unless it was showing unseemly interest in him, a man she shouldn't have exchanged words with, much less allowed a closeness the thought of which made her burn inwardly.

  The meal seemed endless and she was relieved when people began to drift from the table to the courtyard, where servants waited with urns of warm water, soap and towels. Stooping over a brass ewer, Nadia washed her hands with the soap as a servant poured warm water for her, then dried her hands on a towel held out by another servant.

  "Nice touch," came a soft voice behind her. "You'd never guess this place has more bathrooms than bedrooms."

  She steeled herself to ignore Gage, who had followed her out to the courtyard, but his touch on her arm made this impossible. He had also washed his hands in the traditional way and was drying them when she turned. "Do you enjoy playing desert queen?" he asked.

  "The theme of the evening was Butrus's choice," she said coldly, hoping her tone would deter Gage.

  No such luck. "Your intended provided enough food for an army. What happens to all the leftovers?"

  He wasn't giving up, she realized, knowing that at some level, she didn't really want him to. His attention made her feel vibrant and desirable, the responses humming through her like the strings of a sitar plucked by an expert. As an engaged woman, she should be ashamed of such feelings, she reminded herself, but to no avail.

  "The members of the household will eat their fill, and what remains will be shared with the poor," she explained, the neutral subject leaving her feeling less safe than it should.

  She felt glad that Butrus had already retired to the salon where coffee and mint tea would be served and incense burned for the pleasure of his male guests. He wouldn't appreciate her spending time with Gage, however innocently. And she wasn't sure herself how innocent she could claim to be, given the turbulent state of her thoughts.

  Gage nodded. "Good economy, handed down from when food was scarce and couldn't afford to be wasted."

  She gave vent to a sigh of frustration. "Mr. Weston, why do you persist in speaking to me when you know it's wrong?"

  "Why shouldn't I speak to my hostess?"

  Because he wasn't content to speak, she knew. He liked to stand close, to touch. She liked it, too, but didn't want to like it, not from him. "Because you confuse me," she admitted.

  "Myself, too," he surprised her by saying. "You're an intriguing woman. A princess, an artist, as well as beautiful and beguiling. A powerful combination."

  "Enough," she commanded, more shaken than she wanted him to see. "You should join the other men. Butrus will be wondering where you are."

  "Where will you be?"

  Where she invariably ended up, she thought in annoyance. With the other women, discussing fashion and shopping, although such subjects held only limited interest for her.

  "I shall be where I am supposed to be," she snapped. She muttered the leave-taking, which was half a blessing, and moved determinedly away, somehow aware that he stood where he was for a long time. She steeled herself not to look back.

  As she'd expected, she was bored by the conversation within a few minutes and had to work to stop her thoughts from drifting to Gage in the men's salon. She pictured him drinking bitter coffee out of the tiny Spode cups the servants refilled from a brass coffeepot, which mysteriously, never seemed to run dry. Was he holding out his hands to receive a few drops of aromatic attar to perfume his skin? Breathing in the fragrant incense of sandalwood burned in a wooden urn on a four-footed brazier set on the floor in front of him?

  Stop this, she commanded herself less than successfully. What Gage did was of no concern to her. She should more properly imagine Butrus doing these things, but couldn't make her thoughts turn to her fiance. What was the matter with her?

  "Your Highness looks feverish. Are you well?" the wife of one of Butrus's guests asked in a tone of concern.

  Nadia thought quickly. Iriane was the woman's name, and she was the wife of one of Butrus's lawyer friends. "I am well, thank you, Iriane, just.. .distracted," she admitted. What an understatement that was!

  The woman chattered on about how wonderful the evening had been, what a thrill it was to participate in such a night. Nadia listened with only half her attention, giving what she hoped were appropriate responses, all the while wondering how soon she could gracefully escape.

  Her reprieve came soon afterward, when she heard Butrus personally showing out those of his guests who were not staying the night. The process required much hand shaking and compliments on the excellence of the dinner and the occasion in general. As host, Butrus waved these aside as no more than the guests' due and gave the blessing/leave-taking she had earlier offered Gage.

  Except that he hadn't left.

  Without quite knowing how, she knew he was standing in the shadows when she emerged from the salon to make her way across the colonnaded courtyard to her sleeping quarters. Needing a few minutes to herself, she had sent Nargis and the other attendants ahead to prepare the room.

  At first she thought Gage was waiting for her, and her heart did an uncomfortable double beat, until she saw the silver device almost concealed in his palm. He was talking quietly on a cell phone and didn't hear her soft-footed approach.

  "Dani, me darlin', you're a wonder to be sure," Nadia heard him say in a teasing imitation of an Irish accent. "If you can get that information to me overnight, I'll love you even more than I usually do."

  Nadia felt her heart solidify in her chest like a lump of concrete. Somehow she had thought.. .she refused to allow the thought to blossom in her mind. Gage had meant nothing by his attention and his effusive compliments. How could he? He already had a woman called Dani waiting at home for him.

  An aching sense of longing gripped Nadia. She hated that she had made a complete fool of herself, letting him touch her and whisper sweet nothings to her, for that's all they had been. Nothing.

  Just as well the only witness was herself, she thought savagely. She hadn't told Tahani about Gage's tender touch, not because of the shame she should have felt, but because she had wanted to savor the moments she had spent with him, going over and over them in her thoughts like a lovestruck adolescent.

  Served her right for mooning over a strange man when she was promised to Butrus, Nadia lectured herself. The pain didn't lessen, but she welcomed it as her just desserts.

  "Take care of yourself, darlin'. We'll talk in the morning. Sweet dreams," Gage said, retrieving her attention as he flipped the phone closed.

  At her slight movement, his head snapped up. The air fairly crackled as he cranked up his energy level to a new level of alertness. "Fancy meeting you here," he said, the softness of his tone belying his tense stance. "How long were you standing there listening?"

  "I wasn't listening," she denied, then said, "All right I was, but only to the last part of your conversation, and not intentionally. Was there a reason I shouldn't?" Such as remaining in ignorance of the woman in his life? she added to herself, wondering why the thought made her feel so angry.

  "No reason," he said, his pose still arguing with his denial. He seemed to realize it, and rested one shoulder against a marble pillar. "I was just.. .checking on things at my office back home."

  "Your wife works for you?" Nadia asked, wanting him to know sh
e had heard enough to be aware of the other woman's role in his life.

  In the shadows his eyes narrowed with puzzlement. "My wife? Oh, you mean Dani."

  His lover, then. Nadia subdued a fresh wave of jealousy, finding it annoyingly hard to do. "I'm surprised she didn't accompany you to this posting," she said.

  "Unlikely, since rock bands aren't a favorite form of entertainment in Tamir."

  Nadia was confused. "What has a rock band to do with anything?"

  "Dani O'Hare is the lead singer of an up-and-coming group known as DaniO. She'd be the last person to think of joining the diplomatic service. Too conservative. No room for women with six-inch platform shoes and spiky purple hair. She's more like—" he thought for a moment"—my protege, although she'd laugh herself silly if she heard me call her that." He sobered. "I found her sleeping in my office doorway one rainy winter night. She was eleven and her mother had kicked her out because she didn't get along with her new stepfather. The mother refused to accept that the stepfather was an abusive bully to anyone smaller than himself. When I found her, Dani only weighed about seventy pounds wringing wet, and she was covered in bruises."

  "So you took her in."

  "What else could I do?"

  "Allowed the appropriate authorities to care for her," Nadia said.

  He gave a hollow laugh. "The appropriate authorities were responsible for her fix in the first place. Soon after her mother remarried, Dani ran away. She was returned to the family home because the appropriate authorities thought it was the best place for her."

  His eyes were warm as he spoke about the girl he had rescued, Nadia noticed. She felt slightly ashamed of her earlier thoughts, when it was obvious that Gage looked on Dani almost as a daughter.

  She touched a hand to her own raven locks. "Does she really have purple hair?"

  "This month, anyway. Last month it was green, as I recall."