Innocent in the Sheikh's Harem

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘I think we have met before, Your Highness,’ Lord Henry said, sitting cautiously down, having made his bow, ‘though I can’t recall where.’

  ‘Lisbon, about four years ago,’ Ramiz replied. ‘Until my brother was tragically killed in battle I spent much of my time abroad as my father’s emissary, and my brother’s too.’

  ‘Thought I recognised you,’ Lord Henry said with satisfaction. ‘Don’t often forget a face, though I’m not quite so good with names. Well, now, tragic business this, but no point in dwelling on it, so we might as well get straight to the point. George Cleveden came here with the objective of agreeing rights of passage through A’Qadiz’s port. I’ve been authorised to conclude those negotiations.’

  ‘I am sure we can reach terms agreeable to us both, Lord Armstrong,’ Ramiz said smoothly. ‘I know how very important the route is to your East India Company.’

  A lesser diplomat would have expressed surprise, but Lord Henry’s experience stood him in excellent stead. Like a good gambler, he knew when he had been trumped. ‘Quite so,’ he said. ‘Three months is a considerable advantage over two years. What is it you seek from us in return?’

  ‘We will discuss the details tomorrow, but let me just say it pleases me to be able to conclude a pact which I believe will be to the long-term advantage of both our countries. Tonight I am sure you wish to rest after your journey. The desert can be unkind to those unfamiliar with it. And you will obviously wish to see your daughter.’

  ‘No rush on that. Celia and Cassie will have their heads together, happy to wait until our business is concluded.’

  Peregrine frowned. His instructions from the Consul General were clear. The Lady Celia was to be questioned prior to the treaty for any pertinent information. Acutely uncomfortable as he was with the damnable position in which Lord Wincester had placed him, he was even more terrified of disobeying the explicit orders of such an influential man. He tugged on Lord Henry’s sleeve. ‘My Lord, would it not be wise for us to speak to Lady Celia now?’ Peregrine said with a significant look. ‘Find out how she is, what she has been up to, et cetera. She’ll be anxious to tell you all about her adventure, if you get my drift.’

  ‘Dammit, man, I said it can wait,’ Lord Henry said, frowning.

  ‘But, My Lord—’ Peregrine persisted awkwardly.

  ‘I said not now,’ Lord Henry said furiously. He turned towards Ramiz. ‘You will forgive my assistant. He is rather tired,’ he said, drawing Peregrine a censorious look.

  Ramiz clapped his hands together and the doors at the far end of the throne room were flung open. ‘Indeed—as I am sure you are too, Lord Armstrong. My servants will escort you to your quarters, and to the men’s hammam baths. I will join you later for dinner.’ He nodded his dismissal. ‘Akil, a word, if you please.’ Waiting until Lord Henry and Peregrine were safely out of earshot, Ramiz got to his feet and cast his jewelled headdress onto the throne. ‘Get that idiot assistant on his own. There is something going on and I want to know what it is.’

  ‘And the treaty?’

  ‘As we agreed. Lord Armstrong knows his position is not strong. Give a little to massage his ego, and he will not argue with the main points. Are Lady Celia’s sister and aunt with her in the harem?’

  Akil nodded. ‘If things go well, Lady Celia can leave tomorrow.’

  ‘Why do you dislike her so much?’

  Akil hesitated. ‘It’s not that I don’t like her. Under different circumstances I would like her very well. But she does not belong here, Ramiz.’

  ‘You saw how Sheikh Farid took to her. And his wives.’

  ‘And many other people—my own wife included. The Lady Celia is undoubtedly charming.’

  ‘But?’

  Akil shrugged. ‘You know what I think. Do not let us quarrel over it. It is not just that she doesn’t belong here, Ramiz, her family would no more accept it than your own people. In the eyes of the likes of Lord Armstrong we are heathens. It wouldn’t surprise me to find that he suspects his daughter has been kept in your harem as a concubine,’ he said with a smile.

  ‘If he thought that he would hardly have been so polite just now,’ Ramiz snapped.

  ‘He is a statesman first, a father second. He will get the treaty signed to advance the British cause, and then he will worry about his daughter. Mark my words, Ramiz, he says nothing for the moment, but that does not mean he will remain silent. We must hope the Lady Celia has nothing to complain of.’

  Ramiz cursed. ‘You must rather hope for your own sake that I have nothing to complain of. Find out what Finchley-Burke was so cagey about and report back to me before dinner. And bring Yasmina to the palace tomorrow, Celia will wish to say her farewells.’

  ‘She is going, then?’

  Ramiz ran his hand through his hair. ‘Would it be so impossible to imagine her staying?’

  Akil shook his head and made for the door. ‘You don’t really want me to answer that,’ he said, and left.

  For a long time afterwards Ramiz stared absently into space. The problem was not that it was impossible to imagine Celia staying; it was that it was impossible to imagine her leaving. He did not know how it had come about, but she had become indispensable to him. He, Ramiz al-Muhana, Prince of A’Qadiz, did not want to contemplate the rest of his life without her. Now he wondered if he had to. If Sheikh Farid accepted her, why not others? As his consort, with the fulfilment she would bring to his life, would she not more than make up for any potential backlash which failure to marry to one of his neighbours’ daughters would inevitably bring?

  After last night he was as certain as a man could be without hearing the words that she loved him. Last night she had made love to him, as he had made love to her. Last night had not been about the pleasures of the flesh—it had been something more fundamental, almost religious. The worship of a lover by a lover. The desire to create one being from two separate halves. The need to celebrate that union with the planting of a seed. How much he had derided that idea until now. He wanted Celia by his side. He wanted her to be his and only his. He wanted children—not as the means of cementing the succession, but as the fruit of their love.

  It would be asking much of her. To stay here in A’Qadiz, to surrender her family, to exchange her loyalties from one country to another, to commit herself not just to him but to his kingdom, a place steeped in custom and traditions alien to her. It was not something she could do half-heartedly either, if she was to be accepted. There would be changes, and with Celia by his side some of those changes would come more quickly than he had planned, but some things would never change. As his princess she must not just pay lip-service to their traditions, she must embrace them. It was much to ask. Perhaps too much.

  Ramiz forced himself to imagine life without her. His mind refused to co-operate. She was his—had always been destined to be his. Tomorrow, in the clear light of day and before her family, he would claim her.

  Filled with determination, and a lightness of heart which it took him some time to realise was a foretaste of happiness, Ramiz retired to his chambers to change. He wondered how Celia’s reunion with her sister was going. He wondered what she was saying of him, if she was confiding anything about him. No, she would not. His Celia—for already he was thinking of her thus—was fiercely loyal. She would tell nothing which might compromise his relationship with her father. Nothing which would put his treatment of her in anything other than a favourable light. She loved him. He was almost sure of it.

  The urge to seek her out and declare himself was strong, but duty forbade it. As Ramiz finished bathing and donned a clean robe in preparation for dinner, Akil arrived, looking sombre.

  Dismissing the servants, Ramiz turned to his friend. ‘Well?’

  ‘I spoke to Finchley-Burke as you suggested, Highness.’

  ‘You call me Highness. It must be bad news,’ Ramiz said with an ironic smile. ‘Spit it out.’

  ‘Ramiz, you must understand if I was not absolutely sure of this…’r />
  Ramiz’s smile faded. ‘What is it?’

  ‘The Lady Celia.’

  ‘What of her?’

  ‘She has been spying on you.’

  ‘Don’t be foolish.’

  ‘Perhaps spying is the wrong word. She has been collecting information about our country.’

  ‘A natural curiosity, Akil.’

  ‘No, Ramiz. I’m sorry, but it’s more than that. They left her here deliberately, with instructions to make use of your attraction for her.’

  ‘You are being ridiculous.’

  ‘I’m not, I assure you. Oh, nothing improper was asked of her. According to Finchley-Burke it was all neatly veiled—her duty to her country, the memory of her dead husband…you know the kind of thing.’

  ‘You are saying that Celia was instructed to extract information from me that might prove useful to the British government by—? No, I can’t believe it.’

  ‘Ramiz, I’m sorry.’ Akil put a hand on his friend’s shoulder but it was shaken off. He took a step back, but met Ramiz’s eyes unflinchingly. ‘I am sorry, but you must ask yourself why else would a woman of her birth have allowed you such liberties? Come on, Ramiz, it’s not as if she put up much resistance, is it?’

  Ramiz moved so quickly that his fist made sharp contact with Akil’s jaw before he had a chance to defend himself. Akil staggered back against the wall, frightened by the blaze of anger he was faced with.

  Ramiz took a hasty step towards him, his fists clenched, but stopped short inches away. ‘My hands are shamed by contact with you. You deserve to be whipped.’

  ‘Whip me, then, but it won’t change the truth.’ Akil spoke with difficulty, for his jaw was swelling fast. There was blood on his tongue. ‘She has used you. It is as well we found out before tomorrow, for you can be sure her father would have found an opportunity to allow her to brief him. She has used you, Ramiz, we are well rid of her.’

  ‘Get out! Get out of here!’

  ‘Ramiz…’

  ‘Now!’

  Akil bowed, still clutching his jaw, and fled. Alone, Ramiz slumped down on his divan, his head in his hands. There must be an explanation. But Akil would never lie to him. He knew that for a certainty. There was no reason either for Finchley-Burke to concoct such a story if it was not true. He would not demean himself by asking the junior diplomat to repeat it. Celia would answer to him personally.

  Lady Sophia, having much food for thought, graciously agreed to permit Fatima to help her bathe, after much encouragement from Celia. ‘Please, Aunt, I promise you will find it a most amenable experience.’ Celia had also been fulsome in her descriptions of A’Qadiz, and her recent trip to the desert in Sheikh al-Muhana’s caravan, but despite being pressed had said little of the Sheikh himself—even less of her relationship with him.

  Cautiously lowering herself into the scented water of the tiled bath, Lady Sophia realised that it was Celia’s very reticence which gave her most grounds for concern. The girl was smitten, it was obvious. She would consult Henry in the morning, for the sooner Celia was removed from this sheikh’s beguiling presence the better.

  Left alone together with Cassie, Celia gave in to her sister’s plea to be allowed to try on her exotic outfits. She was sitting on her favourite cushion, watching Cassandra parade before her, laughing and telling her she looked rather like the Queen of Sheba, when the crash of a wooden door slamming with force onto tiled walls made the smile die on her face and had her leaping to her feet.

  Celia reached the doorway in time to see Ramiz stride across the courtyard. His face was set and white with fury. ‘What’s wrong? Is it my father?’

  ‘Traitor!’ He stood before her wild-eyed, his chest heaving.

  ‘Ramiz! What on earth is the matter?’

  ‘I trusted you! Dear heavens, I trusted you. I who trust no one. And you betrayed me.’

  Anger glittered from his eyes, mere slits of gold under heavy lids. His mouth was drawn into a thin line. Celia clutched a hand to her breast. ‘Ramiz, I have not betrayed you. I would never—what has happened? Please tell me.’

  ‘You lied to me,’ he snarled.

  ‘I did not lie to you,’ Celia responded indignantly. ‘I would never lie to you. You’re frightening me, Ramiz.’

  ‘I doubt it,’ he flashed. ‘I doubt anything frightens you, Lady Celia, consummate actress as you are. I should have known. Akil was right. I should have guessed from the start that such a delicate English rose would not subject herself to the brutal caresses of a heathen like myself without reason. Do they know, my lovely Celia?’ he hissed, nodding contemptuously at Lady Sophia and Cassie, paused on the brink of intervention in the doorway of the main salon. ‘Have you told them the price you paid for whatever pathetic little snippets of information you have garnered for them?’

  As realisation dawned Celia began to feel faint. ‘Mr Finchley-Burke,’ she said, her voice no more than a whisper.

  ‘Precisely. He is here with your father. You didn’t expect that, did you?’

  Horribly conscious of the presence of her aunt and her sister, Celia shook her head miserably and moved a little further down the courtyard. ‘Ramiz, it’s true. Mr Finchley-Burke asked me to—to keep my eyes and ears open. Those were his words. It is also true that I thought about it—but only for a few moments. I was just relieved to have an excuse to stay here, Ramiz. I never intended—I would never use—especially not now, after…’

  ‘I don’t believe you.’

  ‘Ramiz, please.’ Celia took a step towards him, her hands held out in supplication, but he shrank away from her as if she were poison. She swallowed hard. Tears would be humiliating. ‘It’s the truth. Even if I did consider it at first…’

  ‘So you admit that much?’

  Celia hung her head. ‘I thought if I could salvage something from George’s death… But it was a thought only—a fleeting one. I never really intended—I know I never would have. And that was before you and I…’

  ‘There is no you and I. Not now.’

  ‘Ramiz! Ramiz, you can’t seriously believe that I would have made love with you for any other reason than—’ She broke off, realising that what she had been about to say was exactly what she had sworn never to say. That she loved him. Looking at him in anguish, she could think of nothing except that she loved him.

  Now he did touch her, pulling her into his arms, pushing her hair back from her face, forcing her to meet his hard gaze. ‘So why did you, Celia? Why did you allow me such liberties? Why did you give me what you gave no other man?’

  ‘You know why,’ she whispered. ‘I couldn’t stop myself.’

  ‘How can I believe that when you obviously had no such difficulty in denying your husband?’

  ‘George has nothing to do with this.’

  ‘But he has everything to do with it. Was it not for the sake of his memory that you did all this?’

  ‘Ramiz, have I ever asked you anything remotely sensitive when it comes to A’Qadiz? Have I prodded you for information? Have I ever attempted to cajole secrets from you? You know I have not!’

  But he was beyond reasoning. ‘You have done worse than that. You have forced me to betray my honour. You gave yourself to me. You threw yourself at me in the hope that I would succumb and I did. I do not doubt for a moment that your intention is to cry ravishment now, thus allowing your father the moral upper hand, which he will have no hesitation in using to his advantage.’

  Celia stared at him in absolute astonishment. ‘I truly thought you knew me. I thought you understood me. I thought I understood you too. But I don’t. I would die rather than do such a thing.’

  ‘I didn’t expect you to admit it. I just wanted you to know that I’d found out. It is I who would die rather than allow you to take further advantage of me. There will be no treaty. Never. Now get out of my sight.’

  He threw her from him contemptuously. Celia staggered. ‘Ramiz, please don’t do this. Please.’

  ‘I am done with you. All of
you. You will leave Balyrma tomorrow. I will have an escort to see you out of my kingdom. I don’t want to see or hear from you ever again.’

  The harem door clanged shut behind him and he was gone. As Celia crumpled to the floor, covering her face with her hands, Lady Sophia and Cassandra rushed towards her, helping her to her feet and back to her salon, seating her on her divan and wrapping her in a velvet throw.

  ‘It’s all right, Celia,’ Cassie said, holding her tight and casting a bewildered look at her aunt.

  Almost oblivious of their presence, Celia huddled under the soft caress of the velvet. It would never be all right. Nothing she could say would make any difference. Ramiz despised her. It was over.

  Chapter Fourteen

  ‘Let me in! Open up at once, I say.’

  Celia raised a weary head from her pillow and listened.

  ‘Open up! Dammit, my daughters are in there. Will you open the door?’

  ‘Papa?’ Celia stumbled from her divan to the courtyard, to find Cassie and Aunt Sophia staring in consternation at the closed door of the harem. ‘Is that Father I can hear?’

  ‘We can’t get the door open,’ Cassie said. ‘There’s no handle on this side.’

  ‘Open up,’ Celia called to the guards in Arabic. ‘It is my father.’

  The door swung open, revealing an irate Lord Henry with a red-faced Peregrine beside him. The eunuch guards had drawn their scimitars and were barring the way. ‘For goodness’ sake, Celia, tell these men to let us through,’ Lord Henry said testily.

  ‘This is a harem, Papa. Sheikh al-Muhana is the only man who is permitted to come here. Why did you not just send for me?’

  ‘Couldn’t get anyone to understand a damned word I was saying.’

  ‘But where is Ramiz?’

  ‘If you mean the Prince, I have no idea. Didn’t turn up for dinner with us last night—haven’t seen him this morning. Took us the best part of the last hour to track you down here. I’ve never seen so many corridors and courtyards in my life. This place is like a maze.’