Today, her hair was adorned with tiny jewelled clips—and every jewel was the real McCoy. She was wearing a king’s ransom on her head!
Diamonds. Sapphires. Rubies and emeralds. All gleamed with multi-coloured splendour—dazzling and bright—making her face look pale by comparison. Her amber eyes glittered back at her, huge and haunted and distracted, and the fingers which were clasped together by the heavily encrusted belt which lay low over her hips were trembling like the first leaves of spring.
And no wonder. For the day she had so been dreading had finally arrived.
Her wedding day.
For the past forty-eight hours world leaders had been flying into Riocard, as had film stars and models and moguls—rich and powerful friends and acquaintances of the man who seemed like a cold-faced stranger to her.
The world’s press were camped along the wedding route and glossy magazines from just about every country in the world had been sent to cover the ‘wedding of the year’. She had received countless requests for interviews, but she had refused them all—for surely perceptive journalists would easily be able to detect her uncertainty. And her insecurity about the future.
From outside she could hear the sounds of the jubilant crowds lining the main streets of Riocard, in the hope of catching a glimpse of their Sheikh’s bride as she travelled with her father to the palace for the ceremony which would make them man and wife.
Rashid’s wife.
Jenna shivered, trying not to think about what lay ahead. First there was the ceremony itself—with all the eyes of Quador on her, along with the eyes of the world. They would be expecting a bride who was rapturous with joy at the thought of marrying one of the world’s most eligible bachelors.
She allowed herself a wry smile. If only they knew! What would they say if they discovered that she and Rashid had barely spoken a word to each other in the intervening weeks—let alone loving words. They had discussed only what had been absolutely necessary.
Only once, with her father in proud attendance, had she summoned up the courage to ask Rashid about what her future ‘role’ as his wife would entail.
And Rashid had narrowed his black eyes and fixed her with a look of bemused tolerance.
‘Why, Jenna,’ he had responded softly, ‘your role is to support your Sheikh.’
‘But I have been studying law, Rashid,’ she had pointed out. ‘Could that not be put to some use?’
Her father had shaken his head and smiled. ‘Your role as consort will leave you little spare time, Jenna.’
And Rashid, murmuring his agreement, had risen, his silken robes flowing, signalling that the discussion had come to an end.
The chaperons had put paid to all but the most formal communication between them. Like questions from Rashid about her preferences for the wedding feast—and, on one memorable occasion, a drawled query about where she would care to spend the honeymoon.
As far away from you as possible, her eyes had said, but she had given him a sarcastically submissive smile. ‘That choice must be yours, O Sheikh,’ she had answered softly, and had seen his mouth tighten in response. ‘Perhaps Paris?’ she had questioned, with mock innocence. ‘I believe that the Sheikh knows the city very well?’
He had drummed his long fingers on the exquisite inlaid desk at which he’d sat, and his dark eyes had frosted her a look of pure ice.
‘Perhaps we should stay right here in Quador,’ he had murmured in a little-spoken Quadorian dialect which he knew full well that she alone in the room understood. ‘After all—one bed is pretty much the same as any other!’
Jenna shivered again. After the wedding and the feast would come the wedding night itself, and that was the part she was dreading most. She had declared that she would not respond to him, that she would tolerate his caresses but not enjoy them. Yet over the last few headachy days she had begun to wonder whether she would have the resolve to withstand his raw and heated sensuality.
But even if she didn’t there was no guarantee that she would enjoy it—not if that single, frantic bout in the bedchamber was anything to go by. And if she was worried that Rashid would be unable to resist the lure of mistresses past, present and maybe future—then she was almost certain that a frigid wife would send him running straight to their beds.
She stared into the mirror one last time and fixed a practised smile onto her lips. She would go forward towards her future, and put her trust in fate.
There was little else in which she could trust.
Rashid stood with narrowed eyes as he surveyed the horizon for the first sign of her carriage.
‘Exalted One?’
Rashid didn’t move, his heart unaccustomedly heavy. ‘What is it, Abdullah?’
‘The woman—Chantal—she has been leaving messages for you, O Sheikh.’
Rashid did turn round then, his narrowed eyes growing even more flinty than usual. ‘You dare to speak to me of such matters on the day of my wedding?’
‘I merely pass on messages, Sheikh, just as I have always done.’
‘Then pass them on no longer,’ said Rashid tonelessly. ‘I instructed Chantal not to contact me. She knows that I am a man of my word.’
‘Indeed.’ Abdullah nodded.
‘Did she choose one of the pieces of jewellery I left?’ Rashid enquired, as an afterthought.
Abdullah shifted uncomfortably. ‘She said that making a choice was impossible, Excellency.’
‘And?’
‘She kept them all.’
For a moment the Sheikh was still, and then he smiled a cynical smile. ‘So be it,’ he murmured. ‘Then there is nothing more to be said.’ He stilled once more as bells began pealing loudly in the palace courtyard. ‘She is here,’ he breathed. ‘Jenna has come.’
Moving stiffly in the heavy wedding gown, and surrounded by her women-in-waiting, Jenna made her way slowly towards the Throne Room, where Rashid awaited her.
And with her first glimpse of him a small, instinctive sigh escaped from her lips—for he looked as perfect as it was surely possible for any man to look.
He wore robes of silver, far plainer than her own, and from his belt hung the priceless Quador sword which was never far from his side. He turned around and his carved face was stern, but for one brief moment the dark eyes softened as he bowed his head with imperial grace.
He had got what he wanted, she thought as she moved across the crowded ornate room to his side—while her own wishes had been cast aside in the tide of his arrogant determination.
‘You look exquisite,’ he murmured.
And so did he. She bowed her own head, because, stupidly, the appreciative blaze from the black eyes had made it seem like the most wonderful compliment she had ever received. A tiny morsel thrown to a starving dog. ‘Thank you.’
The ceremony passed in a blur. Ancient words were spoken. Heavy crowns placed upon their heads. The wedding vows were quietly made—vows of love and endurance and fidelity. And, staring into the onyx glitter of his eyes, Jenna found the words all too simple to say. A wave of sadness rocked her, for she had loved him with all her heart, and deep down she suspected that she still could.
But as Rashid echoed her words of undying fidelity they sounded hollow and empty in her ears.
He placed a circlet of rubies on her finger as the words of the ceremony echoed around the high-vaulted Throne Room.
They were married. Man and wife. Jenna felt faint as her eyes were drawn to a sudden cloud-like spectacle outside the window—the blur of wings as a thousand white doves were released into the skies.
How free they looked, she thought wistfully. How carefree.
Rashid felt her tremble beside him as she watched the birds fly away. ‘What troubles you, Jenna?’ he whispered.
He did. She turned to face him, her brow criss-crossing with concern. ‘Will the doves not fly straight into the desert and perish?’ she questioned worriedly.
He gave a brief, hard smile. Did she think so badly of him? ‘I am not such
a barbarian as to condemn such living beauty to death,’ he demurred. ‘No, they will be carried on the warm thermals to more hospitable climes than Quador. Who knows? They may settle where no dove has ever settled before—a new beginning for them as well as for us, sweet Jenna.’
Jenna suppressed a sigh of longing. He could make his words sound like poetry—if only he meant them!
After the wedding came the feast in the Banqueting Hall, and there were murmurs of approval from the glittering assembly as they looked around, observing for themselves the vast wealth of Quador.
Meats were turning on vast spits. Huge bowls of jewel-bright and glistening fruits tempted the eye and the palate. But Jenna had little appetite for food and she felt dazed in the spotlight of so many curious stares.
She drank some strong wine from one of the carved golden goblets, and the fiery liquid burned into her stomach, filling her with a welcome warmth.
Rashid bent his head to her ear. ‘And now we must move into the Grand Ballroom, my sweet bride,’ he murmured softly. ‘They are awaiting our first dance.’
‘Duty calls,’ she responded with a nod of her head, and the thumping in her head only increased as she saw him frown.
A string quartet had been flown in from New York and they played quietly in one corner of the ballroom as Jenna moved into her new husband’s arms.
For a moment she saw the envious eyes of an international starlet fixed on them—a woman whose tiny, glittering dress showed off every perfect inch of her body. And then she was aware of nothing other than the scent of the man who was now her husband, and the lean, hard body beneath the fine silk he wore.
He touched his lips to her ear, and she shivered. ‘You are pale, Jenna mine,’ he observed. ‘Has your wedding day not pleased you?’
She lifted her head up, dazzled by the piercing black light from his eyes. ‘It has all been so…bewildering,’ she said truthfully. ‘I hadn’t thought…hadn’t realised just what a big show it was going to be.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Show?’ he questioned, his voice sultry, but underlaid with a faint note of impatience. ‘The trappings are necessary, but a wedding is a wedding is a wedding—and tonight I will show you just how fulfilling married life can be.’
She quickly turned her face into his shoulder again, for fear that he should see the foreboding in her eyes.
Rashid felt the stiff tension in her body, but kept his face relaxed, knowing that every eye in the room was on them, and that every nuance would be observed and reported back.
What had happened to the easy warmth which had once flowed like honey between them? Should he ever have let her leave? Was he to blame for this frosty state of impasse? He allowed himself a small sigh. He bitterly regretted the way he had taken her, with such fervour and such little consideration for her innocence. He had believed her rash declaration. Had thought that she was a woman of sexual experience—and oh, how wrong he had been.
He drifted his mouth to the jewelled hair, remembering her angry words to him. So she would not enjoy sex! He smiled. Let her say that when the morning sun washed its first golden rays over their naked bodies!
It was almost eight by the time they took their leave of their guests. They were to spend that night in the Palace, before travelling to the west of Quador the following day, where Rashid had a hunting lodge and only a bare skeleton of servants.
They would be almost alone, she realised—or as alone as a man in his position could ever be.
‘Come now, Jenna,’ he said softly, and, taking her hand, he led her past the clapping guests towards his quarters. ‘Let the wedding night begin.’
It was a journey which seemed to take for ever, and all Jenna was aware of was the pounding of her heart and the powerful presence of the silver-clad Sheikh by her side as they mounted the marble stairs.
At last he drew her inside the door of a room which was indisputably the room of the Ruler. The floors were also of marble, and priceless paintings of his ancestors clothed the walls. At the far end, looking almost a car journey away, stood the wide, low divan—hung with embroidered canopies, a coverlet of pure gold silk spread smoothly across its surface.
He could feel her trembling as he turned her to face him, and he stared down for a long moment into her heart-shaped upturned face.
‘Do not be afraid, Jenna,’ he murmured. ‘For you have nothing to fear.’
Save for her own shortcomings and being at the mercy of a man who knew everything there was to know about the art of love, while she knew almost nothing.
He began to draw the tiny jewelled clips from her hair almost absently, and placed them on an inlaid table. The style was far less severe now, he thought, and framed her face with soft waves of silky golden-brown.
He bent his lips to hers and for a moment she tensed, but the brush of his mouth was as light and as drifting as a feather, and it was barely there before it was gone again.
Rashid sighed. ‘You look as though you are just about to enter the lion’s den,’ he observed.
She felt a smile wobble its way across her mouth. ‘How very appropriate,’ she observed drily. ‘Since you are known as the Lion of the Desert!’
He laughed, and the white teeth gleamed in such contrast against the olive skin, and Jenna was startled by how long it had been since she had seen him laugh like that.
He tipped her chin upwards and looked down into her eyes. ‘You are tired,’ he commented wryly, and took her hand to lead her to the divan. ‘Come, let me undress you, and then you shall sleep.’
‘Sleep, Rashid?’ she echoed disbelievingly, and saw him knit the dark brows together.
‘Believe it or not, I am not the barbarian you once called me,’ he responded coolly. ‘Perhaps you have reason to fear my advances—presumably that is why you vowed never to enjoy sex. I will not force myself upon you, and neither will I beg you, Jenna,’ he asserted softly. ‘You will come to me willing, or you will not come at all. There will be no demands made on you which you do not wish to fulfil.’
Now she felt utterly confused. He began to deftly undo all the tiny buttons which adorned the front of her wedding gown, and his words set up a nagging feeling of doubt and insecurity. What did he mean? It was his right as her Sheikh and her husband to consummate the marriage, surely?
She threw him a look of challenge. ‘I feel as though I could sleep for a week,’ she admitted.
‘Then so be it.’ The last of the buttons was freed and he helped her step from the heavy dress, sucking in an instinctive breath as he saw what she was wearing. For the gown might be traditional Quadorian, but the undergarments beneath were sheer Hollywood.
An underwired bra in fine gold lace—which curved her breasts upwards into two exquisitely pale mounds—and an outrageous G-string in matching material which emphasised the darker triangular shadowing which blurred so tantalisingly before his eyes.
‘Who bought these?’ he questioned unsteadily.
She lifted her eyes to his. ‘My ladies-in-waiting instructed me to be beautiful for my wedding night. I sent to…to…America for them.’
And beautiful she most certainly was—but the haunted look in her eyes was no spur to making love to her. He turned away abruptly, afraid that the reined-in control he could feel tightening his face would only add to her trepidation.
‘Get into bed,’ he said, more harshly than he had intended, and went to stand by the window.
She did as he instructed, and some of her apprehensiveness was relieved the moment her body sank into the welcome softness of the divan. She stretched beneath the coverlet, and the tension began to seep away.
She was here and she was Rashid’s wife, waiting in his bed, and the doubts which had nagged her all day suddenly crystallised into certainty. Had he not just been gentle and considerate with her? And would she not fulfil her own worst fears if she held him at arm’s length? Wouldn’t that almost certainly drive him into the arms of another woman?
From beneath her long lashes, she
stole a look at him. His lean physique exuded the same kind of restrained power as a caged tiger, and a tiny throb of aching warmth made her limbs feel suddenly fluid.
‘Rashid?’ she questioned tentatively.
He turned around, but his face was so impassive that it appeared almost indifferent.
‘I am going to take a shower,’ he stated.
Jenna nodded, and swallowed down another doubt. Shouldn’t she have bathed herself? Come to her Sheikh scented and shining? For one mad and impetuous moment she opened her mouth, about to offer to wash his back, just like a modern, liberated woman.
Except she must remember that she was not—that her independence had only ever been an illusion. And besides, he had already stalked off into the bathroom and banged the door behind him.
Rashid stripped off his wedding clothes with a grim and ruthless efficiency and turned the shower on full, standing beneath it for long, countless moments.
When he returned, with only some of his ardour dampened by the cool jets of water, she was fast asleep.
CHAPTER SEVEN
JENNA awoke late the next morning, blinking her eyes in confusion as her sleep-befuddled mind struggled to work out exactly where she was, and when she did her eyes flew open.
In Rashid’s bed.
His wife!
Slowly she turned her face to the empty space beside her, and saw that the pillow lay as smooth and as untouched as it had the night before.
‘Fear not, my beauty,’ came a mocking voice from what seemed like a long way away, and she narrowed her eyes to look at the far end of the room, where Rashid stood like an imposing statue suddenly brought to life as he began to walk towards her.
He was fully dressed in silken robes of creamy buttermilk, against which his dark and golden looks appeared all the more startling. But his face was hard and impenetrable, with a certain edge to it, and there was nothing of the appearance of the eager groom about him.
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