THE GODDESS OF MAVISU by REBECCA STRATTON
Delia knew she should never have let herself fall in love withthe devastatingly attractive Kemal Selim. He was a Turk, with all the traditional Turkish preference for a meek and docile wife of his own nationality — someone like Suna Kozlu. But sometimes feelings were difficult to control.
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OTHER Harlequin Romances by REBECCA STRATTON
1748—THE GOLDEN MADONNA 1770— FAIRWIN DS 1799—THE BRIDE OF ROMANO 1816—CASTLES IN SPAIN 1839—RUN FROM THE WIND 1858—ISLAND OF DARKNESS 1883— AUTUMN CONCERTO 1898—FIREBIRD 1913—THE FLIGHT OF THE HAWK 1942—THE FIRE AND THE FURY 1955—MOON TIDE
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Original hardcover edition published in 1975 by Mills & Boon Limited
ISBN 373-01976-9
Harlequin edition published May, 1976
Copyright ©1975 by Rebecca Stratton. AU rights reserved.
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CHAPTER ONE
DELIA leaned back against the rough trunk of a cypress and gazed up at the deep purple sky, scattered with stars like diamonds on velvet. Only a few kilometres away and on a slightly lower level the lights of Antalya vied with the stars, glittering and bright and lending a shimmering haze of gold to the night sky.
The sound of the sea reached her as little more than a whisper, barely audible above the movement of the cypress plumes that stirred in the warm night breeze, and behind her she could hear voices. Not loud voices, just the quiet conversation of her uncle and Clifford as they went over the day's finds by lamplight, unable to leave the site as the local hired workers had long since done.
As always Uncle Arthur's only interest lay with past centuries, back in the days when the Greeks had occupied this beautiful country and left their, culture to become part of the exciting history of Turkey. Delia enjoyed archaeology, she would not have been persuaded to join the expedition otherwise, but she was more easily influenced by present conditions than by history.
Certainly those ancient Greeks had discovered a
paradise in Anatolia, especially along this exquisite coast with its turquoise blue waters and coral red cliffs festooned with tumbling waters. Delia had fallen in love with Anatolia at first sight and with Antalya and its vicinity in particular, but she was much more concerned about the present rather disturbing inhabitants than with the ancient Greeks. With one of them in particular.
Delia knew quite well, although her uncle and Clifford pooh-poohed the idea, that Kemal Selim disliked having them there at Mavisu, and she wished her uncle's enthusiasm for his calling had not led him to intrude on to private land in his pursuit of further knowledge.
Years ago her uncle, Professor Arthur Crompton, had known Sadi Selim, and when he heard that there might be some so far undiscovered Grecian remains on the old man's land he had immediately requested permission to start digging there so that he might prove or disprove the theory.
Sadi Selim had consented, apparently quite readily, but his grandson had made it plain more than once that he did not agree with the decision and resented the intrusion. In all honesty Delia was bound to sympathise with his feelings to some extent, for Mavisu was beautiful, and although their dig was small as yet and still concealed by a profusion of shrubs and trees their being there at all must have constituted an intrusion.
The whole of this Turquoise Coast was a treasure house of archaeology, of course, but new discoveries were always exciting and she was bound to sympa-
thise with her uncle's point of view as well, for he was a man who thought of little else but his profession. Delia's father had been an enthusiastic amateur, but Arthur, his brother, was completely dedicated. As soon as Sadi Selim's permission was forthcoming he had sought official sanction and then organised a flight out with Delia and his assistant, Clifford Aitkin. Other necessary labour was recruited from among the local men.
Clifford Aitkin had been with her uncle ever since he left university and it had been his suggestion that Delia might like to come along as a lay helper. The suggestion had not been without another motive, Delia knew that, for she was well aware that Clifford was becoming increasingly interested in her personally, although her uncle had not so far realised it.
Clifford was a quiet, not quite shy man, and so far he had said nothing to her that could be construed, as an approach, however tentative, but Delia had seen a look in his eyes that told her how things were going and she was not altogether averse to the idea. Clifford was quite attractive in a quiet and studious sort of way, but she always felt that he was so much older than she was, although he was no more than twenty-six, only five years older.
Delia sighed as she looked up again at the stars, then glanced over her shoulder to where a lamp burned dimly in the tent that housed their equipment and their finds. The three of them, her uncle, herself and Clifford, were guests in Sadi Selim's
home, he had insisted on it, but while his hospitality was gracious and generous there was always his grandson's attitude to contend with.
It was time they Went back to the house if they were to be ready in time for dinner, although Uncle Arthur would dislike having to leave his precious specimens, he always did. She must insist on their being in time, for she could not face another embarrassment such as occurred last week when they had been unforgivably late for dinner simply because her uncle could not be dragged away from his treasures.
Delia could have gone to dinner alone, of course, but she was much too nervous to sit at table without her uncle, especially with Kemal Selim's dark discouraging eyes on her. Madame Renoir was kindness itself, but then she was not the head of the house, nor did she share her nephew's dislike of the English visitors.
Another glance at her wristwatch warned her that she dared not leave her reminder any longer, and she eased herself away from the support of the tree and started across to the tent, but as she made her way through the scented mass of shrubs and trees that surrounded their dig someone stepped into her path.
She drew a sharp, almost audible breath and put a hand to her throat, her eyes wide and shiningly bright in the soft light as she shrank back in her brief alarm against the cool scented mass of a magnolia. The moonlight merely suggested the red-gold of her hair and her eyes looked as dark as
night instead of their natural green when she looked up at him.
'Miss Crompton.' He stood outlined against the pale pink tamarisk blossom, his height exaggerated by the conditions, and seeming to tower over her.
Kemal Selim was tall, taller than either Clifford or her uncle, and in the present lighting he looked even darker than usual too. His hair looked jet black when in reality it was a v
ery dark brown and his eyes were not the glittering jet they appeared at the moment but a deep glowing brown, set in short, thick lashes that emphasised both their depth and their colour.
To all appearances he was Turkish, for his looks owed very little to his French mother, and Delia suspected he preferred it so. He was a disconcerting man in every way, both in his looks and in his manner. His features were strong and hawkish, much more suggestive of the East than of Western Europe, with straight dark brows and high cheekbones, while his manner, particularly with Delia, had the proud arrogance of an old-time Pasha. He was about thirty-two or three years old and still unmarried—and Delia often wondered why.
He looked at her, having spoken her name, and she blinked a little anxiously as her heart thudded alarmingly against her ribs. Not only had he startled her but his appearance always had the most discomfiting effect on her, no matter how much she tried to pretend otherwise.
`I—I didn't see you,' she told him. 'You startled me.'
He ignored her complaint, made no apology for startling her, but glanced over at the tent where her uncle's voice could be heard, now higher pitched as his enthusiasm for his treasures grew. A section of stone capital from the body of a temple was enough to send him wild with delight, and Delia at least could understand his enthusiasm.
'Professor Crompton has had some success, hanim?' Kemal Selim asked, and something in his voice combined with the arching of one dark brow brought a swift flush to Delia's cheeks.
'We've done quite well today,' she told him, unable to do anything about the edge of defensiveness on her voice. 'Beside a section of capital we found a piece of what could be a carved frieze, so it looks as if there was a temple here. Naturally Uncle Arthur's very excited about it—we all are.'
'Of course!' Again his tone made her frown, but she merely thrust out her small rounded chin and refused to be angry about it. 'I imagine you were about to remind your colleagues that it is almost time for dinner,' he said, and the implication was unmistakable.
His English was impeccable, Delia could find no fault with it at all, but she always felt he was talking down to her, as if she were some kind of inferior being that he only tolerated. Possibly it had something to do with the traditional attitude of the Turk towards women, although Sadi Selim, his grandfather, was never less than courteous and charming.
'We won't be late, Mr. Selim,' she promised in a cool voice, and once again that dark brow elevated
swiftly to the dark fall of hair across his forehead.
Half expecting him to make some comment on their disastrously late entrance last week, Delia waited, ready to leap to her uncle's defence, but instead Kemal Selim looked down at her steadily for a second before he spoke. 'You do not share the enthusiasm of your uncle for history, hanim?' he asked, and Delia stared at him in surprise for a moment.
His interest was unexpected and disconcerting and she wondered at the reason for it. He was a man she could never feel at ease with and it therefore took her several moments to find an answer. He always called her the very formal and impersonal hanim without the addition of her first name as his grandfather did, or else Miss Crompton, which was scarcely more friendly.
The white dinner jacket he wore somehow served only to add to the earthy, primitive cast of his features, and she recognised him suddenly as a stunningly attractive man, albeit a dangerous one. Hastily bringing her hammering pulse under control, she glanced again over her shoulder where her uncle's gauntly thin shadow was cast against the flimsy tent by the lamplight.
'Oh yes, I'm very interested,' she said, 'but to Uncle Arthur—well, archaeology is his whole life. It means so much more to him than to an amateur like me.'
'And Mr. Aitkin?' The dark eyes still looked down at her steadily, bringing a fresh urgency to her heart's beat. 'Is he fired with the same daunt-
less enthusiasm as the professor?' Swiftly the eyes swept over her in a gaze that brought a bright flush to her cheeks. 'Or has he other interests, hanim?' he added, and it was impossible to mistake his meaning.
There was something challenging and infinitely disturbing about the way he was looking at her, and Delia swallowed hastily on a sudden brief sense of panic as she faced him. The magnolia's scent surrounded her, enveloped her, as she stood embraced by its branches, and the other scents and sounds of the garden too had an effect that was almost intoxicating.
The pale tamarisk blossoms that threw the tall arrogance of Kemal Selim into relief and the whispering plumes of the cypress trees stirred by the warm breeze off the sea, even that rich, diamond-studded sky with its silver moon, seemed unreal, and she felt strangely lightheaded, as if it was all part of some exotic dream she was bound to wake from soon.
'You do not answer,' Kemal Selim reminded her quietly, breaking into her dream. 'Can it be that you do not know?'
Delia took a short step forward, away from the cool touch of the magnolia leaves, and shook her head. 'I can't answer for Mr. Aitkin,' she said in a voice that trembled despite her attempts to control it. 'And if you'll excuse me, Mr. Selim—'
'Of course!'
He made no attempt to step out of her way, and to reach the tent where her uncle and Clifford were
she must pass between him and the spread of a huge pink azalea. She made herself as small as possible and even turned sideways on, but for all that the limited space made it impossible for her not to come in contact with him.
Her body was pressed against him only briefly, but it was long enough for her to sense the muscular strength of him through his jacket and she flinched as if she had been burned. It was the first time she had been in actual physical contact with him and the effect was more devastating than anything she could have anticipated. Glancing up, she found the dark eyes fixed on her steadily, enigmatic and fathomless in the dim light.
`Alledersiniz, hanim,' he apologised, but Delia hurried away without being really sure if a brief glimpse of white teeth was really a smile or not.
Dinner at Mavisu had been a revelation to Delia, although by now she was growing accustomed to the lavishness of Turkish hospitality. Exotic dishes followed one another in seemingly endless variety and were accompanied by glasses of raki, a spirit that Delia felt was very much an acquired taste, although her uncle and Clifford seemed to find it palatable enough.
Unable to do full justice to these gargantuan feasts, Delia was aware that Kemal Selim noticed each time she bypassed one of the dishes because she simply could not cope with the quantities, and she sometimes wondered uneasily if she was committing a breach of good manners by refusing them.
The setting for these nightly feasts was as exotic as the food and Delia always felt as if she had stepped into the past whenever she sat down amid the splendours of the dining salon. Sadi Selim, a traditionalist at heart, had Westernised his household to the extent of using a dining table and chairs, but the beautiful carpets, bronze filigree lamps and bowls of scented water were all so much part of tradition that Delia believed it was the reason her uncle felt so much at home there.
She looked at him now, a swift, surreptitious look below half lowered lids, and saw him deep in conversation with his host. His thin bony shape was clad in an old-fashioned dinner jacket that looked at least one size too large for him and he looked as out of place in that as he did in most of his clothes, his large head with its prematurely grey hair inclined attentively towards his host. Uncle Arthur spoke passable Turkish, but he was much too tactful to use it when Sadi Selim had such an excellent command of English.
Sadi Selim was everything Delia had expected in a powerful and wealthy man, except that he was much less inclined to be autocratic than his grandson was, and he very obviously enjoyed her uncle's company. He was a big man by any standards, and his years had done little to distort his bearing; he looked little older than her uncle, although he must have had the advantage of thirty years or so. His black hair was only streaked with grey and the strong hawklike features inherited by his grandson were as bold as ever,
though smiling seemed to
come easily to him.
Opposite to her, across the table, Clifford seemed to be following the conversation of the two older men but saying little, his grey eyes behind their wide horn-rims glinting with interest. He was no taller than her uncle but more sturdily built, and his rather delicate features suggested that he was both less dedicated and less self-confident than his mentor. An attractive man but a dreamer, and one whom Delia could well imagine Kemal Selim would despise.
Instinctively her eyes turned to the place at their host's right hand and she felt that same curious flutter of reaction she always did whenever she looked at Kemal Selim. It was almost as if each time was the first time she had set eyes on him and there was always an element of surprise when she realised how stunningly attractive he was and how blatantly sensual. As if he sensed her interest the dark eyes held her gaze boldly and she felt a warm flush of colour in her cheeks as she hastily looked away.
His aunt, Madame Renoir, sat next to her at the other end of the table, the two women side by side, as if their presence there at all was merely a concession to Western standards. Sadi Selim, for all his charming manners, was still a traditionalist at heart.
`You have made progress today, ma chère?' Madame Renoir asked, and Delia smiled and nodded.
`Quite a lot, madame,' she said. 'It's pretty certain now that there was a temple here, and that's
very exciting.'
Madame smiled, making a grimace that expressed her opinion plainly enough. 'So,' she said, 'there is evidence of an ancient goddess in our midst, huh?'
'It seems almost certain,' Delia agreed, and Madame Renoir looked at her with a glint of mischief in her eyes, nodding her head as she leaned forward confidentially.
`But I am sure our two young men were well aware of that without excavating for ruins, ma chère! she murmured, and her expression left little doubt as to her meaning so that Delia glanced hastily and warily at Kemal Selim, thankful that he had not overheard. 'You are a very lovely young girl,' Madame Renoir went on undeterred, 'and what young man does not prefer that his goddesses have flesh and blood, eh?'
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