Royal Spy

by Valerie Parv

  Her breath caught as the sheik moved toward her, Gage at his side. Her mind raced. She would deny everything. No, she wouldn't. She would confess to her father before Gage could betray her. Then she would hold her head high and face whatever music her unconventional behavior had invited.

  The sea of dignitaries parted for the sheik and his companion. By the time they reached her, Nadia's veil fluttered with the effort of controlling her breathing. "Father, I need to tell you..."

  The sheik gestured her to silence. "In time, my daughter. I wish to present the emissary from England, Mr. Gage Weston. Mr. Weston, Her Highness Princess Nadia Kamal."

  Gage executed a skillful bow that managed to mock her at the same time. "Your Highness."

  Her dry throat made her voice husky. "Welcome to Tamir, Mr. Weston."

  "Mr. Weston has expressed an interest in our customs, in particular the dress you have chosen to wear in his honor," the sheik continued.

  Hardly in his honor. He was the driving force behind the choice, but not for the reason her father evidently believed. "I'm glad Mr. Weston appreciates it," she said through clenched teeth.

  "Oh, he does, my dear, as do I."

  Her father sounded amused, she thought in confusion. For once, she was glad to keep her gaze properly downcast to avoid having to meet Gage's blatant appraisal. She was utterly convinced that he had recognized her. Her glimpse of his determined expression as he approached was enough to warn her that he intended to use his knowledge, although to what end, she didn't want to think.

  Her palms grew moist as she waited for Gage to betray her to her father, but he only stood rock still beside the sheik as if he had all the time in the world. She decided two could play this game, and willed herself to silence and stillness, although every nerve in her body tingled with awareness.

  "I informed Mr. Weston that your costume is traditionally worn for the performance of the Water Dance," the sheik went on.

  "Yes, Father." Volunteer nothing, she instructed herself. Never had she found being silent more difficult.

  "Then you do intend to perform the dance for us, daughter?"

  Startled, she lifted her head to find the sheik pinning her with a hard glare that belied the amusement in his expression. Gage Weston merely looked interested, as befitted a visitor of his status. But in his eyes, she saw a sensual challenge that shook her to the core.

  Gage was waiting for her to refuse and get herself into deeper trouble with her father, she thought, again disturbed by the almost telepathic communication between them.

  Her father had suggested the dance to punish her for making an exhibition of herself. Knowing how much she would hate being forced to perform for the assembled businessmen and their wives, the sheik had chosen a devastating way to exact his penance.

  Her father probably expected her to slink away in disgrace and apologize later for her behavior. She saw a similar expectation in Gage's expression. Was that why he hadn't unmasked her? Was he waiting to see the sheik bring her to heel so he could have the last laugh?

  Over her dead body.

  If her father wanted her to dance, then dance she would, she thought defiantly. Not humbly or reluctantly, but with style. Let Gage see that she wasn't afraid of him or any man. She felt his gaze following her as she mounted the dais and heard her father announce the entertainment to his guests.

  * * *

  Gage watched the princess in reluctant admiration. Arriving with Sir Brian and Lady Lillian, he had waited outside the courtyard, ostensibly to renew an old acquaintance, but really so he could observe the later arrivals. He had slipped into the shadow of a statue when Nadia walked in. Her choice of national costume had startled him, too. She looked like a butterfly among a collection of moths.

  He had seen her fiance lecturing her and hadn't been fooled by her downcast eyes, although Dabir evidently had been. Why had she risked his anger and her father's wrath by dressing so outlandishly? Of course, the veil. She didn't know Gage had seen her exchange clothes with her maid and had no doubt thought to prevent him from recognizing her. Even if he hadn't already known her secret, his first breath of her distinctive jasmine perfume would have given her away.

  He didn't need intelligence skills to work out that ordering her to dance was the sheik's way of teaching her a lesson, and Gage's conscience was troubled. Outwardly Nadia seemed comfortable at the center of attention. But he'd noticed the lines around her eyes. Gage didn't like witnessing her distress and wished there was something he could do about it. Telling himself that she had started this with her deception didn't help. He had no option but to watch her dance.

  The story was a simple creation myth such as existed in many cultures. In Tamir's version, the original humans were Ishara, the giver of water, and Ranif, the giver of light and life. Nadia danced a wonderful Ishara, managing to conjure up the invisible Ranif with her poetic gestures and lissome movements.

  In the myth, Ranif readily released his gifts over the land, bringing light and life, but couldn't persuade Ishara to offer her gift of water. So he decided to leave, forcing her to admit her love for him. Her tears of sorrow released water into the land as the precious gift it remained to this day. Ranif returned and married Ishara.

  Gage knew that countless films had distorted the concept of veil dancing. The Mata Hari idea of peeling back layers of veils to tantalize onlookers was as much a myth as the Ishara story. Using a veil in such a way would amount to a striptease, unacceptable in Tamir culture. So Nadia's dancing had none of the seductive mockery of the western version. Yet seductive she was, in subtle ways that were many times more effective. Gage had never felt so aroused by a dancer in his life.

  Was it the lure of the unattainable? Veiled and moving so fluidly, she projected a mystique that spoke to his soul, making him want to rip away the covering and possess her utterly.

  Looking around at the attentive audience, Gage was astonished to feel anger snarling through him. He didn't like Nadia's being the cynosure of all eyes. Suddenly he understood why the men of some cultures insisted on women being veiled. Keeping Nadia to himself, her beauty for his eyes alone, had a powerful appeal.

  The dance ended and he shook off the thought. She was engaged to Butrus Dabir, Gage's number-one suspect, for goodness' sake. She could well be in league with Dabir, or herself be the traitor Gage sought. Letting her get to him was playing with fire.

  Letting a woman like Nadia get to him at any time was playing with fire.

  She acknowledged the rapturous applause gracefully enough, but her eyes shone with moisture as she came down off the stage. She kept her head down and almost ran into Gage in her haste to escape.

  He parked himself in her way. "You were wonderful, Your Highness. Or should I say, Addie."

  Anger and humiliation swirled in her expressive eyes. "Are you pleased you've had your revenge, Mr. Weston?"

  Gage would never have put her through such an ordeal, and he didn't like being lumped in with the man who had. "The dance was your father's idea, not mine," he protested.

  "When did you first recognize me?"

  Telling her he'd seen her change clothes with her maid would blow his cover, so he said, "Since you found me on the side of the road."

  "So this was for nothing."

  "I wouldn't call it nothing. Your dance was magnificent."

  She tore the veil off her face, letting the gossamer fabric hang down one side. "There's nothing magnificent about being looked upon as an amusement, a plaything. My father would never humiliate one of his sons this way."

  Gage started to wonder if he was on the right track. Nadia was such a bewildering mixture of innocence and worldliness that he found it increasingly hard to believe she could be a traitor to her family and her country. A worry, yes, but a traitor?

  You're getting soft, Weston, he told himself. The best spies were invariably the last people anyone suspected. The thought made him remember that he had a job to do. "I want to see you again," he said in an undert
one.

  The panic in her expressive eyes was quickly masked by resolve. "If you think you can blackmail me with what you know..."

  "This isn't blackmail," he said quickly. "I only want to visit the orphanage again. I know someone who may be able to help the children find homes. Will you take me with you when next you visit?"

  Her long lashes fluttered acceptance of her lack of choice. "Very well. I'll be going again on Thursday morning. You can meet me there."

  Gage saw Dabir making his way to them through the throng, a frown on his face. So the attorney didn't like another man chatting to his fiancee. Gage could understand that. "I'll be there," he said quickly, and she nodded.

  She moved to intercept Dabir. Gage lifted a glass of chilled juice off the tray of a passing waiter, but didn't drink. His thoughts were too busy. He did know someone who could help the orphans—his sister, Alexandra, who was married to a British duke. But Gage's main reason for revisiting the orphanage was to investigate whether it could be a front for the Brothers of Darkness. He hoped not, but in his business, it didn't pay to discount any possibility until he had checked it out thoroughly.

  The princess didn't have to be with him for that, so why take the risk of arranging a meeting? Instinct, he told himself, and almost laughed aloud. Hormones, more likely. Although she hadn't danced to seduce, she had aroused him in a way no woman had done for a long time. The need to see her again was like a fire in his blood. He caught her watching him over her fiance's shoulder and lifted his glass in a silent tribute to their next encounter.

  Chapter 4

  Long accustomed to the ritual, Nadia stood impassively as her sleeping robe was lifted from her body and she was helped into her morning bath. As the silken waters closed around her, she wondered how it would feel to bathe herself and wash her own hair.

  She knew better than to suggest such a thing to her personal attendants. Not only would they be scandalized that a royal princess should wish to do such menial tasks for herself, but they would also fear for their futures. If she denied them the honor of serving her, what else would they do?

  As she knew from bitter experience, meaningful work was at a premium for females in her society. Mostly they were expected to occupy themselves with their husbands and children. If the Almighty didn't grant them such blessings, they had two choices—inflict themselves upon their relatives or go into the service of some more fortunate woman.

  Nadia sighed. She was that woman, so why didn't she feel fortunate? Because but for an accident of royal birth, she would have been one of society's misfits, she knew. Unmarried for all this time and preoccupied with her art, she was hardly an example of the ideal Tamiri woman.

  She moved her limbs restlessly in the delicately scented bath, which was as big as a child's pool. Closing her eyes, she tilted her head back as her hair was lathered with sweetly perfumed lotion. The massaging action soothed her in spite of the faint guilt she always felt at being so pampered.

  With only her thoughts to occupy her, she took an inventory of her attendants. Nargis was the one doing her hair. Although no older than Nadia, she regarded herself as Nadia's second mother, always ready with advice whether Nadia wanted to hear it or not. Nargis had the advantage, depending on how one looked at it, of knowing almost everything that went on around the palace and being almost unable to resist sharing her knowledge. While Nadia didn't like to encourage gossip, she knew there were times when Nargis's information had its uses.

  On both sides, the princess's hands had been captured for attention by Thea and Ramana. They were twins, raven-haired and also close to Nadia in age. The only reason they hadn't married was their insistence on staying together. Should a man show interest in one of them, he invariably learned that a permanent house guest—the other twin—came as part of the package. Not surprisingly most men found the prospect daunting.

  Then there was dear Tahani, Nadia's partner in crime, who was at this moment restoring order to Nadia's bedchamber. Tahani could well have her own family by now, Nadia thought with a twinge of remorse, but her loyalty to the princess was too strong. Somehow Nadia would have to persuade Tahani to think of her own future. She should have done so already, she knew, but without Tahani's willing assistance, how was she to escape the confines of her royal life?

  Nargis, Thea and Ramana were devoted to her, but she suspected they would balk at disobeying the sheik so flagrantly. Only Tahani shared Nadia's adventurous spirit. In a more equal society, she would have been a success in some creative field, Nadia knew. They often made a game of imagining their lives differently. In the game, Tahani was an interior decorator, or a set designer for the movies. Nadia imagined herself as a great painter, her works hung in the world's most respected galleries and sold to discerning buyers, not only out of charity, but because they spoke to the buyer's soul.

  Buyers like Gage Weston, she thought dreamily. She would see him again this morning when she kept their appointment at the orphanage.

  The thought of the meeting made her eyes flutter open, letting a trace of shampoo trickle into them, stinging horribly. With a cry of alarm, Nargis dipped a fresh towel in clean water and dabbed at Nadia's eyes until she could see again.

  "My princess, my carelessness has harmed you. How can I make amends?"

  The effusiveness of the apology only made Nadia feel worse about her errant thoughts. "It wasn't your fault, Nargis, so you can stop acting as if you're about to be beaten." The servant knew as well as Nadia that such a thing had no part in Tamir culture. "We both know I should have kept my eyes closed."

  The remorse fled from the attendant's expression. "I'm more interested in what shocking thought made them fly open."

  Nadia pretended innocence. "Why should my thoughts be shocking?"

  Nargis had served Nadia's family for a long time and knew her as well as anyone. "They invariably are. Let me guess, you were thinking of a man."

  Was she so transparent? "If I was, why would that be shocking?"

  "As long as the man was Butrus Dabir, it wouldn't be. Were you thinking of your husband-to-be?"

  In the privacy of the boudoir, Nadia felt no need to dissemble. "No," she said on a heavy out-rush of breath. She decided to change the subject. "Did you know Butrus has petitioned my father to set our wedding date?"

  Nargis held out a huge velour towel, a sign for Nadia to step out of the bath and be swathed in the folds. As she did so, her attendant said, "Palace gossip speaks of a wedding day, not that I pay any attention to gossip."

  Nadia kept a straight face. "Of course not."

  "You are blessed to have such a distinguished man as Butrus Dabir, my princess."

  Nadia nodded, wishing she felt more blessed. "You're right of course."

  She was aware of Nargis's giving her an assessing look as Ramana tucked the towel around Nadia like a sarong. Thea wound another around her hair, then she was steered to a chair so Ramana could massage perfumed lotion into her arms and legs, making her skin silky smooth. Not that anyone would get to appreciate the results, Nadia thought with an inward sigh. Not for her, the freedom to wear skirts that showed off her long legs, or a bikini on the beach to allow the sun to kiss her body.

  As a result, her skin was milky and unblemished. At least she didn't have to worry about turning into a dried-up prune in her older years, she consoled herself, trying to think positively. Nor did she ever have to deal with unwanted male attention. Her way of life had some benefits.

  "You're thinking of him again," Nargis said with bothersome insight.

  Nadia swung her head up, almost dislodging the towel swathing her hair. "Who?"

  "This man who isn't Butrus, who makes your cheeks glow and your eyes shine."

  "He doesn't. I mean, you're imagining things, Nargis. Get on with your work and stop being so fanciful."

  "Humph. I doubt I'm the one being fanciful."

  Nadia knew she had earned the other woman's disdain. Complaining about the strictures of royal life, but pulling rank when
it suited her was hardly fair. It didn't help that Nargis was right. Nadia was preoccupied with thoughts of a man.

  Gage Weston.

  His name sent a shiver through her. She hadn't seen him since the sheik's reception three days before, but he had appeared in her thoughts more often than she wanted. She told herself it was because he had insisted on today's meeting, but knew there was more to her preoccupation.

  The prospect of seeing him again made her feel more elated than she had any business being.

  She remembered the expression she had seen on his face when her father insisted she perform the Water Dance for his guests. Gage had understood that her father intended to punish her, and the sympathy she had glimpsed had almost been her undoing.

  During the dance she had seen a look of black anger descend on Gage's features, and at first thought he was as annoyed with her as her father was, until gradually she realized that Gage's anger was on her account. He hadn't liked the way the other guests were looking at her, she had noticed, unwillingly gratified. In fact, he had looked as if he wanted to slug someone, possibly her father, for putting her through the ordeal.

  Nargis had said she was being fanciful, and no doubt she was. But she couldn't shake the belief that Gage had been on her side. In desperation, she had looked to Butrus for some sign of leniency, finding none. Throughout the dance her fiance had glowered at her from under lowered brows, as if to say he hoped she was learning her lesson. He and her father were a pair, she thought, both making their disapproval painfully evident.

  The other male guests had watched her with enough interest to make her squirm inwardly, unaccustomed as she was to disporting herself for the eyes of men. Like all Tamiri women, her training in dance had been to develop graceful movements, not to entertain others.

  Only in Gage's face had she seen concern for her as an individual. Inspired, she had danced to the limit of her skill. As she interpreted the romantic legend, she had felt herself transported beyond the disapproval of her father and fiance, even beyond the cupidity of their male guests, until she felt as if she danced for Gage's eyes alone.