The Governess and the Sheikh

by Marguerite Kaye

  She stood there for some time, gazing out over Jamil’s kingdom, oblivious of the baking heat of the sun, until a scuffling sound distracted her. Looking down into the courtyard, she saw a small, exquisitely dressed young girl gazing up inquisitively at her. ‘Hello, Linah,’ Cassie called down, for it could only be she, ‘my name’s Cassie and I’m your new governess.’

  Chapter Four

  Cassie’s initial enthusiasm for her new role was very quickly tempered by the reality of the challenge facing her. Linah, an astonishingly beautiful child with soulful eyes the same shade as her father’s, was also an extremely accomplished tyrant, ruling her miniature kingdom through a combination of endearing smiles and extraordinary tantrums, both of which she seemed to be able to turn on and off at will.

  What Jamil had referred to as the schoolroom turned out to be an entire wing of the palace, formed around what Cassie called the Scheherazade courtyard. Here, Linah and her retinue of handmaidens and servants spent their days in almost complete indolence, free from supervision since the last in the series of women who had been employed to care for her had departed somewhat hastily after her charge introduced a large snake into her sleeping chamber.

  Linah, as Cassie very quickly discovered, was an extremely bright little girl. The combination, however, of bored intelligence and the complete deference in which she was held by the members of her miniature household meant she was also a little girl wholly lacking in discipline and accustomed to getting her own way. Cassie, calmly removing a series of small rodents from her shoes, her divan and even her dressing case, very quickly realised that Linah’s reputation was well earned.

  At first, the child was determinedly uninterested in Cassie’s carefully planned lessons, drumming her fingers on the miniature desk, kicking her heels against the legs of her chair—for the room used for lessons had been kitted out, to Cassie’s surprise, in a Western manner, presumably by Jamil and at great expense. There was a substantial oak desk for herself, a slate board and a large globe, all imported. When requested to desist, Linah would either roll her eyes and feign sleep, or simply throw the desk over and storm out, hiding herself within the ranks of her maidservants, a clutch of giggling, fluttery creatures who made Cassie think of a cloud of butterflies, who were only too keen to pander to Linah, soothing her with comfits, singing her to sleep in her favourite spot under the lemon tree by the fountain, so that no amount of coaxing or reasoning or even threats from Cassie could persuade her to return to the classroom. That the child was bored, Cassie could plainly see. That she had an excess of energy to fuel her regime of defiance was also obvious.

  There had been some minor signs of improvement of late, but not sufficient, in Cassie’s view, to yet be measured in any way as success. Linah occasionally paid attention during lessons, very occasionally she asked a question or deigned to do a few sums, but mostly she continued with her campaign of disobedience. After ten days, Cassie, having signally failed to exert her authority, was starting to wonder whether the task was beyond her.

  It was evening, and she was taking refuge in her room—actually a suite of rooms, which took up the whole southern ellipse of the main courtyard, consisting of a day room that led to a sleeping chamber, a dressing room and a magnificent tiled bathing room. She’d been certain that all it would take was a little love and affection, but Linah responded to neither and Cassie, who was used to the security of her own loving little circle of sisters, was beginning to realise just how much she had taken the daily tokens of affection between them for granted—and how much they had sustained her, too, for without them she was beginning to feel as lost and unloved as poor little Linah.

  Cassie sat up wearily, resolutely denying herself the solace of a good cry, and rubbed her eyes, though a few stray tears escaped. She was tired, she was a bit disillusioned and a bit homesick, that was all. With Jamil inexplicably absent, she had no one to talk her problems over with, no one to confide in, nor anyone to encourage her either. Cassie, used to the bustle of the Armstrong household where female company, whether in the shape of her beloved sisters or her formidable Aunt Sophia, was never in short supply, found herself longing even for such an unsympathetic ear as Bella’s. She was lonely, and she was unsure of herself, and she was afraid of making mistakes.

  Another tear trickled its solitary path down her cheek, and then another. Cassie sniffed. Crying was pointless, as was self-pity. If she was Celia—but she was not, and never would have her elder sister’s calm assurance. How much she wished she was with Celia right now. Just a few moments in her company would restore her equanimity.

  She sniffed again, but her tears gathered momentum. Bella was right. Aunt Sophia was right. Papa was right. She had been foolish beyond measure to think she could succeed where so many others had patently failed. Linah didn’t even like her and Jamil quite obviously wasn’t interested in his daughter. He’d told her as much, yet she hadn’t listened, so determined had she been to hear only what she wanted to hear. Yet again.

  She fumbled for her handkerchief, but the scrap of lace that her sister Caro had so carefully embroidered eluded her grasp, which made her tears flow faster still. She was useless! Linah could see that, and if an eight-year-old child could see that, it surely would not be long before her father did, too—if he ever deigned to visit them. Finally locating her kerchief, Cassie rubbed her cheeks furiously. She would not fail. She would not allow herself to fail. ‘I’ll show them, all of them,’ she muttered, ‘and in particular one uncaring man with autumn-coloured eyes who needs to be taught a lesson in love.’

  Strengthened by this reviving thought, her mood lightened. The heat of the day had given way to the welcome cool of the desert night, the time she loved best. She kicked off her kid slippers, untied her garters, stripped off her stockings, and made her way out to the courtyard, wriggling her bare toes with relish on the delicious cool marble of the tiled floor. The air was lemon-scented, the moon a thin silver crescent. Making her way over to the minaret, she climbed the stairs, feeling her way with her toes in the dark. At the top of the tower, she sat, her arms clasping her knees, and gazed up at the stars, which seemed, tantalisingly, almost within reach.

  Save for a fleeting visit a day after her arrival, she had not seen Jamil at all. He was away dealing with weighty matters, she had been informed by Halim, who greeted her ongoing enquires with disdain. Prince Jamil would return when Prince Jamil saw fit. It was unlikely, Halim said with a superior smile, that his first port of call would be the schoolroom. Prince Jamil was far too important, he clearly implied, to be wasting his time on English governesses and wayward daughters.

  At first Cassie had been relieved not to have to face him—or at least that’s what she told herself. Best not to be reminded of that kiss. Best not to be distracted by his presence. She didn’t want to think of Jamil as anything other than her charge’s father—though it was one thing to decide to think that way, quite another, she discovered, to do it. His absence was proving just as distracting as his presence would have been.

  Throwing her head back, she looked up at the heavens. The vastness of the skies, the fierce beauty of the endless desert landscape, had an eternal quality. She could neither change nor conquer it, but what she could do was embrace it. There was nothing so pure or so perfect or so wildly exciting as nature in this raw state. It was intoxicating. The natural effervescence with which she used to embrace life began to return, and with it came a renewed determination to succeed in making Linah happy. Which meant confronting Jamil, an idea as exciting and intimidating as taking on the desert over which he alone was master. He was out there now, somewhere under the stars, perhaps surveying them just as she was. Perhaps looking at that particular one, just there. Perhaps he, too, saw the shooting star that blazed across the tip of the moon’s crescent. Perhaps…

  A noise in the courtyard below caught her attention. Thinking it might be Linah, who was prone to sleepwalking, Cassie got to her feet and leaned over the parapet, but the person
looking up at her was most definitely not a child. A tall figure, lithe in his white robe, with eyes that glittered in the harshly beautiful planes of his autocratic face. Cassie gripped hold of the parapet, trying to ignore the absurd little flutter of excitement which rippled through her tummy. ‘Your Highness—Jamil. You’re back.’

  ‘Lady Cassandra.’ He made a small bow. ‘Cassie. I am only just returned this past hour.’

  Only an hour ago, and yet he had come here to see her! To see Linah—or at least to obtain a report on Linah, Cassie reminded herself sternly. ‘I—we are flattered. I’m afraid Linah is asleep.’

  ‘I should hope so. But you, I see, are not.’

  ‘It’s a beautiful night.’

  Jamil stared up at her, what he could see of her above the parapet. The fiery tints of her hair and the pale material of her dress outlined her starkly against the night sky. He had forgotten how breathtakingly beautiful she was. She looked like a princess in a tower, awaiting rescue. ‘Lovely,’ he said softly.

  Cassie leaned precariously over to obtain a better view. Jamil was barefoot and bare-headed, as she was. Even without the trappings of authority, his air of command was there in the way he stood, feet firmly planted, hands on his hips, head thrown back. He looked like the master of all he surveyed, she thought, then had to suppress a smile because of course he was, and there could be no mistaking the fact. Including her. Cassie shivered. It was a disturbing thought. She knew she shouldn’t like it.

  ‘If you lean over any further, you will fall,’ Jamil said. ‘Come down and tell me how you have been getting on with my daughter.’

  His daughter. Of course, that’s what he’d come to talk about. He wasn’t interested in her. She had imagined the glint of smouldering desire in his expression. Reality broke into her fantasy of playing Juliet or Rapunzel, of Jamil mounting the tower—without using the stairs, of course—to come to her rescue. His daughter was his only concern. And should be her only concern!

  Jamil watched her descend the lower, exposed staircase. He had forgotten how gracefully she carried herself, the way she seemed to glide rather than walk. He had forgotten that certain something about her which exuded sensuality, that certain something of which she seemed entirely unaware, and of which his own body was only too conscious. As she approached him across the courtyard, her progress marked by the silken rustle of her gown, his manhood stirred. He had thought absence would eliminate this inconvenient attraction, but it only seemed to have enhanced it.

  Cassie curtsied. ‘I trust the business that took you away from us was successfully concluded?’

  ‘Eventually. I had not meant to be detained for so long.’

  As he turned towards the cushions that lay in their habitual place scattered around the sun fountain, holding out his hand to allow her to precede him, Cassie noticed the scar, a long vicious slash running from his wrist to the inside of his elbow, angrily red, held together by some rather fearsome-looking stitches. ‘Your arm! What on earth happened?’

  ‘It’s nothing. A skirmish on the border, a band of opportunistic brigands.’

  ‘You fought them yourself? Did not your guards…?’

  Jamil smiled, his real smile, the one that made her heart turn cartwheels. ‘You think me incapable of defending myself against a few cutthroats?’

  ‘I think you capable of taking on an entire army of cutthroats if you choose,’ Cassie said frankly, ‘I am just surprised that your guards allowed the men to get near you.’

  ‘I was alone. I could not sleep, and had left the caravan behind.’

  ‘Good God, Jamil, you should have more of a care. How many were there?’

  ‘Four.’

  It was hard not be impressed—he must be as fierce a warrior as his physical attributes suggested. But to have placed himself in such danger! ‘You could have been killed.’

  ‘But as you see, I am perfectly unharmed.’

  ‘If you can call that unharmed,’ Cassie replied tartly, pointing to the wound. ‘Is it painful?’

  ‘Not really.’

  ‘Which means it is. Sit down, let me look at it.’ In her concern, Cassie had once more forgotten all about the rules of propriety. She pushed Jamil on to the cushions and knelt before him, scrutinising his arm carefully. ‘It looks angry, the skin is pulling where it has been stitched, but it’s not infected,’ she said finally. ‘I have some lavender oil, it will take away the inflammation.’

  She hurried off to retrieve the bottle from her dressing case, and knelt before Jamil again, dabbing the oil carefully on the scar, frowning with concentration as she bent over him. ‘There.’ She sat back to admire her handiwork, holding his arm in her lap, so intent upon her task that she did not notice his expression until she looked up. ‘What is it?’

  ‘You seem very knowledgeable.’

  ‘Only a little. Mama was interested in healing herbs and plants, and when she died, she left me her recipe book—well, actually, she didn’t quite leave me it, I sort of took it,’ Cassie admitted, ‘as something to remember her by. I made this oil myself, it’s perfectly safe.’

  Male eyes the burnished colour of an English autumn met female eyes the colour of turquoise. Jamil turned his injured arm over to clasp her fingers. Her knees were pressing into his thigh through her dress. He could see the rise and fall of her breasts through the lace that covered them. The material was pale blue, embroidered with tiny white flowers. The same tiny white flowers decorated the ruffle of lace at her arm. She smelled of lavender and something else he couldn’t name. Floral and heady. ‘Thank you,’ Jamil said again, lifting her hand to his mouth and pressing a kiss on the fragile pulse of her wrist. He felt it flutter under his lips. He heard the soft intake of her breath. Then he remembered.

  Governess, governess, governess. It should not be so difficult to remember! He dropped her hand as casually as he could manage and sat back on the cushions, adjusting his position to put a little distance between them. ‘Tell me about Linah.’

  Cassie struggled to assemble her thoughts, which seemed to have scattered like dandelion clocks in the breeze. She tugged her skirts over her bare toes, trying to put from her mind the romantic picture they made, the two of them, sitting under the stars by the tinkling fountain, she and the desert prince.

  Not the desert prince. Linah’s father. Her employer. Who wanted to know about his daughter. That was all. That was absolutely all. ‘Linah. Linah is—she and I are—I think we’re making progress.’

  She started to tell him, haltingly, of her trials and tribulations, of the breakthroughs and the setbacks, the small triumphs and the still-regular defeats. Tempting as it was to exaggerate her success, she knew better than to lie, remembering quite clearly Jamil’s detestation of prevarication. ‘She is learning to trust me a little, but it is early days yet. Linah is still testing the limits of her powers.’

  ‘You mean she is still ungovernable.’

  His voice contained not anger, but resignation. He thought she was failing. He had expected her to fail! Cassie clenched her fists determinedly. ‘Not at all, but Linah is a very clever little girl. All her experience has taught her that such strategies as she employs—’

  ‘Such as?’

  ‘Well, her temper tantrums. And her refusal to cooperate. And her hiding behind those maidservants of hers. And the practical jokes, of course.’

  ‘Practical jokes?’

  ‘Your daughter has an affinity with wildlife.’

  ‘You will explain, if you please?’

  ‘Mice, snakes and a whole host of other creatures I’m afraid I don’t even recognise. Linah seems to be able to tame them, or mesmerise them in some way, it’s really quite amazing. Then she puts them where they should not be—you know, divans, chests, cupboards. She put a toad in the tea samovar. Really, one has to give her credit for being inventive.’

  ‘And cruel.’

  ‘She’s not cruel—or rather, she is but doesn’t realise it, and once she realised that I was not alarm
ed—’

  ‘Not alarmed?’

  ‘Truly, Jamil, it didn’t bother me at all. I was brought up in the English countryside where wildlife abounds. My sisters, you see, were wont to do much the same sort of thing to Celia and me when they were being naughty. I explained to Linah that she was frightening the poor creatures more than me, and she stopped.’

  ‘Explained?’ Jamil said ominously. ‘You should have punished her for her actions. By failing to demonstrate your authority, you are showing weakness. She will exploit that, one way or another, if not now, then later.’

  ‘She is not my enemy, Jamil. It was punishment enough for her to know that she had caused distress without realising it,’ Cassie explained patiently. ‘And as I said, she hasn’t done it since.’

  ‘Can you be certain these unorthodox methods of yours will work?’

  ‘Not entirely, not yet.’ Cassie looked up from the intricate pattern she’d been weaving with her fingers in her lap. ‘She is only eight, Jamil.’

  ‘Old enough to understand right from wrong. Old enough to exert some control over her temper.’

  ‘You expect too much. At her age, I am willing to bet you had a considerable temper.’