on.’ She screwed up her face apologetically, tried to smile. ‘Sorry.’
‘Stephanie,’ Rafiq said, utterly beguiled, ‘I am not angry, I am discomfited. Something you can evoke in me with frightening ease. That is a compliment. I think!’
‘Truly?’
‘Truly,’ he said with a smile.
Two days later, Rafiq was waiting for Stephanie in the Hall of Campaign. ‘You wanted to see me?’
‘More often than I ought to,’ he answered, kissing her hand. ‘I was thinking that my Royal Horse Surgeon had earned a well-deserved break from her duties. Does she agree?’
‘I think she may, if the Prince intends to join her.’
‘He would be delighted to.’ Rafiq led her through a door located at the back of the Hall of Campaign. ‘My grandfather, Bassaym, was known as the Smiling One,’ he said, heading towards the far corner of the covered terrace, where he reached into a niche built into the wall, and emerged with a key for a door she had not noticed. The lock turned with some difficulty, and he ushered her through. ‘This was his private sanctuary. It is not a place which I am in the habit of visiting.’
‘It’s a library,’ Stephanie said in surprise, looking at the elaborate glass-fronted book cases that lined the room.
‘Dedicated to books on one very specific subject,’ he informed her.
Her eyes widened. ‘All of them?’
Rafiq smiled his wicked smile. ‘I believe so, though I have not actually browsed more than a few, and then only when I was much younger.’
She eyed the bookcases dubiously. ‘I find it difficult to believe that the subject merits quite so many tomes.’ These shelves of books made her uncomfortably aware of the extent of her ignorance. Last week, in the tower, she had been so sure she wanted to experiment, but now, in the cold light of day, while she did still want to, she desperately didn’t want him to think her utterly clueless.
‘Stephanie, was I wrong to bring you here?’
‘I had no idea—it’s all a bit overwhelming.’
‘I am not expecting you to peruse them all.’ He smiled. ‘You bemoaned, in jest, the lack of a text book for fallen women. I simply wanted to demonstrate that such things do exist.’ Rafiq opened one of the cases and selected a large folio which he set out on a low table, indicating that she should sit beside him.
It took her a moment to realise what she was looking at, and when she did, colour flooded her cheeks. Each illustration was a drawing of a man and a woman, naked and entwined, but not in any way she recognised. Who would have guessed that behind those elaborately scrolled and embossed covers lay such shocking images? And who would have imagined that a man and a woman could enjoy carnal relations in quite so many different ways? ‘I don’t believe that one is physically possible,’ Stephanie said.
Rafiq shook his head. ‘The risk of potential injury to both parties would be a fatal distraction. I much prefer this one.’
They had names, the illustrations, she noticed now. The one Rafiq indicated was called Bend in the Rainbow. There was Tail of the Ostrich, something about Archimedes, and Love’s Fusion, which name, at least, seemed to bear some relation to the illustration. Her curiosity began to override her embarrassment. Stephanie scrutinised the man and woman portrayed in Love’s Fusion. ‘That one, have you...? Oh, no, don’t answer that. I shouldn’t have asked.’
‘As it happens I haven’t, no,’ Rafiq said, ‘but I admit it looks—tempting.’
‘Have you tried—these drawings—have you, with other...?’
Rafiq closed the book over and turned on the cushions to face her. ‘Stephanie, I do not measure you against any other woman. You are literally incomparable,’ he said, taking her hand. ‘I want the time we have together to reflect that.’
‘I’m not sure I’m ready to try anything quite so exotic.’
He pulled her towards him, kissing her softly. ‘I showed you that book only to demonstrate that lovemaking is an art which takes many forms, but those illustrations, they represent the—the summit of the ascent of pleasure. We are barely in the foothills.’
‘Speaking for myself, I have barely climbed one step. So you really do expect me to study the theory first?’
‘Not on your own. We agreed to experiment together, remember?’ He pulled her down on the cushions beside him.
‘I cannot imagine any library in England containing books such as these.’
‘I suspect there will be some, though kept firmly under lock and key. In England, I think lovemaking is not a subject much discussed, is it?’
‘Not among the female gender, certainly.’ Rafiq was stroking her hair. Her head was nestled on his shoulder. Her leg rested against his. ‘That is, perhaps among married women, it is talked of in whispers, but...’ She relaxed against him, placing her hand on his chest. She could feel his heart beating. ‘Is it so very different here?’
‘Here in the East, it is not a taboo subject. We understand that ignorance is not bliss, that knowledge is the key to pleasure.’
‘The kind of knowledge contained in these books?’
‘Books are only one way to learn. Most people don’t have access to books.’
She lifted her head. ‘Then how...?’
‘By talking,’ Rafiq said. ‘By understanding that pleasure is always enhanced when it is mutual. By practice, and...’
‘...by experimentation.’ Stephanie kissed him. The butterfly kisses she had learnt from him, fluttering over his lips, licking, teasing. Resting her hands on his shoulders, she kissed his brow, his nose, then his mouth again. ‘What is the next step on our climb to dizzying heights, Rafiq?’ she whispered, nipping at his earlobe.
He ran his fingers through her hair, pulling it free from the scarf which tied it back. ‘I have no idea—that is the beauty of it. It doesn’t matter where we go, save that we go somewhere,’ he said, with one of his sinful smiles.
She laughed, kissing his mouth again, touching the tip of her tongue to his. The kiss deepened, making her heart beat faster, setting up that familiar fluttering low in her belly. ‘What have you in mind?’ she asked, dragging her mouth away.
Rafiq’s eyes darkened with simmering passion. ‘Absolutely nothing, save to know what you want, what you have in mind.’
‘I can’t possibly—I don’t even know the correct terminology.’
‘Then describe it to me in your own words.’
He ran his hand down her spine to rest on her bottom. She looked at him, dark eyed, impossibly handsome, and she knew exactly what she wanted from him, this man who could surely have any woman, yet who wanted her. This
