to change first, prior to an audience with the Prince,’ she said, looking shocked.
* * *
Stephanie had changed, after a swift bath, into a clean tunic of mint-green, her hair tied back in a matching silk scarf. She had brown slippers on her feet. Aida was holding up the silk robe, the one in shades of pink that Stephanie had never worn, though she had tried it on privately one sleepless night, wandering around the courtyard, enjoying the caress of fine silk against her skin. It was a beautiful robe, and it was a very flattering one, but it was not a gown to be worn by a Royal Horse Surgeon, and she presumed it was in that capacity which Rafiq wished to speak to her. So she shook her head, told Aida not to wait up for her, knowing that her wishes would have no effect on the Mistress of the Harem, and followed obediently in the wake of the waiting guard.
She was not surprised to be taken to the Hall of Campaign, but she was very surprised to find it empty, and to be ushered through the door at the back of the chamber which led to the bathing pool. ‘Are you sure this was where you were to bring me?’
The guard nodded silently, and the door closed behind her. Alone, she made her way through the connecting corridor. Flambeaux had been lit around the pool in tall scones, the reflection of the flames dancing on the still waters. Rafiq had been sitting in his favourite spot, but he got to his feet when she arrived. He was dressed simply, in a white tunic. His hair was sleeked back, still damp from his bath.
Stephanie stopped just short of the covered terrace, opened her notebook and cleared her throat. ‘I am pleased to be able to report...’
‘I summoned you here in order to apologise.’
She stared at him blankly, her mind still on her report. ‘Whatever you said to Jasim has certainly paid dividends, he...’
‘...is a man one step from being summarily dismissed. While some of my sentiments were entirely justified,’ Rafiq said, ‘I should not have vented my anger and frustration on you.’
‘No, but it was a pertinent reminder—not that I needed one—that you are the Prince of Bharym, and that ultimately your word is law.’
‘You make me sound like a despot.’
‘You once told me you found my honesty refreshing.’
‘Refreshing, in the sense of a dowsing with ice-cold water from a mountain stream, on occasion,’ Rafiq said ruefully. ‘It is rather dishearteningly difficult for me to confess that I was wrong.’
‘You were not,’ Stephanie said, touching his arm. ‘As I said, you...’
‘No!’ He caught her hand, clasping it tightly. ‘No, I am sorry. And amidst all the fuss and commotion which Jasim created, amidst my quite unjustified fury at your putting an end to the daily business of the stud, I overlooked the single, most important point. Do you truly think that we can risk the race without infecting any of the other runners, Stephanie?’
She longed to promise him, but she could not bring herself to lie. ‘I cannot guarantee it, Rafiq.’
He laughed softly. ‘Of course you can’t. There is no accounting for the vagaries of nature.’
‘Exactly. But I do think there is hope. I think that the measures we have implemented stand a good chance of keeping the Sabr horses free from infection and therefore free to run in the race.’
He nodded several times, his lack of words making the depth of his feelings very clear. ‘Thank you.’
‘It’s what you brought me here to do.’
He kissed her hand. ‘It is no excuse, but I find it difficult, at times, to distinguish between Stephanie and my Royal Horse Surgeon. When you quite rightly pointed out that I should have consulted you, rather than pay heed to Jasim, I was...’ He shrugged, shaking his head. ‘I could see I had hurt you, and I wouldn’t wish to harm a hair on your head.’
‘The important thing is that you showed faith in me.’ He was still holding her hand. ‘Rafiq, you are not the only one who has trouble distinguishing—may I ask if I am still talking to the Prince?’
‘The Prince has apologised to his Royal Horse Surgeon. The man wishes—hopes—to make it up to Stephanie. If she will allow him.’
Her mouth went dry. ‘What do you have in mind?’
‘I’ll show you,’ Rafiq said, kissing her hand again, and this time smiling at her wickedly. ‘This terrace, you know, was once known as the Pool of Nymphs. When the palace was first built, it was part of the original harem. The library was formerly the changing room for the hamam.’
He turned the key in the lock and ushered her in. ‘You may think it is luxurious now, but it was once fabulously ostentatious. Rich wall hangings, carpets from Persia, gold and silver embroidery on every cushion and covering, bone-china coffee cups and pots set with jewels. Would you like to see the next room?’
Stephanie nodded, intrigued and excited and just a little bit nervous. Rafiq opened the door into a small ante-room made entirely of white marble. ‘This is where one would disrobe before entering the tepidarium. Would you like to recreate that experience, Stephanie?’
Was he really suggesting they take a bath together? Naked. Rafiq naked. Now that was a very different proposition. She picked up the robe he handed her and retreated behind a screen.
When she emerged, clutching her robe to her body, Rafiq had also changed. His robe stopped just short of his calves. He had very elegant feet. Slim ankles. When he kissed her lightly, she was acutely conscious of their flesh, separated only by two thin layers of silk. He raised his eyebrows questioningly.
She nodded, allowing him to lead her into the next room. The tepidarium was not, as she had assumed, an actual bath house. It was a white marble room set out with more divans, the marble cool underfoot.
When he kissed her again, she closed the gap between them. Their tongues touched. He cupped her bottom, pulling her closer. Her hands slipped and slid on the silk of his robe as she flattened her palms on his back. When they broke the kiss, his robe was gaping, giving her a glimpse of the swell of his pectoral muscles, the rough smattering of hair which covered his chest.
‘Another step further?’ he asked.
‘Onwards and upwards,’ Stephanie agreed readily.
Steam billowed out of the next room as Rafiq opened the door, obscuring her view at first. She stumbled forward. He caught her arm. The door closed. The steam cleared.
‘The Great Bathing Chamber,’ he announced.
They were in a room with a high cupola lit by what looked like stars, though they must be lanterns of some sort, covering the whole dome, like a night sky. There were more lights set into the outer walls. No windows. The steam hissed gently from gaps between the marble tiles underfoot. The marble here was not white, but veined with grey and black. Around the walls were basins. Slim marble pillars supported the cupola’s arches, forming a circle in the centre of the chamber. And here stood the bath, a massive star-shaped construction edged with marble so wide it formed ledges, the bath itself a much smaller pool in the centre. There were other marble tables too, beside each of the fountains, and around the walls, benches had been inset.
She was very hot. Rafiq’s robe was clinging to him. She
