simply been acting to protect his authority? ‘I should have rid myself of the man long ago,’ he had said. ‘There is a pattern, after all. If I had acted the first time...’
What price had Elmira been forced to pay? And what crime had she committed that required a price be paid?
Stephanie slapped at one of the swimming insects, which landed on her arm. Its long proboscis had pierced her skin, drawing blood. The bite was already swelling up into a hard lump. She stood up, thinking that she had better find her medical chest and get some ointment, when something else Rafiq had said popped into her head. Something about biting insects and water.
‘The stallions’ oasis!’ Forgetting all about treating her bite, Stephanie ran for the stables.
* * *
‘Are you sure?’ Rafiq looked quite incredulous.
‘I know it’s difficult to believe, but it’s the only explanation,’ Stephanie said.
‘Biting insects, who hitch a ride in my stallions’ manes for the whole journey between the oasis and the stables, and who then leap from the stallion on to the mare which it is covering.’
‘That’s it exactly.’
‘It’s—unbelievable.’
‘Yes, but, Rafiq, nature...’
He held up his hand. ‘I know how wonderful nature is, and how ignorant we are of it. How can you be sure? Why don’t the insects bite more of my stallions?’
‘I think they probably do, but you see, your stallions are accustomed to them.’
‘Accustomed?’
‘Immune. In the way that milkmaids are immune to smallpox, because they are regularly exposed to cowpox and somehow this allows their bodies to resist the effects. You see...’ She launched into an explanation that was far-reaching and all-encompassing. Rafiq, seated behind a large desk on the first proper chair Stephanie had seen since arriving in Arabia, listened attentively. ‘But ultimately,’ she concluded, ‘I can’t prove it, without forcing one of the insects to bite one of your mares, or a mule, and even in the name of science, I couldn’t bring myself to do that.’
‘So what do you propose we do?’
She smiled at him. He smiled back. He was still dressed in the clothes he wore to the training ground. His white shirt was dusty, open at the throat to reveal a smattering of hair. His chin had the bluish shadow of the day’s growth. This morning, when he kissed her, he had been freshly shaven. His tunic had smelled of lemons.
‘I am asking my Royal Horse Surgeon a question.’
She got the message. ‘The insects thrive in stagnant water,’ Stephanie said briskly. ‘I found the larvae in several pools at the stallions’ enclosure. They do not seem to like the fresh water of the oasis itself. I suggest that we have the pools cleaned and drained, all traces of the larvae removed, and that we continue in the meantime to keep the stallions separate. Now, if that is all...’
‘Stephanie.’
‘There is something else?’
He got up from his chair and crossed the room towards her. ‘If you are correct, you might have stumbled on a significant scientific breakthrough.’
‘I hadn’t thought of it in those terms.’
‘Then you should. You should write it up in a paper. Present it to the Royal Society in London, which is so famous.’
‘I don’t think that Sir Joseph Banks—he is the President—I don’t think he’d accept a paper from a woman.’
‘Not even a woman of genius?’
She wished he wouldn’t smile at her like that. She wished she could remember that he was a prince. ‘I’m not a genius. It was simply a matter of observation and deduction.’
‘As modest as ever, Stephanie. I think you are a genius. Congratulations. And thank you. I owe you a great deal.’
‘You owe me nothing but the recompense you promised me, Rafiq.’
He grimaced, taking her reminder to herself as a reprimand directed at him. ‘Forgive me. I find it increasingly difficult to remember—to distinguish between my Royal Horse Surgeon and Stephanie. If I appear—after this morning, you understand, I am merely attempting to remind myself of the rules of engagement.’
‘There is no need to concern yourself, Rafiq. I am perfectly well aware of the rules, nor am I under any illusions. No one cares if a man goes to his marriage bed innocent, but every man wants to wed a virgin, and for a prince it is a necessity. You could not marry me even had I a pedigree to rival one of your thoroughbreds. Not even if you fell wildly, passionately in love with me.’
‘Stephanie...’
She blushed violently. ‘Not that I am suggesting for a moment that my thoughts have inclined in such a direction. Either direction. Any direction. I merely wished to reassure you that they had not.’
‘Stephanie...’
‘Excuse me. If you accept my strategy, I have a huge amount of work to organise.’
She fled, slamming the door behind her and running, careless of her destination, along a maze of corridors. Finally, panting, she found herself in the Hall of Campaign, and headed for the Pool of Nymphs. Tempting as it was to throw herself in, she had never been a fan of histrionics, so contented herself with rolling up her pantaloons and dipping her feet and her hands in the cooling water. The bite which was the inspiration for her breakthrough throbbed beneath the dressing which covered it. She would put more ointment on it tonight. Perhaps she ought to capture it on paper, like—like Archimedes’ bath. If she could draw. Which she couldn’t. No, what she would do instead was draft a paper for Papa to present to the Royal Society. Papa would be wildly proud of her discovery, and he would need some persuading to present her work as his own, but when he realised that if he did not it would not see the light of day—yes, he would do it, and that would be her gift to him to make up for all the pain her downfall had caused him.
This very satisfying idea distracted her for a few moments, and her plans for the morning distracted her for a few moments more. She must make a list of all that was to be done to make the stallions’ paddock safe, and then...
A dry sob seized her. Stephanie dropped her head on to her hands. What a fool she was! The unavoidable truth which she had been steadfastly refusing to face all day could no longer be denied. Despite every check and balance she had put in place, she had fallen in love with Rafiq. What an absolute fool she was.
Leaning back on the tiles, Stephanie gazed up at the desert sky. The sun had set, but the moon had not yet made an appearance. The air felt sultry, as if it might be contemplating rain. It had not rained since she arrived here more than six weeks ago. And she was procrastinating.
She loved him so much, and it was so very different from the last time as to be futile to attempt a comparison. It was Rafiq’s absurdly handsome face that had attracted her, but it was the man she had fallen in love with. She loved him because he respected her, and because despite the fact that he was a prince, he tried to treat her as an equal. He did not shy away
