FIVE
ASIM STARED ACROSS his desk at the woman before him, her head bent over her laptop.
Afternoon sun caught amber and russet tints in the hair she’d scraped back from her face. Idly he imagined it loose like it had been that first night, catching the light in a nimbus of gold and autumn hues.
He frowned. Blonde or brunette, or even tawny chestnut, no woman distracted him from his purpose.
His purpose was to protect Samira, no matter how tempted he was to believe Jacqueline Fletcher’s tale of desperation. Yet hearing her voice catch as she’d told him why she’d begun this work, watching the moonlight silver a face pinched with pain, he’d wanted to comfort her.
Instinct told him her pain was real. But years of experience warned him never to trust a reporter. For too long they’d fed like jackals on his family. If he made a mistake trusting her when he shouldn’t it would be Samira who’d suffer. The thought tightened every sinew.
Besides, Jacqueline Fletcher wasn’t what she seemed. Her clothes were so drab and unfeminine it was suspicious, as if she aimed to deflect his attention but took the camouflage too far.
He’d seen her pearly skin, the flash of vivid amber eyes, the russet of pubic hair and the rose pink of her full-body blush. And he wasn’t forgetting any time soon.
Heat doused him as she looked up. He felt wrong-footed, as if caught ogling an innocent. An innocent whom his cousin had trusted.
‘Here’s the reference I wanted.’ Her head tilted to one side as if she tried to read his expression and Asim stiffened as guilt eddied.
Instantly the shimmer of brightness in her eyes dulled and doubt jabbed him. Could she be such a good actress?
‘Go on.’
She paused but didn’t look away. Asim felt admiration stir. So often he merely had to hint at disapproval to find others giving way. Clearly his frown had no such impact on Ms Fletcher.
‘It’s a reference to diaries kept by...’ she looked down to check her facts ‘...your great-great-aunt Zeinab.’
‘And you found this where?’ It was the first Asim had heard of royal diaries.
‘There was a paper in the royal collection your grandmother thought would interest me. She arranged for your chief archivist to show me and it mentioned the diaries.’
‘Tell me more.’ This research project expanded before his eyes. First interviews with his grandmother, then visits to abandoned parts of the palace accompanied by various building experts, then meetings with an ever-expanding group of his grandmother’s old friends. Now the royal archives. When would it stop?
So much for his hope he’d soon see the back of Jacqueline Fletcher.
‘It mentioned arrangements to teach the ladies in the harem geometry, astronomy and poetry.’
Asim nodded. ‘All are traditionally important to my people. Astronomy and geometry aid navigation in the desert and poetry is prized among all the arts.’
Again that tilt of her head. ‘Yet the women of the palace weren’t likely to navigate alone across the dunes.’
Asim shrugged. ‘You think one should learn only the immediately practical? What about broadening the mind?’
‘I agree.’ Her gaze dipped. ‘It just surprised me that your ancestors felt the same way, especially when it came to educating women.’
He repressed anger. Wasn’t this the sort of too easy assumption many outsiders made? ‘Despite the stories you’ve heard, many of my predecessors were enlightened. They sought beautiful, clever women as their consorts, women whose company they could enjoy. Educated women who could share their lives as well as their beds.’
‘Which is why I’d like to access Zeinab’s diaries. They will be invaluable—’
‘No.’ A journalist prying into intimate family details? Even after generations the diaries could reveal material better kept private.
‘But if I could—’
‘It seems to me you have plenty of sources already.’
He supressed a smile as her eyes flashed. No longer drab despite her dowdy clothes, Jacqueline Fletcher looked vibrantly alive with her flushed cheeks and pouting lips.
‘The diaries will give a new perspective to the project, adding depth and texture.’
‘I take your point, Ms Fletcher, but I prefer to keep such private material private.’
She met his gaze, her brow pleated.
Enough. Asim glanced at his watch. It was time for his next meeting. He pushed back his chair.
She stood, planting her palm on the desk and leaning forward. As if he were an equal, not an absolute ruler who’d already granted her great favour.
‘Your Highness.’ The way she said his title was anything but obsequious. ‘Don’t you see? This could be a chance to provide an insight into a woman who was both educated and well regarded. The diaries could provide material to refute the sort of assumption I just made.’
Asim paused. She had a point, damn it. If this book was to be written, better it be done properly.
‘I’ll consider the matter and discuss it with the head archivist.’
She shook her head, leaning in till the faint sweetness of her skin reached his nostrils. ‘I talked to him and he...’ she paused ‘...didn’t see it as a priority.’
‘Didn’t he?’ Asim could imagine it. The head of that department was a dry old stick who wouldn’t have taken kindly to Jacqueline Fletcher’s enthusiasm.
‘No. But if you were to take a personal interest...’
Asim huffed out a laugh at her persistence, her sheer front. She didn’t take no for an answer, no matter how demure she pretended to be. Sooner or later something would catch her interest and she’d light up in enthusiasm or outrage.
She was never dull.
‘Very well.’ He made a quick decision. ‘I’ll look at these diaries and, if appropriate, you will be allowed access under supervision.’ His raised hand silenced her thanks. ‘I understand that while you speak our language you can’t read it fluently, so a staff member will translate any relevant sections.’ A carefully picked curator who would protect the royal interests.
The radiance of her smile sent a trickle of heat through him and his mouth firmed.
Jacqueline Fletcher was convincing as an honest, dedicated writer rather than a conniving, duplicitous opportunist. But Asim wasn’t completely sure yet.
The only thing he could be sure of was that his attraction to her was a complication he could do without.
* * *
If you need me in the night I’m not far away.
