it would take time to get consensus and to earn the trust of the government and the people of Khayarzah. But that kind of trust had always existed between him and Francesca—and he didn’t ever want to jeopardise it. ‘But I am a king and have been for some time,’ he said softly. ‘You knew that. So nothing has changed, Francesca.’
Frankie stared into the gleaming depths of his ebony eyes. ‘Yes, intellectually I knew all that. But seeing it for myself is a little dazzling—the robes and the palace and the servants. I’m used to seeing a more casual version of you back in England.’
He picked up a grape and ate it. ‘If it makes you feel any better, it’s pretty strange for me to have a woman sitting here like this.’
‘But there must have been women here before,’ she probed.
‘Very occasionally, yes—of course—but they are always married women, accompanying their husbands. Never …’ Never a woman whose scent of rose and jasmine was filling his senses. ‘A single woman,’ he finished unevenly.
‘So no.’ Go on, she urged herself fiercely. Say it! Acknowledge the reality of his life instead of your own wishful fantasy version of it. ‘No girlfriends?’ she finished, as carelessly as she could.
He shook his head.‘Certainly not—for I would consider that disrespectful.I indulge my very natural appetites when I am abroad, never here, and always in the utmost privacy. One day, of course, I will marry. And then my bed will be shared by my….wife.’
The question she’d asked and the answer she’d dreaded now caused her pain, but somehow Frankie’s polite smile didn’t slip. ‘You seem to have your future all mapped out.’
‘Of course. It comes with the territory.’ He shrugged. ‘Though in a way, it is easy for me. I do not have the luxury of choice—for it is my destiny. I will take a wife of pure Khayarzahian stock and thus ensure the continuation of the noble bloodline.’
‘But isn’t that a little … old-fashioned?’
He ate another grape, his teeth biting into the flesh, and a little rush of juice sweetened his mouth. ‘More than a little—but I do not take issue with that. I am, as has been acknowledged many times, an old-fashioned man. It is the way things are here and, besides, much of modern life is flawed—you know that as well as I do, Francesca.’
‘So you don’t resent it?’ she questioned, as some vital need to know drove her on. ‘The fact that for you there is no choice—that you must take a bride who is expected of you, rather than choosing one of your own free will?’
His eyes glittered as he leaned back against the mound of brocade cushions. ‘There is no point in railing against the inevitable. And choice can be a poisoned chalice,’ he added softly. ‘It inspires greed and makes people discontented with their lot. Couples seek perfection in relationships, something which is simply not possible—and when that perfection fails to materialise, they go looking for it elsewhere. Look at your divorce rate in the west and ask yourself whether choice is such a good thing.’
It was not the answer that Frankie had secretly been hoping for—for wasn’t it true that deep down she had wanted him to rail against his fate? To shake an angry fist at the empty air and admit that he longed to follow his heart. But he had done the very opposite and had sounded as if he meant every word of it. She bit her lip as she stared down at her hands, which lay clasped in her lap. Because surely she wasn’t stupid enough to consider herself a candidate for his heart?
‘And besides,’ he continued softly, ‘I will make sure that my bride is beautiful, as well as suitable—so it will be no hardship to spend my life with her.’
The truth hurt, she realised—it hurt like crazy.
She raised her head to look at him. His face was illuminated by the light from the lamps and his high cheekbones cast angled shadows upon his burnished skin. And suddenly she wanted the evening to end and to be alone with her aching heart in the privacy of her room. ‘Am I supposed to wait until you retire—or am I allowed to go to bed now?’ she asked.
Silently, Zahid cursed her question, wondering if it was as innocent as it sounded—for he knew a million women who would have asked it with something other than sleep on their minds. ‘You are tired?’ he queried coolly.
‘Very.’ She kept her voice brisk, knowing that this was how it was going to have to be. She was going to have to remain crisp and bright and professional—and bury all those stupid romantic dreams once and for all. ‘It’s been a long day.’
‘Indeed it has.’ Gracefully, he rose to his feet in a shimmer of silk, shaking his head emphatically at one of the servants who immediately stepped forward. He rapped out an order in his native tongue before gesturing to Francesca. ‘Come, I will take you there myself.’
Smoothing down her tunic, Frankie scrambled to her feet. ‘There’s no need for you to do that, Zahid.’
‘There is every need—for you will only lose yourself in the vast corridors of my palace,’ he drawled, without stopping to ask himself why he had not let the servant accompany her.
Their footfall and the soft swish of Zahid’s robes brushing over the marble floor were the only sounds to be heard as they made their way through the long passageways. That and the loud thunder of Frankie’s heart as she followed him.
She forced herself to register landmarks along the way even though the arching pillars and intricate mosaics all looked very similar. And then Zahid came to a halt by her room and turned, his eyes glittering ebony in the dim light.
‘Here we are. Safely delivered to your door.’
‘Thank you very much.’ But she didn’t feel safe as she stared up into the hawklike features and the lash-framed shards of his black eyes. She felt … what? As if danger and excitement were shimmering in the air around them, as tangible as any aura. One step and she could be in his arms, locked in the powerful circle of his embrace. And wasn’t that what she yearned for—the culmination of all those years of wistful longing?
Afterwards, she wondered if she communicated something of her desire to him—for why else did he lift his hand to her cheek and lay it there, like a blessing?
‘Goodnight, Francesca,’ he said softly.
‘Goodnight,’ she whispered back. The warmth of his hand against her skin was beguiling and she turned her head, just by a fraction—but enough for her lips to graze against his palm. It hadn’t been intentional—or at least, she didn’t think it was—but it was enough to make him expel a sudden, shuddering breath of air.
‘Are you trying to test my resolve?’ he demanded unsteadily, but he left his hand exactly where it was and he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin as she mouthed a single word.
‘No.’
Slowly, his thumb began to trace the trembling outline of her lips. ‘I’m not sure that I believe you.’
‘I’m no … no … liar, Zahid.’
‘No.’ He knew that. But suddenly he wanted her to be. He wanted her to be devious and manipulative so that his conscience would allow him to pull her into his arms and start making love to her. He wanted her to be something—something other than this fresh-faced and blue-eyed
