being seriously challenged in a sport at which he’d considered himself unbeatable.
Unaccustomed to meeting anyone who had either the nerve or the skill to take him on, Karim had been pleasantly surprised to discover that his anonymous opponent possessed both qualities in abundance, along with technical and tactical depth. He was even more astonished to discover that he was enjoying himself.
Who was the man in the mask?
Protocol demanded that fencing opponents salute each other at the start of each bout, and his opponent had observed that protocol, but he’d also entered the room fully prepared, his mask already in place.
Accustomed to boredom, Karim felt the adrenaline surge inside him, and vowed to reveal the identity of his partner. Whoever it was would be fencing him again, he vowed as he parried and then thrust, his movements confident and aggressive. The blade struck home in a lightning-fast attack, the force of the blow absorbed by the flex of the blade.
His opponent stepped backwards, his body already poised for the next attack, and Karim gave a low laugh of admiration. Although the man was slightly lacking in height, he was bold and fearless, attacking with an energy and confidence that was unusual.
Briefly distracted by girlish laughter, Karim cast a swift, irritated glance towards the spectators, his attention momentarily drawn to a group of women watching with flirtatious interest.
Which one of those was the Princess Alexandra?
And what indulgent, feminine whim had driven her to demand that he prove himself in this fight before allowing him the honour of becoming her bodyguard? Obviously she was spoiled, bored and entertained by the idea of men fighting for her. Did she enjoy blood sports?
He turned his attention back to his adversary, anger giving speed to his attack, but his opponent parried with a renewed burst of energy, grimly determined not to yield a single point.
Karim was as intrigued as he was challenged.
If he hadn’t known better, he would have thought that the duel was personal.
And yet how could it be personal when they didn’t even know each other?
Deciding that the match had gone on long enough, Karim made the most of his superior strength and speed and executed a perfect lunge that won him the final point.
Breathing heavily, he dragged off his mask.
‘My match.’ He held out his hand as protocol dictated. ‘So, having slain the dragon, I presume I’ve now won the right to protect the princess. Perhaps you would introduce me so that I can be given my next challenge? Pistols at dawn, perhaps? Remove your mask. I deserve to see the face of the man I just fought.’
His opponent hesitated, and then dragged off the mask. ‘Not a man.’ She spoke in a warm, husky voice designed by mother nature to bring the entire opposite sex to its knees, and Karim inhaled sharply as a mass of golden, coppery hair tumbled over narrow shoulders. Even though he knew the dangers that often lurked behind extreme physical beauty, he was blinded.
Observing his reaction with wry amusement, she held out a slender hand and spoke again. This time her voice was soft, as if she were afraid of being overheard. ‘I’m Princess Alexandra. And you’re supposed to be my bodyguard. The problem is, I don’t actually want a bodyguard. You weren’t supposed to win the match. I’m afraid you’ve had a wasted journey.’
She’d lost!
Desperately hoping that he couldn’t see how much her legs were shaking, Alexa watched incredulity flicker across his handsome face as he acknowledged her identity. And he was handsome, she conceded as she brushed her damp hair away from her flushed cheeks. Handsome and strong.
She’d felt the power in his body as he’d fought with what could only be described as restrained masculine aggression. And she sensed that he’d been far from reaching the limits of his capabilities. His broad shoulders and muscular physique suggested that fencing was only one of many activities that he enjoyed in his pursuit of a physical challenge.
She should have picked a different sport.
And now he was watching her intently, his dark gaze arrogant and assured as he slowly loosened the fastening at the neck of his jacket to reveal a tantalizing hint of bronzed skin, shiny with the sweat of physical exertion. His eyes demanded that she look only at him, as if he were determined to read everything about her in one searing glance.
Trapped by the force of his bold gaze, Alexa felt something dangerous and unfamiliar flicker to life, and then a hot, instantaneous explosion of sexual awareness engulfed her. Her body burned and melted, and the feeling was deeply shocking because, although she was accustomed to being on the receiving end of male attention, she was not accustomed to responding.
Her knees weakened by the fire in her pelvis, she nevertheless forced herself to hold his gaze, waiting for him to back down and display the deference and respect that she knew was due to her.
He was a bodyguard.
She was a royal princess. Despite her less-than-enviable position in the royal household, she was accustomed to being greeted with the appropriate formality by strangers, but this man clearly wasn’t daunted or in any way impressed by her title or position. Instead he held himself tall and proud, his posture one of authority and command, as if he was used to giving orders and being instantly obeyed.
Clearly, he was someone extremely senior in the Sultan’s security team, Alexa mused as her eyes trailed from his almost-perfect bone structure to the firm, sensual curve of his mouth. Powerful, she thought. If she had to find one word to describe the man in front of her, then it would be powerful, and she felt her stomach lurch. When the Sultan had promised a bodyguard to escort her on the journey, she’d expected someone who would follow orders.
This man didn’t look as though he’d ever followed an order in his life.
Which made the situation extremely awkward. She didn’t want him as her bodyguard. She didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust anyone. Whatever happened, she had to be in charge of her own safety; it was the only way she would ever escape from the tangled mess of her life.
She couldn’t believe that this moment had arrived—that she’d actually survived this far. Her brain fluttered around the edges of panic, as it always did when she considered her impending marriage to the Sultan of Zangrar.
It wasn’t that she was afraid of him. She wasn’t. Having lived the life she’d lived for the past sixteen years, she no longer cared that he was reputed to be ruthless, controlling and totally devoid of emotion. In a way, it actually helped, knowing that he didn’t have a sensitive side, because she didn’t have to feel guilty about forcing him into a marriage that was so lacking in romance.
There was no escaping from the fact that, in normal circumstances, this marriage would be the last thing she wanted. But her circumstances weren’t normal, and this marriage wasn’t about what was best for her, it was about what was best for Rovina.
Her hand tightened on the hilt of the sabre. She’d reviewed her options so many times that her brain felt raw with thinking, and no matter how often she circled round the issue she always ended up at the same place.
The future of Rovina depended on her marriage to the Sultan.
