to kiss her, though she gave them no encouragement as far as she was aware, and had never had any problem in actively discouraging them when necessary. But strangely, discouraging Prince Jamil simply did not occur to her.
Augustus’s kisses had been worshipful and chaste rather than intimate. To be honest, Augustus’s kisses had failed singularly to arouse the rapture which dwells on the first kiss of love, which Lord Byron had so beautifully evoked and which Cassie had been led to expect. It had been one of the things that had made her question the depth of her feelings for Augustus, for neither the first kiss of love nor the twentieth had roused in her anything but mild indifference. But as Prince Jamil’s mouth met hers, indifference was the furthest thing from her mind, and she knew that when he finished kissing her, she would be in no doubt whatsoever that she had been kissed.
His hand cupped her head, urging her to close the space, the tiny space, between them. She did, relishing the way her curves seemed to meld into the hard planes of his muscular frame. Her breasts brushed tantalisingly against his chest and her nipples puckered in response, as they did when she was cold, except she wasn’t cold, and it was quite a different sensation. His other arm curved round her waist, nestling her closer. She licked her lips, because they felt dry. His eyes widened as she did so. He made a guttural noise like a moan that made her stomach knot. Then his lips touched hers, and she knew instantly that Lord Byron had been right after all.
Rapture. A soaring, giddy feeling surged through her as Prince Jamil’s mouth moulded itself to hers. He kissed as if he were tasting her, his touch plucking tingling strings of sensation buried deep in her belly. He pulled her closer, settling her against him, his fingers sinking into her hair, into the soft, yielding flesh of her waist. His mouth coaxed hers open, his lips settled on hers, harder now, making her sigh at the taste of him. She felt herself unfurling like a flower as his tongue touched hers, a shockingly sensual and intimate act. If he had not held her, if she had not clutched, with both hands, at his tunic, his arms, his shoulders, his back, she felt as if she would have fallen into an abyss. She felt wanton. She felt wild abandon. She wanted the kiss to go on for ever. She pressed herself against him, and encountered something solid and heavy pressing against her thigh.
Jamil leapt back at once. He stared at her as if she was a stranger. Cassie stared, too, her hand to her lips, which were burning, seared, marked. Shame and embarrassment washed over her. What must he think of her?
Jamil looked at her in horror. What was he doing? And by the gods, why was he still thinking of doing more! ‘You see what I mean now,’ he said, taking his frustration out on the cause of it, ‘you are clearly not governess material.’
Cassie was too bewildered to do anything other than stare at him. She felt a strange, needy ache, as if she had been starving, had been shown a banquet and allowed just one bite before the feast was withdrawn. Her body hummed and protested and begged for more. She was mortified and confused. Had she encouraged him? Was it her fault?
‘Well? Have you nothing to say for yourself?’
She licked her lips. They felt swollen. ‘I …’
Jamil gave an exclamation of disgust, as much at his own actions as anything else. It was not like him to behave with such a lack of control. A prince must be above such emotions. ‘This arrangement is clearly not going to work. It is best we acknowledge that now. I will have you returned to your sister in the morning.’
The heavy edge of his cloak brushed against her ankle as he made for the door, rousing Cassie from her stupor. ‘Returned!’ she gasped, as the consequences of her entirely inappropriate behaviour began to dawn on her. She was to be sent back, like an unwanted present or a misdirected missive! Why could she not just for once think before she spoke or acted? ‘Please. I beg of you, Prince Jamil, to reconsider.’ Cassie tugged on his cloak in an effort to halt his retreat, and succeeded in earning herself an extremely haughty stare, but desperation made her ignore it. If he left now, he would not change his mind. He would send her back, she would be disgraced for the second time, only this time it was even worse because she would be letting not only herself but Celia down, and Ramiz, too, and she could not bear that. ‘Oh, please,’ she said again, ‘I implore you, your Highness, don’t be so hasty. Just listen to me, give me a chance to prove myself, I beg of you.’
Jamil hesitated momentarily and Cassie threw herself into the breach. ‘Prince Jamil. Your Highness. Sheikh al-Nazarri.’ She made a low and extremely elegant curtsy, completely unaware that she was granting Jamil a tantalising glimpse of cleavage. ‘You would concede that your daughter is in urgent need of a governess and I—well, to be frank, I am in urgent need of an opportunity to prove myself, so you see, we both stand to profit from making this arrangement work. I know I’m not what you were expecting, though indeed I’m still not sure what exactly you were expecting, but I assure you I am extremely capable of looking after a little girl like Linah. I myself lost my mother at an early age, and I have three younger sisters whose education and upbringing I’ve been closely involved in. I’m sure she and I will get on. I know I can get through to her, make a difference to her. Please. Don’t send me back. Give me a chance. You won’t regret it.’
She clasped her hands in supplication and only just resisted the urge to throw herself on her knees. Prince Jamil gave no indication of wavering, his face set in an implacable expression. Only his eyes betrayed a flicker of something else. What, she couldn’t discern.
Why on earth had he kissed her like that? To teach her a lesson? And why had she let him? She wasn’t attracted to him, she couldn’t be, she wasn’t going to allow herself to be attracted to anyone. Not ever. She’d never allowed a man such liberties before. No man had ever attempted to take such liberties before, but Prince Jamil did not seem to think his behaviour questionable. Only her own.
And he was right about that. She had behaved like a very wanton. No wonder he thought—oh, God, she didn’t want to even think about what he thought. Cassie clasped her hands together tighter and swallowed her pride. What use was pride, after all? She had no right to it, and no use for it either, if it prevented her from using all her powers to persuade the prince that she was worthy of his trust. ‘I don’t know what came over me—when you—when you—when I allowed you to kiss me, I mean,’ she said, blushing madly but forcing herself to continue to meet those strange golden brown eyes. ‘I can only assure you that I am not in the habit of allowing—of indulging—in kissing.’
‘I know,’ Jamil said, surprised out of his rigid hold on his control by this naïve admission.
‘You do?’
‘Your kisses were hardly expert.’
Cassie wasn’t sure if this was an insult or a compliment. Though she was much inclined to pursue this very interesting question, for once sense prevailed and she held her tongue. ‘Anyway, whatever they were or were not, I assure you I won’t subject you to them again.’
Despite his determination not to be persuaded, Jamil was intrigued. And amused. It had been so long since he had found anyone so entertaining as Lady Cassandra. Or so—confounding. Unexpected. Interesting. He would be quite happy to be subjected again to her kisses. More than happy. The question was, was this a good thing or a bad? ‘My daughter.’
‘Linah.’
‘She is.’
‘Unhappy.’
He raised a supercilious brow. ‘I was going to say difficult.’
‘Yes, but that’s because she’s unhappy.’
‘Nonsense. She has no reason to be so.
