dry anymore.
She was deceiving a man she greatly admired.
The quiet of the palace, and the spots of moonlight shimmering on the marble floor wrapped around Nicolette, making her feel truly lonely for the first time since she arrived.
‘‘Do you ever wonder if perhaps you have the wrong sister?’’ she asked softly, her voice barely audible.
Malik glanced down at her, his expression one of concern. ‘‘Do you think I have the wrong sister?’’
‘‘I just wonder if perhaps I’m not really the one you want…’’
His brow furrowed. ‘‘In terms of outlook? Attitude?’’
Her shoulders lifted, fell, the silk of her gown sliding across her skin. ‘‘I don’t know. Maybe I’m confused why you picked me. Why not one of the others?’’
They’d reached her suite of rooms and stood outside her door. ‘‘I suppose I could have proposed to Joelle instead,’’ he said, rubbing his jaw.
‘‘Joelle?’’ Why Joelle? She’s barely an adult. ‘‘She’s too young for you.’’
‘‘Perhaps you’re too old for me.’’
Nic felt her cheeks burn. ‘‘You’re at least ten years older than me, King Nuri.’’
‘‘But let’s be honest, Chantal, shall we? I’m excited about marriage and the possibility of having a family. You, forgive me, seem so blase´ about it all. I would rather have a young bride eager to experience marriage and motherhood than a wife that dreads matrimony.’’
‘‘Yet there are three Ducasse princesses. You haven’t mentioned Nicolette.’’
He waved a hand, brushing aside the suggestion. ‘‘She was never an option.’’
‘‘Why not?’’
Another impatient gesture. ‘‘She’s not suitable—’’
‘‘Why not?’’
He gave her a sharp look. ‘‘If this is upsetting you, we ought not continue the discussion.’’
‘‘It is upsetting me, and we should continue the conversation because I want to understand. Nicolette’s much beloved by her people—’’
‘‘Yes, but to be Queen Nuri, queen of Baraka, one must be more than great, one must be above reproach.’’
Apparently Chantal hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said that Nic’s reputation was destroying her chances of a good marriage. ‘‘Yet you’ve never even met her. How can you be so critical?’’
He didn’t look the least bit apologetic. ‘‘It’s common knowledge that she prefers playboys and libertines.’’
Playboys? ‘‘Libertines?’’
‘‘She’s not a virgin.’’
Nic flushed hotly. ‘‘Neither am I.’’
‘‘But you were when you married.’’
Nic squeezed the gloves into a ball in her hand. And Joelle was still innocent. Damn him. What was wrong with a woman experimenting a little? Figuring out what she wanted…needed? Why could a man do what he wanted but a woman had to worry about reputation? ‘‘You’re not a virgin.’’
His lips curved but he wasn’t smiling. ‘‘It’s a man’s duty to know how to pleasure his wife.’’
‘‘And a woman has no need to know how to pleasure a man?’’
‘‘Her husband will teach her.’’
‘‘That’s absurd!’’
‘‘Why?’’
She thought of poor Chantal, married off as a twenty-two year old virgin to a man who didn’t give a fig for her happiness, or comfort, and who most certainly didn’t bother to educate her in the art of love. Nic was certain that Chantal had never had an orgasm in her life—and if she’d had—it was probably alone. ‘‘My late husband taught me nothing.’’
‘‘Then he failed in his duty.’’
‘‘Just as I am quite certain that many men then ‘fail in their duty.’ Most men still have no concept where the clitoris is let alone how to touch it!’’
His stunned silence said more than words ever could. Nic realized she’d said far, far too much and she gripped her gloves so tightly she felt frozen in place.
Why was she so intent on changing his opinion about ‘‘Nicolette’’? What did it matter if he disapproved of her? Let him think what he wanted to think. It was foolish and irresponsible to let her ego get the better of her. She had to protect Chantal. She had to play Chantal until she’d gotten word that Lilly was safe.
‘‘I said too much,’’ she said, swallowing hard, realizing she was swallowing her pride.
But he said nothing.
She’d have to apologize again. ‘‘I was wrong, Malik. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so…detailed.’’
‘‘I didn’t realize you’d had so much experience.’’
‘‘I’m a woman. I have friends. Sisters—’’
‘‘Nicolette.’’
He’d said her name so disapprovingly that it made her stomach free fall. ‘‘You really don’t like her.’’
‘‘I don’t know her.’’
Nic nodded painfully, her face still scalding hot, more from anger than shame.
After he’d left, Nic let herself into her suite of rooms, and with her insides still churning with resentment, she changed into her pajamas, and then wandered outside. Trying to calm herself, she walked the length of her private courtyard with the deep still pool and the fountain with the beautiful marble statue.
It was late out, but the night was still hot, and the sultry night air hung on her, making her want to turn around and retreat to the cool dark suite. But she couldn’t go inside. She felt even more trapped inside. Scared, too.
Malik occupied her thoughts lately—endlessly. She wanted to pretend it was mere curiosity, cultural fascination, even sexual infatuation, but deep down she knew her interest was so much more than that.
He was an ideal ruler for a country like Baraka where the culture dated back thousands of years and people had been forced to reinvent themselves following earthquakes, fires, tragedies.
And God knows she didn’t want to shame him, not in front of his people. Not in front of the world. And certainly not in private, either.
How
