know if the sinister note in his warning was a creation of her fertile imagination, but after he had swept away to God knew where, without offering her even a crumb of explanation, she sat reflecting on his departing comment.
For the first time she asked herself what the price he put on her brother’s freedom was. What did she have that a prince who had everything wanted?
She was sitting pondering this when her lolling head hit her chest, and she jerked upright with a cry. The last thing she wanted to do was fall asleep. She needed to keep her wits about her. Shaking her head to clear her muzzy thoughts, she got up and scrubbed her eyes with her fists. She began to pace the room.
Of all the places she could have ended up when she ran she had found herself here—was it fate?
What could she have that the Prince wanted?
Catching sight of her reflection as she passed a full-length mirror in a heavily carved ornate frame, she let out a groan of startled dismay.
Her hair that had started the day—or was it yesterday? She had lost track—secured at the nape of her neck in a ponytail now streamed down her back and curled in wild disarray around her face. Any trace of make-up was gone, and her face and wrecked clothes were liberally smeared with dirt from where she had landed face down in the dust when she had rolled from the delivery truck.
‘Oh, Lord!’ Easy to see now why the man had suggested she needed a wash!
One hand lifted to her head, she approached the mirror. Well, one thing she could rule out was him asking for sexual favours in return for Paul’s freedom—not that she had ever ruled it in.
Remembering the paralysing stab of lust that had immobilised her when he had touched her, she just prayed he had no inkling of her mortifying reaction. God, to think she had actually imagined for a split second that it had been mutual …
Gabby grimaced at her reflection. Talk about deluded! Unless possibly the Prince had a thing for bag ladies …?
Licking her finger, she tried to rub a smear of dirt off her cheek. Besides, even if he had been smitten with terminal lust at the sight of her—a low chuckle of self-deprecation escaped her throat at the thought—he didn’t strike her as the sort of man who traded for sexual favours.
Why would he, when he had probably been fighting off women with a stick all his adult life? Or maybe not fighting? This possibility made her frown severely at her reflection.
Running her fingers through her hair in an attempt to tame the wild waves, she did not at first see the young woman who had appeared quietly in the room, and when she did she jumped.
‘Oh—I didn’t see you there.’
‘Sorry, miss.’ The girl bowed her veiled head. She was young and very pretty, and regarded Gabby with ill-concealed curiosity. ‘The Prince has asked me to show you to your rooms.’
I have rooms? Gabby decided not to question it, though the alteration in her status from unwanted intruder to honoured guest was hard to get her head around. In a lot of ways she had felt more comfortable when they were trying to throw her out. That at least had had the feel of normality, whereas what was happening now was deeply surreal.
‘Lead the way,’ Gabby said, wondering what she’d let herself in for.
Gabby tried, but all her attempts at making conversation with her guide drew only a nervous laugh or a startled look from the big fawn eyes, so eventually she lapsed into awed silence.
It was hard not to be awed by the sheer scale and splendour of the palace—a splendour that Gabby had not had the time to appreciate during her earlier flight.
The young girl led Gabby through a maze of wide corridors and splendid ornate courtyards to an area of the palace her earlier wanderings had not led her near. Here, the splendour went up to a new level.
They turned a corner, and Gabby drew a startled breath. The wall to her left was fitted with a vast floor-to-ceiling stained glass window. Light streamed through, casting a vibrant shadow that danced on the ceiling and trickled down like liquid gold fingers onto the floor.
The girl looked around in enquiry when Gabby stopped, apparently oblivious to the breathtaking magnificence.
‘It’s beautiful,’ Gabby said, gesturing to the glass panel.
The girl looked puzzled, but flashed Gabby a sweet smile. She gestured to a wide sweeping staircase that led to the floor above, the dozens of thin gold bangles on her wrist jangling musically.
She walked along the corridor so quickly that Gabby, whose legs felt like lead, lagged behind. At the far end she opened a door and gestured for Gabby to enter.
‘Your rooms, miss.’
The sitting room alone had about three times the floor space of the entire tiny flat her parents had converted for her on the top storey of the Edwardian house where she and Paul had grown up.
Their homing pigeon, her parents called her. Gabby had never felt any impulse to travel to far exotic places. Straight out of college a job in the local primary school had come up, and she had been delighted to get it. Some people were adventurous, but she just wasn’t one of them. She didn’t dream about faraway places. Ironic, really, because here she was, in a place more exotic than she’d imagined existed …
She did a full three-hundred-and-sixty twirl and let out a silent whistle. ‘This is incredible.’
Her guide smiled with pleasure and gestured towards the doors that were flung open onto a wide balcony.
‘You would like to see the view? Many admire it. When your Prime Minister stayed his wife took many photographs.’
Gabby smiled at the girl, impressed. Prime Minister! ‘No, thank you,’ she said. She had had enough of views—and this time there would be no strong male arms to pull her back from danger.
It was a classic case of out of the frying pan into the fire, because Rafiq Al Kamil did not represent safety except for Paul, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut and crossing her fingers as she murmured fiercely under her breath, ‘Please free Paul.’
A smile tugged the corner of her mouth as an image of her brother popped into her head. He was smiling, and then he wasn’t, and then he wasn’t blond and he wasn’t Paul.
Gabby opened her eyes with a snap, and rubbed her upper arms vigorously to dispel the rash of goosebumps that had broken out over her skin. The cold that had made her shiver had turned her thoughts in the dangerous direction of the heat that had burned through the layers of clothing when Rafiq had hauled her back from the brink.
It seemed to Gabby that she was still on the brink—the brink of going quietly crazy. She extended her hand to push back her hair and saw she was shaking again. She felt a surge of relief. She wasn’t going mad—she was just experiencing a severe blood sugar dip. She had felt like this before, when she had skipped a meal or two because she was busy.
Well, that accounted for some of it. But she had to admit missing a meal had never caused her to look at a man and feel the shameful slow burn of desire low in her belly.
She turned with an over-bright smile to the girl. ‘Do you think I could have a cup
