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What was suddenly freezing her into a polar absence of expression was the amazing sight of Raschid embarrassed and fighting to maintain his usual air of daunting gravity. For some reason he had started noticing that his home had all the warm welcome of Frankenstein’s castle. ‘Oh, I think this is very comfortable…cosy,’ she added in a generous rush, as if they were not seated on a carpet in the middle of an echoing and three-quarters-empty room.
‘I usually eat with my father.’
It was a rare titbit of personal information. Raschid never talked about himself. From Jezra Polly had learnt that he had spent the early years of his life in the desert, travelling with Nurbah’s relatives, the only allowance made towards his status that of an accompanying tutor. At ten he had gone to a military academy in Saudi Arabia, concluding his education with a degree in business management. The two brothers had enjoyed incredibly different childhoods. King Reija had evidently ruled against the dangers of too great a Western influence being allowed sway over his son and heir. But Raschid’s childhood impressed Polly as having been distinctly grim and cheerless, high on character-building discipline and low on parental attention and carefree pursuits. It explained that gravity beyond his years.
‘You didn’t have to eat with me,’ she said flatly, shaking irritably free of her irrelevant thoughts. ‘After all, you told me that this would be on the proscribed list. Of course, Asif always eats with Chassa when he’s at home. But then, I expect he picked up bad habits, being educated in England.’
At her reference to his brother, his lean features shuttered, his mouth hardening. ‘I don’t deny that Asif is more Westernised, but he is not someone whom I presently wish to discuss.’
Obstinately she persisted, ‘Why? Is he in some sort of trouble?’
He sent her a gleaming glance, refusing to be drawn.
‘I found him very pleasant.’
A sardonic brow lifted. ‘The art of being pleasant has always been at Asif’s fingertips. He has infinite charm with your sex when he chooses to employ it. Now, as you know, I leave for New York tomorrow.’ An odd little silence stretched like a bed of nails beneath her nerves. Her smile began to feel frozen on her lips. ‘When I return perhaps you will have made alterations here. You have a free hand. I would wish you to feel at home for as long as you are here,’ he concluded smoothly.
It was a speech like a scorpion with a sting in its tail. For as long as you are here. It reverberated through Polly. Was he making a discreet reference to a divorce in the not too distant future? What else could he be doing? Their marriage as such had not even begun, and already he was foreseeing its conclusion. A fierce and blinding wave of anger consumed her. ‘Exactly how long do you expect me to feel at home?’ she demanded. ‘Don’t please feel the need to talk in polite riddles. If you want a divorce, just say so!’
Raschid did not react to her fury. His eyes remained steady. ‘I am not presently thinking of a divorce.’
‘What did you raise my hopes for, then?’ she slammed back, outraged by his coolness. ‘I’d like a time limit to the sentence.’
‘Until we tire of each other, then,’ he said softly. ‘These attractions fade as swiftly as the flowers that bloom in the desert after rain. What is between us will pall just as quickly. It would not be fair of me to pretend otherwise. I do not wish to hurt your feelings, Polly.’
Blindly she studied the glass of lemonade in her hand. How could he employ such brutal, demeaning candour and contrive to do so with that quality of apparent sincerity? Was she ever to understand Raschid? She was trembling with a mass of conflicting emotions. Hatred rose uppermost. Her pride revolted against the implication that she was a purely sexual being, put on this earth for his gratification, an object to be lifted and discarded at whim. He had never planned to give their marriage a fighting chance. He had never envisaged permanent ties. To tell her that openly was to offend her beyond forgiveness.
‘You don’t have that power,’ she parried through compressed lips.
‘Perhaps you will now practise the same honesty with me.’ He surveyed her with unreadably bright eyes, but the tension in the air was tangible. ‘About Chris.’
Her brain in a dazed whirl, Polly echoed, ‘Chris?’
CHAPTER FIVE
‘YOU called for him when you were delirious. Had you not been ill, I would have requested this explanation sooner,’ Raschid advanced harshly. ‘Naturally I wish to know exactly what your relationship with this man entailed.’
The mists of incomprehension cleared. Polly’s colour fluctuated wildly. Had she called for Chris? While she was ill, had her subconscious mind teemed with the conflict of her unsettled feelings? From beneath her lashes she studied the brooding cast of his features. So this was what had lain behind the constraint she had sensed, this was the subject postponed until she was on the road to recovery. His suspicions roused, he had gritted those even white teeth and simmered over the idea that his bride might not be as pure and untouched as he considered his medieval due. What he really meant was, had she slept with him? The offensively arrogant bite of his demand that she explain herself chased away her momentary embarrassment.
‘Polly!’
‘My relationship with Chris is nothing to do with you.’ Swept by an unfamiliar sense of feminine power, she met his charged stare. ‘You bought my disposable future, not my past,’ she retorted drily.
In a controlled movement Raschid sprang upright. ‘Are you in love with him?’ he raked at her. ‘I will have an answer from you. You are my wife!’
But only when it suits you to throw it at me, she thought with an inner venom that slightly shook her. In love. In love with love. Was that what she had been? It was still none of Raschid’s business.
‘Look at me! I will not address the back of your head. But I will have an answer,’ he assured her grimly. ‘That is my right.’
Angrily she glanced up. ‘What’s it to you if I am madly in love with him?’
His eyes blazed at her, a formidable and powerful anger written into every taut line of his aggressive stance. ‘And with this you expected to establish a relationship with me?’ he seethed across the room at
her. ‘I told myself that I would not judge you unheard again, but I was foolish to doubt my own perception.’
He was like a coiled whip ready to unfurl. She was on dangerous ground. Her malicious intent to confirm his suspicions suddenly lost its strength. Since it must be obvious that Chris had not returned her feelings, wouldn’t she end up looking rather pathetic? There could be no vengeful satisfaction in such a conclusion. Realising how she had cornered herself by losing her temper, she said irritably, ‘For goodness’ sake, I was only joking! Do we need the three-act drama?’
Suddenly alarmingly close, Raschid dropped down in front of her and repeated, ‘Joking?’
Polly attempted to retreat. A ruthless hand caught in her hair and blue eyes of feral brilliance flared into her. ‘Explain the joke,’ he invited.
‘Joke wasn’t the right word,’ she altered in desperation. ‘You don’t understand…’
His long fingers tightened their hold. ‘Make me,’ he suggested lethally.
‘Chris and I grew up together. He’s…he’s really just a friend.’
His narrowed stare probed her defensiveness. ‘I do not think that is quite the whole story.’
Polly’s teeth gritted. ‘It’s chapter and verse.’
‘I believe that you have been attracted to this man,’ Raschid countered lazily. ‘And perhaps if I had not come along…’ The hand at the nape of her neck eased her backwards at the same time as he pressed her down on the cushions by lowering his own weight to keep her captive. ‘But it is strange that I should still fail to see the humour of your…er…joke.’
‘It wasn’t supposed to be a joke!’ In raw frustration she struggled to wriggle free.
‘Truly diplomacy is not one of your talents.’ A tigerish smile slanted his mouth. ‘You were trying to make me jealous—you are very transparent, Polly. But how could I be jealous of my wife? You belong to me, you go nowhere without my permission.’
