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‘I’m afraid I don’t follow,’ Bethany said thinly.
‘Young women come here ostensibly to work. They flock to the nightclubs that have sprung up in the city. There they dress, drink and conduct themselves in a manner which may be perfectly acceptable in their own countries but which is seen in quite another light by Datari men,’ Razul explained with a sardonic edge to his rich vowel sounds. ‘A sizeable percentage of these women do not return home again. They stay on illegally and become mistresses in return for a lifestyle of luxury.’
‘Really, I hardly look the type!’ Bethany retorted witheringly, but her fair skin was burning hotly. ‘And, fascinating as all this is, it’s time that I headed for my hotel.’
‘Lone women in your age group are not currently accepted into our hotels as guests.’
Bethany thrust a not quite steady hand through her tumbling hair. ‘I beg your pardon?’
‘No hotel will offer you accommodation when you arrive alone.’ His strong dark face utterly impassive, Razul surveyed her intently. ‘Had I not brought you to the palace you would now be on a flight back to the UK.’
‘But that’s ridiculous!’ Bethany suddenly snapped, her nervous tension splintering up through the cracks in her composure. ‘It’s hardly my fault that my assistant broke an ankle before we boarded!’
‘Most unfortunate.’ But he said it with a faint smile on his beautifully moulded mouth, and his tone more than suggested that he was not remotely interested in the obvious fact that her planned stay in Datar had now run into petty bureaucratic difficulties, which she was quite sure he could brush aside...should he want to.
Bethany pushed her cup away with a very forced smile, behind which her teeth were gritted. ‘Look...this is an important research trip for me—’
‘But then you take all your work so seriously,’ Razul pointed out smoothly.
Her facial muscles clenched taut. ‘I am here in Datar to research the nomadic culture,’ she informed him impressively.
‘How tame...’
‘Tame?’ Bethany echoed in shrill disconcertion, having assumed that his own cultural background would necessarily prompt him to treat the subject with appropriate respect.
‘I have read your paper on the suppression of women’s rights,’ Razul murmured very softly.
‘You’ve read my paper?’ Bethany found herself gawping at him.
‘And, having done so, intend to generously offer you research in a field which could make you famous in the academic world when you return to the West.’ Burnished golden eyes suddenly struck hers with ferocious force.
‘What field?’ Bethany queried, a frown-line dividing her brows as she shifted uneasily on the cushions, instinctively reacting to the humming tension in the air.
Razul unleashed a predatory smile upon her. ‘A way of life never before freely opened to the scrutiny of a Western anthropologist. I feel remarkably like Santa Claus.’
‘Excuse me?’ The atmosphere was suffocatingly tense. Bethany scrambled upright and involuntarily backed away from the controlled menace that emanated from Razul in vibrating waves.
‘A prolonged stay in my harem will not only provide you with liberal scope for academic research, it will provide me with a long-awaited opportunity to teach you what being a woman is all about,’ Razul told her with silken self-satisfaction.
CHAPTER TWO
‘YOUR harem?’ For the count of thirty seconds Bethany simply stared at Razul, her bright green eyes open to their fullest extent. Then she visibly bristled, her naturally sultry mouth compressing into a thin, unamused line. ‘Very funny,’ she said flatly, but there was an unevenness to her response as she fought against the giant tide of bitterness threatening to envelop her.
‘You walk in my world now.’ Razul issued the reminder with indolent cool. Veiled dark eyes slid over her in an all-encompassing look that was as physical as a caress. ‘When you walk from it again you will be a different woman.’
Her aggressive stance—feet apart and arms taut—quivered as a tide of fury surged through her, leaving her light-headed. ‘If you look at me like that once more, so help me I will knock your teeth down your throat!’ Bethany blistered back at him.
A scorching smile slashed his hard mouth, perfect white teeth flashing against his golden skin. He surveyed her with intense pleasure. ‘My father said... “Is this woman worth a diplomatic incident?” If he saw you now, truly he would not have asked such a question.’
‘What do you mean, “worth a diplomatic incident”?’ Bethany demanded, her voice half an octave higher.
‘Sooner or later you will be missed,’ Razul pointed out gently. ‘Questions will be asked, answers must be given. Our ambassador in London will be called to the Foreign Office. But I suspect it will be many weeks before we reach that stage—’
‘The Foreign Office?’ Bethany shook her head as though to clear it, a daze of utter disbelief beginning to enfold her.
‘You see, you have so few people in your life to notice that you are missing. You write to your mother only once a month. You communicate with your father not at all. Your sole close friend is currently enjoying an extended honeymoon in South America—her fall from grace in allowing a man into her life very probably loosened the ties of that friendship. As for your academic colleagues...?’ Razul enumerated these facts in the same calm, measured tone, as though he was well aware of her growing incredulity. ‘This is the long summer vacation. I doubt if they will be expecting to hear from you. I find your life of isolation a sad testimony to your wonderful Western civilisation.’
The pink tip of Bethany’s tongue crept out to moisten her dry lower lip. Shock was reverberating through her in debilitating waves. ‘How...how do you know all these things about me?’ she whispered jerkily.
‘An investigation agency.’
‘You put a private investigator on me? But when?
You didn’t even know I was coming to Datar!’
‘Did I not? A liberal endowment to your university ensured your eventual arrival—’
‘I b-beg your pardon?’ Bethany stammered, a painful throb of tension beginning to pulse behind her brow-bone.
‘Why do you think your superiors insisted that you base your research on Datar?’
‘The nomadic tribes here have not suffered the same level of exposure to the modern world as in other countries,’ she informed him harshly, her hands clenching in on themselves.
‘True...but who suggested the subject of your research?’
Bethany went rigid. The idea had come down from on high. It had not emerged from the anthropology department itself. Indeed there had been resentful mutters to the effect that she must have admirers in high places because such research opportunities abroad were, due to a shortage of finance, currently at an all-time low.
‘I’m building your university a brand-new library,’ Razul shared with her gently. ‘And my carefully chosen British representative, who stressed his special interest in Datar and also mentioned how very impressed he was by a series of lectures you gave last year, insisted on absolute and complete anonymity in return for the endowment.’
Bethany was starting to tremble. Without a flicker of remorse he was telling her that she had been lured out to Datar on false pretences. ‘No...I don’t believe you...I refuse to believe you!’
‘I have known the date of your arrival since you applied for your visa. I was not, however, prepared for you to arrive alone at the airport,’ Razul conceded wryly. ‘Or for the subsequent furore over your visa, but your solitary state has worked to my advantage. You now have no companion to raise the alarm...and I have you in my possession that much sooner.’
‘You have not got me in your possession, you maniac!’ Bethany snatched up her duffel bag and stalked to the exit doors. ‘I’ve listened to this nonsense long enough as well!’
