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‘Since when did you do “upset”?’ Tilda threw at him bitterly. ‘I’ve seen you cold, angry, scornful, silent. I’ve never seen you shocked or upset. Heaven forbid that anyone might suspect you have any real emotions!’
Rising to that challenge, Rashad settled blazing golden eyes on her. ‘I was schooled from an early age not to reveal what I thought or I felt. Initially, that training was aimed at ensuring I had good manners, but before I was much older my safety and that of others often depended on my ability to stay in control. I have never had the freedom to parade my emotions as you do.’
Reminded of his background, Tilda squirmed and felt guilty, but she could not help feeling that her hurt was increased by the extent of his rigid self-discipline.
‘Of course I was upset,’ Rashad added in fierce continuance. ‘How could you doubt it? The filthy lies in that file destroyed what we had found together five years ago.’
Her lashes lifted on mutinous turquoise eyes. ‘No, you did that. You believed those filthy lies. You didn’t give me a chance, not one single chance to speak up in my own defence.’
Rashad spread lean golden hands in a sudden driven movement that betrayed the level of his stress. ‘I believed the source of that file to be above reproach. When I realised last night that the contents were an unforgivable tissue of lies designed to destroy our relationship, I had to know who was responsible. For that reason I approached my father first to find out if he had ordered the fabrication of that file.’
‘Your father?’ she echoed in surprise.
His lean, strong face was set in grim, angular lines. ‘He was most distressed when I showed it to him. He had never seen it before.’
Fabrication or not, Tilda was aghast at him having showed that file to King Hazar. ‘You actually showed the file to him?’
Rashad expelled his breath in a taut hiss. ‘I wanted him to see for himself how you were maligned. He was appalled because he believes that he was indirectly responsible. He was concerned when I told him five years ago that I wanted to marry you.’
‘You wanted to marry me way back then?’ Tilda whispered in utter astonishment at that declaration.
‘Let me explain this without interruptions,’ Rashad urged, strain marking the set of his stubborn jaw line. ‘My father is a man who did not become a ruler until he was past middle age. When I met you, he was still new to the throne and nervous of many things. A son and heir proposing to marry a foreigner was a source of worry to him.’
‘Yes,’ Tilda conceded rather numbly.
‘He shared his anxiety with his closest adviser, who was at the time in charge of Bakhar’s secret service. No course of action was discussed. My father did not feel he could interfere. But when I later told him that my relationship with you was over, he did wonder if the adviser had taken independent action. But he chose not to question him or mention the suspicion to me and both those omissions have been on his conscience ever since. He called in Jasim, who is now his closest aide. Jasim worked for my father’s advisor five years ago. He was aware of the file and very troubled by what was done,’ Rashad related heavily.
‘At least someone knows right from wrong,’ Tilda muttered.
‘Jasim was silent for fear of losing his position. His former employer is now dead. Jasim saw you when you visited the embassy in London last month and when you came to my house. He believed that I had discovered the truth about the file and he informed my father that you and I appeared to be seeing each other again.’
‘But nobody came clean and owned up about the file until it was too late to matter.’ Tilda had gone from shock that Rashad had been hoping to marry her five years earlier to overwhelming bitterness that the happiness that they had had then had been cruelly stolen from them. ‘And nobody’s going to pay for what was done to me or my reputation, either.’
Rashad was watching her every move. ‘Haven’t we all paid many times over?’
A sharp little laugh was dragged from Tilda. She turned from him to stare sightlessly out of the window overlooking the handsome early Victorian city square. ‘I don’t think five years of consorting with gorgeous supermodels and actresses and socialites was that much of a penance for you, Rashad.’
Rashad turned an ashen shade below his bronzed skin. He was willing her to look at him and she would not. There was a distance in her that he had never seen before. He did not know what to say to her. He could not deny the supermodels, or the actresses or the socialites, but not one of them had been blonde because it would have reminded him too much of her. Not one of them had brought him happiness. Not one of them had been her.
‘I did not forget you. I was never able to forget,’ he breathed flatly.
Tilda was unimpressed. ‘Only because of the insult to your pride. That rankled with you. You wanted revenge.’
‘I wanted you back-’
‘You wanted revenge. As if it wasn’t enough that you just dumped me without a word. As if it wasn’t enough that I had to see you kissing another woman. As if it wasn’t enough that you left my mother loaded with debt!’ Tilda flung at him chokily, striving not to parade her emotions in the manner he had described.
In response to that hail of accusations, his tawny gaze remained bleak. ‘What you say is true. I have no defence to offer.’
‘But do you know what your biggest sin is? That you didn’t care enough about me or what we had to confront me or even doubt that file!’ Tilda condemned fiercely, raging resentment finally breaking through her hollow sense of bitterness. ‘You put your pride first.’
‘I wouldn’t now,’ Rashad murmured in a roughened undertone.
‘Oh, yes, you would. Last night, instead of concentrating on me, you went for a blasted shower and then you went off to see your father! You wanted someone to blame. You couldn’t put me or my feelings first even then,’ she accused shakily.
‘That is not how it was.’ Rashad drew in a deep shuddering breath. ‘I was so angry at what we had lost-’
‘You didn’t lose me; you dumped me!’
