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Marianne's stomach clenched and she lowered her gaze to her lap, her soft mouth unconsciously tightening. A whim? She had been reduced to a whim in his life? But then, whose fault was that?
'But for now we'll take a stroll around a souk, perhaps explore some of the narrow alleys that thread the medina and find a keepsake we might like to take home, yes?'
The last few words were like a punch in the chest as it hit her, with devastating painfulness, that if Michael had never come into her life the home Hudson had mentioned would have been their marital one. She would have been his wife. His wife.
'Fine.' Her nod and smile were brittle and she didn't say any more—her acting ability only went so far.
'And please try to relax a little,' he said coolly. 'This is supposed to be a holiday, after all; you've finished working now. You are allowed to enjoy yourself.' His eyes challenged her to take up the gauntlet but she ignored the dark gaze that held a wicked glitter in its depths.
'I am enjoying myself,' she answered brightly. 'Very much.'
'If this is you enjoying yourself very much, I'd hate to see you when you're making an effort,' he drawled sardonically. 'But, no matter, you'll relax. I'll make you,' he added silkily.
She ignored that too.
CHAPTER SIX
Their hotel had formerly been a magnificent palace, built some two hundred years before by a Grand Vizier—a chief adviser to the sultan—and approached through a gate in the city wall. It was just after five when Marianne and Hudson walked across a hot and dusty courtyard, and, after going down several flights of shaded stone steps, emerged into a cool garden where banana trees, vibrant bougainvillaea vines and a riot of other flowering tropical plants flourished amid the gentle murmur of several small stone fountains.
At the far end of the garden they passed through an imposing Moorish arch and into Reception, where a small and very charming Moroccan girl greeted them prettily, speaking quietly in perfect English with just the faintest trace of an accent.
Marianne had had all afternoon to think about her plan of action when the double room, or suite of rooms, was mentioned. She would be cool and firm, polite, but quite adamant when she made it clear she was insisting on her own quarters.
'Mr de Sance.' Hudson smiled at the receptionist, his handsome face portraying none of the agitation that was turning Marianne's stomach into a churning cauldron at the coming confrontation. 'I have made a reservation.'
She knew it. She had known it all along. One room.
'Ah, yes, Mr de Sance.' The girl smiled back, clearly thoroughly appreciating every inch of the lean, finely honed body in front of her. 'We have been expecting you both. A table for dinner has been reserved in your name and it is entirely up to you when you eat, but dinner is served from seven o'clock onwards… '
As the receptionist continued to give the practised speech, her voice soft and welcoming and the dark brown eyes flirtatious, Marianne nerved herself for the moment it would finish. How dared he, how dared he just assume she would fall into his hands like an overripe peach at the first opportunity? She hadn't seen him for two years, for goodness' sake. Did he really think she was that easy? Anyone would think they had just seen each other last week!
Two years—and whose fault is that? The inner voice spoke with devastating clarity and she felt a moment of searing guilt before she answered silently, Not mine, not really; it isn't.
But Hudson doesn't know that. Again it intruded when she least needed it, and now her reply was sharp and strong when she thought, Too late, it's done. And it's for the best—for him anyway.
The bellboy will show you to your suites if you're ready?'
Marianne heard the last sentence through the turmoil in her mind, but indistinctly, like a faint drone. 'Did you say suites?' she asked carefully, vitally aware of Hudson at the side of her as she spoke directly to the girl, her voice quiet.
'Yes.' There was a moment's pause as the receptionist's dark eyes flickered towards Hudson. 'This is right, is it not? Two suites overlooking the city? This is what you required?'
'Perfect.' He turned to Marianne now, his eyes wicked as he added, 'Just perfect, wouldn't you say, Annie?'
'I… Yes—yes, of course—' She stopped the stammering abruptly. He had known exactly what she was thinking and he'd set her up for this embarrassing episode, she thought irritably. He was always one—no, ten, a hundred—steps in front of her, and there wasn't a darn thing she could do about it.
'Good.' All mockery had died from his eyes and his mouth was straight, almost grim, as he gave her one last look before turning to where the bellboy was standing waiting with their cases. Marianne didn't know what had wiped the amusement from his countenance and at that moment she found she didn't care; all her emotions were taken up with the fact that Hudson hadn't intended to share a room or a suite with her. It hurt. Ridiculously, it hurt.
She knew it was unreasonable—if he had suggested it she had been all ready to refuse—but the fact that he hadn't wanted to had hit her hard. And she didn't like that either.
The two suites were next to each other, and as the bellboy opened the door leading to Marianne's lavishly decorated rooms she couldn't stop her gasp of surprise. The large sitting room was gloriously opulent, the walls draped with rich swirls of dark green and turquoise silk and the low cream divans scattered with piled cushions of the same material. It had the appearance of a princely desert tent, and the effect was continued through into the beautiful bedroom, its sunken bed and exquisite furnishings leaving her breathless. Arabian Nights in miniature.
What on earth did a suite like this cost a night? she asked herself as she peered in at the sumptuous bathroom, which was all marble and mirrors. She couldn't let Hudson pay, but she didn't know if she could afford to pay either! She just hadn't expected anything
like this. She sat down rather suddenly on one of the divans as the bellboy led Hudson to his own suite, and was still sitting there in a daze some moments later when a knock came at the door, and had to force herself to get up and answer it.
'Dinner at eight?' Hudson was leaning against the stone wall of the corridor when she opened the door, his big, lean body indolent and relaxed and his eyes hooded as he surveyed her on the threshold. 'That will give you time to bathe and rest before we eat'
'Hudson, how much is this hotel costing?' she asked abruptly, her agitation doing away with any finesse.
