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A couple of hours later Iseult blushed again in the mirror, as Lina did up her dress at the back, just thinking about what had taken place in Nadim’s bath. She’d barely made it out in time to come and meet Lina in her room, and she blushed even harder now, when Lina said, ‘You’re so flushed, Miss Iseult. Is it the heat?’
Iseult made some strangled reply and meekly followed Lina away from the mirror to sit down, so she could do her hair. After what seemed like an age of pulling and curling, with something that looked like an instrument of torture, Lina stood back and gestured for Iseult to look in the mirror.
Immediate fear gripped Iseult’s insides as she approached the reflective glass as if she were walking the plank. How had she forgotten this for a moment? How could she be putting herself back in this position again? To be publicly humiliated? Because no matter what Lina had done, no matter how expensive the dress was, she was still tomboy Iseult O’Sullivan from a farm in Ireland.
She stopped in front of the mirror and for a moment couldn’t look. And then she did. For a wild moment she didn’t recognise the girl in front of her. She wore a long, fitted satin strapless dress in a dark greeny-blue, with an ostrich feather detail over one shoulder. Her skin looked very white, and her breasts swelled enticingly over the bodice. Long glittering green earrings swung against her neck, and Lina had somehow curled her impossibly straight hair and lifted it up and away into a loose chignon. Amidst the glossy red waves a diamanté comb sparkled.
Iseult felt tears burn the back of her eyes, a lump tighten her throat. Just then a knock came to the interconnecting door, and before Iseult could compose herself Nadim strolled in with proprietorial ease.
In an instant he’d politely dismissed Lina, and all Iseult could do was look at him through the mirror. He came to stand behind her, stunning in a black tuxedo. His jaw was tight, and she saw a muscle clench.
He noticed the sheen in her eyes and turned her around, frowning. ‘What’s wrong?’
Iseult shook her head and looked down, desperately trying to stem the flood of incipient tears, mortified. ‘No…nothing…I just—I don’t think I can do this. I’m not made for this kind of thing.’
He tipped up her chin. ‘You’re made for me, Iseult, and you will walk by my side. You are beautiful…do you not see how beautiful you are?’
‘I’m not beautiful. Really, I’m not. We’ll go into that room and you’ll see…and you’ll be embarrassed.’
Nadim thought cynically for a moment that Iseult was just fishing for a compliment, but then he saw the genuine distress in her eyes. The genuine disbelief. He shook his head. ‘Someone has obviously made you feel that you aren’t beautiful. Who was it? Your father?’
Iseult shook her head fiercely. ‘No. It was just…’ She sucked in a shuddering breath and tried to regain control, sure he wouldn’t want to hear of her schoolgirl humiliation. ‘I’ve never been the girly type. I’m not used to this. I’m more at home in a stables or in a field…’
Nadim turned Iseult back to face the mirror, and with his hands on her shoulders bent his head and pressed a heart-meltingly sweet kiss to her cheek. ‘You can’t hide in the stables for ever,’ he said. ‘You are beautiful…stunning.’ He kissed her jaw. ‘Here…’ Then he kissed where her neck met her shoulder. ‘And here…and everywhere. You will be the envy of every other woman.’
His eyes compelled hers to his in the mirror, until a very fledgling feeling started to burgeon within her—a feeling that felt scarily like belief. Nadim turned her around again and said, ‘I have something for you.’
He handed her an ornate red box with gold edging. Iseult opened it to reveal a pure gold bottle nestled in white velvet. She looked up at Nadim. ‘What is it?’
He quirked a smile. ‘Al-Omar is famous for its perfume. It’s one I had specially commissioned for you.’
Iseult’s heart clenched at the sheer seduction of Nadim, and she wished he wasn’t charming her so easily. If he was more perfunctory she could cope; she could pack ice around her heart.
She put the box down with a shaking hand and opened the bottle, taking a tentative sniff before spraying a tiny bit on her wrist. It smelled like an intoxicating mix of delicate roses, together with musk and a hint of tantalising spices.
And as if reading her mind, Nadim said dryly, ‘I think it captures your personality. There’s amber in there too, because it reminded me of your eyes…’
Speechless, Iseult let Nadim take the bottle out of her hand and spray a tiny bit on her neck, before rubbing it in with a finger. Then he held out her arm and found the delicate skin at her inner elbow and rubbed there. Then he sprayed another bit just above her cleavage. By the time he was finished Iseult was breathing unevenly and her legs were weak.
Nadim put down the perfume and took her hand to lead her out. At the door Iseult stopped him and said huskily, ‘Thank you for the perfume… You didn’t have to get me anything, but I love it…’
Nadim fought not to let the artlessness of her words grip him tight, like a vice. It only reminded him again of how different she was from other women, and of what a risk he was taking with her. But even so…he knew he couldn’t stop.
He just tugged her along and said, ‘We’ll be late for dinner.’
A couple of hours later Iseult was still in awe of the splendour around them. So much for a gathering for close family and friends. She smiled wryly. There had to be at least two hundred people there, and one or two A-list actors even she recognised.
She’d met Sultan Sadiq Ibn Kamal Hussein before dinner. He was a man cut from the same cloth as Nadim. Tall, handsome and powerfully built. He was also dressed in a tuxedo, and his unusual light blue eyes stood out. He wore an air of jaded cynicism, though, and his forbidding looks to approaching women made Iseult feel sorry for them.
When he’d bent low and taken her hand to press a kiss to the back of it Nadim had pulled her close with a possessive arm that had sent a thrill through her. She’d had to tell herself not to read anything into it. Nadim was no different from this man in many ways.
She saw the tall, debonair Sultan in the distance now, surrounded by a fawning crowd, and wondered if he too had a mistress.
Just then Iseult noticed someone else approaching them, and exclaimed happily, ‘Jamilah!’ She looked at Nadim. ‘I didn’t know Jamilah would be here. We could have come together.’
Nadim frowned and said, ‘I didn’t know she was planning on coming…’
They embraced when Jamilah reached them; she looked even more stunning than usual in a dark royal blue dress that fell in a swirl of silk from just above her bust. Her glossy black hair was tied up in an elaborate chignon, but her face was pale and strained-looking.
