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Duty. Evie knew all about Raschid's dedication to duty!
It was a shame that sense of duty did not extend to encompass the woman who was his lover.
'So be it,' she said, suddenly sounding as cold as ever she could sound when she felt like it. 'But don't be surprised if I put into place some contingency plans of my own to keep the gossip to its minimum.'
His eyes narrowed on her. 'What's that supposed to mean?'
Evie shrugged. 'Duty,' she quoted right back at him. 'I have a duty to ensure that my brother and his bride maintain centre' stage on the day of their wedding.'
'And how do you intend to do that?' he mocked her. 'By pretending I don't exist?’
'Would you notice if I did?' Evie threw back cynically. She could have bitten off her tongue when his sharp eyes narrowed. 'Was that it?' he demanded. 'Was that remark a big hint to what is actually eating at you tonight, Evie?' He clarified the question. 'That I don't give you enough of my attention?'
So he had guessed that she'd just dissembled. Evie smiled to herself and wondered how he would react if she told him he couldn't be any further from the truth.
'Would you care that much if it was?' she countered, throwing him yet another red herring.
He didn't answer-which was, she supposed bleakly, an answer in itself.
'I'm tired,' she said wearily. 'I think I'll go home .. .' Which was just another provoking remark he let float pointedly by him. 'I have to go away tomorrow,' he informed her instead. 'I will be gone for about a week. When I get back I think we need to talk.'
Evie shivered, feeling the icy fingers of a terrible foreboding go trailing down her spine. 'Fine,' she said, moving towards the door.
He said not a word, but his eyes did as they followed her passage across the room. He was sharp, he was shrewd, he had a mind like a multi-million-dollar computer that was programmed to make very accurate assessments at lightning speed.
He knew as well as she knew that there was something going on here that she wasn't telling him.
'Evie .. .' .
He was a master of timing, too, Evie tagged on to her list of attributes as she paused in the doorway. She didn't turn, and the silence between them lengthened like a wire being stretched to its absolute limit. Unspoken emotions beating out a throbbing tattoo that made her want to just break down, right here and now, and sob her wretched heart out.
'I would care,' he murmured gruffly.
It was too much. On a whisper of silk, Evie turned and ran to him.
I love you so very much, she wanted to cry out, but didn't dare in case the evocative words started the avalanche she knew would bury that love without a single trace. So instead she wrapped her arms around him and buried her misery in the warmth of his solid presence.
I'll tell him after Julian's wedding, she promised herself weakly. It can easily wait until then.
CHAPTER TWO
IT HAD been billed as the wedding of the year, and anyone who was anyone was expected to be there to watch Sir Julian Delahaye and Lady Christina Beverley tie the sacred knot: the rich, the famous, titled nobility, not to mention a heavy presence of foreign dignitaries who had flown in from all over the world to be here out of respect for Christina's father, whose diplomatic skills had earned him lifelong friends in far-flung places.
The weather was glorious, the location a picture-perfect English castle complete with ramparts and moat set in its very own ten-thousand-acre estate right in the heart of Royal Berkshire.
You really couldn't get any more romantic than that. It was no wonder some people were willing to sell their souls to acquire an invitation.
Which made Evie very much the odd one out here today, because she would have sold her soul to be anywhere but here. She should, in fact, have been heading up an entourage of six lovely bridesmaids. You could even say that it had been expected of her. But she'd turned the invitation down, upsetting several and annoying many, but. ..
A sigh broke from her-the pair of lavender-blue eyes staring back at her via the dressing-table mirror she was sitting in front of mocking to say the least. She just couldn't have done it to the happy couple. After all, how much bad luck did you invite on yourself by having the family black sheep play a major role at your marriage? It just wouldn't do and they all knew it wouldn't do-which was why Christina's mother had found it difficult to hide her relief when Evie had turned the request down.
But neither did it mean she could escape her duty altogether. As sister to the groom she had an obligation to be here-if only for Julian's sake. And, black sheep of the family or not, she was not about to disappoint her brother. She loved and respected him too much.
So here she was, quietly preparing herself for the event ahead, in the room allotted to her by the Beverley family in the east wing of their beautiful home-very much aware that her mother was doing the same in another room not that far away, because she could feel the waves of resentment reaching out to her through several layers of solid stone.
And why was her mother so resentful? Evie asked that pair of eyes in the mirror. Because Lady Lucinda Delahaye had once been thwarted of the chance to put on a day like this for her own daughter when Evie had turned her back on the chance to marry a marquis so she could be with her lover.
'He won't marry you!' her mother had angrily predicted two years ago. 'He's an Arab prince for goodness' sake! And unlike you he will know his duty! When the time comes he will turn his back on you and marry one of his own. You mark my words, Evie. You mark my words.'
