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His handsome mouth compressed into a hard line, Shahir studied the letter he had received that morning from a cousin. And then, with a sudden bitter laugh, he crunched the item up and tossed it in the bin.
It seemed a fitting footnote to his non-relationship with Faria that he should have learned quite accidentally that the only woman he had ever cared about had just become the wife of another man. He had not even been aware that she was betrothed!
But, owing to the recent death of a relative, Faria’s wedding had been a small, quiet affair, staged at speed to facilitate the bridal couple’s departure for London, where the bridegroom had taken up a surgical post.
It had been inevitable that Faria would marry, Shahir acknowledged bleakly, and she was no more out of his reach now than she had ever been. He refused to allow himself to feel unsettled by the news of his foster-sister’s marriage. He was strong, not weak, he reminded himself with grim resolve.
An hour later Pamela Anstruther arrived, to collect the corrected guest list from him.
‘I think that Kirsten Ross has been up to no good,’ she remarked with a suggestive roll of her eyes.
Shahir elevated a cool ebony brow that would have silenced a less bold woman.
Predictably, Pamela continued to talk with animation. ‘You see, I did hear a rumour that Kirsten was sneaking out to meet the Polish builder working here. The life she leads, I certainly don’t blame her for trying to hide something like that. Unfortunately for her, though, it seems that her nasty old father has got wind of her promiscuous behaviour—’
‘I have a strong dislike of rumour and gossip,’ Shahir sliced in dryly.
Pamela gave him a sweet smile of apology. ‘I gathered that you felt sorry for the girl—that’s the only reason I mentioned it. You see, Kirsten isn’t looking quite as pretty today as she usually does.’
Shahir levelled unreadable dark eyes on the brunette. ‘Get to the point, Pamela.’
‘Well, the poor girl looks like somebody punched her in the face, and I suspect her gruesome old dad is responsible.’ Pamela watched Shahir and was disappointed by the fact that his lean strong face remained impassive.
‘Did she say so?’
‘Of course not…she trotted out the old “I tripped” chestnut. But I reckon that her daddy found out that she was doing what healthy farm girls do with a man when they get off the leash!’ Pamela vented an earthy laugh that had the subtlety of a brick hitting glass. ‘You disapprove of that kind of speculation, but it is the most likely explanation—and who could fault her for it? From what I understand she’s not allowed any freedom at all, and that’s not natural for a girl of her age.’
When the brunette had gone, Shahir released his breath in a measured hiss. He would have a member of his senior staff raise the matter of Kirsten’s welfare with the housekeeper. He would ensure that all possible advice and assistance was offered to her. What need was there for him to involve himself in any more direct way?
But was it true that Kirsten was involved with a man? That she had already acquired a name for being pr
omiscuous? Distaste assailed Shahir. What did he really know about Kirsten Ross? Regard for her good name had prevented him from discussing her or her background with anyone. He had assumed that she was an innocent, and vulnerable. But now he was remembering her passion in his arms and wondering whether it had, in fact, been the response of a more experienced lover.
Could he have been mistaken? He could hardly tell the difference on the basis of one stolen kiss, he conceded abstractedly. And why the hell was he even thinking about such a thing? Virgin or wanton, she was still forbidden to him.
On the other hand, he was one hundred per cent weary of the nonsense attached to his expressing an honest and entirely proper concern for the wellbeing of an employee. Why should he have to act unseen, through intermediaries? Why should he have to tiptoe around the sensibilities of his staff? If Kirsten had been assaulted, why should he not check that shocking fact out for himself? In the palace where he had grown up he would not have hesitated to do so.
After all, his entire upbringing had been geared to the need for him to feel personally responsible, protective and compassionate towards more vulnerable human beings. He had picked up that lesson at a very young age. He had been taught that no person and no problem should ever be considered beneath his notice or too small to warrant his individual attention. An honourable man did what was right, regardless of appearances!
Without further ado, he accessed the housekeeping rota on the computer, to establish where in the castle Kirsten was likely to be. He did not allow it to occur to him that until very recently he had not even known such rotas existed, or where they could be found.
Kirsten was brushing the polished floorboards of the long gallery. For once she had little appreciation for the magnificence of her surroundings. The prospect of going home that afternoon was already filling her with a sense of dread that overshadowed her every thought. What sort of a mood would her father be in?
‘Kirsten…’
At the sound of her name she jumped, and the brush fell from her nerveless fingers and hit the floor with a noisy clatter. Her pale head flying up, she focused in surprise on Shahir, who had come to a halt about twenty feet away.
In one glance he saw the fear she could not hide and the purple discolouration that marred one side of her face. His outrage at what he saw slashed right through his cool reserve.
‘What has happened to you?’ he breathed, his long stride bringing him to her side within seconds. ‘Did your father do this to you?’
His candour thoroughly disconcerted her. All morning she had been horribly aware of the sidelong looks and whispered comments behind her back, but only Pamela Anstruther had dared to question her. ‘No—I don’t know where you got th-that idea,’ she stammered, nervously evading his frowning scrutiny. ‘I stumbled and fell against a table.’
Shahir lifted a lean brown hand and let a gentle forefinger brush the edge of the bruise that stood out in livid contrast to the porcelain perfection of her skin. It enraged him that she had been brutalised. Her home life was clearly appalling, and her predicament could not be ignored. Yet if she was allowed to enter staff accommodation at the castle would her father leave his daughter there in peace? Shahir doubted that it would be so simple. Such a man would not easily surrender control over his own flesh and blood.
‘I know that is nonsense,’ he asserted with quiet conviction. ‘You cannot look me in the eye and lie.’
At his touch, which felt like a delicious caress, Kirsten had stiffened in astonishment. Until that moment she had not known that a man could be so gentle. Her emotions felt like dynamite on a hair trigger. Keeping the lid on them demanded every ounce of her self-discipline. His attention, his very interest in her, was already having an intoxicating effect on her. He was so close that she could smell the faint and already surprisingly familiar scent of his skin. Soap? Some expensive shaving lotion? For an instant it was all she could concentrate on: the aromatic mystery of that clean, rich tangy preparation that somehow made her tingle inside her clothes and want to move closer still.
