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With Sharmila it had seemed as if it was like that too. She had appeared to want a child so much—more than he had at the time. It was almost as if she had set herself to get pregnant as quickly as possible. She had set out to do that, he acknowledged bitterly. If they weren’t involved in the ceremony of court then they were in bed. It had suited him at the time, but that was before he had learned what was behind her apparent passion. The fact that she needed to cover up the betrayal she had already committed.
One thing Sharmila would never have done was kick off her shoes and curl up on a sofa as Aziza was doing now. They had never been able to share the quiet evenings when all the business of the court was done and they could just be the two of them. A man and a woman.
A sudden thought struck him, had him pausing and frowning. With a shock he realised that he had probably shared more with Aziza tonight than he had ever talked about to Sharmila. He had certainly never discussed his mother with his first wife.
‘Aziza...’ he began but as he looked at her he caught the way her hand flashed up to hide the yawn she was unable to hold back. Her eyelids were drooping heavily and she was practically dropping in her seat.
‘You’re exhausted,’ he said and saw his pronouncement confirmed even as she tried to deny it by straightening in her chair, forcing herself to stay awake to continue their conversation. The half-eaten plate of food was in danger of sliding off her knee and it was only by making a grab for it that he stopped it from tumbling to the floor.
‘Go to bed.’
The struggle he was having to hold on to his determination not to take a reckless step into a situation where he still wasn’t sure of his facts made it sound more like a command than he had intended. Tired as she was, he saw the way she fought to lift her head enough to glare at him in defiance, though those beautiful eyes were cloudy with fatigue. Something twisted deep inside him and in spite of himself a small laugh escaped.
‘You really need some sleep, Aziza,’ he said, holding out a hand to help her to her feet.
She hesitated, then put her hand into his, letting him pull her from the chair. When she swayed where she stood, he almost lifted her off her feet to carry her to the bedroom. Hell but he wanted to do that. But the touch of her hand on his, warm skin on skin, and the wave of perfume mixed with her own personal scent, was temptation enough and he knew that if he did then it wouldn’t stop there. He’d acted on these instincts before; he’d believed in Sharmila, had had his trust totally shattered. The report he had ordered would not be presented in its final form until tomorrow. Surely he could wait twenty-four hours for total peace of mind? Besides, Aziza was clearly so worn out it would be cruel not to let her sleep tonight.
But his hand felt empty, his spirit too, as she took her fingers from his and stumbled towards the bedroom, swaying with tiredness. It was only when the door swung to behind her, slotting into its frame with a bang, that he remembered earlier that night, when they had been busy with the farewells to their guests, that a car had backfired sharply close nearby. He had barely felt the old tension twist in his nerves before he had sensed Aziza’s fingers, small, soft and gentle, slide into his and hold them reassuringly. Just for a moment. Just long enough for her to feel that he had relaxed, and then she had eased her hand away and turned her attention back to the conversation she’d been having with the French ambassador’s wife.
He could wait twenty-four hours, but no more. That report had better say everything he needed it to say. The thought of anything else was the stuff of nightmares.
CHAPTER TEN
‘WHY ARE WE HERE?’ Aziza demanded as soon as it was safe to speak openly.
The day hadn’t gone anything like the way she had expected. She had woken to find that the maid Nabil had assigned to look after her was in her dressing room, putting clothes into a case.
‘Madam, His Highness says that I am to pack for you.’
‘Why, where are we going?’
‘To the mountain palace,’ another voice had joined in. A male voice, deep and vibrant.
Nabil...
‘But why?’
He hadn’t answered her then, nor had he offered a word of explanation during the journey here. Having gone to bed with the hope that they had at least made some sort of progress from the way that they had talked the previous night, Aziza found this silence oppressive and disturbing. But, short of making a fuss in front of their driver, she had recognised that it was far better to remain silent until they actually arrived, and so had had to sit stiffly beside her supposed-to-be husband, hiding everything she felt from him.
