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‘The only way?’
Raising one hand, I gently cupped his cheek. The muscles underneath were tense as cords of iron, yet the moment my fingers touched him, he began to relax. ‘The only way for me to be with you. Let me have freedom. The freedom to choose you.’
He stared into my eyes for one immeasurable second of time. I could see his throat move as he swallowed once, hard. There was a moment of silence. A very long moment of silence. Then…
‘Very well.’
I had to work hard to keep my mouth from dropping open. ‘You…agree?’
‘Yes.’
‘You will stop Karim from following me around everywhere?’
‘Yes.’
‘And you won’t mind if I have a chat with Captain Carter now and again?’
‘Oh, I will most certainly mind.’ His eyes glittered darkly. ‘But I shall not stand in your way.’
I narrowed my eyes. ‘You promise?’
‘I swear. Whenever the two of you cross paths, I shall not interfere.’
I tried to read his face to see if he was being honest with me - and it did me absolutely no good. I might as well have tried to read coded mathematical formulas written in Chinese with invisible ink. Still…he was a gentleman. He would keep his word.
Standing up on my tiptoes, I brushed a gentle kiss against his lips.
‘Thank you.’
Maybe, just maybe, we were moving forward. Maybe, Mr Ambrose could be reasonable and understanding. Suddenly, the future looked hopeful.
I guess I should have known better.
*~*~**~*~*
We had hardly re-entered the house when I noticed him. Grim and mountainous as ever, Karim stood tall, arms crossed and a look on his face that had to be illegal in at least twenty-one countries. Rouge was smeared over his cheek, and part of a lady’s fan had gotten entangled in his turban.
Oh dear.
I tried to take cover behind Mr Ambrose, but too late. He had already spotted me. Murder and mayhem in his eyes, the Mohammedan strode towards me. Cautiously, I peeked out from behind Mr Ambrose’s shoulder. Hey, I might be a strong, independent female, but it’s common sense to duck behind a rock when a bomb is in the vicinity, about to go off.
Karim’s gaze burrowed into me.
‘Prince Utairah Jafri fi al Qurram Qumrah III, heir to the principality of Bakavasa?’ The words were a tiger’s growl.
Mr Ambrose coughed. ‘Pardon, Karim?’
‘That, Sahib, is the name she invented to introduce me to a few of the female guests at the house, so she could slip away in the mayhem that followed.’
Mr Ambrose stared into space. ‘Oh. I see.’
Silence.
A quite long bit of silence.
I tried to appear nonchalant. Tried.
‘What does it mean, anyway?’ I enquired.
