mulled over that thought. “You’re saying that you don’t have to be involved with a man to know he’s interested in having his ego catered to?”
“Exactly.” Her tone of voice was pleased, as if a particularly dull student had given a clever response.
Jamal stared at his dinner guest. As Malik had promised, Heidi did dress like a spinster. Tonight she wore a gray dress that buttoned tightly to a high collar. Despite the heat of the June evening, her arms were covered with long sleeves and her skirt fell nearly to her ankles. Not a drop of makeup covered her pale skin. If her hazel eyes appeared wide, it was because of their shape, not because she’d used cosmetics. Light brown hair had been pulled back into an unattractively tight bun. The small glasses perched on her nose only added to the cliché of the spinster schoolteacher.
He narrowed his gaze. While she wasn’t really a Prune Princess, she had the look of a woman who didn’t like men very much. Which was unfortunate. With the right clothes and a better hairstyle, she could be pretty. From what he could tell through the thick material of her dress, her shape appeared to be pleasant enough.
“So it would never work,” she assured him. “The marriage thing. We don’t know each other. I doubt we would like each other. I don’t even ride.”
He blinked. “Ride what? I don’t understand.” What did riding have to do with an arranged marriage?
“I don’t know how to make the sentence more clear.” Her expression clearly indicated her lack of faith in his intelligence. He wasn’t the bright student anymore.
“I understand the sentence, just not your point.”
She drew in a deep breath. “I haven’t ridden a horse in years. Princesses ride. Isn’t that the law or something?”
Jamal felt his mouth twitch slightly. Odd, he thought, but also appealing in a twisted sort of way. As for her other concerns…
“I will do my best not to propose,” he promised.
“Thank you. I’m sure you’d be a wonderful husband, but I couldn’t be less interested.” She paused. “I don’t mean that against you personally. I don’t want to marry anyone. I’m very independent.”
There was a surprise, he thought humorously.
He pulled out a chair for her, waited until she was seated, then eased it back into place. He then drew out the chair next to her for himself. If nothing else, he would spend his evening entertained.
“Why are you sitting there?” she asked in alarm. “Don’t get close. You’ll give them ideas.”
“According to you, they already have ideas.”
“They don’t need encouragement. You should sit across from me. As far away as possible. Then ignore me at dinner. Be rude, even. I won’t mind.”
Her hazel eyes widened with heartfelt sincerity. Jamal couldn’t remember the last woman who had so clearly expressed her lack of interest in him. In a strange way, he found her candor oddly appealing. After all, life had taught him to be cynical where women were concerned. He’d had his share of females interested in his money, his title, his fame, or all of the above. A virgin who wanted him to keep his distance was a refreshing change.
“Sit there,” she said, pointing across the table.
The teak dining-room table could seat as many as twenty people, but tonight it had been set for only six. Heidi indicated the place setting across from hers and over one. Unfortunately for her, it was still close enough that they could talk.
Who was Heidi McKinley, and where had she come from? He remembered a skinny, young girl getting underfoot. But those memories were from his teen years very long ago. Malik implied she’d visited several times and recently. Had he been so busy with his own life that he hadn’t paid attention? What set of circumstances had turned her into a unique combination of innocence and nerve?
“You’re looking at me,” she said. “Don’t do that. Ignore me. Really. It’s fine.”
He obligingly turned his attention away from her, only to have it drawn back to her pale face. Why was she so afraid of marriage? More important, why wasn’t he in a panic of his own? His wife had been dead nearly six years. Jamal knew that the king had been giving him time to recover from his loss.
He grimaced. There wasn’t enough time in eternity for him to get over Yasmin, but he wasn’t about to tell his father that. Nor would he share that his feelings for the woman weren’t what everyone thought.
Was King Givon considering arranging another match for his middle son? Jamal knew it was just a matter of time until he was expected to marry again. This time he would have to produce heirs. Unlike Khalil, he hadn’t met anyone and fallen in love. For him the woman he chose as his wife would simply be the lesser of two evils. Someone he could tolerate and perhaps even be friends with.
His gaze settled on his guest. So far, Heidi wasn’t an unappealing choice.
She caught him looking at her and gave him a tight, worried smile. Malik was wrong, he thought. She wasn’t a prune. She was actually somewhat cute.
There were footsteps in the hallway. Heidi pushed up her glasses then leaned toward him. “Remember,” she said. “Be rude. Ignore me. It’s what I really want.”
He nodded his agreement, all the while wondering what it was he really wanted.
Jamal was not taking her concerns seriously, Heidi thought later as one of the servants cleared the dinner plates. Worse, the evening was not going as she’d hoped. For one thing, Jamal was now sitting across from her.
Fatima, Jamal’s grandmother, and the king had been the first to arrive. They’d taken seats at opposite ends of the table. Then when Khalil and his wife, Dora, had walked into the dining room, Fatima had insisted that Jamal move so that husband and wife could sit across from each other. Which meant Jamal had shifted to the seat opposite hers. Where she’d been forced to stare at him for the entire meal. It was horrible.
She took a sip of her wine and tried not to let her frustration—not to mention her apprehension—show.
Fatima leaned close and patted the back of Heidi’s hand. “Now that you’re going to be living here, we can plan a trip to London and attend the theater together,” she said.
Heidi pressed her lips together. That sounded like a normal enough statement—one she could respond to without fear of Jamal being dragged into the conversation again. “I’d like that,” she said cautiously. Fatima was safe, she reminded herself. The king’s mother had always been a friend.
Heidi risked a smile at the older woman. Tonight Fatima wore an elegant evening suit in dark gold. The tailored jacket emphasized her slender but regal figure, while her upswept hairstyle gave her added inches of height. Her makeup was perfect and discreet; the pearls at her ears matched the triple strand around her neck. Fatima was all Heidi aspired to be—beautiful, confident and in control.
“Jamal is very fond of the arts,” Givon said, his voice carrying the length of the table and then some. “Theater, dance, music. He enjoys it all.”
The king’s comment was only one of a dozen extremely unsubtle attempts to show how much Jamal and Heidi had in common.
Khalil, Jamal’s younger brother, looked up and grinned. “It’s true. Jamal lives for the arts. He’s so fond of them, sometimes we even call him Art. As a nickname.”
Dora, sitting across from her husband, touched her napkin to her mouth. “Ignore them both,” she said. “Khalil has a wicked sense of humor, which is currently operating at your expense. I will discuss it with him later and make sure the torment of this evening is not repeated.”
Khalil, sitting on Heidi’s left, didn’t look the least bit concerned. “Are you threatening me, wife?”
Dora,