his body clench with instinctive jealousy. Did she not realise the bitter irony of her choice—she who no longer had the right to wear the traditional hue of innocence? A black tide of rage rose up in him as he remembered that it had been the rogue Simon who had taken her virginity.
He could see his advisors standing, waiting for his command. He had intended to invite them to stay—for their English was certainly good enough. And it might dilute Frankie’s undeniable appeal if he was faced with the subtle censoring of his aides. Yet now, on impulse he found himself raising his hand to dismiss them and they filed obediently from the room. Settling himself on a pile of cushions so that his groin was shielded by a thick swathe of his robes, he indicated that she too should sit.
‘Your room meets with your approval?’ he questioned.
Frankie sank down onto soft brocade. ‘How could it not? It’s amazing.’
‘And you are hungry, I hope?’
She couldn’t possibly tell him that her interest in food had been eclipsed by the man sitting opposite her. With an effort, she tore her eyes away from the shockingly sensual outline of his mouth and glanced around the room with the rapt interest of a tourist. ‘I’m looking forward to tasting some of your fabled Khayarzahian cuisine,’ she answered politely.
Zahid narrowed his eyes. This was not the Francesca he knew, the one whose sharp wit he had always secretly admired. Why, she sounded like one of the many visiting ambassadors who regularly mouthed their platitudes!
‘Then let us begin,’ he said, nodding to the silent servants who were standing unobtrusively at the sides of the room and who then began to bring dishes of food in.
Frankie could only pick at the gleaming rice studded with pistachios and the dried fruits and soft cheeses—though she enjoyed the slightly fizzy date juice which Zahid called Nadirah. And all the time she tried to keep her eyes fixed on the plate in front of her, not daring to raise her face to his—fearful of what he might read in her eyes.
‘You seem very … nervous tonight,’ he observed softly. ‘Or is there some special reason why you won’t look at me?’
Reluctantly, she lifted her head to find his ebony stare burning into her like dark fire. She wondered how he would react if she told him the truth—that she longed for him to take her in his arms. To kiss her and never stop kissing her. All the things he’d told her weren’t going to happen were all the things she wanted to happen. She forced her lips into the upward curve of a smile. Maybe a variation on the truth would suffice. ‘I can’t quite get used to seeing you here, being a king.’
Zahid nodded. Hadn’t it taken time for him to get used to wearing the crown—to being the ruler of all he surveyed and the inevitable intoxication which came with it? Yet power came at a price, too—particularly when it came out of the blue.
When the plane carrying his uncle the king and his only son had crashed during a storm, Zahid had been crowned the new king—a role he had never expected, nor particularly wanted. But it was a role he was determined to fulfil to the best of his ability, even though many had looked on him suspiciously. He was still working hard to earn the faith of the key palace advisors—and push forward his agenda to modernise the country. But it would take time to get consensus and to earn the trust of the government and the people of Khayarzah. But that kind of trust had always existed between him and Francesca—and he didn’t ever want to jeopardise it. ‘But I am a king and have been for some time,’ he said softly. ‘You knew that. So nothing has changed, Francesca.’
Frankie stared into the gleaming depths of his ebony eyes. ‘Yes, intellectually I knew all that. But seeing it for myself is a little dazzling—the robes and the palace and the servants. I’m used to seeing a more casual version of you back in England.’
He picked up a grape and ate it. ‘If it makes you feel any better, it’s pretty strange for me to have a woman sitting here like this.’
‘But there must have been women here before,’ she probed.
‘Very occasionally, yes—of course—but they are always married women, accompanying their husbands. Never …’ Never a woman whose scent of rose and jasmine was filling his senses. ‘A single woman,’ he finished unevenly.
‘So no.’ Go on, she urged herself fiercely. Say it! Acknowledge the reality of his life instead of your own wishful fantasy version of it. ‘No girlfriends?’ she finished, as carelessly as she could.
He shook his head.‘Certainly not—for I would consider that disrespectful.I indulge my very natural appetites when I am abroad, never here, and always in the utmost privacy. One day, of course, I will marry. And then my bed will be shared by my….wife.’
The question she’d asked and the answer she’d dreaded now caused her pain, but somehow Frankie’s polite smile didn’t slip. ‘You seem to have your future all mapped out.’
‘Of course. It comes with the territory.’ He shrugged. ‘Though in a way, it is easy for me. I do not have the luxury of choice—for it is my destiny. I will take a wife of pure Khayarzahian stock and thus ensure the continuation of the noble bloodline.’
‘But isn’t that a little … old-fashioned?’
He ate another grape, his teeth biting into the flesh, and a little rush of juice sweetened his mouth. ‘More than a little—but I do not take issue with that. I am, as has been acknowledged many times, an old-fashioned man. It is the way things are here and, besides, much of modern life is flawed—you know that as well as I do, Francesca.’
‘So you don’t resent it?’ she questioned, as some vital need to know drove her on. ‘The fact that for you there is no choice—that you must take a bride who is expected of you, rather than choosing one of your own free will?’
His eyes glittered as he leaned back against the mound of brocade cushions. ‘There is no point in railing against the inevitable. And choice can be a poisoned chalice,’ he added softly. ‘It inspires greed and makes people discontented with their lot. Couples seek perfection in relationships, something which is simply not possible—and when that perfection fails to materialise, they go looking for it elsewhere. Look at your divorce rate in the west and ask yourself whether choice is such a good thing.’
It was not the answer that Frankie had secretly been hoping for—for wasn’t it true that deep down she had wanted him to rail against his fate? To shake an angry fist at the empty air and admit that he longed to follow his heart. But he had done the very opposite and had sounded as if he meant every word of it. She bit her lip as she stared down at her hands, which lay clasped in her lap. Because surely she wasn’t stupid enough to consider herself a candidate for his heart?
‘And besides,’ he continued softly, ‘I will make sure that my bride is beautiful, as well as suitable—so it will be no hardship to spend my life with her.’
The truth hurt, she realised—it hurt like crazy.
She raised her head to look at him. His face was illuminated by the light from the lamps and his high cheekbones cast angled shadows upon his burnished skin. And suddenly she wanted the evening to end and to be alone with her aching heart in the privacy of her room. ‘Am I supposed to wait until you retire—or am I allowed to go to bed now?’ she asked.
Silently, Zahid cursed her question, wondering if it was as innocent as it sounded—for he knew a million women who would have asked it with something other than sleep on their minds. ‘You are tired?’ he queried coolly.
‘Very.’ She kept her voice brisk, knowing that this was how it was going to have to be. She was going to have to remain crisp and bright and professional—and bury all those stupid romantic dreams once and for all. ‘It’s been a long day.’
‘Indeed it has.’ Gracefully, he rose to his feet in a shimmer of silk, shaking his head emphatically at one of the servants who immediately stepped forward. He rapped out an order in his native tongue before gesturing