the kind of woman I will eventually marry is not the kind of woman who will give her body freely to a man.’
There was a long and disbelieving silence as she stared at him.
‘Unlike me, you mean?’ she questioned.
He shrugged. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Or maybe you should. Maybe it’s good for me to hear you admit that there are two types of women. The type who become wives and the type who become mistresses.’
‘But I never promised you marriage, Cat,’ he said. ‘I made that clear from the start. I told you that our relationship could never be anything other than temporary. Didn’t I? Or did you think that my words were empty?’
Cat stared at him, feeling some of her anger evaporate as she forced herself to take stock of what he was saying. Yes, he had told her all those things; right from the start he’d been honest with her. He’d told her that she could be his lover, but never his bride. And what had she done? She’d reassured him that she was perfectly okay with that. She’d even managed to convince herself that theirs was the kind of relationship she wanted. That she was modern enough not to care about convention. That she was so messed up from her past that she didn’t want a relationship with all the normal rules.
But somewhere along the way something unexpected had happened. She had started to care for him, and that had never been part of the plan. She’d been so eager to hold onto him that she had moulded herself into the sort of woman she thought he wanted her to be. Like some kind of sexy geisha, she had put his needs before her own every time. Always smiling; never complaining; she had accepted whatever came her way.
So how could she now object to his behaviour, when all he had been doing was what he had warned her about all along?
He had been looking for a wife.
Of course he had.
How stupid she must seem for trying to rail against the inevitable—she was like the foolish king who had tried to turn back the tide. What did she think was going to happen—that Murat would defy his proud destiny and hitch his star to a working-class girl from the Welsh valleys? An illegitimate girl with a hopeless drunk for a mother?
She realised that he was still looking at her and she drew in a deep breath, trying to claw back some of the dignity which she had let slip away. ‘Yes, you told me that you planned to take a wife,’ she said, almost calmly. ‘I’ve known that all along and I should have anticipated that this would happen sooner, rather than later. I don’t know what made me react like that.’
But she did know. It was love. Devious and unwanted love—making her behave in a way she didn’t like. If she let it.
‘I should have told you,’ he said.
She forced herself to meet his eyes, praying that she could keep her hurt from showing. ‘But presumably you didn’t, because you realised that it would spell the end of our relationship.’
‘Yes.’ There was a long pause and now his face bore an expression which was unfamiliar to her. Was it determination? The face of a man who had been born to have every one of his wishes granted? ‘You know, this doesn’t have to end, Cat.’
For a moment, she thought she might have misheard him. She looked at him in confusion. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Nothing needs to change. I can live the life expected of me in Qurhah and still have you here. We could make this work. I know we could.’
She stared at him. ‘As your mistress, you mean?’
‘Why not?’ His voice sounded almost...gentle. ‘Men in my position often do—and didn’t you tell me right from the start that you weren’t interested in a conventional relationship.’
For a moment Catrin felt sick. Yes, she had said that—but never had she guessed that one day it might be used against her as an over-sexed man’s selfish form of barter. On shaky legs she walked over to the window and opened it, but the warm evening air brought her little relief. She could feel beads of sweat pinpricking her brow as she stared at the darkened park and the lump in her throat made it seem as if some invisible hand were trying to throttle her.
So this was what happened when you made no demands of a man. When you acted like some kind of human cushion. What else could she expect in return, other than he would expect to walk all over her?
Had he stopped to think that such a suggestion might insult as well as hurt her? No, of course he hadn’t. He was thinking about what he wanted—and clearly he had no desire to give her up.
But when she stopped to think about it—why wouldn’t he offer her something like that, when she was prepared to accept so little from him? Why, in loving Murat she had become a woman she barely recognised.
She had given him the sanctuary he’d always craved—peace and respite from his busy life in Qurhah. She had welcomed him into her arms whenever he was here. From the moment he set foot inside the penthouse apartment she was his unconditionally. Up until this moment she’d never bothered him with awkward questions. She had demanded nothing of him. Even the gifts he had showered on her, she had accepted only because it seemed to please him. But she had never been in this for the diamonds or the couture clothes. She had enjoyed living with him and hadn’t wanted to rock the boat, and in the process had allowed herself to become like some kind of human sponge.
What had happened to the real Catrin? That strong person who had spent her formative years battling to prevent her little sister from being taken into care? The person who’d shopped for food on her way home from school and watched like a hawk while Rachel pored over her books? She might not have passed many exams herself, but she had plenty of Welsh grit inside her. And maybe now was the time to rediscover some of that grit. To show him that she wouldn’t be walked all over.
She turned to face him, filled now with a curious sense of calm.
‘It may be culturally acceptable for the Sultan to keep a mistress once he’s married. For all I know, it might be the norm to keep multiple mistresses in these circumstances. I don’t imagine that a man of your stamina would find it difficult to accommodate more than one woman. But you’ll forgive me if I pass on your tempting offer.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Are you being sarcastic?’
‘Because you’re offering me a bit part in your life? Expecting me to provide smiling sex while you take another woman as your bride? Perish the thought that I should resort to something like that!’ She flashed him a sarcastic smile. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to pack.’
‘To pack?’ he echoed blankly.
Her pretend smile slipped. Why the hell was she pretending anyway?
‘Yes, to pack,’ she said. ‘You may be a sultan, but at the moment you’re sounding like a spoiled little boy who wants to have his cake and eat it. If you seriously think I’m sharing you with another woman...if you really think I would continue to be your mistress if you married someone else, then I suggest you make an appointment with a psychiatrist at the earliest opportunity.’
She turned and marched out towards the bedroom, clicking on lights as she walked, so that the vast apartment became illuminated with soft pools of golden light. But she was aware that Murat was following her. She could sense his presence behind her, dominating the space around him just as it always did. His words halted her before she’d even had a chance to remember exactly where she’d put the small suitcase, which was the only thing she’d brought with her from Wales.
‘I don’t want you to go,’ he said.
‘I’ll bet you don’t.’
‘You aren’t facing facts, Cat,’ he said. ‘I don’t have a bride. There is no one I’m intending to marry.’
She turned round, surprised by the look of tension which had tightened his features. ‘Not yet.’
‘Not yet,’