have a young bride eager to experience marriage and motherhood than a wife that dreads matrimony.’’
‘‘Yet there are three Ducasse princesses. You haven’t mentioned Nicolette.’’
He waved a hand, brushing aside the suggestion. ‘‘She was never an option.’’
‘‘Why not?’’
Another impatient gesture. ‘‘She’s not suitable—’’
‘‘Why not?’’
He gave her a sharp look. ‘‘If this is upsetting you, we ought not continue the discussion.’’
‘‘It is upsetting me, and we should continue the conversation because I want to understand. Nicolette’s much beloved by her people—’’
‘‘Yes, but to be Queen Nuri, queen of Baraka, one must be more than great, one must be above reproach.’’
Apparently Chantal hadn’t been exaggerating when she’d said that Nic’s reputation was destroying her chances of a good marriage. ‘‘Yet you’ve never even met her. How can you be so critical?’’
He didn’t look the least bit apologetic. ‘‘It’s common knowledge that she prefers playboys and libertines.’’
Playboys? ‘‘Libertines?’’
‘‘She’s not a virgin.’’
Nic flushed hotly. ‘‘Neither am I.’’
‘‘But you were when you married.’’
Nic squeezed the gloves into a ball in her hand. And Joelle was still innocent. Damn him. What was wrong with a woman experimenting a little? Figuring out what she wanted…needed? Why could a man do what he wanted but a woman had to worry about reputation? ‘‘You’re not a virgin.’’
His lips curved but he wasn’t smiling. ‘‘It’s a man’s duty to know how to pleasure his wife.’’
‘‘And a woman has no need to know how to pleasure a man?’’
‘‘Her husband will teach her.’’
‘‘That’s absurd!’’
‘‘Why?’’
She thought of poor Chantal, married off as a twenty-two year old virgin to a man who didn’t give a fig for her happiness, or comfort, and who most certainly didn’t bother to educate her in the art of love. Nic was certain that Chantal had never had an orgasm in her life—and if she’d had—it was probably alone. ‘‘My late husband taught me nothing.’’
‘‘Then he failed in his duty.’’
‘‘Just as I am quite certain that many men then ‘fail in their duty.’ Most men still have no concept where the clitoris is let alone how to touch it!’’
His stunned silence said more than words ever could. Nic realized she’d said far, far too much and she gripped her gloves so tightly she felt frozen in place.
Why was she so intent on changing his opinion about ‘‘Nicolette’’? What did it matter if he disapproved of her? Let him think what he wanted to think. It was foolish and irresponsible to let her ego get the better of her. She had to protect Chantal. She had to play Chantal until she’d gotten word that Lilly was safe.
‘‘I said too much,’’ she said, swallowing hard, realizing she was swallowing her pride.
But he said nothing.
She’d have to apologize again. ‘‘I was wrong, Malik. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have been so…detailed.’’
‘‘I didn’t realize you’d had so much experience.’’
‘‘I’m a woman. I have friends. Sisters—’’
‘‘Nicolette.’’
He’d said her name so disapprovingly that it made her stomach free fall. ‘‘You really don’t like her.’’
‘‘I don’t know her.’’
Nic nodded painfully, her face still scalding hot, more from anger than shame.
After he’d left, Nic let herself into her suite of rooms, and with her insides still churning with resentment, she changed into her pajamas, and then wandered outside. Trying to calm herself, she walked the length of her private courtyard with the deep still pool and the fountain with the beautiful marble statue.
It was late out, but the night was still hot, and the sultry night air hung on her, making her want to turn around and retreat to the cool dark suite. But she couldn’t go inside. She felt even more trapped inside. Scared, too.
Malik occupied her thoughts lately—endlessly. She wanted to pretend it was mere curiosity, cultural fascination, even sexual infatuation, but deep down she knew her interest was so much more than that.
He was an ideal ruler for a country like Baraka where the culture dated back thousands of years and people had been forced to reinvent themselves following earthquakes, fires, tragedies.
And God knows she didn’t want to shame him, not in front of his people. Not in front of the world. And certainly not in private, either.
How on earth was she going to extricate herself from this? It would be one thing if he liked Princess Nicolette. It would ease some of her guilt and misery. But he didn’t like Nicolette. He’d been most clear from the beginning that he would not, could not make Nicolette Ducasse his queen.
So maybe there lay the solution to her problem.
If she didn’t want to embarrass him by breaking the engagement, she’d force him into taking action. She’d continue the masquerade as long as necessary, and then, once Lilly was safe, Nic would she reveal the shocking truth—that she was really that blonde, shallow, wanton princess he so despised.
He’d never marry her then.
Nic crossed her arms over her chest and tipped her head back to take in the dark purplish sky and bit her lip to keep from crying.
She couldn’t cry. For heaven’s sake! She wasn’t here to find true love. She was here to get a job done.
It’s a job, she reminded herself, crawling into bed. She was helping those who needed her most.
Early the next morning Fatima was admitted to Malik’s office and seeing him still on the phone, she took a seat on a low chair in the corner and waited patiently for him to finish his conversation.
When he finally hung up, he looked up at her. He was wearing a pair of dark framed reading glasses. ‘‘Do you know why I wanted to see you?’’
Fatima’s tranquil expression betrayed nothing. ‘‘You will tell me, I am sure.’’
He studied his cousin a long moment. Fatima had taken an almost immediate dislike to Nicolette and he still hadn’t figured out if it was jealousy, insecurity or something deeper. ‘‘I’ve felt your hostility to our guest.’’
Fatima didn’t even blink. ‘‘She’s not going to marry you, cousin.’’
‘‘Not if you continue to intimidate her.’’
Fatima lifted her right hand, a gentle dismissal. ‘‘I am being truthful with her, and with you. I do not trust her, Malik. She’s playing you.’’
One of his black eyebrows arched slightly. He barely glanced her way. ‘‘That’s an awfully Western expression coming from you.’’
‘‘I’ve been to the West, I’ve lived in the West, I understand Western culture as well as you do.’’ Fatima shook her head soberly. ‘‘Malik. Listen to me.’’ She stared at him pointedly, one of those dagger sharp stares that is next to impossible to ignore.