to see? Faisal would not like that, Miss Gordon.’
She knew that it was true. There was a certain inflection in the younger man’s voice whenever he mentioned his uncle that hinted at the beginnings of a jealousy which could easily be fanned from a small spark to a blazing conflagration.
‘And I don’t like being stared at as though I were on sale in the market-place!’ Felicia replied tartly, tearing her gaze away from the hypnotic effect of his cool stare.
‘You surprise me. In one respect at least I cannot fault Faisal’s judgment. You are an extremely beautiful woman, but it takes more than a desirable body and a pretty face to make a good wife.’
‘Although they are admirable traits in a mistress? Is that what you mean?’
Raschid’s eyebrows rose quellingly, adding to his formidable air of hauteur.
‘I did not say so,’ he replied positively. ‘Was that your intention when you agreed to come out here? To sell yourself to the highest bidder, knowing that a wealthy Arab would pay well for that lissom white body you conceal so inadequately?’
She would have struck him there and then in the middle of the crowded thoroughfare if he had not transferred his grip from her arm to her wrist, pain stabbing through her tender flesh like a shock from red-hot wires at the ferocity of the fingers clamped round her frail bones.
‘Why do you ask?’ she cried bitterly. ‘Are you thinking of putting in an offer yourself?’
She knew instantly that she had gone too far. His mouth tightened ominously, his eyes condemning as they swept her with thinly veiled contempt.
‘No way,’ he said cruelly, shaking his head. ‘I don’t buy soiled merchandise, Miss Gordon, desirable though it may be superficially. A chipped jade figurine, a flawed carpet, a second-hand woman, they are all worthless!’
His words left her gasping with mingled shock and rage. She tried to pull herself free and suffered the added indignity of being jerked against the hard length of his body, shock driving the breath out of her lungs as she bunched her muscles against the impact. The contact lasted only a second, but as she pulled away and stalked across the pavement to the car, where Zahra was staring curiously from the window, she felt as though the imprint of Raschid’s flesh was burned against her own, and she, who had been held far closer to Faisal, wondered why she should have found that momentary contact with Raschid so intensely disturbing. Long strides brought the object of her tumultuous thoughts alongside her, lean fingers descending over hers, clinical eyes studying the way she flinched away as he grasped the car door, holding it open for her.
The entire episode could have lasted no longer than the space of a few minutes, but Felicia felt for some reason as though it were one that she would never forget. Tense and defensive, she tried to calm her jangled nerves as Raschid closed the door and walked round to the front passenger seat.
Just for a second she had glimpsed the emotions Raschid concealed behind his cool façade, and what she had seen had frightened her. He was as different from Faisal as chalk from cheese, she reflected shakily. He had none of Faisal’s gentle compassion; none of his boyish charm, so why should he linger in her thoughts when she badly needed to cling to the memory of Faisal’s love?
CHAPTER FOUR
THERE was no opportunity for conversation on the return journey to the villa, although once or twice Felicia caught Zahra’s sympathetic eyes on her in a way that made a mockery of her own hopes that the latter had not noticed her uncle’s anger.
When the car stopped in the outer courtyard, she whispered gently to Felicia,
‘Don’t be too upset, I always hate it when Raschid is annoyed with me. That dreadful cold anger of his is far worse than if he actually lost his temper.’
Felicia was feeling far too ruffled to be soothed by the placatory words and only exclaimed shortly,
‘Your uncle may take it upon himself to order your life, Zahra, but he will never order mine. If I want to walk the streets of Kuwait alone, then I shall do so!’
With that she stalked into the house, head held high, Zahra following hurriedly behind.
‘He has made you very angry, hasn’t he?’ she sympathised.
‘Angry?’ Felicia almost choked in her indignation. ‘He practically humiliated me! Treating me like…’ She broke off. There was no point in trying to make Zahra understand her feelings. ‘Oh, what’s the use?’ she said wearily. ‘I’m only glad that once we’re married, Faisal and I can go our own way. I would hate to live here under your uncle’s roof!’
She sounded so bitter that Zahra frowned unhappily, touching her arm.
‘Perhaps it is that Raschid does not understand, Felicia. If I were to tell him that you were upset…. Faisal would not have approved either, you know,’ she added gently. ‘I shall speak with Raschid…!’
‘No! No, Zahra, don’t do that.’ In her mind Felicia was thinking how badly she was failing in the mission Faisal had set her, but Zahra misinterpreted her words, and her face broke into a relieved smile.
‘You are beginning to forgive Raschid already,’ she breathed. ‘I know he didn’t mean to upset you, Felicia. He forgets sometimes how formidable he is!’
Like a falcon forgets its prey, Felicia thought bitterly. Zahra saw her relative through rose-tinted glasses. Forgive him indeed! That was something she would never do! When she remembered what he had said about her, and the look in his eyes….
HER MOTHER normally rested during the afternoon, Zahra explained to Felicia as they went inside. It was a practice she herself would probably want to adopt as the days grew hotter, she added, and because of this it was the custom that the family did not gather for their meal until early evening.
After she had showered and slipped into a refreshingly cool dress, Felicia inspected her reflection in the mirror. Was her appearance ‘chaste’ enough to pass Raschid’s rigid specifications? she asked herself wryly. Her dress had a gently rounded neckline and small puffed sleeves, the neck and hem piped in crisp white scalloping in contrast to the lemon-gold cotton. She had washed her hair and it curled attractively on to her shoulders, more red than gold in the fading light. A thin gold necklace drew attention to the slender column of her throat, a matching bracelet round one delicate wrist, high-heeled, strappy sandals completing her outfit.
For dinner they were served with roast lamb, deliciously flavoured with herbs, pastries stuffed with exotic vegetables, and spicy rice dishes, and Felicia groaned a little to think of the effect of all this rich food on her figure.
When the first course had been cleared away, the maids reappeared with an immense tray of fresh fruit, and more of the frighteningly fattening almond and marzipan tartlets they had had the night before.
Felicia accepted a slice of melon and some fresh, sweet dates, noting that Raschid had the same, although his sister and Zahra tucked into the almond tarts with a cheerful disregard for the consequences.
After the meal a manservant came in with coffee cups and an elegant silver coffee pot, pouring the thick, steaming liquid into the fragile cups and handing them round.
Felicia had brought her gifts downstairs and hidden them under her chair. She had intended to distribute them after the meal when, she hoped, Raschid would retire to his own quarters, but to her annoyance he seemed determined to linger, leaning back in his chair, with a tigerish grace she had never seen in a European, his hair blue-black under the light of the chandelier. She wondered if he had ever sat cross-legged in the tents of his tribe, eating from the communal dish and drinking from the communal cup as Arabian hospitality demanded. In his expensive hand-made silk suit he looked every inch the sophisticated businessman, but she sensed that under the suave façade lurked a man as elemental as the desert which was his natural home.
While Umm Faisal and Zahra chatted, Felicia’s eyes strayed again and again to the shuttered face