Marguerite Kaye - Forbidden in Regency Society - The Governess and the Sheikh

‘Hand her over?’ Jamil looked confused.

Halim laughed nervously. ‘Well, you will hardly require the services of the English governess when you are married, Highness. Your daughter will be in the care of your new wife, as is right and proper.’

‘Eventually, perhaps, when I am actually married.’

‘But with the betrothal papers signed, there will be no reason to delay.’

No reason, save his own reluctance. ‘I’ve only met Princess Adira once, remember.’

Halim beamed. ‘And the next time you meet her will be on your wedding night, as is the tradition.’

Jamil thumped his fist down on the desk. ‘No!’ He pushed his chair back and got to his feet. ‘It is time both you and the Council recognised this is the nineteenth century, not the thirteenth. I won’t have my wife brought to me painted and veiled like some offering. I am not a prize stud camel, I don’t perform to order. And she—Princess Adira—she’s barely exchanged two words with me.’

‘You are hardly marrying her for her conversational skills,’ Halim said with a smirk, ‘she will be first wife, not first minister.’

‘First and only wife. Therefore it is, even you will admit, preferable that at the very least we do not hold one another in dislike.’

‘Indeed, but the Princess Adira—’

‘I am sure she has many excellent qualities, but that’s not what I’m talking about.’

‘What are you talking about, Prince Jamil?’

A beautiful face, a pair of turquoise eyes, a coral mouth curved into a welcoming smile.

‘Master?’

Someone to depend upon. Someone who would share and not just take. Cassie! The beautiful creature who had created a sanctuary in Linah’s apartments where he could be free from the cares of the world. Who saw him not as Prince Jamil, ruler of Daar-el-Abbah, nor as a provider, nor as a peace maker, neither as an enemy nor an ally. Who called him Jamil in that soft husky voice of hers with the quaint English accent. Who saw him as a man, not a prince. Who talked to him as a friend. Whose delicious body and delightful scent and coral-pink mouth haunted his dreams.

It would be pleasant there in the courtyard as dusk began to fall. An oasis of calm and peace, of seclusion from the world, even if it was just an illusion. He would go to her once he had, yet again, done his duty by signing away the little he had left of himself. He would go to her, and she would soothe him just by talking about the mundane details of her day. He would let her voice wash over him, and he would forget about everything else for a few precious moments.

The thought was enough of an incentive to force him into action. ‘Very well, let’s get this over with.’ Jamil grabbed the ceremonial gold-and-emerald cloak that lay waiting on the divan under the window and fastened it around his neck with the ornate emerald pin. The sabre next, then the ring and the head dress and the golden band. He straightened his shoulders and tugged at the heavy belt holding the sabre in place. Then he nodded at Halim, who flung open the door to the prince’s private apartments, and clicked his fingers to summon the honorary guard.

Six men, dressed in pristine white, formed up in the corridor behind their ruler. Halim himself picked up the trailing edge of Prince Jamil’s cloak, and the party set off for the throne room at a swift pace.

The double doors of the magnificent room were already open in readiness. Two rows of Royal Guards formed a pathway to the dais, their scimitars raised, points touching. Rays from the sinking sun slanted through the high windows and glinted on the polished steel. The waiting Council of Elders made obeisance as Jamil strode by, remaining on their knees, heads bowed, eyes averted, until he ascended the steps to the throne and bowed solemnly in greeting. The contract lay before him on a low table along with a selection of quills and a bottle of ink. Jamil picked up a pen, dipped it in the ink and signed his name, waiting impatiently for Halim to heat the wax before imprinting the seal from his ring.

It was done. His duty was done. He would not think of it now. He would not allow himself to dwell on the consequences. Jamil scattered sand over the wet ink and pushed the document aside. He got to his feet so quickly that he was already halfway back down the length of the throne room before Halim and the Council realised he was going.

‘Highness, the celebrations,’ Halim shouted after him.

‘I am sure you will enjoy them all the more for my absence,’ Jamil called over his shoulder. In other circumstances, the startled look on Halim’s face would have amused him. Right now, he could not have cared less. Without bothering to change out of his formal robes, Jamil took the now very familiar route to the schoolroom.

As he had expected, he found Cassie sitting alone by the sun fountain. They ate early here in the schoolroom apartments and the remnants of dinner had already been cleared. Linah would be asleep upstairs, he knew, so familiar was he now with his daughter’s routine. With her governess’s routine.

She was sitting on the cushions with her book. Her feet were tucked out of sight, but he knew they would be bare. She relished the coolness of the tiles on her toes. He liked to see them peeping out from under the hems of her English dresses. He had not thought feet could be so sensual.

Engrossed in a volume of Mr Wordsworth’s poems, Cassie had not noticed the courtyard door opening and did not look up until he was almost by her side. ‘Jamil,’ she said, closing the book and rising gracefully from the cushions, shaking out the folds of her gown. ‘I wasn’t expecting you. Linah is in bed.’

‘I know.’

He looked different. Not angry but—different. His eyes were stormy. A flush stained his cheek bones. He was looking at her strangely. ‘Have you eaten?’ she asked. ‘I could ring for some food, if you like.’

‘I’m not hungry.’

She hovered uncertainly on the edge of the cushions. During the day it was just about possible for her to disguise the pleasure she took in his presence, the attraction to him that she continued to deny, but in the evening, alone with him like this, it was much more difficult. Try as she might, she could not see him as a prince, only as a man. An incredibly attractive man, who, at the moment, looked as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders. ‘You’re wearing your official cloak,’ she said. ‘Have you come from the Council?’

‘Yes.’ Jamil tugged at the emerald pin that held the heavy garment in place. He’d forgotten all about it, another heirloom passed on from his father, who had received it from his. It fell with a soft whoosh on to the tiled floor of the courtyard. The priceless emerald pin he dropped with a careless clatter on top of it.

‘It will crease if you leave it there,’ Cassie said, stooping to retrieve it. ‘Let me—’

‘Leave it.’

Startled by the harshness of his tone, which she had recently so rarely heard, Cassie did as he bid her. ‘Is there something wrong?’

Jamil shrugged. ‘Nothing more than usual.’

‘Do you want to talk about it?’

‘No.’

She could not read his mood. He had his Corsair face, impenetrable and remote. ‘I was thinking—wondering—if you had considered what I was saying about Linah. About her having some friends of her own age, I mean. I think she’s ready for it now, she hasn’t had a tantrum in ages, and it will do her good to have someone other than you and me to talk to.’