Royal and Ruthless: Innocent Mistress, Royal Wife / Prince of Scandal / Weight of the Crown

CHAPTER THREE

COOL, firm fingers gripped Lexie’s elbow. Rafiq said, ‘Shall I ring for a wheelchair?’

‘Of course not,’ she spluttered, and started walking.

But once out beneath Moraze’s brilliant sun she was glad to sink into the air-conditioned comfort of the waiting vehicle.

He took the wheel, which surprised her; she’d have presumed the ruler of a place with several million inhabitants would have a limousine with a chauffeur. Instead he drove a late-model car, sleek, and with all the accoutrements of luxury.

Hanging on to the remnants of her composure, she said steadily, ‘This is very kind of you.’

‘It is the least I can do,’ he said, adding with a smile that barely tucked in the corners of his sculpted mouth, ‘We value our tourists. It is a pity your trip to the jungle was cut short. When you are fully recovered I will take you there.’

Lexie stared straight ahead, refusing to allow herself to feel any excitement at the prospect. They were passing beneath an avenue of tall palms, and the shadows of their long, slender trunks flashing across her eyes set up such an unpleasant rhythm that she turned her head away.

Unfortunately this gave her an extremely good view of Rafiq de Couteveille’s profile in all its autocratic purity. Whatever interesting meld of races and cultures had given him that face, it was disturbingly beautiful in a very masculine way—a compelling amalgam of angles and curves and hard-honed lines that spoke of formidable power.

And perhaps just a hint of cruelty? She would not, she thought with an inner shiver, closing her eyes, want to make an enemy of him.

His voice broke into her thoughts. ‘Here, take these.’

Eyes flying open, she realised he was holding out his sunglasses. ‘I can’t—you’ll need them,’ she said, unwilling to wear something so intimately connected to him.

He shrugged. ‘You are not accustomed to this sun. I am.’

And very much accustomed to getting your own way, she thought dryly.

But then rulers were notorious for that. Reluctantly she accepted the spectacles and perched them on the end of her nose.

They made an immense difference. She said quietly, ‘Thank you. I’m not usually so wimpish.’

‘You are too harsh on yourself. There is a difference between being fragile and being a wimp, and an accident always leaves one shaken. Why don’t you put your head back and rest quietly?’

It was couched as a question, but clearly he expected her to obey. And because it was simpler she did, waiting for the hum of the engine to calm her.

Only to find the impact of the man next to her negated any soothing effect. Rafiq de Couteveille got to her in a way no other man ever had, his presence alerting unsuspected sensory receptors in her mind and body, so that everything seemed suddenly more vivid, more exhilarating, more more, she thought with a surge of apprehension.

She didn’t need this. Because she’d spent so much of her time studying, she’d missed out on the social aspect of university life. But she’d watched with considerable bewilderment when heartbroken friends suffered agonies over young men she’d considered shallow and inconsiderate.

Eventually she’d decided there had to be something missing in her. Possibly growing up without a father had somehow stunted her response to men.

In a way, that was why she’d let herself be beguiled by Felipe. It had been such a relief to discover that she could enjoy flirting with a man!

But this—this was entirely different—a driving, uncontrollable reaction that was dangerous and altogether too tantalising.

If this was how lust started, she thought wryly, she could at last understand why it was so difficult to resist. She catalogued her symptoms: racing heartbeat, a kind of softening of the muscles, a fluttering in her stomach that hovered between apprehension and excitement, a keen attentiveness and heightened physical responses.

And an involuntary reaction to the memory of his mouth on hers that still embarrassed and shocked her.

Yes, it sounded like the first stages of attraction, all right. And of course it was doomed, because Rafiq de Couteveille was a kind of king, even though he didn’t have any title.

No, not a king—a sheikh, she decided, watching him through her lashes. His profile was strongly marked and arrogant, and when he walked she could almost hear the swish of robes about that lean, powerfully muscled body. In spite of the superb tailoring of his clothes and his luxurious car, there was something untamed about him, as though he lived by a more elemental code.

Beneath the sophisticated exterior he was a warrior, and she sensed a warrior’s uncompromising determination. Clearly he was of French descent, but Rafiq was an Arabic name, and she’d bet that Moraze’s ruler had familial links to both cultures.

‘Are you feeling all right?’

Lexie’s eyes flew open. ‘Yes, fine, thank you,’ she said a little disjointedly.

Rafiq snatched a sideways glance at his passenger, then fixed his gaze on the road ahead. Her exquisite skin was still pale, and her ribs would probably be painful beneath the seatbelt. ‘It’s not very far now.’

Smoky eyes hidden by his sunglasses, she leaned forward, a frown showing in her tone. ‘I don’t remember this part of the road.’

Rafiq shrugged. ‘Possibly because you have not seen it before. When the doctor and I discussed your condition, we agreed it would be better for you to spend the next few days in a place with more peace than the hotel could provide. So you will be staying with me.’

And he waited with interest and a certain amount of anticipation for her response.

Her head swung around. She snapped off the sunglasses to glare at him, eyes gleaming the blue of a Spanish sword blade, her lush mouth compressed in outrage. ‘Why wasn’t I included in this discussion?’ she demanded tautly.

‘It wasn’t necessary,’ Rafiq replied, intrigued in spite of himself.

She could be a consummate actress. And she could be truly in love with Gastano. In which case, she’d thank him one day for this abduction.

After scrutinising him as though she couldn’t believe what she’d heard, her delectable mouth opened, then closed again, to bite back what were clearly intemperate words.

Fully aware of her seething resentment, Rafiq kept his eyes on the road ahead and waited.

In the end she said through gritted teeth, ‘There is no need to treat me like a halfwit just because I’ve been in a minor—a very minor—accident.’

‘I’m sure your family would agree with me that you need a few days’ respite after a nasty experience,’ he said blandly. ‘Should I contact them to check?’

‘No!’

‘Why not?’

After a second’s hesitation, she said reluctantly, ‘My sister is six months’ pregnant. She’d insist on flying out here, and the trip would exhaust her. I’m sure you and the doctor are only thinking of my wellbeing, but I’m perfectly capable of looking after myself. You don’t have to feel any sort of responsibility for me.’

‘Possibly not, but the hotel management said they were not equipped to deal with someone convalescing, and it was agreed that this was the best solution.’ He allowed that to sink in, ignoring her mutinous expression to finish, ‘You will spend several days at my home—which is big enough to give you all the privacy you desire—and once the doctor has given you the all-clear you can go back to the hotel.’

After considering this she said briefly, ‘In that case, I should let Count Gastano know where I’ll be.’

Rafiq controlled the curl of his lip, despising himself for wanting to believe she was just a naive New Zealand girl entangled by the count’s deceptive charm. His brows drew together. This wildfire, highly inconvenient attraction couldn’t—wouldn’t—be allowed to distract him from his reason for keeping her tucked safely away where she couldn’t contact the self-titled count.

‘Gastano has already been told about your accident.’ Rafiq let that sink in, then said, ‘I believe he has business here that will keep him occupied for some days. Then you can join him again.’

Steadily she said, ‘It doesn’t sound as though I have any choice in the matter.’

‘I’m sorry if my decision conflicts with your independence.’

‘Well, it does.’ Her voice was crisp and cool. ‘However, I’ve never thought banging my head against a wall was a sensible way of working through a situation. Thank you for the hospitality. I’m sure you won’t mind if I avail myself of it for as short a time as possible.’

Lexie hoped the final snide comment might pierce his armour-plated inflexibility, but when he gave her a smile that almost banished her justifiable resentment she realised he was still fully in control.

And that smile was an epiphany—filled with charm and sexual magnetism, it was the sort of smile that led to broken hearts and despair.

Grimly, Lexie concentrated on the scenery until her body stopped singing.

Fortunately the scenery was worth looking at, with everything that was exotic about the tropics—brilliant sky, deep aquamarine lagoon, vivid flowers and the intense green of the countryside, coconut palms bending gracefully over white sand, and mountains purple with heat haze…

Determined not to be impressed, she decided it was just like a picture in a travel magazine.

Besides, if it came to a competition, New Zealand had some of the best beaches in the world. And pretty good mountains too, jutting into as blue a sky, and displaying every bit as much boldness and drama as these peaks did.

The man beside her said, ‘I have never been to New Zealand, but I believe it’s very beautiful.’

Was he a mind reader? ‘It is,’ she said woodenly, and let the conversation lie there, dead on the floor.

His smile was wry. ‘So what particular part of the country do you come from?’

‘I grew up in Northland.’

‘It’s a long way from there to Moraze.’

Dampening down her impulse to use the manners her mother had drilled into her, she confined her answer to a few noncommittal words. ‘Indeed it is.’

If he had the nerve to mention that kiss, she’d—she’d tell him straight it was a one-off, an indiscretion she had no intention of repeating.

He didn’t. Instead he asked, ‘Do you specialise in a certain sort of animal in your veterinary practice?’

‘Domestic animals,’ she said, adding reluctantly, ‘But it’s a country practice, so I also deal with a lot of farm animals.’

‘Horses?’

‘Sometimes,’ she admitted.

How did he know she was a vet?

She tried to remember where her profession was given in her passport, then recalled writing it in the arrival form she’d filled in as they came towards Moraze.

So he’d checked her travel documents—or more likely had ordered someone else to check them.

All right; security was a concern to those who were rich and famous enough to attract obsessive or downright dangerous people. Nevertheless, the thought of anyone poking around in her life gave Lexie an uneasy feeling.

Keeping her gaze defiantly on the view outside, she was about to observe tartly that as he knew all about her there was no need for further conversation, when she realised she couldn’t be rude to a man who’d gone out of his way to be kind to her after the accident. Also, he was going to be her host for a few days.

She searched for something innocuous to say and finally came up with a subject. ‘I went diving the day I arrived. The reef fishes are absolutely gorgeous—like living jewels.’

‘You are interested in jewels?’ he commented dispassionately.

Perhaps that was the way everyone referred to the fish here and he found it trite. Well, she didn’t care.

Of course, Moraze was famous for the rare and exquisite—and extremely valuable—fire-diamonds found in gravel beds washed down from the mountains. Perhaps he thought she was hinting; no, how could he?

‘Most people are. Off Northland’s east coast we have a very interesting mix of sea life. A warm current sweeps south from the tropics, and we get a mixture of tropical and temperate fauna.’

OK, so she sounded like something out of a textbook, and was probably boring him to bits. It served him right. If he’d taken her to the hotel, instead of conspiring with the doctor behind her back, he’d have been rid of her by now.

‘It sounds most intriguing,’ he said smoothly, returning the waves of a small group of children walking down the road.

A few metres further on he turned into a drive and the big car passed between gates that had slid back silently at the press of an unknown button. Lexie looked around for a sentry box, but clearly security nowadays was much more technical and far less conspicuous. Ahead, the drive began to climb steeply through a tangle of greenery.

‘We’re almost there,’ Rafiq told her.

He lived in a castle. Perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the lagoon, it frowned down over a scene as beautiful as it was deserted.

Lexie drew a sharp breath. ‘I don’t know much about the architecture of castles, but that looks like something out of the Middle East.’

‘It’s a mixture of Oriental and European styles.’

The car eased to a halt outside a huge set of what appeared to be bronze doors, sculpted and ornate, with a grid of iron spikes poised above to grind down in case of an attack. Rafiq switched off the engine.

In the silence the sound of the waves on the reef echoed in Lexie’s ears. A manservant came swiftly out through a side door and went to the boot of the car, and one of the big bronze doors swung slowly open.

Rafiq looked at her, heavy-lidded eyes narrowing as he scanned her face. ‘Moraze was known to Arab sailors, but because it wasn’t on their trade routes and had nothing they wanted they rarely came this way. The first settlers were led by a distant ancestor of mine, a French nobleman who had the temerity to conduct an affair with his monarch’s much-prized mistress. Nowhere in Europe was safe, so he travelled farther afield, and eventually found refuge here with a somewhat motley crew of adventurers and sailors and their women.’

Fascinated, Lexie said, ‘I wouldn’t have thought the King of France’s mandate stretched this far.’

He smiled, and the skin at the back of her neck tightened, lifting the tiny hairs there. For a second she thought she saw his ancestor, proud and gallant and tough as he shepherded that motley crew to Moraze.

Rafiq told her, ‘By then it wasn’t the French king he was concerned about. On his travels my forebear stole an Arabian sheikh’s most precious jewel—his daughter—and as she was more than happy to be stolen they needed a refuge they could defend.’

‘When did all this happen?’

‘Several hundred years ago.’

Fascinated, she asked, ‘What happened to the French king’s mistress?’

He looked surprised. ‘I believe she was married off to some elderly duke. Why?’

‘I just wondered,’ she said. ‘I hope she liked that elderly duke.’

‘I don’t think anyone ever enquired,’ he told her dryly.

As though bored by the discussion, he got out and came around to open her door. With the same automatic courtesy he took her arm as they went up the steps and through the door into a vast, tiled hall. She’d expected grim stone inside, but the far end of the hall was high glass doors that opened out onto a terrace bordered by shrubs and trees.

‘Oh, how lovely!’ Lexie stopped without thinking.

Rafiq said smoothly, ‘I’m glad you like it. Let me show you up to your room.’

The staircase was wide and shallow, but by the time she reached the top her ribs were letting Lexie know they’d had a difficult time recently, and the tide of anticipation had receded, leaving her flat and exhausted. Exasperated by her weakness, she had to force her legs to take the final few steps.

He left her with a maid at the door. ‘Your clothes have been brought here from the hotel. Cari will show you where everything is,’ he said, and that hard green gaze rested for several charged seconds on her face. ‘You look a little pale; I suggest a rest, perhaps even a nap, then some refreshments when you are ready for them.’

Her room turned out to be more like a suite—something from an Arabian Nights tale of love lost and won, she thought, gazing at the huge bed covered in sleek silk, its sensuously curved headboard picked out in gilding. Translucent curtains softened the light from the sea, and the silk Chinese rug was in restful shades of blue, green and cream that echoed the colours of the ocean without competing with them.

And everywhere—in the window recesses, on the exquisitely carved desk, in a massive urn on the floor—were flowers, mainly white and cream, their scent sweet and seductive on the warm air.

Lexie felt totally out of place in her white jeans and simple tee-shirt. This room looked as though it had been built for a languorous concubine in flowing, transparent robes, a woman with only one aim in life—to please her lord.

That thought tightened something deep inside her. Hot cheeked, she thought with defiance that the room—and the maid—would just have to get used to her downmarket wardrobe. Apart from her flame-coloured silk and a couple of simple dinner dresses, she’d brought only holiday clothes to Moraze.

The maid spoke English reasonably well, and after showing Lexie the dressing room, took her into a splendid marble fantasy of a bathroom dominated by a huge, freestanding bath.

‘Heavens! It’s almost a swimming pool!’ Lexie exclaimed.

Cari laughed, and gestured at a pierced marble screen, almost hidden by pots of lush greenery. ‘Behind there is the shower—very modern,’ she said eagerly. ‘Perhaps you would like one now before your rest?’

‘I would very much, thank you.’

Sighing happily, Lexie stepped into the shower and washed herself, carefully skimming the sore spots. Since her sister had married into the Illyrian aristocracy Lexie had become accustomed to luxury. But Rafiq’s castle, she thought as the water swept away her aches, was something else again, its exotic beauty out of this world.

Just like Moraze.

Rafiq’s story about his ancestors had added to the island’s unusual charm. With herds of elegant wild horses and rare, exquisite fire-diamonds, transcendent beauty and isolation, Moraze was a fairy-tale place, a spellbound island that might disappear overnight into an enchanted mist…

Scoffing at her unusual flight of fancy, Lexie turned off the water and wrapped herself in one of the embroidered towels the maid had placed for her.

A rest would put paid to these feverish fantasies, she thought stoutly, wincing as she rubbed herself down. She inspected her bruises, then shrugged. Because of the seatbelt she’d got off lightly, and she was a fast healer, so the marks would soon be gone.

Yet it wasn’t just her ribs that had had a workout; her heart felt ominously fragile, as though it was under attack.

When she arrived back in the bedroom the maid had drawn back the covers on the bed; smiling, she pointed out a waiting jug of water and a glass. Lexie waited until she’d left the room before climbing gratefully into that enormous, decadent bed.

She slept deeply, without dreams, for almost an hour. Rubbing her eyes, she swung her feet onto the floor and realised she felt hugely better.

‘Almost normal,’ she said with satisfaction, examining her clothes. Carefully hung in the dressing room, they looked rather pathetic. As well as the orange silk dress, Jacoba had insisted on buying her several resort-style outfits, but what on earth did a reluctant guest in a castle wear?

And should she substitute a complete make-up for her usual lip-gloss?

No; she didn’t want to look as though she was trying to attract…well, anyone.

Defiantly ignoring a quickening of her pulse, she chose one of Jacoba’s purchases. The relaxed cotton trousers sat lightly on her hips to emphasise her long legs, and the silk shirt’s subdued pattern repeated the soft camel colour of the trousers. The cosmetics she left at a tinted moisturiser and some lip-gloss.

Before she rang the bell for the maid she walked across to a window and looked out. Sheer stone walls fell away from the windows that opened onto an infinity of sea and sky, framed by the panelled white shutters.

The maid escorted her downstairs again and out onto the long terrace, where Rafiq de Couteveille sat in the shade of a spreading tree that carpeted the flagstones with brilliant purple petals. The sultry scent of gardenias hung heavy and erotic in the lazy air. Lexie’s betraying heartbeat kicked up another gear when her host lifted his impressive height from a chair and inspected her with one of his intent, penetrating surveys. Prickles of awareness shot down her spine.

‘Yes, that’s better,’ he said, and indicated the chair beside him. ‘Are your ribs painful?’

‘Only when I twist,’ she told him, her voice as prosaic as she could make it. She avoided that piercing scrutiny by lowering herself into the chair. ‘How is the driver?’

The sooner she got better, the faster she’d get away from this man. He attracted her in ways that scared her.

Like Jacoba, her half-sister, Rafiq possessed more than superficial good looks. Jacoba’s character illuminated her stunning face, and Rafiq’s formidable authority endowed his aquiline features with strength as well as charisma. It was a potent combination that made Lexie feel very vulnerable.

Rafiq told her, ‘She is at home with her family, recovering fast. She sent her apologies, and her thanks for the flowers you ordered for her.’

‘I’d have liked to see her, but they wouldn’t let me.’

He frowned. ‘The doctor told me you had to rest as much as possible.’

‘I will.’ Carefully steering her thoughts away from the personal, she straightened her shoulders and laboured on with brittle composure. ‘This must be a very old building. Is it where your ancestors originally settled?’

‘No, they built the much grimmer fortress that now overlooks the capital city. This began as a watchtower, one of a chain along the coasts that were always kept manned.’

‘That Arabian princess’s father must have had a long arm,’ she said flippantly.

He shrugged. ‘Moraze has always needed good defences.’

‘I didn’t realise there had been pirates on the Indian Ocean,’ she admitted. ‘I really don’t know much about its history.’

‘Why should you? If you are interested I have books I can lend you, but like most histories it is long and bloody and dominated by force. Through good luck and considerable cunning, my ancestors kept the island safe until eventually the corsairs—and other threats—were either assimilated or crushed.’ He looked up as a maid appeared with a tray. ‘I noticed that you drank tea at the hospital, so I ordered that, but say so if you’d prefer coffee or a cold drink.’

He noticed too much.

And oddly, that last meeting with Felipe popped into Lexie’s brain. How much had Rafiq seen or heard?

She should have realised that the count’s practised charm hid your average, garden-variety wolf, she thought ironically. Then she wouldn’t be feeling quite so foolish.

Oh well. She’d learned something her friends at university could have told her years ago: some men weren’t to be trusted.

‘Tea will be lovely, thank you,’ she said sedately.

What followed was all on the surface, the conversation of two people who knew little of each other, yet Lexie sensed undercurrents. Partly it was a feeling of something held back, of being swept into events over which she had no control.