The evening was pure torture-made worse when she accidentally knocked over her wine glass and watched in horror as the red stain spread over the pristine damask tablecloth. She didn't belong here in this world of gilded opulence, and she was miserably aware that she was attracting curious stares from the other guests while the servants fussed around her and mopped up the mess. Then a glance along the table revealed that she was using the wrong fork, and she flushed and quickly exchanged it for the right one, conscious that she was being scrutinised by one guest in particular.
The woman was sitting a few places down the table, between Zahir and an older man wearing Arab robes. She was stunningly lovely, with rich, mahogany-coloured hair swept back from her face and slanting dark eyes that at this moment were focused on Erin with an expression of utter loathing. Shaken, Erin stared back at her, but the woman turned her head and spoke animatedly to Zahir, laughing with him and shaking her head so that her ornate diamond and ruby earrings sparkled in the light from the chandeliers above.
‘Who is the woman standing with Zahir?' she asked his sister Fatima, when dinner was finally over and the guests were mingling in the Blue Room-so named because of the intricate mosaics of lapis lazuli and gold leaf that adorned the walls.
Fatima glanced across the room. ‘Oh, that's Jahmela al Nasser, and her father, Sheikh Fahad. The al Nassers are a very highly respected family in Qubbah, and the Sheikh is one of my father's most trusted and influential advisors.'
Fatima sighed and shrugged her plump shoulders. ‘Jahmela is beautiful, isn't she? And she's a gifted academic. She has just returned to Qubbah from England, where she was studying at one of the top universities. Zahir would like to offer her a position on the advisory committee,' she confided to Erin, ‘but he knows he will have to introduce the idea slowly if he is not to upset some of the older members, who still cling to the belief that women should not work alongside men in any role. My brother has great plans for Qubbah, and Jahmela will be a strong ally in his bid to persuade foreign investors to back those plans.'
‘She's obviously clever as well as beautiful,' Erin murmured, her heart sinking when she thought of the handful of pass grades she had scraped in her basic-level school exams. University had been an unrealistic dream, her main consideration having been to earn a living and support herself once she left the care system, and it was only thanks to her foster parents that she had been able to go to college and train as a nanny.
Fatima nodded. ‘Of course the al Nassers had hoped-well, expected really-that Zahir would marry Jahmela. I think the fact that he married you may have caused some friction between my father and Sheikh Fahad. But that is all resolved now, and you mustn't worry about it,' she added quickly when she saw Erin's face fall. ‘Forgive me, Erin-I hope I haven't upset you. I shouldn't have mentioned it.'
Clearly embarrassed, Fatima determinedly changed the subject to Kazim, and how fast he was growing. But although Erin smiled and made token conversation, her mind was whirling. If Jahmela's family had expected her to marry Zahir, was she the woman he had been engaged to years ago-the woman Bisma had said he had loved? But, if so, why had they not married? It didn't make sense, she brooded miserably as she stared at Zahir. He was smiling at Jahmela and clearly enjoying her company. Perhaps they had argued and broken off their engagement. Was he now regretting his lost chance to marry a beautiful, clever Arab girl who would have made him the perfect wife?
From that moment on the party became a blur of faces and stilted conversation with people she had never met before. She was sure they viewed her as an oddity, with her pale skin and vivid hair-and her glaring lack of sophistication. But until his father had recovered Zahir was King, and one of her wifely duties outside of the bedroom was to act as his social hostess.
No one could say she hadn't tried her best, she brooded wearily as the last guests were driven away and those who were spending the night at the palace were escorted to the guest wing. Jahmela al Nasser and her father were two such guests, and Erin's spirits had sunk even lower when Fatima had revealed that Zahir had invited them to stay on indefinitely, so that Sheikh Fahad could assist with state affairs.
She was not jealous of Jahmela, Erin assured herself as she preceded Zahir up the stairs, her stiletto heels tapping on the marble floor as she hurried along the corridor to his private apartments. It had been a difficult evening, and she was suddenly desperate to escape his brooding presence-but he was close behind her, and when he touched her arm she whirled around and glared at him.
‘I know I'm expected to walk several steps behind you, but no one is watching us and I really don't think it's necessary to stick to the rules of protocol when we're alone,' she snapped irritably.
His brows lifted at her tone. ‘I haven't noticed that you ever stick to them,' he murmured dryly. ‘You are a law unto yourself, kalila.' He ushered her into the apartment and shrugged out of his jacket and tie as he strolled into the sitting room. ‘Would you like a nightcap, or coffee?'
‘Neither, thanks.' She tore her eyes from the formidable width of his chest and the tanned column of his throat, revealed now he had unfastened his top few shirt buttons. ‘I've decided to sleep in my dressing room tonight. I've got a headache.'
Zahir's eyes narrowed at her tone, but he shrugged and murmured coolly, ‘That is unfortunate, because I have spent an interminably long day, enlivened only by the promise of your delectable body. I'm sure I don't need to remind you that you are my wife, kalila, and tonight I require you to share my bed.'
His supreme arrogance acted like a red rag to a bull, and Erin tossed her hair over her shoulders with an impatient gesture and glared at him. ‘What is the point in taking me to bed when we both know you'd rather be with someone else? Or were you planning to have sex with me and pretend that I'm her?' she accused wildly.
Black eyebrows winged upwards. ‘Pretend that you are who, exactly?'
‘Jahmela al Nasser. Do you think I didn't notice how you were all over her at the banquet tonight? The way you smiled at her?'
Erin despised herself for the betraying note of jealousy in her voice. All night she had told herself she couldn't care less about his seeming closeness to his exotic Arabian ex. But the idea that he must have once kissed Jahmela, perhaps made love to her, caused acid to burn in her stomach.
‘Fatima told me that Jahmela's family expected you to marry her. I don't know why you broke your engagement, but it was clear tonight that you regret whatever happened in the past. Jahmela is clever and beautiful and she comes from your world. She would have made you a far more suitable wife than me,' she finished miserably.
‘Undoubtedly that's true.'
Zahir's calm agreement pierced her heart as if he had fired an arrow through her chest, and the wave of desolation that swept over her made a mockery of her conviction that he meant nothing to her.
He glanced at her speculatively. ‘Actually, I was never engaged to Jahmela-although it is true her family had hoped we would marry,' he told her bluntly. ‘But I chose you to be my wife.'
‘Only because you wanted Kazim-you didn't actually want me.'
‘I think our wedding night proved conclusively how much I want you,' he murmured sardonically. He came to her with surprising speed and the lithe grace of a big cat, his midnight-dark eyes gleaming beneath heavy lids. ‘You know damn well that the moment I saw you I desired you more than I have desired any other woman. You are like a fever in my blood, an addiction I can't control, and if you want the honest truth I resent the hold you have over me.'