Daughter of Hassan & Heart of the Desert(19)

He had come to stand beside her. Danielle was conscious of him with every nerve ending, despite the darkness of the room, which had, with the coming of night grown cold. How could she have managed to fall asleep up here?

‘Draw whatever conclusions you wish,’ she told Jourdan bitterly. ‘But the truth is…’ She paused, her eyes focusing blindly on the stars shining so brightly outside the narrow windows. ‘The truth is that I came up here because I wanted to be free. I wanted to see the world beyond the confines of your kingdom…’

Jourdan’s harshly indrawn breath warned her that she had gone too far, her gasp of pain ignored as his fingers bit deeply into her arms and he hauled her to her feet and dragged her over to the window.

‘Look as far as you like, mignonne,’ he whispered harshly. ‘But while your eyes are fixed on the earth, the horizon, however distant it may be, still belongs to me.’

Danielle shuddered as she felt his breath on the back of her neck, his mirthless laughter as cold as the night air.

‘Come…’

His fingers on her arm propelled her back into the room and directed her to where the telescope was fixed on its stand.

‘The man who built this castle was crushed beneath a block of stone when it was being erected. Although his life was spared he was left a cripple, and it was then that he had this observatory built.’

Danielle was standing before the telescope. She shivered briefly as Jourdan’s arms closed round her, but his touch was completely impersonal, his hands directing her to look through the glass to the stars beyond.

‘Freedom is a state of mind, mignonne,’ he said against her hair. ‘My ancestor found it in this room, studying the constellations, even though physically he was a prisoner of his own infirmity. Other men are prisoners of their own emotions, their hearts given in bondage to a woman as cold and remote as the distant stars.’

‘And I am your prisoner,’ Danielle finished bitterly.

‘No, ma chérie.’ The telescope was removed and she was forced to meet the sardonic mockery in Jourdan’s eyes. ‘You are a prisoner of your own pride, for without that you would surely admit that marriage to me has its… compensations…’

He could have meant many things; after all, he was an extremely wealthy and powerful man and no doubt many women would find those irresistible lures, but Danielle knew instinctively that he was referring to her body’s treacherous betrayal of her, and her face flamed with the knowledge.

She walked unsteadily towards the door.

‘Where are you going?’

The silky words halted her. She turned, probing the darkness to find the tall white-robed figure, his face masked by the shadows.

Somehow, without her being aware of him moving, he had interposed the bulk of his body between herself and the door. She stared at him, hoping he wouldn’t see the fear leaping suddenly to life in her eyes.

‘I want to go to my room.’

It was both an answer to his question and a demand, and Danielle realised that she had made a tactical error the moment the words were uttered. Something—and she feared it could only be anger—leaped to life in the dark eyes which lingered with insolent intensity on the firm thrust of her breasts beneath the flimsy chiffon robe Zanaide had chosen from her wardrobe.

‘Your room?’

There was a world of meaning in the two softly drawled words and Danielle found to her chagrin that her pulse rate had suddenly quickened, her breath coming in short nervous gasps. Jourdan was deliberately trying to unnerve her, she told herself, that was all; he could have as little desire to repeat the events of their wedding night as she; he was a man of the world, used to women as skilled at lovemaking as he was himself, and she…

Her cheeks burned as she remembered how completely she had abandoned herself to the delights of Jourdan’s touch in those few final minutes when everything else had ceased to exist.

‘Stop playing with me, Jourdan!’ she stormed, trying to banish the insidious memory of his hands on her skin. ‘You want me as little as I want you…’

‘I wouldn’t be so sure—on either count,’ Jourdan murmured with a soft mockery that sent the fine hairs at the back of Danielle’s neck standing up on end in alarm.

All at once he was far too close for comfort—close enough for her to breathe in the wholly male scent of his body mingling with the spicy tang of cologne. She tried to step back, but the white flash of his teeth as his lips parted in a smile warned her that he had seen through her artless movement and knew quite well why she wanted to avoid him.

This suspicion was borne out when his arm lifted and hard fingers grasped her chin.

‘Why the virginal fear, mignonne?’ he asked softly. ‘You are my wife in fact as well as law, and in the cool of the nights when the sands of the desert shift restlessly beneath the stars is it not only natural that a man should seek solace in the arms of a woman. Are you woman enough for me to find solace in your arms, Danielle?’ he asked, the timbre of his voice deepening huskily and causing Danielle to tremble with emotions his presence and touch suddenly brought to life. Caught fast in the grip of some strange paralysis, she was powerless to move, even when Jourdan’s head lowered.

Her heart seemed to stand still. The room was virtually in darkness. Jourdan still grasped her chin, but the quality of his touch changed from that of a goaler to a lover.

His lips felt cool and firm. Danielle’s trembled beneath them, her instincts urging her to flee.

‘You are my wife,’ Jourdan reminded her huskily against her lips. ‘My companion of the night… Shall we share together once more the pleasure we enjoyed on our wedding night? Is that why I found you in my own private domain? Were you waiting for me, Danielle?’

She wanted to deny it, but the words were never allowed to be uttered. Jourdan’s lips were trailing fire against her throat and lower, pushing aside the frail chiffon and finding unerring the taut peaks of her breasts. His shoulder bones were hard beheath her fingers and she clung mindlessly to them, making no demur when her robe was pushed aside to reveal the slender beauty of her body.

‘Jourdan?’

Her uncertain murmur was crushed beneath the hard warmth of the male mouth imposing its dominance against the softness of her flesh, her inarticulate cry lost as Jourdan lifted her in his arms and carried her across to the low divan.

This time Danielle could not blame any drug for the uninhibited passion of her own response; unless it was the mind-bending force of Jourdan’s kisses, the knowledgeable touch of his hands on her skin, teaching her pleasure and making her shudder deeply with the intensity of her response.

‘Is this what you came up here for, Danielle?’

The cold words froze the passionate warmth of her response. What on earth was she doing? She could hardly blame Jourdan for looking at her with such open contempt. She tore herself free of his grasp and ran towards the door, careless of the curt command he ground Out behind her.

The cold night air of the stairs felt like ice against her exposed skin, and she was trembling when she reached her own room. For once Zanaide was not there waiting for her. Thankfully Danielle tore off her robe and ran a bath, plunging into the warm water and soaping herself vigorously. What had come over her? For a moment in Jourdan’s arms she had experienced… Her busy hands stilled and the scented water started to cool. Why had she run away from Jourdan? Because she was frightened of him? Or because she was frightened of herself and the emotions he aroused within her?

Very slowly she climbed out of the bath and started to dry herself, her eyes enormous in her pale face.

For a moment in Jourdan’s arms she had forgotten that he was her enemy; had forgotten what he had done to her; how he had cheated her and known only that he was the man who had brought her body to life, who had released a fountain of emotion deep down inside her such as she had never dreamed she possessed.

With a small, almost inarticulate cry, Danielle flung herself on her bed, her body shaking with soundless sobs as she forced herself to face the truth. She had gone up to the turret room not because she wanted to see the far distant horizon but because she had wanted to be close to the man whose room it was; the man whom she had married in hatred and whom she now… loved.

How could she? Logically it was impossible. Since when had the emotions been guided by logic? Danielle asked herself cynically. Her response to Jourdan’s touch this evening had not been that of a woman who hated or was indifferent… She stared sightlessly into the darkness. Now, more than ever, it was imperative that she left Qu‘Har. A deep shudder wracked her as she dwelt on Jourdan’s likely reaction to the discovery that she had fallen in love with him. How he would mock her! The long mouth would curl in cynical disdain. He would reach for her and…

Shivering, Danielle curled into a small tight ball, her flesh on fire with the memory of Jourdan’s hands against it. She had to find a way of leaving the castle before she made a complete fool of herself and was forced to admit to Jourdan her longing for him. Even now, knowing what she knew, there was still regret that she had not stayed in the turret room. If she had done so, she would not now be sleeping alone in this vast bed…