‘So much passion beneath that repressive cool exterior,’ Jourdan murmured against her hair, his finger going to her lips as she started to speak.
‘No, don’t tell me that you felt nothing and that you hate me, Danielle. We both know you would be lying. Be honest enough to admit to the pleasure our bodies give one another. For all your delicate slenderness, you possess a sensuality I have never known in any other woman.’ His hand slid from her shoulder along the relaxed lines of her body to her thigh where it lingered warmly, and Danielle knew without the need for any words that his desire for her had not been sated. Something elemental within her responded to the knowledge, and she moved sensually against him, blocking out the memory of what he had just said to her. Sensual he had called her, and deep down inside the words hurt. Did he honestly think she was the type of woman who could abandon herself to passion simply for passion’s sake? Couldn’t he guess how she felt about him, or did he, because he himself could be governed by desire alone, think that she too was motivated purely by desire?
She tried to sort out her muddled thoughts, but Jourdan was already drawing her down against him, mutteringly urgently against her hair as he wound his fingers through it and tilted her head backwards. Somehow during their earlier lovemaking they had worked free of the sleeping bag and now the moonlight silvered the length of Danielle’s body, no longer cold but warmed by Jourdan’s desire, and her flesh quickened once again as his mouth moved sensuously along the silver path of the moon.
‘See what you do to me, mignonne,’ he groaned minutes later, drawing her against him so that she could feel the fierce tremble of his body. ‘Let us forget for tonight why we came together, and remember only the sweetness our bodies find in each other.’
The feel of him; the weakness of her own flesh, the love filling and spilling from her heart, erased the last of Danielle’s self-control and with a soft sigh she gave herself up to the sweet abandonment Jourdan was urging upon her, telling herself that whatever else the future might hold at least she would have this!
CHAPTER TEN
WHEN Danielle woke up she was held fast in Jourdan’s arms. His eyes opened before she could move away and for a moment she felt sure he must read the truth in hers and know that she loved him.
‘Last night was the true beginning of our marriage,’ he told her in a husky voice. ‘There will be no more running away, chérie.’
In her heart of hearts Danielle acknowledged that she no longer wanted to run. Jourdan was her husband and desired her and she would have to learn to be content with that. It was more than many women had.
‘Come, we must return to the castle before my people come looking for us and discover the manner in which I punish my errant bride. I fear if I did so they would no longer consider me a fit person to lead them, and would blame your beauty for robbing me of my former strength. And they would not be far wrong.’
Before Danielle could make any response to this he was gone, striding away in the direction of the oasis the sun glinting on his bronze flesh.
He returned half an hour later and crouched down beside Danielle, who was still lying in the sleeping bag, the nearest thing she had seen to a grin transforming his features into a much more boyish mould.
‘Up you get, woman,’ he told her firmly. ‘Lying there like that you make far too tempting a sight; unless of course you want me to rejoin you?’ he added quizzically.
Her heart beating fast, Danielle wriggled obediently out of the quilted bag, wondering what his reaction would have been had she merely remained where she was. A shiver of mingled pain and delight quivered through her at the memory of the lovemaking they had shared, but Jourdan already had his back to her, busy clearing away the previous night’s fire.
‘When Danielle returned from the oasis he poured her a cup of still hot coffee from the flask he had brought with him, and they drank silently in companionable silence, the tensions Danielle had experienced since her marriage melting away as she basked in the heat of the early morning sun and the pleasure of her husband’s company.
All too soon the brief interlude was over. Jourdan rose and walked across to where the horses were tethered. Danielle heard them greet him with pleased whickers, and acknowledged that even as he was the pivot around which life at the castle ebbed and flowed, so he was the pivot of her existence too.
The ride back to the castle was a leisurely one, with Jourdan pointing out various landmarks and showing Danielle the old trade route once used by the silk caravans between China and Persia. He was a knowledgeable and entertaining teacher and Danielle listened avidly, reluctant for their precious time together to end. The hostility which had previously existed between them seemed to have been consumed in the heat of their mutual passion, and if the companionship they were now sharing was less than her aching heart yearned for, it was infinitely preferable to anger and indifference.
As they drew closer to the castle Danielle felt her fragile happiness evaporate. Jourdan was a man with many heavy responsibilities and she as the wife of a prominent Arab male would be expected to take a back seat in his life. For a brief moment Danielle wished she could hold back time; that they would always be as they were this morning; that there need never be duty or responsibilities to come between them. She was being childish, she acknowledged, when Zara, sensing her reluctance, slowed her pace, and Jourdan was forced to stop and wait for them to catch up with him.
Both stallion and master showed consideration for their womenfolk, Danielle acknowledged, for without doubt without Zara and herself to hinder them, they would be racing freely across the sand.
The castle cast long shadows over the desert; her heart held fast in the grip of heavy misery Danielle blinked away weak tears. Last night for the first time she had slept in her husband’s arms; once his hectic life stretched out to engulf him would all she see of him be the occasional visit to her room and bed when he remembered her existence.
Danielle’s gloomy train of thought continued as they neared the castle. Someone had obviously been watching for them, because the massive double gates swung open at their approach. In the outer courtyard Danielle saw a dust streaked Land Rover. Jourdan’s frown seemed to reinforce her own despairing thoughts. The magic they had experienced together in the desert was not strong enough to bridge the gulfs between them. Determined not to let him see the pain in her eyes, Danielle rode into the courtyard with a false smile pinned to her face and an ache in her heart. She saw Zanaide rushing towards her, and felt a pang of guilt for causing the little maid concern, then Zanaide was temporarily forgotten as male arms reached up and swung her down from the saddle, and she heard Philippe Sancerre’s familiar but unexpected voice murmuring huskily,
‘Danielle, petite, what is all this I hear about marriage to Jourdan? Surely you cannot have been so foolish, little one? If it was a husband you wanted surely you could have waited for me?’
While Danielle was still trying to gather her scattered thoughts Philippe kissed her firmly on the lips, devilment dancing in his eyes as Jourdan came towards them, his eyes cold.
‘The privilege of an old friend, mon ami,’ he told Jourdan gaily, ‘and one I am sure you would not begrudge me. Not when you have stolen such a jewel from beneath my very nose!’
The words were said lightly enough, but Danielle sensed that beneath them, Philippe was deeply resentful of Jourdan. Jourdan himself was looking at her with a cold reproof which made her long to be back in the desert with him. Philippe meant nothing to her, she wanted to cry. He was the only man with the power to hold her heart, but Jourdan was already turning away, and Philippe was gripping her arm too tightly for her to follow him.
After murmuring some instructions to his comptroller, Jourdan turned back to Philippe, his face still cold.
‘To what do we owe the honour of this visit, Philippe?’ he asked him sardonically. ‘I seem to remember that you are no lover of the desert.’
‘Of the desert, no,’ Philippe agreed, adding outrageously, ‘But of your beautiful wife… that is a different matter.’
Danielle’s cheeks were scarlet. She glanced quickly at Jourdan, wondering how he was taking Philippe’s broad hint that they had been lovers. His face was shuttered, his expression inscrutable.
‘However, it was not my wish to come to Qu‘Har,’ Philippe went on. ‘It was Catherine who mooted the suggestion. She seemed to believe that you would not be exactly averse to her presence. Of course, then, we knew nothing of your marriage,’ he added, glancing at Danielle. ‘A sudden decision, I take it, ma petite? Or was it merely easier after all to give in to parental pressure? Your stepfather can be a very persuasive man, I know. You are a very lucky man, Jourdan,’ he added, seeming unaware of the thick silence of disapproval emanating from the other man. ‘A rich and beautiful wife… Your uncle chose well for you.’
Philippe took Danielle’s hand in his, the gesture far more intimate than their relationship called for, but he was gripping her fingers too tightly for Danielle to withdraw.
‘Poor petite,’ he murmured in a soft voice which nevertheless could not have failed to reach the ears of the man standing so close. ‘Sold into marriage like a slave in the market! Now more than ever I regret my gentlemanly refusal to accept what you so generously offered the last time we met. Perhaps if I had listened more to my feelings and less to the voice of caution urging me to remember how much my family owed your stepfather’s, I should now be your husband. Ah, here comes my sister,’ he added before Danielle had time to deny his appalling insinuations. She dared not look at Jourdan. She had no idea what he was thinking, but there could surely be only one interpretation to be put on Philippe’s so carefully calculated words. No matter how much she might try to erase them she knew that she would never be able to convince Jourdan that she had not, as Philippe had suggested, pleaded with him to be her lover. Clever Philippe, she thought bitterly. Had he merely been satisfied with claiming to be her lover, Jourdan must surely have disbelieved him—but Philippe, perhaps drawing his own conclusions from the way they had arrived from the oasis together, had subtly poisoned Jourdan’s mind against her, by insinuating that before he came along, she had been more than ready to accept Philippe as her lover. When he added that to the way she had responded to his lovemaking, he was bound to think her a sensual wanton, eager to take physical pleasure wherever she could find it.