Duty and the Beast(27)

He tried to gentle her with his hands as his own heart grew weightier in his chest. 'He cannot hurt you now.'

'He would have.' She sniffed back on the threat of more tears. 'He had  an old woman examine me,' she said, her voice thready and thin. 'He  wouldn't believe me until she had poked and prodded and confirmed what I  had told him. Only then he believed. Only then he left me alone.'

Her voice cracked on the last word and this time she dissolved into  tears. He pulled her in, cradled her head against his chest and let her  cry, her tears ripping at his soul.                       
       
           



       

He did not deserve her thanks. She had been right all along-he was a  barbarian. He-who knew Mustafa better than anyone-had paid no heed to  what she must have suffered at his half-brother's hands. He had seen her  rescue as a way of evening the score between them. And once she had  been in his hands he had asked her nothing. He had demanded everything.

Worst of all, he had not believed her.

He was no better than his half-brother and that knowledge tore at his  gut. He dropped his head to hers, pressed his lips to her hair. 'I am so  sorry, Aisha, that I did not believe you. I was so wrong.'

He lifted her tear-streaked face to his, kissed her damp eyes and the  tip of her nose. 'Can you ever forgive me for the way I have treated  you?'

She blinked up at him, her soft lips parted, looking so lost and  vulnerable, so very kissable, that he felt the kick all the way down in  his groin. She gave a tentative smile, touched a slim hand to his chest  and down his side, her fingers curling deliciously into the flesh of his  buttock. 'Maybe,' she said hesitantly, taking his hand, putting it to  her breast, her eyelids fluttering closed as his hand cupped her breast,  his thumb stroking her nipple.

'Anything,' he said as she set both her hands on him, exploring, tracing  every detail, setting his skin alight, turning his voice to gravel.  'Name it.'

'Make me forget him. Make love to me again. I mean, when it is possible.'

He growled low in his throat and, still holding onto her, flipped onto  his back so she straddled him, his eyes drinking in the sight of her  rising up from him, his hands drinking in her satin-smooth skin.

'Oh,' she said, her eyes widening as she realised he was already primed beneath her, 'I thought it would be too soon.'

'No,' he said as he encouraged her hips higher so he could position  himself, loving the way she so naturally assisted with the movement of  her lush body to find her centre. 'With you, Aisha,' he said, as he drew  her down his long length, 'anything is possible.'





CHAPTER TWELVE



FOR the first time in days she felt that things were finally going right  and falling into place. They had woken in the tent to the sound of  waves breaking on the shore. They had made slow, lazy love as the sun  had risen over the horizon. They had held hands while travelling across  the sands to the Blue Palace.

And now, sitting in the front row of the Blue Palace's magnificent  twelfth-century arched reception hall, grandly fitted out for the  coronation of Al-Jirad's new king, she felt not only happiness but  immense pride as well.

For in front of her stood Zoltan, now only minutes from being crowned  King of Al-Jirad. The building was full of assembled guests from  countries near and far, and her father sat alongside, beaming widely, no  doubt at the knowledge he would be keeping his crown and that the  Jemeyan legacy and the pact between their two countries would live on.

As for Aisha? She was so full of the new wonders of love-making that she  could not begin to describe how she felt: glowing. Buzzing. Electric,  with a heightened awareness of all things of the flesh. For Zoltan had  awakened in her the pleasures of the flesh in a way she had never  dreamed possible. She smiled to herself, thinking of the latest way he'd  pleasured her-asking her to don the gossamer-thin robe she'd been  gifted, pleasuring her with his clever tongue and seeking lips before  taking her again. Was there no end to his talents?

Not so far, apparently.

He had told her that with her all things were possible. Could it be  true? Could they find love out of the madness of a forced marriage  neither of them had wanted? Might Zoltan grow to love her as she so  wished to be loved?

Last night he had made it seem possible.

Only one thing could temper her joy this day and it was that there was  still no word from Marina. She tried to tell herself not to be  surprised-it was Marina, after all, and she had never been one for  protocol and obligations, especially when it involved anything remotely  connected to duty. But still, after all that had happened, Aisha had so  very much wanted to have the chance to talk to her sister again.

Around her the formalities dragged on longer than she expected, and she  zoned out, listening with only half an ear. It was not entirely  intentional, but there was only so much pomp and ceremony one could take  in when one had other, much more carnal pleasures on their mind, and  right now she had the memories of last night's activities to savour as  well as the upcoming night's activities to anticipate.

And there was really no need to listen. It was all just a formality, after all. And it was all so long  …

Until she heard the name of her island home mentioned, and the pact. She  blinked into awareness and she realised why the ceremony was taking so  long, because an extra segment had been added to the ceremony due to the  unusual circumstances of the ascension, a series of declarations Zoltan  was required to respond to.                       
       
           



       

'And do you solemnly swear,' the Grand Vizier said, 'on the covenants of  the Sacred Book of Al-Jirad that you have married a Jemeyan princess?'

She glanced from her father to Zoltan, not knowing she would be  mentioned as part of this, and suddenly wishing she'd paid more  attention, for neither of them looked surprised or perplexed.

'I declare it to be true,' Zoltan said.

'And do you also solemnly swear, on the covenants of the Sacred Book of  Al-Jirad, that you have impregnated with your seed the Jemeyan princess  you have married so that Al-Jirad and Jemeya might both prosper into the  future just as your family will prosper?'

'I declare it to be true.'

'Then you have fulfilled the covenants of the Sacred Book of Al-Jirad and I declare  … '

But Aisha heard nothing more. For her blood had turned to ice and the  thunder of it in her ears drowned out the proceedings while her mind  focused on the words you have impregnated with your seed the Jemeyan  princess  …

He had been required to impregnate her before the ceremony take place, as part of his requirements to become king?

The blood in her veins grew even colder. Was that what their trip away  to Belshazzah had really been about, even while he had told her it was  merely to get to know each other better?

For he must have known he would need to sleep with her before the coronation. The vizier would have told him.

He must have known.

Yet he hadn't told her. He'd let her think that it didn't matter how  long it took, so long as they were married and gave the impression of  sleeping together.

He'd let her think that she could take her time to get to know him.

He'd let her think she had a choice.

But he had known!

All the time he had known. She thought back to their time at Belshazzah,  and to the skilfull way he had given her space and then reeled her in  again, like a fisherman playing a fish. Giving it line, letting it think  it was free, only to reel it back before letting it run again. He'd  done the same with her, letting her think she had space, letting her  walk alone, letting her make choices. But she'd been on a line all along  and he'd known that all he had to do was reel her in and impregnate  her.

She shuddered at the very sound of the word. It sounded so cold, formal  and clinical. It sounded a million miles from what she thought they had  been doing that day.

And all the time he had let her believe that it had meant something.

What had he told her? It's never been that good for me. She had wondered  then whether he was telling her the truth, wanting in her heart to  believe it but so scared to.

He had wanted her to believe it too. So she would become the biddable, complicit wife he needed.

And she had wanted so much to believe him. When would she learn?

She felt sickened, physically ill, and when she gasped in air to quell  the sudden unwanted surge of her stomach her father frowned across at  her and she did her best to send a reassuring smile back in his  direction. It would not be the done thing for a Jemeyan princess to  throw up at her own husband's coronation.

Somehow she made it through to the end of the ceremony, avoiding  eye-contact as she placed her arm on his, stiff and formal, as the royal  party departed.