So how could she now object to his behaviour, when all he had been doing was what he had warned her about all along?
He had been looking for a wife.
Of course he had.
How stupid she must seem for trying to rail against the inevitable—she was like the foolish king who had tried to turn back the tide. What did she think was going to happen—that Murat would defy his proud destiny and hitch his star to a working-class girl from the Welsh valleys? An illegitimate girl with a hopeless drunk for a mother?
She realised that he was still looking at her and she drew in a deep breath, trying to claw back some of the dignity which she had let slip away. ‘Yes, you told me that you planned to take a wife,’ she said, almost calmly. ‘I’ve known that all along and I should have anticipated that this would happen sooner, rather than later. I don’t know what made me react like that.’
But she did know. It was love. Devious and unwanted love—making her behave in a way she didn’t like. If she let it.
‘I should have told you,’ he said.
She forced herself to meet his eyes, praying that she could keep her hurt from showing. ‘But presumably you didn’t, because you realised that it would spell the end of our relationship.’
‘Yes.’ There was a long pause and now his face bore an expression which was unfamiliar to her. Was it determination? The face of a man who had been born to have every one of his wishes granted? ‘You know, this doesn’t have to end, Cat.’
For a moment, she thought she might have misheard him. She looked at him in confusion. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Nothing needs to change. I can live the life expected of me in Qurhah and still have you here. We could make this work. I know we could.’
She stared at him. ‘As your mistress, you mean?’
‘Why not?’ His voice sounded almost...gentle. ‘Men in my position often do—and didn’t you tell me right from the start that you weren’t interested in a conventional relationship.’
For a moment Catrin felt sick. Yes, she had said that—but never had she guessed that one day it might be used against her as an over-sexed man’s selfish form of barter. On shaky legs she walked over to the window and opened it, but the warm evening air brought her little relief. She could feel beads of sweat pinpricking her brow as she stared at the darkened park and the lump in her throat made it seem as if some invisible hand were trying to throttle her.
So this was what happened when you made no demands of a man. When you acted like some kind of human cushion. What else could she expect in return, other than he would expect to walk all over her?
Had he stopped to think that such a suggestion might insult as well as hurt her? No, of course he hadn’t. He was thinking about what he wanted—and clearly he had no desire to give her up.
But when she stopped to think about it—why wouldn’t he offer her something like that, when she was prepared to accept so little from him? Why, in loving Murat she had become a woman she barely recognised.
She had given him the sanctuary he’d always craved—peace and respite from his busy life in Qurhah. She had welcomed him into her arms whenever he was here. From the moment he set foot inside the penthouse apartment she was his unconditionally. Up until this moment she’d never bothered him with awkward questions. She had demanded nothing of him. Even the gifts he had showered on her, she had accepted only because it seemed to please him. But she had never been in this for the diamonds or the couture clothes. She had enjoyed living with him and hadn’t wanted to rock the boat, and in the process had allowed herself to become like some kind of human sponge.