The Sheikh's Sinful Seduction(49)

                And so they were found out. Zafir’s ears rang as he met his friend’s eyes. It wasn’t comfortable to let Ra’id see that he would not go home crowing about being right. Zafir did, indeed, have less honor and sense than his best friend had credited him.

                Ra’id’s face tightened. “Because it was obvious to anyone with eyes that Miss Davenport was not the type to engage in affairs, I said. As much of a hound that your brother can be, he indulges himself elsewhere with sophisticated women who know what they’re getting into. The kind who accept jewelry, but don’t expect a diamond ring. He would never prey on a virgin dormouse and take advantage of her.”

                Self-disgust rose like a cloud of grit inside Zafir. He couldn’t hide it.

                “You had an affair with my children’s teacher,” Ra’id persisted as Zafir failed to deny the implications. Ra’id’s voice rose with genuine fury. “Do you realize they have just now stopped crying for her? She was under my protection, Zafir!”

                “You slept with my sister before you married her. In my house,” he snarled back.

                “I wanted to marry her,” Ra’id retorted. “I loved her.”

                And there was the slap of truth that made Zafir look away. He had told himself Fern was English. English girls had affairs. His actions weren’t that dishonorable. She had wanted it to be him.

                “It was not my best hour,” he acknowledged. “I’ll admit that.” But he wouldn’t try to explain it. There was no explaining it. Sexual infatuation had got the better of him. He couldn’t offer excuses because there were none.

                “So Amineh’s intuition strikes where my conviction, my certainty that I knew you better, fails.”

                “Yes,” Zafir said with a tight smile. “I’m sorry that you must now go home and tell your wife you were wrong. A fate worse than death for any man. Are we finished? Because that tap on the door means my guests have arrived.”

                “No,” Ra’id said with false pleasantry. “Because if she’s right about your sleeping with her, she might be right about something else. You see, the piece that has been really bothering her is the way Miss Davenport has cut off all communication.”

                For a moment that made Zafir wonder. Worry. Was she ill? Then he remembered... “She’s nursing a sick friend. People insulate themselves in that situation.” He had, when his wife had been dying. You tired of singing the sad song, giving details that were the furthest thing from optimistic, looking into pitying eyes and facing the inevitability of your own mortality.

                “Is she?” Ra’id asked, tucking his hands behind his back and rocking onto his heels. The edges of his gutra swayed around his supercilious expression. “I certainly thought that’s why she was leaving, when she came to me so distressed I couldn’t put her on an airplane fast enough. But Amineh has tracked this friend online and there’s no indication she’s suffering anything but impatience with a wet winter. Miss Davenport has let her own accounts go stale while her friend is cheerfully stating that she has begun a training regime for a half marathon and recently posted photos of her mountain trek in Portugal.”

                Zafir didn’t know what to make of that, but he sensed the walls closing in on him.

                “Miss Davenport appears to have lied to Amineh. Why would she do that, Zafir? What possible reason could she have to leave so abruptly and fail to return any of Amineh’s emails? Shall I tell you the theory your sister, the amateur detective, has formulated?”

                Please don’t. But they both knew what the most logical conclusion was.