Modern Romance December Books 5-8. Дженнифер Хейворд

all the time you need,’ Miss Francine enthused. ‘This is too good an opportunity for you to miss.’

      That was one way of putting it, but then Lucy hadn’t mentioned the complications. ‘See you soon,’ she said fondly as they ended the call.

      ‘Maybe not so soon.’

      She spun around to find Tadj standing behind her. ‘Were you eavesdropping on my conversation?’

      ‘No more than you’re abusing your position as guest in my home.’

      ‘I’m sorry—by doing what?’ Lucy enquired.

      ‘By talking about me as if I weren’t here.’

      ‘Well, you weren’t here,’ she said. ‘And that’s rich coming from the man who just invited me to become his mistress.’

      Within moments, the battle lines were drawn. Emotions were running high between them, which was no surprise, Lucy conceded, when so much had happened in so short a time. If only there could be more than this, she thought as they stared at each other unblinking. The trip to Qalala was more than she could have wished for, but even that was tainted by the way it had been achieved. She hated this devious game-playing, when all she wanted was an honest relationship.

      Between the Emir of Qalala and Lucy Gillingham? Dream on!

      It was a relief to see the smiling housekeeper, ready to escort Lucy to her room.

      ‘Mrs Brown will take good care of you,’ Tadj said in a neutral tone that suggested Lucy was just another guest in his house. When did he plan the big reveal? she wondered.

      ‘You’ll find clothes in the dressing room in your suite,’ he added in the same emotion-free tone. ‘We’ll meet later when you’ve had a chance to freshen up.’

      For a trial run? Lucy’s expression suggested coolly.

      The housekeeper hadn’t noticed, and was already heading across the hall. Tadj’s mention of clothes in Lucy’s dressing room made her think that he’d had this all planned out; whatever she’d said about becoming his mistress, his decision had been made. A chill ran through her at the thought that, once again, Tadj was in charge. He always had been in charge from the moment they’d met again in the restaurant, she accepted tensely.

      ‘I expect to see you back in the library in one hour’s time,’ he called after her as he jogged up the stairs. She took his harsh tone of voice as more proof that the fun, uncomplicated man she’d met in a café had disappeared completely.

      ‘You wouldn’t be the first to stand and gaze around in wonder at all the treasures here,’ the housekeeper said, misreading Lucy’s expression. ‘And I doubt you’ll be the last,’ she added with an encouraging smile.

      ‘It’s so beautiful here,’ Lucy admitted, glad of the change of subject, taking in the stained-glass windows as they mounted the stairs, and intricate carvings on the bannisters and over the doors. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this, except in stately homes that are open to the public.’

      ‘The Emir is a very particular man,’ Mrs Brown told her as she led the way.

      So, where do I fit in? Lucy wondered. Furnishings, paintings, and more space than one man could ever use, even with a full team of staff, made her feel increasingly superfluous as Mrs Brown led her deeper into the wolf of Qalala’s lair. Even the air smelled of money, though it was impossible to fault the restrained and classy décor. Deep-piled carpet soaked up their footsteps, while framed photographs made her pause and finally accept that this fabulous place was actually a home. Home to a very rich man, Lucy concluded, spotting a particularly striking image of Tadj, coated in mud after a polo match. Even in that shot, he looked amazing.

      She stopped in front of another framed photograph, showing him seated on rough wooden benches. She assumed this must have been taken at the sapphire mine. Surrounded by working men, he appeared as one of them, relaxed and at home, in dust-covered jeans and a ripped top, his face streaked with dirt. The photographer had caught him in a pose with his arms outstretched to encompass the men on either side of him, and they were all smiling. How she longed to have that uncomplicated relationship. She could feel the warmth between them, even through the impartial medium of a camera. If only she could see more of that side of him, she thought as Mrs Brown led the way. They had reached a broad, light-filled corridor, where one more framed shot made her pause. This one was of Tadj with his friend Sheikh Khalid. Both men were grinning with pleasure, as well they might, as they were holding up handfuls of the biggest sapphires she’d ever seen.

      ‘That photograph was taken in Qalala,’ Mrs Brown explained when she noticed Lucy’s interest. ‘His Serene Majesty loves anything that reminds him of his friends and his homeland. Have you been to Qalala? It’s very beautiful.’

      As beautiful as here? Lucy wondered as she admired the craftsmanship around her that gave such a sense of history, of destiny.

      ‘His Majesty treats his staff to a holiday in Qalala each year,’ Mrs Brown continued as she walked on. ‘His Majesty is so generous.’

      And so distant from me, Lucy thought with regret as Mrs Brown paused in front of a highly polished mahogany door. ‘It’s no surprise people love him as they do,’ Tadj’s adoring housekeeper went on. ‘You’ll have a wonderful time when you go to Qalala—and I feel sure the Qalalan people will love you.’

      ‘Oh, but I’m not—’

      Too late. Mrs Brown had already entered the room, leaving Lucy to wonder if she’d been mistaken for more than she was. She couldn’t imagine the Emir’s official mistress had much of a public role, but what did she know?

      A small yet luxuriously carpeted and decorated lobby promised a more than comfortable overnight stay at least. On top of a gilt and marble console table, one more photograph claimed Lucy’s interest.

      Mrs Brown heaved a sigh when she saw Lucy looking at it. ‘His Serene Majesty asked me not to put so many photographs about, but I think it makes the place look homely.’

      ‘I agree,’ Lucy said politely, but with a warm smile for Mrs Brown. There was nothing remotely homely about the man in the photograph. Tadj sat astride a richly caparisoned black stallion. Wearing traditional robes, with his head and face partially concealed behind a flowing black headdress, he looked more like a formidable conqueror who took no prisoners than the genial employer Mrs Brown had described, though the housekeeper’s opinion of her regal employer was to Tadj’s credit, Lucy conceded. She would have known him anywhere. His eyes were unmistakeable, as were his bearing and uncompromising pose. A shiver of awareness ran down her spine as it occurred to her that Tadj might not be prepared to compromise in any way at all when it came to discussing the future of their child.

      ‘Where does this door lead?’ she asked to distract herself from such a troubling thought.

      ‘It’s a connecting door to His Majesty’s suite,’ Mrs Brown explained. ‘You can leave it locked, if you prefer, or open the door, if that suits you better.’

      Delicately put, Lucy thought. ‘I see.’ She did see, and, though she might have stepped out of her world and into his, the door between them would remain firmly locked.

      As soon as Mrs Brown had left Lucy to her own devices, she decided to freshen up first, and then change her clothes before going down to the library. Stripping off, she donned a robe, ready to take a shower before exploring her dressing room. She loved everything about her accommodation, especially the outlook over the lake. A lake...imagine that, she mused. This had to be one of the most beautiful and fabulous houses in the country. She found the pink marble bathroom and stripped off. After a moment or two of awestruck stillness, she ran the shower in a space that would easily accommodate a rugby team, and stepped beneath the warm, soothing water. She actually felt her shoulders sag as the tension dropped out of them. Bliss, she mused happily, relaxing for the first time since her shock encounter with Tadj in the restaurant. Closing her eyes, she lifted her face to the warm, refreshing spray. And then heard an unmistakeable footstep.

      ‘Tadj!’