Modern Romance December Books 5-8. Дженнифер Хейворд

friends at the laundry as he took in the crowd that had gathered around her on cushions in front of the open fire. With one of the older women acting as Lucy’s unofficial interpreter, he wondered if the questions would ever end, though she fielded all of them with grace and humour, which was more than he deserved.

      She felt his gaze on her, and stared at him in a way that made him want to join her immediately, but it was time for him to receive the fealty of the heads of tribes. He felt her continuing interest as he did this, and briefly wished he could offer Lucy more, but, until the law of the land was changed, Qalala expected him to make a politically advantageous marriage, and to please his people that would have to be soon.

      When the formalities were over, he stripped off his top. Lucy seemed surprised when he dumped it onto the cushion next to her.

      ‘Are we about to give a practical demonstration of my place in your world?’ she asked discreetly.

      Her words made him instantly hard, but he shot her a look, to warn her not to try his patience. No one addressed the Emir of Qalala in front of his people in a disrespectful way. ‘I am preparing for the games,’ he informed her.

      Pulling her head back, she gave him one of her looks. ‘Didn’t I just say that?’

      ‘The desert games,’ he said patiently, though a betraying twitch of his lips might have given him away. No one could make him laugh at himself like Lucy.

      ‘Indeed,’ she said, flinching when someone handed him a sabre. ‘Don’t cut yourself with that.’

      ‘I’ll try not to,’ he assured her. Dipping at the waist, he brought his mouth close to her ear. ‘Rest assured, no one has lost their life at one of these gatherings yet.’

      ‘There’s always a first time,’ she said brightly.

      His warning look was completely wasted, though she did have the good grace to look alarmed when one of the tribesmen brought up his horse.

      ‘Is that thing even safe to ride?’

      With a brief ironic glance, he leapt onto the back of his black stallion. ‘We shall see,’ he murmured.

      ‘Just remember,’ she said, springing up and grabbing the bridle, ‘you’ve got responsibilities now.’

      ‘You’re beginning to sound like a wife,’ he commented as he wheeled his horse around.

      ‘And you’re the very spit of a delinquent husband,’ she yelled after him as he galloped away.

      He should be angry, but he wanted Lucy too much to be impatient with her for long, and, with the heat of competition on him, he was keen to get these games over with, and turn lust into reality. Whatever the outcome, Lucy would be in his bed tonight, where he’d be sure to make her pay, and in the most pleasurable way imaginable, for her unadulterated cheek.

      Stay safe, you stubborn son-of-a-she-wolf, Lucy thought, clenching her fists with anxiety as she watched Tadj line up with the other riders, all of whom were mounted on spirited horses. There were women in the mix, she noticed with interest. So why was she sitting by the fireside? She was a damn good rider, and had been happy on horseback since her father had strapped her into a basket saddle on an old Shetland pony when she could barely walk. And these desert games weren’t so much violent as skilful, she decided as a huge cheer went up. Riders raced down a torchlit track in pairs towards a gourd hanging from a pole. That was exactly the type of game she’d played with her friends. The first jockey to cut the gourd and return to the start line was the winner. Her gaze flashed to the pony lines, where several likely-looking animals stood waiting...

      What the hell was she doing? Tadj’s pulse rocketed as he spotted Lucy vaulting onto the back of a half-wild Arab pony. He yelled a warning, but, leaning low over the animal’s neck as it broke into a flat-out gallop, she couldn’t hear him.

      And she accused him of taking risks!

      Quitting the race, he wheeled his horse around and chased after her. The track was long and full of riders; so many that the youths whose job it was to hang the gourds could hardly keep up. Just as he reached her, Lucy seized a gourd, spun her pony around, and flashed past him. Brandishing the prize high in triumph provoked ear-splitting cheers from the crowd. She might be a stranger in their midst, but she was their champion tonight, and her surprise win had made her the spectators’ favourite. Not his, he thought grimly as he urged his horse to catch up with hers. Seizing Lucy around the waist, he lifted her onto his galloping stallion, which provoked another round of cheers. Not surprisingly, Lucy was distinctly unimpressed.

      ‘What the hell do you think you’re doing?’ she yelled at him in fury.

      ‘Saving you from yourself,’ he retorted grimly as he tightened his grip. Taking her back at a steady canter to the pony lines, he dismounted and carefully lifted her down.

      ‘I don’t know what you think you’re playing at,’ she said, throwing him off. ‘I knew what I was doing. That was just an advanced version of the games we used to play when I was a child on the farm.’

      ‘And were you pregnant at that time?’ he remarked coolly.

      ‘Don’t you dare suggest I’d take risks with my baby,’ she warned as he led her away.

      ‘Well, you’re not playing games on my watch,’ he said, adding, ‘especially not dangerous games,’ as he escorted her back to her tent.

      ‘Why not? Aren’t rowdy games an appropriate pastime for your mistress?’ Before he could answer, she added hotly, ‘There were plenty of other women taking part—as well as children.’

      ‘My interest is you—and you, in case you had forgotten, are pregnant.’

      ‘Really? I’m your only interest? You could have fooled me,’ she snapped. ‘You ignore me most of the time, unless a particular type of carnal hunger strikes you, of course.’

      ‘Which it never does for you,’ he fired back, realising as he did so that, while no one could make him laugh like Lucy, no one could rouse every one of his carefully contained emotions as she could. He had never felt this heated before. Lucy’s safety, and that of their child, were paramount.

      ‘So, is it because I’m a woman that you object to my riding in the games, or because I’m your woman?’

      ‘Because you’re pregnant!’ he roared, seemingly unable to get his point across.

      ‘So now you care?’ she mocked.

      Pregnancy hormones, he thought as her eyes welled with tears. Upbeat one minute, she was on the edge of an emotional meltdown the next. He’d been doing some reading, as well as investigating, since Lucy had catapulted back into his life, and recognised the signs. ‘Of course I care,’ he insisted, then realised he was shouting. He never lost control—ever. Consumed by frustration, he snatched the sabre out of her hands, and tossed it to a waiting attendant.

      ‘I’m pregnant, not sick,’ she insisted as he ushered her inside the tent.

      ‘You’re a damn nuisance,’ he spat out. ‘What if you’d been hurt?’

      ‘You could send me back as damaged goods,’ she flashed, her eyes welling again, ‘and recruit a new mistress.’

      ‘Now you’re being ridiculous,’ he insisted with an impatient gesture.

      ‘Am I?’ she flared. ‘You bring me here with one thing in mind, which is to be your official mistress. Knowing I wouldn’t agree, you trump up excuses about some job or other—anything to get me here.’

      ‘Which should tell you how much I care.’

      ‘It tells me you’re a complete control freak.’

      ‘And what about you?’ he argued. ‘Deceit got you here, and has carried you through this far. Am I supposed to think better of you now?’

      ‘I don’t care what you think,’ she railed, her voice