Hot Arabian Nights. Marguerite Kaye

when a pair of much larger hands relieved her of her latest sketch did Julia become conscious of the time that had passed.

      Azhar crouched down to examine the drawing of an absurdly beautiful fairy with gossamer wings, while the most curious of the children, a fairy-like creature herself named Amira, peered over his shoulder. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

      ‘A Bucca,’ Julia replied. ‘They live in the tin mines and in the caves in Cornwall. If you see one, then you can be sure a storm is coming.’

      Azhar handed the drawing to the little girl and helped Julia to her feet. ‘I fear that a storm of a different nature may well be coming here,’ he said grimly.

      ‘Some of the villagers certainly seemed agitated.’

      ‘I thought at first that they resented my enquiries,’ Azhar said. ‘Like you, I saw the anger, but I assumed it was directed against me—my absence. It seems, however, that I insulted them when I asked why the yields from the mine had decreased so radically. They thought I was accusing them of idleness when they insist they work as hard and as productively as ever.’

      ‘So this mine too is not performing as well as you expected,’ Julia asked.

      ‘According to the accounts, and to the Chief Overseer of the diamond mines, who sits on the Council. He is a man of considerable experience, he inherited the position from his father before him. But his accounts do not tally with the word of these miners.’

      ‘What about the other mine that you visited?’

      Azhar shook his head. ‘I spoke only in general terms regarding working conditions to the miners there. I had no reason to question the yields quoted by the Chief Overseer. The mines are very old, it is not inconceivable that over time...’

      He broke off, rubbing the bridge of his nose. ‘I have a horrible feeling that with each question I ask, I dig another shovelful of sand from my own grave.’

      His tone was rueful, but his eyes were troubled. ‘You could always refrain from digging any deeper,’ Julia said, knowing that the suggestion was impossible.

      ‘Unfortunately, my instincts insist that I dig deeper. If the Chief Overseer has been systematically defrauding the Treasury, then it is best that I uncover it now, and resolve the issue on Kamal’s behalf.’ Azhar shook his head. ‘It is time we left, we have another two hours ride before we reach our camp for the night. Was your time spent with Fatima profitable?’

      ‘Extremely.’

      ‘And you have made a number of new friends, I can see,’ Azhar said, smiling down at the children. ‘Though their demands seem to have prevented you from enjoying your food.’

      ‘I forgot all about it,’ Julia said, looking at her almost full plate in surprise. ‘Will you catch us a hare for dinner?’

      ‘I think I may be able to do slightly better than that,’ Azhar said intriguingly. ‘Shall we go?’

      * * *

      He was silent and pensive as they journeyed further east, brooding over what he had learned. His remark about digging his own grave had been intended to be flippant, but in truth the situation was both serious and concerning. To accuse such a senior figure as the Chief Overseer of dishonesty was unprecedented. The very nature of the role and the sums involved demanded unimpeachable probity. The holder of the post must enjoy the complete trust of the King. That the man was also a member of Council—Azhar would have to have incontrovertible proof. Punishment for such a crime would be grave, but the dishonour it would bring not only to the perpetrator, but to his whole family was almost worse. He had to be very sure of his facts, for the consequences were so dire for all concerned, including him. Such an accusation had not been made in living memory.

      Yet if it was true, the light it cast on Kamal’s judgement was also extremely worrying. If the man proved to be corrupt, it would reflect very poorly indeed upon his brother’s astuteness. It was one thing to prop Kamal up, quite another to expose him as gullible, though how such a heinous offence could be kept quiet, even if it was for the good of the kingdom—but here Azhar drew his thoughts to an abrupt halt. If the matter proved to be as grave as it seemed, Kamal must deal with the consequences. Azhar could identify the issues, he could even assist with putting a strategy in place to deal with them, but the longer-term implications were his brother’s problem.

      Azhar had his own business to return to. A business which he had created, nurtured and expanded, and which must be suffering from his prolonged absence, no matter how diligent his agent might be. Freedom. It was tantalisingly close. He must keep that goal as clearly in sight as Julia did. In a little over two weeks, freedom would be his, secured at an even greater cost than he had anticipated when he first arrived. Every passing day brought new concerns to the surface. Every question he asked begat only more questions. He was weary of it.

      A little over two weeks was all the time he had left with Julia. He didn’t want to think about that either. Tonight, he would forget all of it. Today he had played the Prince, tonight he would be simply a man alone with a desirable woman in the middle of the desert.

      * * *

      The camp was set up on the edge of the small oasis, which was little more than a deep round pool and a stand of palm trees. The two tents sat at right angles to each other, their tastefully striped coverings and decorative golden tassels a far cry from the simple construction that Julia had last camped in. A thick rug was spread on the sand in the awning of the larger tent of the two. A fire was set ready to be kindled. Lamps were hung from the awnings, ready to be lit. The sun was already setting behind them as they arrived, casting a golden glow over everything.

      ‘What do you think?’ Azhar asked.

      Julia stared at the scene in wonder. ‘Is this real? It looks quite fantastical. How on earth did all of this get out here in the middle of the desert?’

      ‘I ordered that it be so.’

      ‘And here, as if by magic, it is. Is this one of the treats you promised me?’

      ‘I wanted your lasting memory of the Qaryma desert to be much more pleasant than your last experience,’ Azhar said, helping her from the saddle.

      ‘Drugged, robbed and left for dead. Until you came along and saved me, that is.’ She undid her veil and pulled off her headdress, shaking out her heavy plait of hair. ‘When I am back in Cornwall, my memories of Qaryma will not be of the desert, magical and beautiful though it is, they will be of you and our fleeting time together.’

      ‘Then we must make the most of what little time we have left,’ Azhar said.

      The sun was disappearing fast from the horizon. The air was cooling rapidly. The thick silence which heralded the transition from day to night descended. Julia caught his gaze. ‘And what, pray, does making the most of it involve?’

      Azhar’s smile was sensual. ‘That very much depends on you.’

      ‘Actually,’ Julia said, pushing his headdress back to run her fingers through his hair, ‘I too have resolved to make the most of our precious time together.’

      ‘And what, pray, does that entail?’

      She rested her hands on his shoulders and stood on her tiptoes to brush her lips against his ear. ‘That very much depends on you,’ she whispered.

      His hands tightened on her arms. Julia nipped the lobe of his ear. She was nervous. What if he rejected her? What if he thought her overtures foolish, or naïve or simply unexciting? She knew that such thoughts were self-destructive, but they crept in, hovering at the edge of consciousness as she pressed a kiss to his jaw. It was rough with the day’s growth. Her own skin was gritty with the sand that permeated everywhere. She felt hot and damp and singularly ill suited for seduction. Defeated, she stepped back. ‘I think I’d like to freshen up.’

      But as she turned away, Azhar pulled her back into his arms. ‘In a moment.’ He tilted her face up, to look into her eyes. ‘Julia, whatever you are thinking, be assured that you are wrong.’