The Royals Collection. Rebecca Winters

want to upset everyone who’s come here to wish us well.’

      ‘That’s the last thing I want, but—’

      ‘Not now, Jazz,’ Tyr murmured as the speeches began.

      Tyr didn’t ask her to translate for him. He’d heard enough, Jazz guessed. There was no eye contact between them, no contact between them at all. Would things improve when they were alone?

      ‘Are you cold?’ he asked as she shivered with apprehension.

      Before she could answer, Tyr had draped a cashmere blanket round her shoulders, making her remember times when he would have laughed and dragged her into a wholly innocent bear hug to warm her up.

      ‘Cold and tired?’ he diagnosed when she heaved a sigh.

      ‘No.’ She would be awake all night, pacing the pavilion.

      When they finally got up to leave, Jazz felt like a prisoner walking to her doom, rather than a bride eagerly walking at the side of her husband to her marriage bed. The wedding procession took its time to wind its way with some ceremony around the village before it turned in the direction of the bridal accommodation that had been set aside for them on the banks of the oasis.

      The wedding pavilion was very grand and had been erected a tactful distance away from the village. When they walked inside, Jazz gasped to see such luxury. Everything had been provided for the comfort of the bride and groom. There was an abundance of fresh food laid out on platters along with jugs of juice and fresh water. There was also the most enormous bed, which she had to try very hard not to look at.

      Next there was a ceremony that allowed Tyr and Jazz to thank everyone for such a wonderful day. She could tell Sharif was slightly embarrassed when it came to his turn, while Britt’s hug lasted longest of all. ‘You’ll be all right,’ Britt whispered. ‘I know Tyr will take good care of you.’

      That was what she was afraid of, Jazz realised as she forced her lips into a smile. ‘Of course I’ll be all right,’ she agreed brightly, with absolutely no evidence to back that up. When everyone had left, the two of them remained standing, staring at each other from opposite sides of the pavilion. There would be entertainment for their guests, Jazz registered numbly as the sound of traditional music floated towards them on the balmy air.

      This was no way to get her new life started.

      She gathered her courage. ‘Would you like to bathe first, or shall I?’

      ‘Why don’t you go first?’ Tyr suggested. ‘Would you like me to help you with your gown?’

      ‘No, thank you.’

      They both sounded so stiff. They were as remote as two strangers who had been thrown together for the night.

      ‘No, please—I insist,’ she said, putting off the moment when she would emerge from behind the curtain a virgin bride. ‘I’m happy to wait while you bathe first.’

      All night if necessary.

      It was a relief when Tyr disappeared into the curtained section of the tent. This was as far from her fantasy wedding night as it was possible to get, Jazz reflected as she paced nervously up and down, waiting for him to return.

      When he did come back, Tyr was covered by only a small towel, which he had secured around his waist. She had to remind herself that where Tyr came from same-sex saunas, followed by rolling naked in the snow, was considered a harmless family activity, rather than some intriguing erotic ritual, so walking about half naked in front of her was nothing new for Tyr Skavanga.

      She flashed a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes as Tyr held the curtain leading into the bathing tent for her. This was going to be the longest bathing session in the history of the mountain stream. And now, because she’d been so stubborn in refusing his help, it was going to take her an age to undress. Finally, after much tugging and pulling, she stood naked in the balmy warmth, and, taking the plunge into the stream, she was glad of the shock of the icy water hitting her overheated skin.

      ‘Are you all right in there?’ Tyr called out as she exclaimed with shock.

      ‘I’m fine,’ she yelled back, sinking low in the water in case he should decide to come and investigate.

      Climbing out only when she was in danger of turning into a prune, she grabbed an all-concealing bath sheet and wrapped herself in it like a mummy.

      Viewing the various pots of creams and lotions that the women had left for her, Jazz huffed a humourless laugh. The fabled potions of Wadi village were lost on her. These were said not just to smooth the skin but to heighten sensation everywhere they touched. She’d need an industrial bucketful, and a man who showed some interest in applying it.

      She took her time to select a nightgown. This wasn’t as easy as it sounded, as all the garments the women had left for her seemed to be composed of gossamer-fine silk, and she could see through them quite easily. How was she supposed to face Tyr dressed like that?

      This is your one and only chance at marriage. Just for once, can’t you allow yourself to want something for you?

      Like what? Jazz argued with her inner critic.

      Like Tyr making love to you, before your life becomes one of practical solitude.

      Allow Tyr to make love to her? He’d have to teach her about sex first.

      Why don’t you ask him to do just that?

      Ask Tyr to teach her about sex? Her cheeks were on fire with embarrassment at that thought. Reaching for a robe, she wrapped it around the flimsy nightgown she had chosen to wear. If Tyr would settle for friendship, then so would she.

      No, she wouldn’t.

      Yes, she would. She might have to.

      There was only one way to find out.

      She paused and took a deep breath. Her hand was trembling as she gripped the dividing curtain. She had to do this. She could do this. She would find a way to reach Tyr and restore communication between them, to clear the air. And then they could talk into the night until they were both so tired they fell asleep.

      Coward.

      Tyr had made himself comfortable on a bed of cushions as far away from the main bed as possible, Jazz noticed when she returned to the main part of the pavilion. He was resting back with his eyes closed.

      Good. Maybe he was asleep.

      * * *

      He closed his eyes as Jazz walked deeper into the pavilion, but he’d seen enough to know she took his breath away. Standing with her back to him, she had begun to brush her hair. The light was behind her, and even though she had thrown a robe over her diaphanous nightgown, he could see her naked form quite clearly. She was easily the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. As she continued to brush her long, damp hair in smooth, hypnotic strokes, he realised that Jazz had no idea she possessed a magic strong enough to arouse a man who had believed for years he was dead to all but the most primitive feelings. He was painfully aroused now, and emotionally aroused, and all thanks to Jazz Kareshi.

      Jazz Skavanga, Tyr amended, smiling to himself as he considered this most surprising of all the recent developments.

      Jazz had applied some attractive scent, and the robe she had donned was of some flimsy material in softest coral that picked out the blush in her cheeks. And she was plaiting her hair—

      Don’t do that. Don’t plait your hair. Don’t tie it back.

      He smiled as he imagined Jazz’s reaction to his newfound feelings, but meanwhile frustration was threatening to throttle him. What he needed was another dousing in the freezing-cold stream.

      He turned away, feigning sleep as Jazz stood up and turned around to face him. If she had any sense she would go straight to the big marital bed, and then tuck herself in and go straight to sleep. At the very least, she should stay well away from him. He was curious as to what she would do. He’d hunted her down at the party