Desert Wedding. Alexandra Scott
went out, and returned with her cases, which he slung onto the rack in the hallway. ‘If you want any help, ring this—’ he indicated a bell pull ‘—and Enna, Ismail’s wife will come. In the meantime I’m sure you’d like some tea. I’ll get her to bring some for you.’
‘Thank you.’ All at once she was exhausted, had lost any inclination to struggle against her immediate fate. Her sole concern now was to lie down on one of the beds and to sleep.
‘We’ll leave here about nine if that suits you and...’ his hesitation was momentary ‘...I’ll have a proposal to put to you.’
Nathan was gone before the last words registered. Georgia swung round as the door closed quietly, but lacked the energy to pursue him for clarification. Instead, she looked about the room—at the two double beds covered in pale grey brocade, the marble floors, veined in palest pink, with that same colour hinted at in the diaphanous hangings at the windows, and the mirrored cupboards covering one wall and adding to the impression of space. There were touches of pink in the lamps too, and in the chaise longue covered in silk. She sighed, partly in pleasure, then went forward and sank onto the stool in front of the dressing table.
The day had been endless. Given the fact that she’d woken up still suffering the vague aftermath of that tummy bug—now thankfully gone—followed by the fiasco at the club and then the indignity of losing her accommodation, she would hardly have been surprised to find that she had aged ten years, but, on the contrary, a critical glance in the mirror confirmed that she looked remarkably unchanged.
She laid the back of her hand against her cheek, smoothing the firm skin to which the climate had given a peachy glow. It seemed to enhance her green eyes and bring highlights to the dark blonde hair.
Again she sighed, this time from sheer dejection. To think that she had come all this way to try to get her life back in order and here she was apparently having exchanged one set of problems for another.
Raising her arms, she lifted the amber beads over her head and dropped them onto the dressing table. Another sideways look in the mirror confirmed that her cotton lawn dress still looked fairly fresh, even if it felt a little damp. The softly gathered lines suited her tall, slender figure and...yes, she was still recognisable as the elegant Miss Georgia, who had been assistant designer to the well-known Jordan Severs. And—the unwelcome thought almost brought tears to her eyes-very nearly his lover.
If it hadn’t been for the chance telephone call which had revealed the presence of his wife and family, she would at this very moment have been sharing a bed with him on some romantic hideaway Caribbean island, and...
A tap at the door made her reach for the just-discarded dress and hold it protectively in front of her, then she sighed in relief as she saw the maid skimming across the floor with the tea-tray. She thanked the woman, who returned her smile shyly and left the room while Georgia reached eagerly for the teapot.
Twenty minutes later, freshly showered, she lay drowsing on the oh, so comfortable bed, until a thought flashed disturbingly into her mind—one startling enough to take her into a semi-sitting position, supported on her elbows and staring into the mid-distance. Then, after a moment’s frowning contemplation, she subsided, a faint smile on her mouth.
A proposition to put to her. Was that what Nathan Trehearn had said? Or had it been a proposal? Well, he would soon see that she was expert at deflecting propositions; she had weakened only once, and that experience with Jordan had honed her skill to razor sharpness. So, unless his idea had something in it for her, he would find that he was wasting his time.
She snuggled down, her cheek burrowing into the cool softness of the pillow, and no longer tried to fight the waves of delicious drowsiness washing over her. A ‘proposal’—that had been the word, but she was fairly certain marriage was the last thing he had in mind. She smiled to herself at the very notion. And that was just as well, for she had no interest in any sort of commitment permanent or temporary; Jordan had cured her of any inclination in that direction for a very long time.
That said, the two men could hardly be more different—Jordan, with his shoulder-length mane of almost white hair, and this other, so very crisp and clean and conventional. Nathan’s very difference implied a certain degree of safety, so long as the present situation continued.
Yes, that was a reassuring thought. Georgia wriggled slightly in the supreme comfort of the large bed. Until now, she had always enjoyed the company of the slightly Bohemian type of which Jordan was a striking example. She was certain that his flamboyant temperament had had a deal to do with the immediate attraction she had felt. Much of it, as she had already guessed, was sheer affectation, but it had without doubt added to the aura of glamour with which he surrounded himself.
In fact, now that she was out of it she could assess things so much more dispassionately. His habit of surrounding himself with tall, good-looking young women contributed to the public man, whereas Nat Trehearn.. it was impossible to imagine him descending to such theatrical tricks. She smiled to herself at the very idea.
But it was strange—her eyes flicked open for a moment—she didn’t even know what he did for a living. Strange, strange and passing strange... Here she was, in this house, alone with the man except for a pair of Arab servants—a man whom she had met just a few hours earlier. And the only thing she knew about him was his name.
Slowly, gently, her eyelids drooped, her breathing lengthened and she slept.
CHAPTER TWO
GETTING ready later in the evening, Georgia abandoned reticence, for some inexplicable reason chose to wear one of her more original outfits—the wide trousers which might, until she moved, have been a skirt.
Sheer silk organza, they drifted about her, giving tantalising glimpses of long, slender legs. Their colour—deep sea-green, a shade or two darker than her eyes—was one that she found irresistible, especially when scattered with cream polka dots. The tunic top, in the same silk but without the spots, had tiny puff sleeves with rich cream embroidery outlining the plain round neck.
It was all perfectly modest and restrained, but at the same time, standing in front of the long mirrors, she felt a qualm as she recognised the extremely potent image that she was seeing. It was as if—and this could not have been further from the truth—she were going out on a proper date, with a man she wanted to attract, for heaven’s sake.
Perhaps if she had taken less care with her make-up...only someone who knew nothing about it would imagine that it was casual and understated—that was exactly where the skill lay. Her eyes were emphasised with grey-green shadow, long, carefully curled lashes gave a romantic, luminous look, blusher merely touched the high cheekbones, and lips were barely brushed with a soft sheen.
But possibly it was hair which made the most positive statement, for, after washing it and treating it to an extravagant amount of conditioner, she had decided, after much trial and error, on a plait, which now hung over one shoulder and for some reason looked devastating. Hard to explain why. Was it the contrast between the sophistication of her outfit and the schoolgirl hairdo which gave it such appeal? Perhaps.
Perfume. Of course. She had always loved it. Turning, she picked up the bottle from the dressing table but, as she pressed the atomiser quite suddenly she panicked. This was all wrong; she wasn’t going out on a romantic date, and it was certainly the last message she wanted to send out to a man who had simply taken pity on her.
Perhaps the wisest thing would be a quick change into a simple skirt and blouse—but no... someone was at the bedroom door. Her heart started to hammer, but it was Enna with the message, ‘Master is waiting.’
‘Thank you, Enna.’ So what if she looked good? she thought. She slipped her feet into high-heeled mules, picked up her handbag and did a final check in the glass. She had always—at least, mostly—dressed to please Georgia Maitland, and this was not the moment to change the habits of a lifetime. She smiled rather grimly at her reflection and went to join ‘master’ in the hall.
And there was little doubt that Nathan, handsome or not—she