Forbidden in Regency Society. Marguerite Kaye
‘That’s all I ask.’
‘For the moment, at least,’ he said wryly. ‘Come, let us leave this place.’
Turning the key in the lock of the outer door, Jamil removed it and secreted it in his robes. Cassie watched him stride down the corridor, his tunic rippling in the slight breeze caused by his rapid gait. Poor, tortured Jamil. If he could but make a start by loving Linah, then maybe some day he would be capable of real love.
Why was that thought making her uncomfortable?
She had an absurd urge to run after him, missing him more with every step he took away from her, a premonition of a time when he would be gone from her for ever. She hadn’t thought about that until now. Until today. She didn’t want to think about it now.
It would have been naïve to expect that Jamil would be transformed overnight, but from that day on, Cassie did detect a marked difference in him. Awkwardly at first, but with increasing confidence as Linah responded, he began to allow his feelings for his daughter to show. Cassie looked on with a pride she took care to disguise. Knowing that she had been instrumental in effecting this change was enough; she did not want his gratitude, and she most certainly did not want Linah to guess the part she had played. Besides, it was a painful enough process for Jamil to override the years of pain that had beaten his reserve into him. She did not want him worrying about her witnessing his metamorphosis.
She was watching him with Linah one day. Jamil was standing in the middle of a bathing pool, teaching his daughter to swim. He had abandoned his cloak and igal, but retained his tunic. The water came up to his waist. Linah, lying supported in his arms, was giggling at something he had said. He looked over at Cassie and smiled. Their eyes met and her heart did a little flip flop. His tunic, damp from Linah’s splashing, clung to his body like a second skin, showing off his muscles, the width of his shoulders, the dip of his stomach. His hair was sticking up in endearing spikes. His eyes sparkled with good humour.
Father and daughter together. It was exactly the tableau Cassie had dreamt of creating, but though it was of her making, she felt excluded. Father and daughter. The obvious gap opened up before her like an abyss. They had been playing happy families, the three of them, but she was not really part of it. And yet she wanted to be, she realised. She wanted to be a lot. Because she loved Linah now, too. But mostly because she was in danger, in very real danger, of feeling something she should not feel for Linah’s father. And that would be a mistake.
Cassie turned away from Jamil’s beckoning smile, busying herself with packing away the lunch things. It was not too late. She had caught herself just in time. It was not too late.
‘The Council await you, Highness.’
Jamil looked up from the document he’d been perusing and gazed blankly at his man of business, who was hovering in the open doorway.
‘The betrothal contract,’ Halim prompted anxiously. ‘You rearranged the signing for today. It must be witnessed by the Council, so I took the liberty of organising the gathering. They are ready.’
‘The betrothal contract.’
‘Yes, Highness. You said—’
‘I know what I said. This alliance is advantageous to us, it is to be welcomed.’ But Jamil did not want to be married. He did not want to even have to think about marriage, about siring an heir with a female he had absolutely no interest in whatsoever. The idea of it filled him with repugnance. He was sick and tired of having to think about the endless matters of state that obtruded on his day, and sick and tired of having to spend his time resolving them, one problem after another. Sometimes it felt as if he was the only person in the whole kingdom of Daar-el-Abbah capable of making decisions. Jamil rubbed the bridge of his nose with long, elegant fingers. It had always been thus—why was it bothering him so much now?
With some caution, Halim approached the desk behind which his master sat. The prince had been behaving strangely of late, spending much time with his daughter and that English governess of hers. ‘You must be heartened by the improvement in your daughter’s behaviour,’ he said carefully, ‘the whole palace is talking about the change in her.’ And the change in Prince Jamil! ‘You will be able to hand over Princess Linah with confidence now.’
‘Hand her over?’ Jamil looked confused.
Halim laughed nervously. ‘Well, you will hardly require the services of the English governess when you are married, Highness. Your daughter will be in the care of your new wife, as is right and proper.’
‘Eventually, perhaps, when I am actually married.’
‘But with the betrothal papers signed, there will be no reason to delay.’
No reason, save his own reluctance. ‘I’ve only met Princess Adira once, remember.’
Halim beamed. ‘And the next time you meet her will be on your wedding night, as is the tradition.’
Jamil thumped his fist down on the desk. ‘No!’ He pushed his chair back and got to his feet. ‘It is time both you and the Council recognised this is the nineteenth century, not the thirteenth. I won’t have my wife brought to me painted and veiled like some offering. I am not a prize stud camel, I don’t perform to order. And she—Princess Adira—she’s barely exchanged two words with me.’
‘You are hardly marrying her for her conversational skills,’ Halim said with a smirk, ‘she will be first wife, not first minister.’
‘First and only wife. Therefore it is, even you will admit, preferable that at the very least we do not hold one another in dislike.’
‘Indeed, but the Princess Adira—’
‘I am sure she has many excellent qualities, but that’s not what I’m talking about.’
‘What are you talking about, Prince Jamil?’
A beautiful face, a pair of turquoise eyes, a coral mouth curved into a welcoming smile.
‘Master?’
Someone to depend upon. Someone who would share and not just take. Cassie! The beautiful creature who had created a sanctuary in Linah’s apartments where he could be free from the cares of the world. Who saw him not as Prince Jamil, ruler of Daar-el-Abbah, nor as a provider, nor as a peace maker, neither as an enemy nor an ally. Who called him Jamil in that soft husky voice of hers with the quaint English accent. Who saw him as a man, not a prince. Who talked to him as a friend. Whose delicious body and delightful scent and coral-pink mouth haunted his dreams.
It would be pleasant there in the courtyard as dusk began to fall. An oasis of calm and peace, of seclusion from the world, even if it was just an illusion. He would go to her once he had, yet again, done his duty by signing away the little he had left of himself. He would go to her, and she would soothe him just by talking about the mundane details of her day. He would let her voice wash over him, and he would forget about everything else for a few precious moments.
The thought was enough of an incentive to force him into action. ‘Very well, let’s get this over with.’ Jamil grabbed the ceremonial gold-and-emerald cloak that lay waiting on the divan under the window and fastened it around his neck with the ornate emerald pin. The sabre next, then the ring and the head dress and the golden band. He straightened his shoulders and tugged at the heavy belt holding the sabre in place. Then he nodded at Halim, who flung open the door to the prince’s private apartments, and clicked his fingers to summon the honorary guard.
Six men, dressed in pristine white, formed up in the corridor behind their ruler. Halim himself picked up the trailing edge of Prince Jamil’s cloak, and the party set off for the throne room at a swift pace.
The double doors of the magnificent room were already open in readiness. Two rows of Royal Guards formed a pathway to the dais, their scimitars raised, points touching. Rays from the sinking sun slanted through the high windows and glinted on the polished steel. The waiting Council of Elders made obeisance as Jamil