Khalim scanned his mother’s face, but it bore no trace of disapproval. And why should it? She knew him well, and, yes, he did respect Rose’s professional skills. His mother also read voraciously and that had, in its way, made her outlook unusually unfettered by tradition.
Perhaps she suspected that he would consummate his relationship with Rose while she was here. But that would not worry her either—she was as aware as he was that he must marry a woman of Maraban blood. She would turn a blind eye to any dalliances which occurred before that marriage would take place. As soon it must, he reminded himself, re membering the prospective brides who had been paraded before him just before he had flown out for Guy’s wedding.
A host of dark-eyed virgins, their faces concealed by their yashmaks. Young and exquisitely beautiful, not one had dared meet his eye. He had asked himself whether he found any of them attractive, and the answer had been yes, of course he did. A man would have to have been made of stone not to. But their inexperience and respect for his position would make them merely hostages to his desires. By definition, it would be a submissive and unequal marriage.
He looked at Rose, at the proud way she bore herself and the confidence with which she returned his stare. He felt the muffled acceleration of his heart and cursed it.
‘And these are my two sisters,’ he said huskily. ‘Caiusine and Enegul.’
His two sisters were impossibly beautiful with black eyes and the thickest falls of ebony hair imaginable. And none of the women wore yashmaks, Rose noted in surprise as she took her place at the table, with Khalim on one side, his mother on the other.
Soundless servants brought platter upon platter of food, while candles guttered on the table, blown by the scented breeze which drifted in through the open windows.
‘Will you drink wine, Rose?’ Khalim asked her softly, watching the rise and fall of her breathing and the way it elevated her magnificent breasts.
She shook her head. ‘I won’t, thank you. I’ll have what everyone else is having.’
Khalim poured her juice, silently applauding her for her diplomacy, while Rose chatted about the purpose of her trip in answer to his sisters’ interested questions.
‘Tomorrow we’re going to the oil refinery,’ she told them.
‘And Khalim is letting you choose Murad’s successor?’ asked Enegul in astonishment.
Black eyes glittered at her through the candlelight and his sister’s question only crystallised what Rose had suspected all along.
‘I think that Khalim has already decided who he wants to replace Murad,’ said Rose slowly as the absurdity of the situation dawned on her. As if a man of Khalim’s power would rely solely on her judgement! ‘And I’m just here to confirm his decision.’
He felt the dry beat of desire. Obviously, she was nothing but a witch—well schooled in the art of sorcery! ‘How very perceptive of you, Rose.’
‘That’s my job,’ she answered sweetly.
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‘And what if you and Khalim disagree?’ asked Arksoltan.
Black clashed with blue in visual duel.
‘Then it’s whoever argues the case for their choice best, I guess,’ said Rose.
‘Khalim, then!’ put in the younger sister loyally.
‘Do not underestimate the power of Rose’s debating skills,’ came his dry response.
He accompanied her back to her room, and the corridors were echoing and silent, empty save for the ever-constant presence of his bodyguard who followed at a discreet distance behind them.
Her senses were full of him as they walked side by side. The whisper of the silk as it clung and fluttered around the hard, lean body and the faint drift of sandalwood from the warmth of his skin. But there was an unmistakable tension about him, and it had transmitted itself to her so that her breathing had become unsteady, her heart rate erratic as she thought of what could lie ahead.
Would he try to kiss her tonight? And didn’t she, if she was being honest—and she spent her life trying to be honest—didn’t she want that more than anything else?
‘You have enjoyed your evening with my family, Rose?’
She nodded. ‘I thought it very good of your mother to entertain me when she must be so worried about your father.’
‘To be royal means to learn to hide your feelings.’ He shrugged. ‘And it would be unforgivable not to show hospitality.’
She nodded, and thought of his mother’s initial reaction to her. ‘When I walked into the dining room, your mother looked…’
He stilled. ‘What?’