Maharaja's Mistress

‘Are you totally without scruples?’ she demanded tensely.

‘Yes.’

Ram could always be relied on to be blunt. And she could always be relied on to respond to him. She could smell his warm, spicy man scent and her body was already on fire for his touch. She could smell the soap from his shower and knew his hair would still be damp—

But her decision had been made.

She climbed back into bed.

Ram hummed as she settled her head onto the pillow. ‘The fact that you’re pulling the sheet up has not escaped my notice.’

‘I have work to do tomorrow, Ram, and some of us need our beauty sleep.’

‘But not you,’ he murmured, toying with a lock of her hair.

‘Ram…’

‘Do you seriously want me to change?’

‘Why don’t we talk? Tell me about your day.’

‘Like an old married couple?’

‘No, like friends—like friends who care about each other and want to share the good times and the bad.’

‘Talking of bad. Do you really want this relationship without sex?’

‘That’s not bad, it’s just different.’

He laughed. ‘Are you sure you’ve thought it through?’

‘Not completely.’

‘I’d never have guessed,’ he said dryly. ‘So, what would rock your boat, Mia? Let’s just say someone was interested in pursuing you with a view to taking things further?’

‘An old-fashioned courtship might be acceptable.’

Ram hummed. ‘Like someone to read poetry to you?’

‘Are you mocking me?’ she said suspiciously.

‘Not at all,’ Ram exclaimed. ‘As if I would.’

But she had only relaxed on the pillow for a moment when he started spouting verse.

‘“Ah Love! could thou and I with Fate conspire to grasp this sorry scheme of things entire, would we not shatter it to bits—and then remould it nearer to the heart’s desire?” Omar Khayyam,’ he explained smugly. ‘That should do it.’

She stared at him blankly.

‘You should read more poetry,’ Ram insisted.

‘And you should go to bed. Your brain is clearly overheating.’

‘Like other parts of my body,’ he complained, ‘but as you won’t help me out—’

‘Help you out?’ Mia shot up. ‘That’s my point exactly. I am not some sort of super-charged sex toy.’

‘But you are,’ Ram disagreed with an unrepentant grin.

‘Get out of here!’ Mia exclaimed, flinging her pillows at his head.

‘Delighted to. Oh, and I’ve arranged some time for us tomorrow—or, should I say today—so we’ll make a start then, shall we?’

‘A start on what?’

‘Our courtship…’

Was it her fault the wedding march started clanging in her head? Or was that a warning bell?

Was Ram serious?

Hmm. Time would tell. ‘So what form will this courtship take?’ she said suspiciously.

‘We’ll take a walk. Look at the scenery. Gaze at the sunset. Stare into each other’s eyes—we can even share a little music.’

‘If you think I’m going to stand calmly by while you bawl your way through every rugby anthem you ever learned at school—’

‘Okay, no rugby songs,’ he agreed. ‘I can see this is going to take quite a lot of forward planning.’

And now she had to bury her face in the bedclothes just to hide her smile. ‘No one said you had to turn all serious on me.’

‘And no one said you had to turn all frigid on me.’

‘But I’m—’

‘Not frigid?’ Ram placed his finger over her lips. ‘That’s for you to prove and me to find out.’ And then he pulled away. ‘Goodnight, Mia—’

‘What?’ She sat up in bed, all thoughts of chastity and modesty forgotten. ‘Where do you think you’re going?’

‘To make some plans.’ Pausing by the door, Ram smiled his sexy smile. ‘I should have thought of this sooner. Tomorrow, Mia…’

‘You—’

Can’t leave me, she had been about to say.

But he so obviously could.

Chapter Eighteen

RAM could do courtly better than anyone she knew. In fact, he had probably majored in Courtology at university, Mia reflected as they walked together down a tree-shaded avenue. They were in the majestic gardens of the old palace, currently being followed by around twenty female members of staff, who thankfully kept a discreet distance from their robe-clad leader and his business-suited companion. Ram had knocked on Mia’s door that morning with an offer for ‘some stress relief before her next stint in front of the committee’. She should have known what that entailed, Mia realised, wincing, as Ram bellowed, ‘“Awake!”’

‘What?’ She recoiled back.

‘Don’t say what—say pardon,’ he said sternly. ‘I’m quoting poetry and you’re spoiling the moment.’

‘Apologies,’ she said, playing along—though how she was supposed to keep a straight face when a man who looked more like a warrior than a poet was having a theatric

al moment, she had no idea.

On the serious side, each time she saw Ram it seemed he had claimed back a little more of his heritage, and there was no doubt that in Ramprakeshi clothes he looked magnificent. The flowing night-dark blue silk robe he was wearing today hinted at his muscular form without revealing it, while the wristbands studded with rubies and diamonds only served to emphasise his brazen masculinity. Plus, he was wearing a jewelled belt with the biggest sword she had ever seen in her life hanging from it. ‘Are we expecting an execution today?’

‘We may well be if you don’t shut up.’

‘Okay, I guess this is your moment in the spotlight,’ Mia conceded as a beam of sunlight caught them both in the face.

She didn’t have to wait long.

‘“Awake! For morning in the bowl of night has flung the stone that puts the stars to flight: And lo! the Hunter of the East has caught the Sultan’s turret in a noose of light.”’

‘But you’re a maharaja,’ she observed flatly.

‘For goodness’ sake,’ Ram said, snapping the book shut and handing it to one of the many hovering servants, ‘some people are never satisfied—’

‘And are never likely to be if you continue reading poetry,’ Mia muttered.

‘And I thought a platonic courtship was what you wanted,’ Ram protested, adopting a hurt expression. ‘Now let me see—what comes after poetry? Ah, yes, music.’

‘If you start singing I really shall run back to the palace.’

‘What if I call for my lute?’

‘Remembering the way you loved to torture my lute I’m more likely to hit you over the head with it.’

‘I could get someone to play it for me.’

‘I don’t think so, Ram.’

‘You’re such a hard woman to please.’

‘Since when?’

‘Since you vowed off sex and demanded a more traditional approach.’

‘Ram, this approach isn’t traditional.’

‘Didn’t I warn you I’d be setting my own traditions?’

‘You promised me stress relief earlier today,’ Mia pointed out as Ram nudged her off the main boulevard onto a narrow path made almost completely invisible to those not in the know thanks to an abundance of raspberry-scented blossom.