‘Why? Nothing can be changed. We’re married. I am your husband. You are my wife. We must do what is expected of us.’
‘Sacrifice doesn’t come naturally to those of us who were not raised to be royal and perfect!’ Tilda declared.
His strong jaw line set. ‘I am not trying to be perfect.’
‘Your father and your sisters are lovely. What a welcome they’ve given me!’ Tilda shook her silvery fair head, struggling to find the right words with which to voice her deep unease at the role that had been forced on her. ‘Doesn’t deceiving them into believing that we’re a real couple bother you?’
‘Of course it does, but it is the lesser of two evils. I can only regret the actions that brought us to this point. But I also accept that the truth would shame and distress, not only my family, but also our people. A respectful pretence is the best option on offer to us.’
Tilda was very tempted to look for something large and heavy and throw it at him in the hope of extracting a less logical and dispassionate response. ‘But this is a total nightmare.’
Accustomed to her love of exaggeration, Rashad surveyed her with glinting golden eyes of appreciation. Even after a day that would have taxed most women to the edge of hysteria she still looked absolutely amazing: glorious hair, glorious skin, glorious eyes, glowing and full of life. Out of politeness, courtiers, government officials and staff had tried not to stare at her, but the pure impact of her beauty had proved too much for many. That she had not betrayed the smallest awareness of that attention had impressed him. He had felt proud of her.
‘Not a nightmare,’ Rashad chided gently.
‘Well, it is a nightmare for me!’ Tilda condemned, her temper finally letting rip in the face of such indifference to her feelings. ‘I don’t routinely lie to people. I can’t feel comfortable faking stuff. I don’t have the first idea about how to act like your wife-’
‘I can help you. You should have entered our apartments, met the servants and accepted their flowers and congratulations. You would then have ordered dinner.’
Her generous pink mouth fell wide. What servants? She had not seen any servants! And why was he talking about food again? After a day when she had reeled dizzily from one shock into the next, was that truly all he could think about?
‘Or, you could have gone straight upstairs with me to bed,’ Rashad framed, willing to exchange one hunger for another that became more pressing every time he looked at her. His intent gaze acquired a smouldering light as it roamed over her lovely face and slim, shapely figure. ‘I can tell you now that sex is a high priority on my list. Meet my expectations there and I will regard you as the perfect wife.’
Tilda was almost dumbfounded with rage. For once, she could see that he had had no thought of being facetious. He was set on being candid and helpful when he informed her that his priorities were as basic as Neanderthal man’s had no doubt been. Sex and food.
‘I do not aspire to be the perfect wife, and if that was the pep talk that was supposed to act as inspiration it was a killer!’ Tilda launched at him. ‘You asked for my co-operation. As I seemed to have very little choice, I went along with that, but I had no idea how big a charade you were expecting me to dish up!’
Lean, darkly handsome face taut, Rashad breathed, ‘Our marriage does not have to be a charade.’
‘And I don’t have to be a concubine within this stupid fake marriage if I don’t want to be!’ Tilda flung that declaration and folded her arms, pride and fortitude prompting her to take a stand. She was willing to co-operate when it came to the marriage ceremony, but that was enough. Anything more than co-operation would have to be earned. Rashad was at the very foot of that particular learning curve…and his hints about sex and food were unlikely to increase his chances of achievement.
‘Tilda…’
?
??Just you dare say one more word about how best to meet your expectations and, I swear, I’ll scream until you gag me!’ Tilda threatened, her voice half an octave higher in tone. ‘You’re not persuading me. You are so spoilt, so used to women who fall over themselves to do whatever you want-’
‘Where am I going wrong with you? Perhaps I’m talking too much when action would be preferable.’ Strolling forward, Rashad treated her to a fierce look of masculine challenge and, without hesitation, he pulled her into his arms.
Tilda was so disconcerted by that move in the middle of their argument that she lost valuable seconds when she might have gone into retreat. In the interim, Rashad ravished her mouth with his and set off a shattering sexual chain reaction throughout her slender body. Even though she knew she should not, she kissed him back, bruising her lips with the wild hot urgency that had risen like a crazy fever inside her, her hands delving into his black hair like possessive claws. She wanted him, wanted him, wanted him…just like a concubine? A favourite concubine? Those mocking words and the memory of how he had threatened to teach her to beg for his sexual attention, returned to haunt her. In an abrupt movement she tore herself free of his lithe hard body and literally tottered away a few steps on legs that didn’t feel strong enough to keep her upright.
Rashad was trembling, his body screaming for release. You’re not persuading me, she had said. Outrage roared through him when he grasped the significance of those words. What was it that Tilda found persuasive? What did it take to make Tilda surrender? As the answer came his fists clenched and he hated her as much as he wanted her and the force of that internal turmoil threatened to rip him apart.
‘How much?’ he intoned in a wrathful undertone. ‘How much of a financial inducement do you want to share my bed?’
Shock at that question turned Tilda’s flushed face white. Did he still think so little of her? Of course he did. Had she not agreed to sleep with him in return for having a very large debt written off? Her fire of anger was doused, but she was appalled at being directly confronted with his belief that she would do anything for cash.
‘I don’t want your money,’ she whispered tightly, forcing out the denial between tremulous lips. ‘Please don’t make me an offer like that ever again.’
Rashad was eager to believe that he had misinterpreted her behaviour. ‘Then why do you deny us what we both desire?’
Sucking in a steadying breath, Tilda spun back to him, her bright eyes veiled to a wary glimmer. ‘Sex isn’t so simple for me as it is for you. I may have been willing to protect my family at the cost of my pride, but I’m not for sale any more. I’m sorry if you think that’s dishonest,’ she muttered defensively, ‘but I think that it’s a fair enough exchange if I agree to act like your wife and jump through all the right hoops to please everyone. I’ll keep up the performance for as long as you ask, as well. That will be enough of a challenge when I can’t possibly think of myself as your wife in any real way.’
Striving to control his hunger for her, Rashad regarded her with passionate force. ‘Did I misunderstand what you meant by persuasion?’
A strangulated laugh was wrenched from Tilda. ‘Oh, yes. But don’t worry about it. All I’m asking for is a separate bedroom.’
‘And that is what you want?’ Rashad was frowning. He could barely credit what she was saying. She was his wife. She already felt like his wife. Was that really how she felt?