His eyes gleamed very gold. ‘Actually—very, very much.’
She could tell that he was choosing his words carefully, and the flicker of hope became a little steadier. ‘Well, I’ve missed you, too.’
‘Have you, now?’ He smiled, but he saw how huge her eyes seemed in her face. She looked all wary, on edge. Fragile, as if she might just crumple up or dissolve. He felt a fierce rush of protectiveness and it took him by surprise—but why should it have done, when he stopped to think about it? Hadn’t he been exactly that during that chaste first night together in Maraban? ‘Don’t you think we ought to sit down?’
She was pleased to, because her legs were feeling as wobbly as her emotions. They sat, side by side on the sofa, to the left of the roaring blaze, and while part of her longed for him to take her into his arms and kiss her the other part of her was enjoying his almost Victorian restraint. Passion was easy, but emotion wasn’t. Not for Darian. Passion could be something to hide behind, and he wasn’t attempting to.
She turned to him. His eyes looked different, she thought, as though he had seen something new—and maybe he had. ‘So tell me about Maraban,’ she said softly. ‘What was it like in the desert?’
Darian’s eyes narrowed. He realised that her focus was absolutely right, though maybe that shouldn’t have surprised him. Another woman might have wanted to talk about herself, about them, but Lara didn’t. Had she sensed that his whole life and his whole perspective had changed? That change had somehow arisen out of the amazing experiences he had lived through, in the desert especially?
‘It was just the two of us,’ he began, his eyes narrowing with memory, taking him right back to the way it had been. ‘Oh, there were guards stationed further down the mountain, of course, but in effect it was just me and Khalim. We rode, and we walked, and we talked. We did a lot of talking. We lit fires—it was bloody cold. The snows had set in, so we had to take food with us.’
‘Not too much of it, judging by the look of you,’ she said wryly.
‘No.’ He smiled. ‘I guess it must almost have qualified as fasting.’
‘And fasting is cleansing,’ she observed, remembering the yoga course she had signed up for, until she had found sitting around saying ‘Om’ a bit boring and dropped out. ‘Isn’t it?’
‘Very.’ It had been the first time that he had ever really stopped, slowed down, really given himself time to think and to smell the roses. To look at his life and put it into some kind of perspective. ‘Khalim offered me a place there,’ he said slowly.
She had guessed that this might happen, had been mentally prepared for it, but even so it was still a shock. ‘What kind of place?’
‘To rule the western region of Maraban. To publicly acknowledge me as his brother—to legitimately make me…’ He laughed. It sounded so bizarre—hell, it was bizarre—but that didn’t mean it wasn’t happening. ‘Prince Darian of Maraban.’
Lara nodded. Heady stuff, being offered your own kingdom. Darian had influence and relative power in England, but nothing could compare to that. ‘What did you say?’
He nodded slightly. She was perceptive indeed. She had not made any assumption about what his answer had been. ‘I told him no.’
‘My God,’ she breathed. ‘Was he angry?’
He shook his head. ‘I think he was relieved, in a way. He made the offer out of filial loyalty, because he felt that it was right, and that only confirms what a remarkable man he is.’
‘But why did you refuse it?’
For the first time he touched her. Picked up her hand and examined it, stroking the tip of his finger reflectively over the palm. It was both tender and yet curiously erotic, and Lara trembled. Was it still pretend tenderness, or was it real this time?
He felt her tremble and stopped stroking. Not yet, he thought. Not yet.
‘I refused it because we are both strong men, and you cannot have two strong men governing side by side—it might work well as an ideal, but the reality of two such mighty egos clashing would be explosive!’
Yes, she could see that. ‘But weren’t you tempted?’
‘By power?’ he questioned slowly, and she nodded. ‘For about a nano-second.’ He looked very reflective for a moment, then gave a wry smile. ‘But I could envisage the repercussions, should I accept such an offer. Maraban is Khalim’s by birth as well as by blood. He knows his country more intimately than anyone. To bring in a man who is only half Marabanese would be to weaken the throne, supply subversive factions with a legitimate cause to revolt.’
‘That’s remarkably far-sighted of you,’ she observed. ‘Lesser men would have grasped at the chance of such power, no matter what the consequences, but not you.’
‘No,’ he agreed. ‘Not me. Because lately I have learned too much to ever disregard what the consequences might be.’
There was a pause, and this time the silence had about it a quality which made Lara still, some instinct telling her that what he was about to say would be profound.
‘And Khalim and I read his…our,’ he amended, with a wry smile, ‘father’s diaries.’
Lara looked at him in astonishment. ‘I thought you said there was a fifty-year rule preventing that?’
‘So there is, but as Khalim rather arrogantly announced—why make the laws if you can’t break them occasionally, too! Though they will still not be made public until the allotted time.’ There was a pause. ‘Makim knew nothing about my mother’s pregnancy,’ he told her quietly. ‘That much was clear. He mentions her with great affection, but nothing more than that. It appears to have been a very passionate affair which had consequences of which he knew nothing.’
‘And that makes a difference, doesn’t it?’ she questioned slowly. ‘To you?’