Khalim glimmered her an onyx gaze. ‘I will teach you,’ he promised softly. Oh, yes. He would teach her the many words of love. She would learn to please him in his own language. ‘Now Fatima will show you to your rooms—and you shall bathe and change—then later I will come for you.’
She wanted to ask him exactly what he meant by such a masterful and yet ambiguous expression as that—I will come for you—but it didn’t really seem appropriate, not with Fatima hanging onto every word. He probably meant that he would come to take her down for dinner. So why did that make her heart crash against her ribcage in disappointment?
‘Come, please,’ said Fatima, with a shy smile.
Rose followed her through a maze of silent marble corridors, thinking that unless she had a guide she would get hopelessly lost.
At last Fatima opened a set of double-doors leading into a large, cool room and Rose looked around her, her eyes feasting themselves on the richly embroidered cushions which were scattered over a wide, low bed covered in a throw of embroidered gold. A carved wooden chest stood in one corner, and the room smelt faintly of incense—though a bronze vase which was crammed full of crimson roses only added to the perfumed atmosphere.
One wall contained bookshelves and closer inspection showed a variety of novels and textbooks, some in Marabanese, but mostly in English. Well, at least she would not be bored!
The shutters were closed but Fatima went over to the win dow and opened them, and outside Rose could see a profusion of blooms of every hue and their scent drifted in to bewitch her.
The rose garden!
Had Khalim deliberately put her in here, to enchant her with their fragrance? To remind her of the flower she had been named after?
She shivered as a sense of the irrevocable washed cool temptation over her skin.
‘You will bathe?’ asked Fatima, and gestured towards a door leading off the enormous room.
‘Yes, yes, please—I will.’
‘And you wish me to assist you?’
Rose shook her head, and smiled, thinking how different Maraban hospitality was! ‘No, thanks, Fatima—I’m used to managing on my own,’ she answered gravely.
Fatima nodded and gave another shy smile. ‘I will bring mint tea in an hour.’
‘That will be wonderful. Thank you.’
After the girl had left, Rose went into the bathroom to find a deep circular bath, inlaid with exquisite mosaics in every conceivable shade of blue. There were fragrances and essences from Paris, and fluffy towels as big as sheets. East meets West, she thought with approval, and turned the taps on.
It was the best bath she had ever had. Lying submerged in scented bubbles in the high, cool splendour of the vaulted bathroom, she felt that the real Rose Thomas was a very long way away indeed. So why did she suddenly feel more alive than she had ever felt before?
By the time she had dried her hair, it was getting on for seven o’clock. When would Khalim come, and what should she wear for dinner? Would her gorgeous new evening gown make her look like some kind of houri?
In the end, she decided on a simple silk dress which brushed the floor when she walked. The sleeves were long and loose and it was the soft, intense colour of bluebells. Her hair she left loose and shining, and as she stared at herself in the long mirror she thought that she could not possibly offend anyone’s sensibilities in such a modest gown.
Fatima came, bearing a bronze tray of mint tea. In true Eastern style, Rose settled herself on an embroidered cushion on the floor, and had just poured herself a cup when there was an authoritative rap on the door. Her heart began to thunder.
‘Come in,’ she called.
The door opened and there stood Khalim. He, too, had changed, and he must also have bathed, for his black hair was still damp and glittered with a halo of stray drops of water. His robes were coloured deepest claret—like rich, old wine—but his face looked hard, his expression forbidding as he quietly shut the door behind him.
‘Do you always invite men so freely into your bedroom, Rose?’ he questioned softly.
She put the cup down and looked up at him, knowing that she was not prepared to tolerate his insulting implication. Nor prepared to admit that she had known it was him, simply from the assertive way he had knocked on the door! She shrugged her shoulders in a devil-may-care gesture. ‘Oh, they usually come in two at a time! At least!’
‘Please do not be flippant with me, Rose!’ he exploded.
‘Well, what do you expect?’ she demanded. ‘I presumed that no one would come here, except for you! And I presumed that while I was here I would be under your protection, but maybe I was wrong!’
‘No.’ His voice was heavy. He
was used to obedience, not passionate logic from his women. ‘No, you were not wrong.’
‘Well, then—don’t imply that I am loose with my favours—’