She drank some strong wine from one of the carved golden goblets, and the fiery liquid burned into her stomach, filling her with a welcome warmth.
Rashid bent his head to her ear. ‘And now we must move into the Grand Ballroom, my sweet bride,’ he murmured softly. ‘They are awaiting our first dance.’
‘Duty calls,’ she responded with a nod of her head, and the thumping in her head only increased as she saw him frown.
A string quartet had been flown in from New York and they played quietly in one corner of the ballroom as Jenna moved into her new husband’s arms.
For a moment she saw the envious eyes of an international starlet fixed on them—a woman whose tiny, glittering dress showed off every perfect inch of her body. And then she was aware of nothing other than the scent of the man who was now her husband, and the lean, hard body beneath the fine silk he wore.
He touched his lips to her ear, and she shivered. ‘You are pale, Jenna mine,’ he observed. ‘Has your wedding day not pleased you?’
She lifted her head up, dazzled by the piercing black light from his eyes. ‘It has all been so…bewildering,’ she said truthfully. ‘I hadn’t thought…hadn’t realised just what a big show it was going to be.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Show?’ he questioned, his voice sultry, but underlaid with a faint note of impatience. ‘The trappings are necessary, but a wedding is a wedding is a wedding—and tonight I will show you just how fulfilling married life can be.’
She quickly turned her face into his shoulder again, for fear that he should see the foreboding in her eyes.
Rashid felt the stiff tension in her body, but kept his face relaxed, knowing that every eye in the room was on them, and that every nuance would be observed and reported back.
What had happened to the easy warmth which had once flowed like honey between them? Should he ever have let her leave? Was he to blame for this frosty state of impasse? He allowed himself a small sigh. He bitterly regretted the way he had taken her, with such fervour and such little consideration for her innocence. He had believed her rash declaration. Had thought that she was a woman of sexual experience—and oh, how wrong he had been.
He drifted his mouth to the jewelled hair, remembering her angry words to him. So she would not enjoy sex! He smiled. Let her say that when the morning sun washed its first golden rays over their naked bodies!
It was almost eight by the time they took their leave of their guests. They were to spend that night in the Palace, before travelling to the west of Quador the following day, where Rashid had a hunting lodge and only a bare skeleton of servants.
They would be almost alone, she realised—or as alone as a man in his position could ever be.
‘Come now, Jenna,’ he said softly, and, taking her hand, he led her past the clapping guests towards his quarters. ‘Let the wedding night begin.’
It was a journey which seemed to take for ever, and all Jenna was aware of was the pounding of her heart and the powerful presence of the silver-clad Sheikh by her side as they mounted the marble stairs.
At last he drew her inside the door of a room which was indisputably the room of the Ruler. The floors were also of marble, and priceless paintings of his ancestors clothed the walls. At the far end, looking almost a car journey away, stood the wide, low divan—hung with embroidered canopies, a coverlet of pure gold silk spread smoothly across its surface.
He could feel her trembling as he turned her to face him, and he stared down for a long moment into her heart-shaped upturned face.
‘Do not be afraid, Jenna,’ he murmured. ‘For you have nothing to fear.’
Save for her own shortcomings and being at the mercy of a man who knew everything there was to know about the art of love, while she knew almost nothing.
He began to draw the tiny jewelled clips from her hair almost absently, and placed them on an inlaid table. The style was far less severe now, he thought, and framed her face with soft waves of silky golden-brown.
He bent his lips to hers and for a moment she tensed, but the brush of his mouth was as light and as drifting as a feather, and it was barely there before it was gone again.
Rashid sighed. ‘You look as though you are just about to enter the lion’s den,’ he observed.
She felt a smile wobble its way across her mouth. ‘How very appropriate,’ she observed drily. ‘Since you are known as the Lion of the Desert!’
He laughed, and the white teeth gleamed in such contrast against the olive skin, and Jenna was startled by how long it had been since she had seen him laugh like that.
He tipped her chin upwards and looked down into her eyes. ‘You are tired,’ he commented wryly, and took her hand to lead her to the divan. ‘Come, let me undress you, and then you shall sleep.’
‘Sleep, Rashid?’ she echoed disbelievingly, and saw him knit the dark brows together.
‘Believe it or not, I am not the barbarian you once called me,’ he responded coolly. ‘Perhaps you have reason to fear my advances—presumably that is why you vowed never to enjoy sex. I will not force myself upon you, and neither will I beg you, Jenna,’ he asserted softly. ‘You will come to me willing, or you will not come at all. There will be no demands made on you which you do not wish to fulfil.’
Now she felt utterly confused. He began to deftly undo all the tiny buttons which adorned the front of her wedding gown, and his words set up a nagging feeling of doubt and insecurity. What did he mean? It was his right as her Sheikh and her husband to consummate the marriage, surely?
She threw him a look of challenge. ‘I feel as though I could sleep for a week,’ she admitted.