She could tell from his voice that the subject was closed and she must be satisfied with his rather curt explanation—except that satisfied she most certainly wasn’t. No way. Except in the purely physical sense, of course—Rashid seemed able to fulfil her every wish and her every desire, and invent a whole lot more into the bargain.
But ever since they had returned from their honeymoon she had discovered for herself just what was expected of the wife of the Sheikh—how she herself was nothing more than an isolated figurehead. And how their two worlds barely touched.
She had her charity work and he had his affairs of state—a demanding and taxing role as Ruler which took him away from her far more than she would have dreamed of.
So much for putting off having a baby so that she could get to know him—why, she barely saw him! The closeness which had been reawoken between them during those two glorious weeks of their honeymoon seemed to have vanished into nothing once they returned to the busy life of the palace.
Everyone wanted him. His advisors wanted him. His politicians wanted him. Foreign countries wanted him. She wanted him, too—but the only time he was ever completely hers was in their marital bed, when he took her to paradise and back again without fail.
But even that seemed strangely empty once the pleasures of fulfilment had receded and he had fallen into an exhausted sleep by her side. The words of love she longed to tell him remained unsaid—for Rashid was a man who seemed to have no time for terms of endearment. He told her that she was beautiful, yes, and he told her that her body pleased h
im greatly—but the lavish compliments only served to emphasise that she did not have what she most desired.
His heart.
‘Can’t I come with you, Rashid?’ she asked plaintively. ‘Just this once?’
He frowned. ‘That will not be possible. You have your committees, Jenna, and I am told that your contribution to them is invaluable. Do you not wish to serve your country, my sweet?’
She heard the unmistakable disapproval in his voice and suppressed the sigh which would anger him further. She was not his partner. Nor his equal. Only when she had accepted that would she ever be able to find the inner peace she yearned for.
‘Then at least come and kiss me goodbye,’ she murmured.
He did as she asked, feeling the sharp tug of desire as he bent his lips to the softness of hers and then ran his fingers through her hair. ‘It is almost down to your shoulders now,’ he murmured. ‘Much better.’
‘Thank you. I am glad that my Sheikh approves,’ she said demurely, and sat up, and saw his eyes darken as her bare breasts were revealed.
‘Do you know how much you tempt me?’ He sighed regretfully. ‘All my officials are waiting for me, but how I wish I could lose myself in you.’ He moved away from the bed before he was lost in the weakness of that temptation.
With an aching heart she watched him leave and then lay back down on the divan again, staring sightlessly up at the high ceiling above her.
It was not as she had hoped it would be—in fact it was a million miles away from how she had hoped it would be. He didn’t talk to her. Or confide in her. Or ask her advice. In six months of marriage he had seemed preoccupied the whole time, and Jenna felt like just a tiny, tiny fragment of his life. Yet deep down she had known and feared that it was going to be like this, for was it not the royal custom? Separate lives. His father had had a marriage which had been very similar, and his father before him—everyone in Quador knew that.
Her own parents’ marriage had been exceptionally close, but that had been a rarity. High-born Quadorian men usually took mistresses. She knew that, and yet it did not stop her from yearning for that same kind of closeness with Rashid—a closeness he did not seem remotely interested in giving her.
He was gone for five long days, with two crackled and annoyingly brief telephone calls their only communication.
And then the very thing she had been most dreading happened.
She was just emerging from a committee she had been chairing which had discussed setting up a hostel for battered wives, when one of her ladies-in-waiting gave her a message from Rashid.
It was stark and to the point.
I have to fly straight to Paris on urgent business and will probably be away for the week. I will ring you the moment I get the opportunity.
Paris?
Paris? Where Chantal lived and no doubt waited for the dark Sheikh.
Her face blanched and she crumpled the paper with a whitened knuckle.
‘It is bad news, mistress?’ asked the lady-in-waiting anxiously.
The very worst. Rashid had been given the perfect excuse to meet up with his mistress. Unless that was the real purpose behind his visit—and she had no way of finding out for Abdullah would tell her nothing. She shook her head. ‘No, it’s nothing,’ she lied painfully. ‘I will be—I will be in my office should there be any call from the Sheikh.’
In her office she paced up and down and her heart pounded with fear and jealousy. It was only what she had expected, and yet the actuality was a million times more disturbing than her fevered imaginings.
He was a man of relentless sexual appetite with a taste for the exotic. And he was used to variety. His stream of lovers had been legendary—so why on earth should that have changed? His father had taken mistresses—it had been an open secret at court. Six months of marriage had probably left Rashid feeling jaded and bored, no matter how much she tried to please him.