“No, really. That’s not possible.”
“And I say it is.” The smile had frozen on his lips. “I apologize, madam, but I have my orders.”
She glanced at the two men behind her. They weren’t smiling. She looked back at the smiling one as the better of two evils. “Do I have a choice?” She suddenly realized she’d stepped right into a trap.
The smile never wavered. “No, madam.”
As she was taken along the grand corridors, past the glimpses of beautiful gardens, she felt as if she were walking in a coiling spiral, taking her ever closer to the heart of the trap.
She was shown to her suite of rooms, and she sat on the large, white silk counterpane and put her head in her hands. What had she done?
Gabrielle had considered refusingthe invitation—more like a command—to attend a reception that evening. But, she had decided there was little point in putting off the moment when she came face to face with the man she’d deserted twelve months earlier. Because now there was no doubt in her mind that it was he who was behind her contract, that it was he who’d made sure she couldn’t escape once she’d set foot inside the palace.
A year ago, he’d been the overlooked younger son of the king. Now hewasking. Something he’d never have been if she’d stayed—something the country needed because, without him, there would have been a civil war. And she couldn’t live with that. She’d done the right thing, she said for the millionth time as she walked across the marble hall to the reception room. But the pounding of her heart, the fluttering in her stomach, and the trembling in her hands contradicted her.
She paused briefly on the threshold, struck by a wall of sound—amplified by the marble interior—and a brilliance of light. The sparkle from the crystal chandeliers glanced off the expensive sheen of the ladies’ evening dresses and flashed in their diamond jewelry. The overwhelming combination did nothing for her nerves.
She took a glass of sparkling juice from a passing waiter and stood to one side. She hoped she could remain there, unnoticed, until she could safely slip away, her duty having been done. But she had no such luck and was soon immersed in a conversation with the museum director. Suddenly everyone stopped talking, and she knew the king and his entourage must have entered the room. Her heart beat a quick tattoo.
He hadn’t changed at all. He was taller than most of them, and she could see him clearly as he scanned the room. The scanning stopped when he saw her. He then said something to the person he was with, and they began to move towards her. She stepped back, but her heels banged against the wall. To one side, the museum director blocked her way. To the other side, a group of diplomats shifted excitedly at the thought of meeting the king.
His progress was halted from time to time as he was introduced to someone. Then he’d look up and catch her gaze briefly before looking away, his expression registering no recognition, as if he was unaware of her identity. But he was, she knew he was, because each step brought him inexorably closer to her.
And then he reached her. He stood directly in front of her while his assistant introduced them. He held her gaze and, despite her best plans, she couldn’t look away.
“And this is Dr. Gabrielle Taylor.”
She swallowed and then panicked. How should she greet him? She dropped into the formal curtsey she’d seen the other women offer, but before she could hold it for the required time, he took her hand, and she nearly stumbled from shock. He tightened his grip, giving her the support she needed to raise herself, but derailing her senses in the process. Even when she was standing tall once more, he didn’t release his hold.
She could smell his aftershave and a masculinity that sent her legs weak. Close to, she could see her initial impression was wrong. Hehadchanged. His mouth, which had been so potent in its capacity to provide pleasure, was firm, grim even, and his gaze was no more promising. But the biggest change was in his eyes. Before, the arrogance had always been there, but it had been tempered by humor and kindness. But she saw nothing of these things in the man before her. No, her overriding impression of him now was power—power to give, and power to take away. She wondered which of those two things he was going to do now, here, with her.
“Dr. Taylor is from Oxford University, here to—”
“I know who she is and why she’s here. Welcome, Gabrielle.”
She nodded, and smiled nervously, giving a tentative tug on her hand. It didn’t yield. “Thank you. It’s good to be back.” The words tumbled out before she could stop them, because they were true. Gharb Havilah was home to her in a way England would never be. And, as for Zavian… Despite what she insisted to herself she wanted, her body was responding in quite a different way.
His eyes narrowed slightly as he inclined his head toward her in a way that felt intensely intimate. “Is that so?”
“It is…” Her voice faded as she caught the smell of his aftershave.Thathadn’t changed, and it shortcut her defenses, sending a ripple of recognition and desire deep inside her.
He knew. He had to know because he inclined his head further to her, until all she would have to do was stretch up on her tiptoes to feel the caress of his lips against hers.
She cleared her throat. “It is truly good to be back.” There was no point denying it.
“Then you should have returned sooner.” His thumb swept over the back of her hand, sending pulses of electricity through her body, bringing it to life. She didn’t want to be brought to life.
“I was… busy.” She summoned up her courage, refusing to allow him to take control of her. He had to know. “And there was no point. Nothing’s changed.”
His grip lessened on her hand. “Interesting.” The chill tone in which the single word was delivered refuted her statement.
“Interesting?” she repeated.
“Yes, I have a feeling I’ll find the stories you’ve been contracted to provide for our prized exhibition pieces, very… illuminating. It’s always interesting to know the background of a piece, where it came from, and how it came to be here. Especially the Khasham Qur’an.”
She pressed her trembling lips together in an attempt to hold back her feelings and thoughts, which threatened to tumble out chaotically as she suddenly realized why she’d been brought here. He wanted to know how the sixth-century illuminated Qur’an from the ancient city of Khasham had come into his possession.
“The Khasham Qur’an,” she repeated huskily, weighing its meaning on her tongue.