Page 12 of Seduced by the Sultan (Desert Men of Qurhah 3)

‘Of course I’m okay with that,’ she said. ‘It’s no great secret. I’ve known right from the start that there was never going to be any future for me and Murat.’

Lise wore the same kind of expression as somebody who had slowed down on a motorway to survey the wreckage of a recent accident. ‘Really?’

‘Really.’ Where had she learned this smile? Catrin wondered. Had she been a magician’s assistant in a former life? ‘I’ve always known that the Sultan would have to marry a woman of pure, royal blood and that woman was never going to be me. That’s why neither Murat nor I have ever tied each other down with any kind of commitment.’

The words sounded so convincing that she very nearly convinced herself. She managed to get them out as smoothly as if she had been commenting on the quality of the scallops, which now lay cold and congealing on her plate. And wasn’t it good to say them, rather than letting them build up inside her like a slow poison?

‘I’m with you there, and I’ll drink to that,’ said Lise, raising her glass in mocking salute. ‘Because getting Niccolo to commit is like getting blood from a stone.’

But the false camaraderie between her and Lise made Catrin suddenly feel pathetic. As if they were a band of desperate women dating these two very eligible bachelors and waiting for them to commit.

Was that what she had become?

For a moment she experienced the strange, telescoping sensation of looking at herself from the outside. Of seeing herself as others saw her. A woman in an expensive dress without a job. A woman whose life was spent waiting for a man she increasingly saw less of. It was not a pretty picture and she felt the sour taste of self-disgust. She found herself asking just how long she was prepared to continue with a situation like this? Until Murat did find himself a wife?

Pushing her food around the plate, she somehow managed to get through the rest of the meal. In fact, she did more than get through it. For a woman who had just found out that her lover had been actively seeking another bride, she thought her behaviour was exemplary. If medals were being awarded for indifference in the face of emotional turmoil, she would have come out with a shiny gold one. Nobody would have guessed from her attitude that she and Lise hadn’t spent the time discussing manicures, or recent films they had seen.

At one point she laughed so loudly at a joke Niccolo made that Murat sent a frowning look of disapproval icing across the table towards her. Which only made her want to laugh harder and louder.

He didn’t say a word until they were in the car on the way home, but when he turned to her it was with an unmistakable look of disapproval on his face.

‘So what got into you over dinner?’ he said, his forefinger tapping against his lips, like a teacher awaiting the answer to a question. ‘What merited the rather hysterical outbursts?’

For a moment Catrin didn’t reply, because she hadn’t got as far as working out what she was going to say to him. She thought of a million responses she could make to his cutting remark and—God help her—wasn’t there still a part of her which wanted to smooth it all over and make as if nothing had happened? To pretend that Lise had revealed nothing at all and therefore nothing had changed.

But it had changed. She knew that. The rot had set in and it had started before Lise had spilled the beans. It had started the moment she had acknowledged that she was in love with him, because love changed everything. It made your heart hurt. It made you long for more—for things you knew you could never have. She couldn’t put her arms around him and ignore the faceless princess who might soon become his bride. She had to face facts, just as she’d boasted to him about doing earlier that evening.

It occurred to her that she hadn’t even questioned the truth of Lise’s statement, because she knew it was true. It explained so much about Murat’s behaviour which she hadn’t dared examine before. The longer gaps between his visits. The way he often seemed preoccupied when he was with her.

She knew she should wait until they got back to the apartment to confront him. She knew it wasn’t appropriate to raise her voice in anger, when the Qurhahian driver might conceivably overhear. But Catrin couldn’t stop the feelings which were washing over her, no matter how much she tried to tell herself that she was being unreasonable. All her suppressed emotions came bubbling out and there didn’t seem a thing she could do to stop them.

‘What got into me?’ she questioned and her voice was shaking with rage. ‘I’ll tell you exactly! Lise says you’ve been actively seeking a bride. In fact, that you’ve been interviewing one over this past month. In Zaminzar. Meeting with some beautiful princess.’

‘Cat,’ he said warningly. ‘Not here.’

‘Yes! Right here. Right now. No wonder you got so defensive when I started talking about Zaminzar earlier.’ She could feel the bile rising in her throat and suddenly there was no holding it back. ‘I’m curious to know what form of interviewing technique you were using with this beautiful princess. Were you having sex with your bride-to-be, Murat, just before coming to London to have hot sex with me?’

CHAPTER FOUR

MURAT FELT HIS hackles rising as he stared into Cat’s angry face because he wasn’t used to being challenged—not by her. Not by anyone. And especially not in full earshot of his driver.

Yet he wondered realistically how much longer he could have kept this a secret. The entire desert community had been buzzing with the latest attempt to marry off one of its most eligible bachelors and there were plans for yet more meetings in the pipeline. It felt like a heavy burden of guilt he’d been carrying around for too long and, in some perverse way, didn’t he almost welcome its arrival?

‘Did you?’ she was saying, in a reckless tone he’d never heard her use before. ‘Have sex with her before you came to me?’

In the shadowed light of the car, he could see her lips trembling and he felt a brief, sharp pang of guilt. But behind the screen sat his driver and next to him a bodyguard and, although they’d all been trained to turn a blind eye to the Sultan’s private life, he had no intention of discussing his sex life in front of any of them.

‘Let’s talk about it when we get back.’

‘I want to talk about it now.’

‘I said, no, Cat,’ he snapped. ‘How dare you berate me with all the finesse of a common fishwife? I am not having this conversation with you in public and providing some kind of sideshow for the benefit of my staff. So you’d better hold back your questions until we get home—because I don’t intend to answer any of them.’

Deliberately, he turned his head away, the imperious wave of his hand reinforcing his intention not to respond. He told himself that she had overstepped the mark, but his determination to turn away from her stemmed from more than anger at her insubordination.

The truth was that he didn’t want to have to look at her reproachful expression, nor to anticipate where this conversation was heading—because he s

uspected he wouldn’t like the answer. He told himself that he was doing the only thing a man in his position could do. He was thinking of his country. Of his bloodline—one of the longest and most noble of all the desert states. He thought of his people—of the deprivations they had known. He thought of his land’s chequered and bloody history, and his mouth hardened.

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