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‘You are interested in jewels?’ he commented dispassionately.
Perhaps that was the way everyone referred to the fish here and he found it trite. Well, she didn’t care.
Of course, Moraze was famous for the rare and exquisite—and extremely valuable—fire-diamonds found in gravel beds washed down from the mountains. Perhaps he thought she was hinting; no, how could he?
‘Most people are. Off Northland’s east coast we have a very interesting mix of sea life. A warm current sweeps south from the tropics, and we get a mixture of tropical and temperate fauna.’
OK, so she sounded like something out of a textbook, and was probably boring him to bits. It served him right. If he’d taken her to the hotel, instead of conspiring with the doctor behind her back, he’d have been rid of her by now.
‘It sounds most intriguing,’ he said smoothly, returning the waves of a small group of children walking down the road.
A few metres further on he turned into a drive and the big car passed between gates that had slid back silently at the press of an unknown button. Lexie looked around for a sentry box, but clearly security nowadays was much more technical and far less conspicuous. Ahead, the drive began to climb steeply through a tangle of greenery.
‘We’re almost there,’ Rafiq told her.
He lived in a castle. Perched on the edge of a cliff overlooking the lagoon, it frowned down over a scene as beautiful as it was deserted.
Lexie drew a sharp breath. ‘I don’t know much about the architecture of castles, but that looks like something out of the Middle East.’
‘It’s a mixture of Oriental and European styles.’
The car eased to a halt outside a huge set of what appeared to be bronze doors, sculpted and ornate, with a grid of iron spikes poised above to grind down in case of an attack. Rafiq switched off the engine.
In the silence the sound of the waves on the reef echoed in Lexie’s ears. A manservant came swiftly out through a side door and went to the boot of the car, and one of the big bronze doors swung slowly open.
Rafiq looked at her, heavy-lidded eyes narrowing as he scanned her face. ‘Moraze was known to Arab sailors, but because it wasn’t on their trade routes and had nothing they wanted they rarely came this way. The first settlers were led by a distant ancestor of mine, a French nobleman who had the temerity to conduct an affair with his monarch’s much-prized mistress. Nowhere in Europe was safe, so he travelled farther afield, and eventually found refuge here with a somewhat motley crew of adventurers and sailors and their women.’
Fascinated, Lexie said, ‘I wouldn’t have thought the King of France’s mandate stretched this far.’
He smiled, and the skin at the back of her neck tightened, lifting the tiny hairs there. For a second she thought she saw his ancestor, proud and gallant and tough as he shepherded that motley crew to Moraze.
Rafiq told her, ‘By then it wasn’t the French king he was concerned about. On his travels my forebear stole an Arabian sheikh’s most precious jewel—his daughter—and as she was more than happy to be stolen they needed a refuge they could defend.’
‘When did all this happen?’
‘Several hundred years ago.’
Fascinated, she asked, ‘What happened to the French king’s mistress?’
He looked surprised. ‘I believe she was married off to some elderly duke. Why?’
‘I just wondered,’ she said. ‘I hope she liked that elderly duke.’
‘I don’t think anyone ever enquired,’ he told her dryly.
As though bored by the discussion, he got out and came around to open her door. With the same automatic courtesy he took her arm as they went up the steps and through the door into a vast, tiled hall. She’d expected grim stone inside, but the far end of the hall was high glass doors that opened out onto a terrace bordered by shrubs and trees.
‘Oh, how lovely!’ Lexie stopped without thinking.
Rafiq said smoothly, ‘I’m glad you like it. Let me show you up to your room.’
The staircase was wide and shallow, but by the time she reached the top her ribs were letting Lexie know they’d had a difficult time recently, and the tide of anticipation had receded, leaving her flat and exhausted. Exasperated by her weakness, she had to force her legs to take the final few steps.
He left her with a maid at the door. ‘Your clothes have been brought here from the hotel. Cari will show you where everything is,’ he said, and that hard green gaze rested for several charged seconds on her face. ‘You look a little pale; I suggest a rest, perhaps even a nap, then some refreshments when you are ready for them.’
Her room turned out to be more like a suite—something from an Arabian Nights tale of love lost and won, she thought, gazing at the huge bed covered in sleek silk, its sensuously curved headboard picked out in gilding. Translucent curtains softened the light from the sea, and the silk Chinese rug was in restful shades of blue, green and cream that echoed the colours of the ocean without competing with them.
And everywhere—in the window recesses, on the exquisitely carved desk, in a massive urn on the floor—were flowers, mainly white and cream, their scent sweet and seductive on the warm air.
Lexie felt totally out of place in her white jeans and simple tee-shirt. This room looked as though it had been built for a languorous concubine in flowing, transparent robes, a woman with only one aim in life—to please her lord.
That thought tightened something deep inside her. Hot cheeked, she thought with defiance that the room—and the maid—would just have to get used to her downmarket wardrobe. Apart from her flame-coloured silk and a couple of simple dinner dresses, she’d brought only holiday clothes to Moraze.
The maid spoke English reasonably well, and after showing Lexie the dressing room, took her into a splendid marble fantasy of a bathroom dominated by a huge, freestanding bath.
‘Heavens! It’s almost a swimming pool!’ Lexie exclaimed.
Cari laughed, and gestured at a pierced marble screen, almost hidden by pots of lush greenery. ‘Behind there is the shower—very modern,’ she said eagerly. ‘Perhaps you would like one now before your rest?’
‘I would very much, thank you.’
Sighing happily, Lexie stepped into the shower and washed herself, carefully skimming the sore spots. Since her sister had married into the Illyrian aristocracy Lexie had become accustomed to luxury. But Rafiq’s castle, she thought as the water swept away her aches, was something else again, its exotic beauty out of this world.
Just like Moraze.
Rafiq’s story about his ancestors had added to the island’s unusual charm. With herds of elegant wild horses and rare, exquisite fire-diamonds, transcendent beauty and isolation, Moraze was a fairy-tale place, a spellbound island that might disappear overnight into an enchanted mist…
Scoffing at her unusual flight of fancy, Lexie turned off the water and wrapped herself in one of the embroidered towels the maid had placed for her.
A rest would put paid to these feverish fantasies, she thought stoutly, wincing as she rubbed herself down. She inspected her bruises, then shrugged. Because of the seatbelt she’d got off lightly, and she was a fast healer, so the marks would soon be gone.
Yet it wasn’t just her ribs that had had a workout; her heart felt ominously fragile, as though it was under attack.
When she arrived back in the bedroom the maid had drawn back the covers on the bed; smiling, she pointed out a waiting jug of water and a glass. Lexie waited until she’d left the room before climbing gratefully into that enormous, decadent bed.
She slept deeply, without dreams, for almost an hour. Rubbing her eyes, she swung her feet onto the floor and realised she felt hugely better.
‘Almost normal,’ she said with satisfaction, examining her clothes. Carefully hung in the dressing room, they looked rather pathetic. As well as the orange silk dress, Jacoba had insisted on buying her several resort-style outfits, but what on earth did a reluctant guest in a castle wear?
And should she substitute a complete make-up for her usual lip-gloss?
No; she didn’t want to look as though she was trying to attract…well, anyone.
Defiantly ignoring a quickening of her pulse, she chose one of Jacoba’s purchases. The relaxed cotton trousers sat lightly on her hips to emphasise her long legs, and the silk shirt’s subdued pattern repeated the soft camel colour of the trousers. The cosmetics she left at a tinted moisturiser and some lip-gloss.
Before she rang the bell for the maid she walked across to a window and looked out. Sheer stone walls fell away from the windows that opened onto an infinity of sea and sky, framed by the panelled white shutters.
The maid escorted her downstairs again and out onto the long terrace, where Rafiq de Couteveille sat in the shade of a spreading tree that carpeted the flagstones with brilliant purple petals. The sultry scent of gardenias hung heavy and erotic in the lazy air. Lexie’s betraying heartbeat kicked up another gear when her host lifted his impressive height from a chair and inspected her with one of his intent, penetrating surveys. Prickles of awareness shot down her spine.
‘Yes, that’s better,’ he said, and indicated the chair beside him. ‘Are your ribs painful?’
‘Only when I twist,’ she told him, her voice as prosaic as she could make it. She avoided that piercing scrutiny by lowering herself into the chair. ‘How is the driver?’
The sooner she got better, the faster she’d get away from this man. He attracted her in ways that scared her.
Like Jacoba, her half-sister, Rafiq possessed more than superficial good looks. Jacoba’s character illuminated her stunning face, and Rafiq’s formidable authority endowed his aquiline features with strength as well as charisma. It was a potent combination that made Lexie feel very vulnerable.
Rafiq told her, ‘She is at home with her family, recovering fast. She sent her apologies, and her thanks for the flowers you ordered for her.’
‘I’d have liked to see her, but they wouldn’t let me.’
He frowned. ‘The doctor told me you had to rest as much as possible.’
‘I will.’ Carefully steering her thoughts away from the personal, she straightened her shoulders and laboured on with brittle composure. ‘This must be a very old building. Is it where your ancestors originally settled?’
‘No, they built the much grimmer fortress that now overlooks the capital city. This began as a watchtower, one of a chain along the coasts that were always kept manned.’
‘That Arabian princess’s father must have had a long arm,’ she said flippantly.
He shrugged. ‘Moraze has always needed good defences.’
‘I didn’t realise there had been pirates on the Indian Ocean,’ she admitted. ‘I really don’t know much about its history.’
‘Why should you? If you are interested I have books I can lend you, but like most histories it is long and bloody and dominated by force. Through good luck and considerable cunning, my ancestors kept the island safe until eventually the corsairs—and other threats—were either assimilated or crushed.’ He looked up as a maid appeared with a tray. ‘I noticed that you drank tea at the hospital, so I ordered that, but say so if you’d prefer coffee or a cold drink.’
He noticed too much.
And oddly, that last meeting with Felipe popped into Lexie’s brain. How much had Rafiq seen or heard?
She should have realised that the count’s practised charm hid your average, garden-variety wolf, she thought ironically. Then she wouldn’t be feeling quite so foolish.
Oh well. She’d learned something her friends at university could have told her years ago: some men weren’t to be trusted.
‘Tea will be lovely, thank you,’ she said sedately.
What followed was all on the surface, the conversation of two people who knew little of each other, yet Lexie sensed undercurrents. Partly it was a feeling of something held back, of being swept into events over which she had no control.
But most of her tension, she decided with rueful frankness, was rooted in the explosive memory of that kiss.
CHAPTER FOUR (#ulink_5d1a61a3-042d-5970-8fc6-e741c666bc91)
WARINESS tightened Lexie’s skin. Unable to resist the temptation, she stole a look at Rafiq, colouring when she met greenstone eyes slightly narrowed against the sun and clinical in their detachment. A superstitious shiver ran through her—fierce, uncaged, almost desperate, forcing her to glance away hastily before those perceptive eyes homed in on her inner turmoil.
What would it take to break through his iron control?
More than she was prepared to risk, she thought bleakly. His air of authority wasn’t just a family heirloom handed down from hundreds of years of unquestioned rule. Sure, some of it might be due to the potent effect of strongly handsome features backed by wealth and power, but underpinning it was an indefinable aura of masculine competence.
This man could make a woman ache with desire and scream her satisfaction in his arms.
Lexie’s cup jangled musically in the saucer as she set both down, and her tone was a little too abrupt when she asked the first thing that came into her head. ‘How long have you ruled Moraze?’
‘For ten years,’ he said readily enough, adding, ‘Since I was twenty. My father died young.’
‘I’m sorry,’ she said quietly, turning her head to admire the crimson blossoms of a hibiscus close by.
Rafiq’s gaze sharpened. Those clear-cut features might appear to reveal every emotion, but her silences were enigmatic.
So her father was a sore point.
Well, he admitted silently, if his sire had been notorious for his perfidy and cruelty, he too would avoid mentioning him.
He waited before saying, ‘Life can be cruel. Tell me, what decided you to become a vet?’ And he watched her through half-closed lashes, noting the tiny, almost unnoticeable signs of her relaxation.
She answered his question without hesitation. ‘I love animals, and I wanted to be able to do something for them.’
‘Very altruistic of you,’ he drawled, irritated by her pat answer.
She flashed him a direct look, following it with a cool, ‘Of course, it pays well too.’
‘The training is long and very expensive, I believe.’
‘I managed,’ she returned, her level tone a contrast to the challenge in her eyes. ‘I was lucky—I had a regular holiday job, and my sister helped a lot.’
Jacoba had worked as a model from the time she turned sixteen, determined to earn enough to care for their ill mother. Her extremely successful career had also helped with Lexie’s tuition and boarding fees.
In spite of Jacoba’s insistence that it wasn’t necessary, Lexie was slowly reimbursing her. The past year’s leave of absence had meant a hiatus in her repayments, but she’d be able to start again when she got back home.
No doubt Rafiq de Couteveille had swanned around enjoying himself with some easy option at college. Not for him the worry of sordid, boring things like where the next meal was coming from, or whether a good daughter would be staying at home to care for her mother rather than putting her own ambitions first.
She enquired sweetly, ‘Where did you go to university?’
‘Oxford and Harvard,’ he said. ‘With some time at the Sorbonne.’ He added with a twist of his lips that revealed he’d guessed what she was thinking, ‘My father valued education highly.’
‘On Moraze as well as in his family?’ she asked even more sweetly, then wished she’d remained silent.
Her urge to dig at his impervious facade was becoming reckless. And recklessness was something she didn’t do.
In a level, unemphatic tone that managed to refute her snide insinuation, he said, ‘Of course. Moraze has an excellent school system, and my father set up a scholarship scheme that offers promising students access to the best overseas universities.’
‘Do you lose many to the lure of bigger, more sophisticated places?’
‘We might, if they weren’t bonded to come back here to work for five years; usually after that they’re incorporated back into the fabric of our society. If not, they are then free to leave to pursue those goals.’
Lexie nodded, eyes widening as he got to his feet. Tall as she was, he towered over her so that she felt crowded. No, dominated, she thought, settling back into her chair and trying to look confident and at ease.
‘I must go now,’ he told her. ‘If you need anything at all, tell Cari.’
An odd emptiness took her by surprise. ‘I’m very grateful for everybody’s kindness,’ she said, and tried to sound her usual practical self as she went on, ‘I assume I’ll get a bill from the hospital—’
