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Knowing she had no right to take out her distress on Lise—for that would simply be shooting the messenger—she drank some water, and shrugged.
‘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 (#ulink_9ebe75e3-79a2-5b53-9ace-58edaee56c99)
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 suspected 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.
He knew what he had to do because duty had been drummed into him from the moment he had been old enough to understand the meaning of the word. He knew that he needed to take a royal bride and to produce a male child, as his father had done—and his father before him. He needed to pave the way for the Al Maisan dynasty to continue into time immemorial.
In theory, such a task should have been easy. He was now thirty-six and ready for the responsibilities of fatherhood, in a way he had never been ready before. The princess of Zaminzar—Aleya was her name—was beautiful and cultured. She could speak four languages and her comely hips looked as if they could bear him many sons. She ticked many of the right boxes, as they often said in the west. Some, but not all.
Yet even though this latest attempt had failed, there would be others—and he would not feel guilty about something which Cat had always known would happen. He was the Sultan, carrying out the role expected of him, and he would not be reprimanded by his mistress!
They sat in simmering silence until the car reached his apartment and the atmosphere during the elevator ride to the penthouse was similarly tense. As soon as he’d shut the apartment door, he saw Cat kicking off her high heels and hurling them across the room before turning on him, her face contorted with anger.
‘The truth, Murat,’ she said, her voice shaking. ‘I want the truth.’
For the first time Murat felt an unfamiliar wave of uncertainty about how to handle her, because Cat didn’t do angry. Cat did sweet and willing and compliant, and if she had been her usual sweet and accommodating self he might have...
Might have, what?
Was he really fooling himself that he could have talked or kissed his way out of this?
Angry himself now, he walked into the sitting room and stared out of the window at the faint sprinkle of stars which glittered above the treetops.
‘Murat?’ she said, from behind him. ‘Are you going to answer my question?’
He turned before she had a chance to compose herself and he saw on her face something which speared at his conscience like a rusty blade. Because despite everything—the unmistakable flare of hope was alive in her beautiful eyes. And didn’t they say that hope was the one thing which every human being clung to, no matter what the circumstances?
She wanted him to tell her that the interfering girlfriend of Niccolo Da Conti had been wrong. She wanted him to tell her that it had all been a mistake. That he was not seeking any woman other than her.
Except that he couldn’t.
He couldn’t lie to her.
He had always told her the truth.
He looked her squarely in the eye. ‘What exactly do you want to know?’
He could see her momentary hesitation—as if she recognised that there could be no going back from this. So don’t ask me, he prayed silently. Let me take you to bed and kiss away the questions. Let’s forget tonight ever happened and just enjoy what is within our grasp.
‘Have you been seeing someone you’re intending to marry?’
He made an impatient movement with his hands. ‘My whole adult life has been spent meeting prospective wives,’ he said. ‘You know that. I’ve explained it to you. I told you about Princess Sara. I told you all about the others—the ones I deemed unsuitable.’
‘That’s just a clever way of avoiding my question. A simple yes or no will suffice.’ She licked her lips, as if playing for time. ‘Have you been courting another woman?’
There was a pause.
‘I’ve been in discussion with the King of Zaminzar’s daughter, yes,’ he said eventually. ‘With a view to marriage, yes again.’
‘And did you...did you sleep with her?’
Her question was so quiet that he had to strain his ears to hear it and Murat glowered in response. He wondered if she was aware that she was severely testing his patience, and that he would not be interrogated like a common thief. Yet once again something in her green eyes smote at his conscience and he found himself shaking his head.
‘No, I did not. And I am shocked that you should ask me such a question when I’ve told you that I never sleep with more than one woman at the same time.’
‘You’re shocked?’ she echoed and then shook her head. ‘You are unbelievable, Murat. Unbelievable.’
Murat could feel the slow smoulder of rage building up inside him and he let it come. He let it heat up his blood and his skin, the way it did just before he rode into battle. Because rage obliterated pretty much everything else, and it was much easier to live with than regret.
‘You do not own me,’ he said. ‘And you do not have exclusive rights to me. Even if I had wanted to have sex with her, I couldn’t have done so—because the kind of woman I will eventually marry is not the kind of woman who will give her body freely to a man.’
There was a long and disbelieving silence as she stared at him.
‘Unlike me, you mean?’ she questioned.
He shrugged. ‘Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.’
‘Or maybe you should. Maybe it’s good for me to hear you admit that there are two types of women. The type who become wives and the type who become mistresses.’
‘But I never promised you marriage, Cat,’ he said. ‘I made that clear from the start. I told you that our relationship could never be anything other than temporary. Didn’t I? Or did you think that my words were empty?’
Cat stared at him, feeling some of her anger evaporate as she forced herself to take stock of what he was saying. Yes, he had told her all those things; right from the start he’d been honest with her. He’d told her that she could be his lover, but never his bride. And what had she done? She’d reassured him that she was perfectly okay with that. She’d even managed to convince herself that theirs was the kind of relationship she wanted. That she was modern enough not to care about convention. That she was so messed up from her past that she didn’t want a relationship with all the normal rules.
But somewhere along the way something unexpected had happened. She had started to care for him, and that had never been part of the plan. She’d been so eager to hold onto him that she had moulded herself into the sort of woman she thought he wanted her to be. Like some kind of sexy geisha, she had put his needs before her own every time. Always smiling; never complaining; she had accepted whatever came her way.
So how could she now object to his behaviour, when all he had been doing was what he had warned her about all along?
He had been looking for a wife.
Of course he had.
How stupid she must seem for trying to rail against the inevitable—she was like the foolish king who had tried to turn back the tide. What did she think was going to happen—that Murat would defy his proud destiny and hitch his star to a working-class girl from the Welsh valleys? An illegitimate girl with a hopeless drunk for a mother?
She realised that he was still looking at her and she drew in a deep breath, trying to claw back some of the dignity which she had let slip away. ‘Yes, you told me that you planned to take a wife,’ she said, almost calmly. ‘I’ve known that all along and I should have anticipated that this would happen sooner, rather than later. I don’t know what made me react like that.’
But she did know. It was love. Devious and unwanted love—making her behave in a way she didn’t like. If she let it.
‘I should have told you,’ he said.
She forced herself to meet his eyes, praying that she could keep her hurt from showing. ‘But presumably you didn’t, because you realised that it would spell the end of our relationship.’
‘Yes.’ There was a long pause and now his face bore an expression which was unfamiliar to her. Was it determination? The face of a man who had been born to have every one of his wishes granted? ‘You know, this doesn’t have to end, Cat.’
For a moment, she thought she might have misheard him. She looked at him in confusion. ‘I’m sorry?’
‘Nothing needs to change. I can live the life expected of me in Qurhah and still have you here. We could make this work. I know we could.’
She stared at him. ‘As your mistress, you mean?’
‘Why not?’ His voice sounded almost...gentle. ‘Men in my position often do—and didn’t you tell me right from the start that you weren’t interested in a conventional relationship.’
For a moment Catrin felt sick. Yes, she had said that—but never had she guessed that one day it might be used against her as an over-sexed man’s selfish form of barter. On shaky legs she walked over to the window and opened it, but the warm evening air brought her little relief. She could feel beads of sweat pinpricking her brow as she stared at the darkened park and the lump in her throat made it seem as if some invisible hand were trying to throttle her.
So this was what happened when you made no demands of a man. When you acted like some kind of human cushion. What else could she expect in return, other than he would expect to walk all over her?
Had he stopped to think that such a suggestion might insult as well as hurt her? No, of course he hadn’t. He was thinking about what he wanted—and clearly he had no desire to give her up.
But when she stopped to think about it—why wouldn’t he offer her something like that, when she was prepared to accept so little from him? Why, in loving Murat she had become a woman she barely recognised.
She had given him the sanctuary he’d always craved—peace and respite from his busy life in Qurhah. She had welcomed him into her arms whenever he was here. From the moment he set foot inside the penthouse apartment she was his unconditionally. Up until this moment she’d never bothered him with awkward questions. She had demanded nothing of him. Even the gifts he had showered on her, she had accepted only because it seemed to please him. But she had never been in this for the diamonds or the couture clothes. She had enjoyed living with him and hadn’t wanted to rock the boat, and in the process had allowed herself to become like some kind of human sponge.
What had happened to the real Catrin? That strong person who had spent her formative years battling to prevent her little sister from being taken into care? The person who’d shopped for food on her way home from school and watched like a hawk while Rachel pored over her books? She might not have passed many exams herself, but she had plenty of Welsh grit inside her. And maybe now was the time to rediscover some of that grit. To show him that she wouldn’t be walked all over.
She turned to face him, filled now with a curious sense of calm.
‘It may be culturally acceptable for the Sultan to keep a mistress once he’s married. For all I know, it might be the norm to keep multiple mistresses in these circumstances. I don’t imagine that a man of your stamina would find it difficult to accommodate more than one woman. But you’ll forgive me if I pass on your tempting offer.’
His eyes narrowed. ‘Are you being sarcastic?’
‘Because you’re offering me a bit part in your life? Expecting me to provide smiling sex while you take another woman as your bride? Perish the thought that I should resort to something like that!’ She flashed him a sarcastic smile. ‘And now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to pack.’
‘To pack?’ he echoed blankly.
Her pretend smile slipped. Why the hell was she pretending anyway?
‘Yes, to pack,’ she said. ‘You may be a sultan, but at the moment you’re sounding like a spoiled little boy who wants to have his cake and eat it. If you seriously think I’m sharing you with another woman...if you really think I would continue to be your mistress if you married someone else, then I suggest you make an appointment with a psychiatrist at the earliest opportunity.’
She turned and marched out towards the bedroom, clicking on lights as she walked, so that the vast apartment became illuminated with soft pools of golden light. But she was aware that Murat was following her. She could sense his presence behind her, dominating the space around him just as it always did. His words halted her before she’d even had a chance to remember exactly where she’d put the small suitcase, which was the only thing she’d brought with her from Wales.
‘I don’t want you to go,’ he said.
‘I’ll bet you don’t.’
‘You aren’t facing facts, Cat,’ he said. ‘I don’t have a bride. There is no one I’m intending to marry.’
She turned round, surprised by the look of tension which had tightened his features. ‘Not yet.’
‘Not yet,’ he agreed and his voice hardened as he looked at her. ‘And certainly not this weekend.’
‘What the hell does that mean?’
‘That nothing has really changed. We’re talking about the hypothetical. About something which may or may not happen. I don’t want you to leave. But. more importantly, I don’t want you to leave like this. In anger. In the darkness of the night with no real place to go.’ His black gaze burned into her. ‘Isn’t what we’ve shared worth more than that?’
She shook her head. ‘There is no alternative.’
