Sheikh's Ransom. ALEXANDRA SELLERS
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Название: Sheikh's Ransom
Автор: ALEXANDRA SELLERS
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Современные любовные романы
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“Did you have a good night?”
“Very comfortable.”
They chatted only a few moments, just long enough for David to ascertain that she had arrived safely. Caroline never had very much to say to David, but she would have kept him if she could. She was suddenly afraid of what would happen when she put the phone down. But there was no way to prevent David bidding her a calm goodbye and hanging up.
Caroline held on to the phone for a long moment afterwards, pretending to listen, but at last she said a feeble goodbye to the dial tone and hung up.
Then she lifted her head and met Kaifar’s eyes, knowing that the lie to David had been a terrible mistake.
He was staring at her. He said, “Your dress is the colour of the emeralds that come from the mines in the mountains of Noor. They are the most beautiful emeralds in the world.”
The words struck her like an unexpected wave, leaving her breathless. The lamp cast chiaroscuro light and shadow on him, his face and his hands richly toned, perfectly painted by the master, his eyes mysterious as they watched her, the rest of him shadowed. She felt that the whole universe was waiting for something; as if her whole future might be written in the next moment. Nothing outside the circle of light that embraced them had any relevance.
Something she could not name seemed to course between them. Her gaze moved from his shadowed eyes to his hands, and then, drawn by the magnet of his focus, back up to his eyes again. Her breasts rose and fell with her shallow breathing. There was another rhythm, too, under those of heart and breath and feeling: a deeper, mysterious rhythm as of life itself.
In the silence he stepped around her to pick up her scarf. It fell gracefully in his grasp, the gold threads glittering in lamplighted shadow. Caroline’s lips parted in a small, audible breath as he lifted his hands to drape it around her shoulders. His touch was sure but light. His hands did not pause to rest on her bare skin beneath the gauzy silk.
“This way, Miss Langley,” he said, and opened the door.
Four
“We have surveillance?” Prince Karim asked Nasir.
“Three teams of two, Lord—at all times. Others as necessary. Forgive me, but even—you know such precautions are necessary.”
Prince Karim nodded in absent agreement “And all is prepared?”
“Everything is in readiness, Lord. Jamil has all in hand.”
“You are leaving when?”
“Tomorrow, Lord, at first light.”
She awoke restless and disturbed, wondering where she was, who she was, not knowing her own name. In a panic, she sat up, flailing for the lamp that must be near. She knew that much, that beside beds you found lamps.... Her eyes, growing accustomed to the darkness, sought out the glitter of stars through the patio door, and she staggered up and opened it.
By the time she felt the soft breeze caress her forehead she was fully awake. Caroline. She was Caroline Langley and she was on vacation in the Barakat Emirates. She was fully clothed; she must have fallen asleep on the sofa. She had sat there thinking for hours after Kaifar brought her back. She must have slipped down and dozed off. She had a vague memory of putting out the lamp. Her dream had woken her.
It was Kaifar’s fault. Dining with him tonight had disturbed her. Just being with him oppressed her. With a shiver Caroline found the overhead light switch and pressed it, welcoming the assault of the too-bright light on her wide-open eyes.
He was like that, like the light. The pupils of her inner self’s eyes were wide—looking for something?—and Kaifar was too bright, blinding her, unbalancing her. So she awoke without knowing her name....
He had put her in the back seat of the Rolls Royce limousine and driven her to the most wonderful restaurant—in a hidden courtyard, tables under sweet-smelling trees, the food utterly sensual, the darkness scarcely disturbed by the candlelight on each table. A white-haired old woman sitting in a corner had sung hauntingly, pure sounds that did not seem a human voice at all. She accompanied herself with a stringed instrument that entwined her song with tendrils of such beauty Caroline’s heart contracted.
“What is she singing?” she finally whispered.
“She sings about love. About a man in love with his best friend’s daughter. He fears to ask his friend for what he most desires, the girl for his wife.”
Caroline’s heart leapt painfully at the parallel, because David did not love her, and had not feared to ask for what he wanted.
“While he waits, the friend dies. In his will he leaves him his parrot—and the guardianship of the very daughter whom the man loves.”
He paused, listening to the song. She wanted to smile, to say something light, but she felt locked inside herself, imprisoned by something she couldn’t name.
“‘Goodbye Marjan my wife, for instead you are my daughter.”’ Kaifar, having caught up with the story, was translating in a low voice as the singer sang. He bent over the table towards her, speaking so softly she was forced to lean towards him, his voice for her ear alone. It was too intimate, but she could not draw back. “ ‘A daughter does not become a wife. My love must be hidden even from my own eyes, from my heart.’ ”
“But why?” Caroline breathed.
Kaifar merely shook his head. “It is a matter of honour. As her guardian he may not take advantage of her.”
“Oh,” said Caroline. She wondered about her father’s honour, about David’s. The haunting song went on, with Kaifar’s deep gentle voice a counterpoint.
“She came to him, she came at his request.
Whatever he asked Marjan, it was her pleasure to obey.
She smiled, white teeth and rosebud lips.
‘What do you have to say to me?’ she asked her father’s dear friend.
‘Marjan, my daughter,’ he begins. ‘Marjan.’
‘Am I your daughter?’ Marjan asks,
Smiling with white teeth and rosebud lips.
Her hair is a bouquet of blackness, petal on petal, A night flower.
‘Am I your daughter, are you my father?’
He hears the hidden message and turns away.
She puts her white hand on his sleeve.
‘You are not my father, though I have loved you all my life.
Though I love you best.’
‘Marjan, your father must find a husband for you.
The time is right. I must find you a husband.’
The smile flees her rosebud lips.
‘What СКАЧАТЬ