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Authors: Annie West
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purpose.
His purpose was to protect Samira, no matter how tempted he was to believe Jacqueline Fletcher’s tale of desperation. Yet hearing her voice catch as she’d told him why she’d begun this work, watching the moonlight silver a face pinched with pain, he’d wanted to comfort her.
Instinct told him her pain was real. But years of experience warned him never to trust a reporter. For too long they’d fed like jackals on his family. If he made a mistake trusting her when he shouldn’t it would be Samira who’d suffer. The thought tightened every sinew.
Besides, Jacqueline Fletcher wasn’t what she seemed. Her clothes were so drab and unfeminine it was suspicious, as if she aimed to deflect his attention but took the camouflage too far.
He’d seen her pearly skin, the flash of vivid amber eyes, the russet of pubic hair and the rose pink of her full-body blush. And he wasn’t forgetting any time soon.
Heat doused him as she looked up. He felt wrong-footed, as if caught ogling an innocent. An innocent whom his cousin had trusted.
‘Here’s the reference I wanted.’ Her head tilted to one side as if she tried to read his expression and Asim stiffened as guilt eddied.
Instantly the shimmer of brightness in her eyes dulled and doubt jabbed him. Could she be such a good actress?
‘Go on.’
She paused but didn’t look away. Asim felt admiration stir. So often he merely had to hint at disapproval to find others giving way. Clearly his frown had no such impact on Ms Fletcher.
‘It’s a reference to diaries kept by...’ she looked down to check her facts ‘...your great-great-aunt Zeinab.’
‘And you found this where?’ It was the first Asim had heard of royal diaries.
‘There was a paper in the royal collection your grandmother thought would interest me. She arranged for your chief archivist to show me and it mentioned the diaries.’
‘Tell me more.’ This research project expanded before his eyes. First interviews with his grandmother, then visits to abandoned parts of the palace accompanied by various building experts, then meetings with an ever-expanding group of his grandmother’s old friends. Now the royal archives. When would it stop?
So much for his hope he’d soon see the back of Jacqueline Fletcher.
‘It mentioned arrangements to teach the ladies in the harem geometry, astronomy and poetry.’
Asim nodded. ‘All are traditionally important to my people. Astronomy and geometry aid navigation in the desert and poetry is prized among all the arts.’
Again that tilt of her head. ‘Yet the women of the palace weren’t likely to navigate alone across the dunes.’
Asim shrugged. ‘You think one should learn only the immediately practical? What about broadening the mind?’
‘I agree.’ Her gaze dipped. ‘It just surprised me that your ancestors felt the same way, especially when it came to educating women.’
He repressed anger. Wasn’t this the sort of too easy assumption many outsiders made? ‘Despite the stories you’ve heard, many of my predecessors were enlightened. They sought beautiful, clever women as their consorts, women whose company they could enjoy. Educated women who could share their lives as well as their beds.’
‘Which is why I’d like to access Zeinab’s diaries. They will be invaluable—’
‘No.’ A journalist prying into intimate family details? Even after generations the diaries could reveal material better kept private.
‘But if I could—’
‘It seems to me you have plenty of sources already.’
He supressed a smile as her eyes flashed. No longer drab despite her dowdy clothes, Jacqueline Fletcher looked vibrantly alive with her flushed cheeks and pouting lips.
‘The diaries will give a new perspective to the project, adding depth and texture.’
‘I take your point, Ms Fletcher, but I prefer to keep such private material private.’
She met his gaze, her brow pleated.
Enough. Asim glanced at his watch. It was time for his
His purpose was to protect Samira, no matter how tempted he was to believe Jacqueline Fletcher’s tale of desperation. Yet hearing her voice catch as she’d told him why she’d begun this work, watching the moonlight silver a face pinched with pain, he’d wanted to comfort her.
Instinct told him her pain was real. But years of experience warned him never to trust a reporter. For too long they’d fed like jackals on his family. If he made a mistake trusting her when he shouldn’t it would be Samira who’d suffer. The thought tightened every sinew.
Besides, Jacqueline Fletcher wasn’t what she seemed. Her clothes were so drab and unfeminine it was suspicious, as if she aimed to deflect his attention but took the camouflage too far.
He’d seen her pearly skin, the flash of vivid amber eyes, the russet of pubic hair and the rose pink of her full-body blush. And he wasn’t forgetting any time soon.
Heat doused him as she looked up. He felt wrong-footed, as if caught ogling an innocent. An innocent whom his cousin had trusted.
‘Here’s the reference I wanted.’ Her head tilted to one side as if she tried to read his expression and Asim stiffened as guilt eddied.
Instantly the shimmer of brightness in her eyes dulled and doubt jabbed him. Could she be such a good actress?
‘Go on.’
She paused but didn’t look away. Asim felt admiration stir. So often he merely had to hint at disapproval to find others giving way. Clearly his frown had no such impact on Ms Fletcher.
‘It’s a reference to diaries kept by...’ she looked down to check her facts ‘...your great-great-aunt Zeinab.’
‘And you found this where?’ It was the first Asim had heard of royal diaries.
‘There was a paper in the royal collection your grandmother thought would interest me. She arranged for your chief archivist to show me and it mentioned the diaries.’
‘Tell me more.’ This research project expanded before his eyes. First interviews with his grandmother, then visits to abandoned parts of the palace accompanied by various building experts, then meetings with an ever-expanding group of his grandmother’s old friends. Now the royal archives. When would it stop?
So much for his hope he’d soon see the back of Jacqueline Fletcher.
‘It mentioned arrangements to teach the ladies in the harem geometry, astronomy and poetry.’
Asim nodded. ‘All are traditionally important to my people. Astronomy and geometry aid navigation in the desert and poetry is prized among all the arts.’
Again that tilt of her head. ‘Yet the women of the palace weren’t likely to navigate alone across the dunes.’
Asim shrugged. ‘You think one should learn only the immediately practical? What about broadening the mind?’
‘I agree.’ Her gaze dipped. ‘It just surprised me that your ancestors felt the same way, especially when it came to educating women.’
He repressed anger. Wasn’t this the sort of too easy assumption many outsiders made? ‘Despite the stories you’ve heard, many of my predecessors were enlightened. They sought beautiful, clever women as their consorts, women whose company they could enjoy. Educated women who could share their lives as well as their beds.’
‘Which is why I’d like to access Zeinab’s diaries. They will be invaluable—’
‘No.’ A journalist prying into intimate family details? Even after generations the diaries could reveal material better kept private.
‘But if I could—’
‘It seems to me you have plenty of sources already.’
He supressed a smile as her eyes flashed. No longer drab despite her dowdy clothes, Jacqueline Fletcher looked vibrantly alive with her flushed cheeks and pouting lips.
‘The diaries will give a new perspective to the project, adding depth and texture.’
‘I take your point, Ms Fletcher, but I prefer to keep such private material private.’
She met his gaze, her brow pleated.
Enough. Asim glanced at his watch. It was time for his
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