Innocent in the Sheikh's Harem by Marguerite Kaye Read Free Book Online

things are not mentioned.’
    ‘Which is why, in your country, so many women are unhappy,’ Ramiz countered.
    Were such things discussed in the harem? If that was where she was destined to go—not that she would for a minute actually allow Ramiz to… But if it was where she was going, would she be able to find out from the other women? Another wave of heat spread its fingers over Celia. ‘We should not be discussing this,’ she said primly.
    ‘Between a man and a woman there is nothing more important to discuss.’ Ramiz could see she was mortified, but somehow he couldn’t stop himself. There was something about the too-cool Lady Celia that made him want to test her limits. And, though he should definitely not be thinking such thoughts, now that he had, in his imagination, placed her within his harem, he could not stop picturing her there. ‘To take pleasure, one has also to give. In order to give, one must have knowledge. If you were to be my concubine,’ Ramiz said outrageously, ‘then I would first need to understand what gives you pleasure. And you would need to do the same for me.’
    ‘But I am not going to be your concubine,’ Celia said, the tension in her voice evident. ‘You said so yourself.’
    ‘True. But I wonder, Lady Celia, what bothers you more? The idea of being my concubine or the knowledge that, if you were, you would enjoy it?’
    She was nonplussed by this question, as it had never occurred to her to think that this imperious sheikh, who could have any woman he wanted, might actually find her desirable. No one else ever had. Until George had asked her to marry him she had never been kissed. In fact, rather shamefully, no one had ever even tried to kiss her, whereas they seemed never to stop trying to kiss Cassie.
    Men wanted to make love to Cassie. They wanted to make conversation with Celia. She was obviously lacking something. She was witty, she could be charming, she was educated and she was good company, but she wasn’t desirable. It was not something which had bothered her until recently. Not until George had—or had not! Now, it was a curiously deflating feeling.
    Was Ramiz toying with her? Celia peered through her dusty veil, trying to read his face, but with only his eyes visible, and those carefully hooded by his heavy lids, it was impossible. ‘I think,’ she finally said, after a long silence, ‘that I have enough to cope with in real life without indulging in hypothetical and frankly ridiculous speculation.’ She couldn’t know for sure, but she sensed that he was smiling beneath his headdress. ‘Can we change the subject, please? Tell me about Balyrma. There is so little written about your country, I don’t know very much about it at all beyond the name.’
    They had been in the saddle for most of the day, riding through the heat of noon which, under less pressing circumstances, Ramiz would have avoided. Celia had made no complaint, sitting straight in the saddle, drinking water from the canteen only when it was offered, maintaining by some miracle a cool, collected appearance in clothes more fitted to a stroll in an English garden than a long trek across the merciless heat of the desert. Looking at her now, Ramiz felt a faint twinge of guilt. She might not have loved her husband, and in his view she was well rid of him, but she had endured a hugely traumatic time with remarkable courage, and deserved to be indulged a little.
    So he told her of Balyrma, and became so engrossed and passionate when talking of his beloved city and its people, of their ancient traditions and its sometimes violent history, that he barely noticed the miles being eaten up. He discovered in Celia an attentive and intelligent listener, with a wide frame of reference, who surprised him with some of the astute observations she made. She was enthusiastic too, and eager to find links between A’Qadiz and the ancient Egypt of the pharaohs whose tombs she had explored. Her enthusiasm was