Khalif’s apartments, however, her heart began to pound. Would she be publicly beaten? Thrown into a rat-infested dungeon andforgotten? Turned out into the desert to wander until she died in an agony of thirst?
Khalif, resplendent as always in silks and jewels, greeted her with a curt nod of resignation. She was a problem to be dealt with, his manner said, like a stubborn mare refusing to take the bit, or a dog that wouldn’t come to heel.
Despite her fear, which was suddenly profound again, Charlotte felt the sting of fury, too. She was about to tell Khalif what she thought of his pompous tyranny, but a quick look from Rashad made her bite her lip instead.
The sultan dismissed the eunuch with a gesture, and Rashad left the apartments.
It was all Charlotte could do not to run after him, pleading for protection. Instead, she looked Khalif straight in the eye and said, “Well, let’s get on with it. I’m tired of dreading my punishment.”
Khalif smiled, but Charlotte was not reassured by this small indication of goodwill. “Perhaps this day will not be remembered for bringing your punishment,” he said mysteriously, “but someone else’s.”
Charlotte frowned and looked around, but the great, opulently decorated room was empty except for the two of them. “I don’t understand,” she said.
The sultan chuckled, but without humor. “That is true of many things, I think,” he replied. He grasped a golden cord near the place where he stood and pulled. “For your own sake as well as that of others, my dear, I hope you will make an effort to overcome some of your more obvious shortcomings—like following your every impulse and speaking when you would be better advised to remain silent.”
Charlotte’s cheeks burned, and her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She knew Khalif had summoned someone by tugging on the bellpull—a servant bearing a whip or club? A swordsman to whisk off her head? A slave-master to drag her off to market?
She closed her eyes tightly, struggling to retain her composure, and when she opened them again, she saw Patrick stride through one of the great doorways. He wore his usualbreeches, high boots, and pirate’s shirt, and his dark hair was tied back, as always, with a narrow black ribbon.
Charlotte’s knees went weak with relief and confusion when he smiled at her.
He approached, gripped her shoulders in his hands, and gave her an indulgent kiss on the forehead. “I hear you’ve been misbehaving, Charlotte. Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Her throat had closed; she forgot to breathe. How she loved this man, and how she despised him at the very same time!
Patrick let go of her—she barely kept herself from crumpling to the floor out of sheer shock—and turned to grin at his friend the sultan. Then he met Charlotte’s bewildered gaze again.
“Here’s your choice, goddess,” he said. “You can either marry me or take a beating.”
By some miracle, Charlotte found her voice. She was overjoyed at the prospect of spending her life with Patrick, but his nonchalant, take-it-or-leave-it manner was hardly the reaction she would have wanted. “This is a difficult decision,” she replied. “After all, the beating would be over in a few minutes, but a wedding might be only the beginning of my grief.”
Patrick narrowed his eyes at her. “Mind your tongue, darling,” he said, with acid affection, “or you’ll get both the wedding
and
the beating.”
Charlotte swallowed, glanced warily toward Khalif. Then she took a subtle step nearer to Patrick. “Why do you want to marry me at all if you feel that way?” she demanded in a whisper.
He let his gaze travel over her, lingering at her breasts, then her narrow waist, then her softly curving hips. “I am something of an optimist,” he said, looking into her eyes again, filling her with a delicious sense of softness. “I believe there is still hope that you can be salvaged, though it will take work and a lot of
Khalif, resplendent as always in silks and jewels, greeted her with a curt nod of resignation. She was a problem to be dealt with, his manner said, like a stubborn mare refusing to take the bit, or a dog that wouldn’t come to heel.
Despite her fear, which was suddenly profound again, Charlotte felt the sting of fury, too. She was about to tell Khalif what she thought of his pompous tyranny, but a quick look from Rashad made her bite her lip instead.
The sultan dismissed the eunuch with a gesture, and Rashad left the apartments.
It was all Charlotte could do not to run after him, pleading for protection. Instead, she looked Khalif straight in the eye and said, “Well, let’s get on with it. I’m tired of dreading my punishment.”
Khalif smiled, but Charlotte was not reassured by this small indication of goodwill. “Perhaps this day will not be remembered for bringing your punishment,” he said mysteriously, “but someone else’s.”
Charlotte frowned and looked around, but the great, opulently decorated room was empty except for the two of them. “I don’t understand,” she said.
The sultan chuckled, but without humor. “That is true of many things, I think,” he replied. He grasped a golden cord near the place where he stood and pulled. “For your own sake as well as that of others, my dear, I hope you will make an effort to overcome some of your more obvious shortcomings—like following your every impulse and speaking when you would be better advised to remain silent.”
Charlotte’s cheeks burned, and her heartbeat thundered in her ears. She knew Khalif had summoned someone by tugging on the bellpull—a servant bearing a whip or club? A swordsman to whisk off her head? A slave-master to drag her off to market?
She closed her eyes tightly, struggling to retain her composure, and when she opened them again, she saw Patrick stride through one of the great doorways. He wore his usualbreeches, high boots, and pirate’s shirt, and his dark hair was tied back, as always, with a narrow black ribbon.
Charlotte’s knees went weak with relief and confusion when he smiled at her.
He approached, gripped her shoulders in his hands, and gave her an indulgent kiss on the forehead. “I hear you’ve been misbehaving, Charlotte. Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
Her throat had closed; she forgot to breathe. How she loved this man, and how she despised him at the very same time!
Patrick let go of her—she barely kept herself from crumpling to the floor out of sheer shock—and turned to grin at his friend the sultan. Then he met Charlotte’s bewildered gaze again.
“Here’s your choice, goddess,” he said. “You can either marry me or take a beating.”
By some miracle, Charlotte found her voice. She was overjoyed at the prospect of spending her life with Patrick, but his nonchalant, take-it-or-leave-it manner was hardly the reaction she would have wanted. “This is a difficult decision,” she replied. “After all, the beating would be over in a few minutes, but a wedding might be only the beginning of my grief.”
Patrick narrowed his eyes at her. “Mind your tongue, darling,” he said, with acid affection, “or you’ll get both the wedding
and
the beating.”
Charlotte swallowed, glanced warily toward Khalif. Then she took a subtle step nearer to Patrick. “Why do you want to marry me at all if you feel that way?” she demanded in a whisper.
He let his gaze travel over her, lingering at her breasts, then her narrow waist, then her softly curving hips. “I am something of an optimist,” he said, looking into her eyes again, filling her with a delicious sense of softness. “I believe there is still hope that you can be salvaged, though it will take work and a lot of
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