Free Innocent in the Sheikh's Harem by Marguerite Kaye

but I’ll wager that you try all the same,’ Celia said, with a perception which surprised him. ‘You don’t really want to rule in splendid isolation, do you?’
    ‘Splendid isolation? That is exactly how it feels sometimes. You can have no idea how wearing it is, trying to break the ingrained prejudice of years,’ Ramiz said wearily. ‘Sometimes I think— But that is another matter. With Prince Malik…’
    He went on to tell her about the events of the last few days, spurred on by her intelligent interest into revealing far more of his innermost thoughts than he had ever done. It was a relief to unburden himself, and refreshing too, for this woman who talked and thought like a man had a knack for encouraging without toadying, and her shocking lack of deference lent her opinions a credibility he would not otherwise have conceded.
    By the time the meal was over the weight of responsibility which was beginning to feel like a sack upon his back had eased a little for the first time since he had so unexpectedly come to power. This woman understood the cares of governing. She would have made an excellent diplomatic wife. George Cleveden had chosen well. But George Cleveden was dead, and Ramiz could not regret it, for the woman who was now his widow deserved better. Much better. Not that it was any of his business.
    ‘Are you comfortable here in my harem?’ Ramiz settled himself back against the cushions. The lamps with their coloured glass shades reflected the light in rainbow patterns onto the mirrors and the tiled white of the salon.
    Celia thought she recognised that teasing note in his voice, but she could not be sure. ‘Extremely,’ she said cautiously. ‘Your servants have looked after me very well, but I was surprised to find myself the only occupant.’
    ‘I moved my brother’s wives and children to their own palace. Those who wished were returned to their families.’
    ‘And you haven’t had time to—to stock up on wives for yourself?’
    Ramiz burst out laughing. ‘That’s one way of putting it.’
    ‘You led me to believe you had many wives.’
    ‘No, you made that assumption yourself.’
    Celia bit her lip. ‘I suppose you get tired of people like me making such assumptions. You wanted to teach me a lesson, didn’t you?’
    Ramiz held up his hands. ‘I confess. Tell me, what did you expect when you came here? A scene from One Thousand and One Nights ?’
    She blushed. ‘Something like that.’
    ‘And now?’
    ‘Now I don’t know what to think,’ she said, opting for honesty. ‘In one way, there’s something almost liberating in being so cut off from the world and unable to do anything about it. I feel rested. Cured. Better. I’ve never had so much time to think. It’s like I’ve been able to sort out my mind, make sense of things.’
    ‘You had problems in your marriage, I think?’
    After so many days of silence, so many hours spent scrutinising and questioning, it was a huge relief to speak her thoughts. ‘I wasn’t exactly unhappy, but I think I would have become so, and I know George already was.’ A tear trembled on her lashes. Celia brushed it away. ‘He was—he did not want—I think he wanted a companion rather than a wife. How did you guess?’ She had not meant to ask, but here in the tranquil security of the harem, with the soft light casting ghostly shadows onto the walls, such an intimate topic seemed natural.
    He had been conversing with her like a man, admiring her intelligence and strong opinions. Now he saw in that look stripped of its poise, in the vulnerable trembling of her lip, that she was all woman. He remembered her body, glinting pale and alluring in the moonlight by the oasis—an image which had crept unbidden into his dreams these last five nights, so unwanted, so dishonourable that he had banished its memory in the daylight. Now here it was again, and here in the rooms of the palace set aside for sensual pleasure, rooms he had never himself used,