Chapter 13 #2
Alex shuddered. She wanted to touch Blackwell very badly, she wanted to be touched by him. Touched, kissed, caressed, held … made love to. Wildly.
Murad took a sponge and soap to her face. She winced. “You’re hurting me.”
“You deserve the bastinado,” Murad said grimly, not easing the pressure.
The sponge had become nut brown, the water even darker.
“I’m not going to participate in your own ruin.
Stay away from him, Alex.” Suddenly he stopped what he was doing.
“Why did you tell him your real name? What if he talks about you?”
Alex stopped scrubbing her hands, both of her palms a shade of golden ivory now.
“I had to tell him. I hate being called Vera. And I hate lying to him, deceiving him, but I have a very bad feeling that if he knew I was Jebal’s wife, he wouldn’t come near me with a ten-foot pole.
Murad, I need your help. I can’t do this alone. ”
He glanced at her, then averted his eyes. “Turn your other cheek,” he snapped. “I wish he would find out the truth. Because I think you’re right. If he knew that you were Jebal’s wife, he would refuse to even speak to you. Blackwell is not a fool.”
Alex gripped the edges of the tub as Murad scrubbed her other cheek. “Don’t you dare tell him! I will never forgive you if you do!”
“What are you thinking of, Alex? Seducing him—hooking him—and then telling him oh so casually that Jebal is your husband? And what if you are wrong? What if he accepts the bashaw’s offer?”
“He won’t. And I will tell him in my own good time.” She was uneasy. “I pray to God we will escape Tripoli soon. Maybe he’ll never find out about Jebal.”
Murad gripped her chin, anchoring her face in place.
“Ow!”
“Hold still,” he said almost savagely. “Alex, let me tell you something. Lust is not love, and love can have little to do with lust.”
She pulled free of him and briefly submerged her head. The henna turned the bathwater a blackish red. “I know the difference.”
“Do you?”
“Do you?” she challenged.
Murad went rigid.
Alex realized what she had said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it,” she said, reaching out to him.
He stood, shaking off her hand. “You meant it.”
“Murad, no!”
His gaze was bitter, accusing. Then they both heard the knock on the door at the very same time. He gave her another glance, one that, it seemed to Alex, was also filled with frustration, and he stormed from the room.
Alex rinsed her hair again, her head under the faucets, pulling the drain on the tub. How could she have been so unkind? Murad was her best friend. But right now, after what had just happened with Blackwell, she did not want to hear his far too rational point of view.
Alex stepped from the tub, towel-drying her hair and inspecting it more closely under the light. It wasn’t as red as before. She had turned it a dark shade of mahogany.
Alex froze, her eyes widening as she detected a woman’s voice in the adjacent room. Ohmygod! It sounded as if Zoe was speaking with Murad!
Alex threw another towel around her head just as the door opened, revealing Zoe, who was smiling. Zoe’s smiles were catlike and unkind. They were sly and knowing. Alex was rigid.
“Why, Zohara, this is the strangest time for a bath!” Her voice was mocking.
Alex forced a smile of her own. “Not for me. I was working out.” Murad stood in the doorway behind Zoe. His eyes were dark.
“Working out?”
“Yeah. Every day I do a hundred crunches and five hundred jumping jacks.”
Zoe’s brow furrowed. “I don’t even care what kind of jest you are making. Jebal is growing annoyed. He has been looking for you. Where have you been?” Zoe’s tone was innocent.
Alex was paralyzed.
“Alex was ‘working out,’ as she calls it. She does these strange things with her body every morning. It is her custom. Jebal wishes to speak with her now?” Murad’s tone was flat and calm.
But Alex saw that he was looking behind her, at the bath she had just vacated. She darted a glance at the tub from the corner of her eye and almost fainted. An inch of black water was still draining from the bath.
“Yes. And I know what he wants. I will wait for you,” Zoe said, her eyes gleaming. And then her sly smile disappeared. “What is that?” she cried.
Alex followed her gaze. The marble tub, usually white, was brownish, a small pool of dirty water just swirling down the gold drain. One word drummed in her brain. Discovery.
Zoe looked up. “You’ve been putting henna in your hair!” she accused.
As they hurried through the palace, Zoe told Alex at least five times that Jebal would be furious with her for changing the color of her hair. She was smirking.
Alex hardly listened. She was trembling, unable to believe her narrow escape.
Zoe had failed to notice that, in places, like the underside of her forearms, her skin was a shade darker than it should be, and that the webs between her fingers were slightly brown from not having been washed thoroughly enough.
It had been a very close call. Alex was sweating.
When they entered the room, Jebal rose. He had been sitting by a table laden with fruit and sweets, although he had not been eating. He smiled warmly at Alex, his arms outstretched. His many colorful gilets reached the floor.
Zoe hung back, a smile glued to her face. Alex moved into his embrace, allowing him to hug her briefly. He released her but held her at arm’s length, regarding her far too closely. His smile was gone.
Alex felt a brief frisson of panic as their eyes met Did he know something? Was he suspicious of her? Could he see the difference in her skin tone? Had someone seen her and Blackwell in the garden a few minutes ago? Murad warned her repeatedly that there were spies in the palace everywhere.
“You have kept me waiting. I have been waiting almost an hour for you. Why? Where have you been?” His tone was petulant.
Alex wasn’t given the chance to reply. Zoe piped up, “She dyed her hair, Jebal. It isn’t red anymore. She was trying to wash it out!” Zoe’s voice was triumphant.
Alex shrank as Jebal’s eyes widened. “What have you done?” he cried, pulling the veil from her head.
“I’m sorry.”
Jebal gaped at her faded brown hair.
“I told her you would be furious,” Zoe said serenely.
“I loved your hair,” Jebal said. His glance held Alex’s. His eyes had turned cold. “Who gave you permission to do this?”
Alex tensed. “No one. Jebal, I did not think you would mind.”
“I do mind,” Jebal said tightly. “Can you explain this, Zohara?”
Jebal had always been kind and easygoing. Alex had never seen him angry before. “I … I didn’t realize the henna would darken my hair, I thought it would brighten it—pleasing you even more.” She attempted a smile and failed.
“You are not allowed to change your hair—or any other aspect of your appearance—without asking me first,” Jebal said. But his expression eased. “You wished to please me?”
“Yes,” Alex breathed, relieved. Jebal was her own age, but immature, in many ways a sulky child. She had nothing to worry about, except her own twentieth-century nature, which hated being subservient to him.
“Perhaps you can think of other ways to please me, tomorrow night,” he said. “Zoe, leave us.”
Zoe managed to smile. Alex watched the way she swayed her plump hips as she left the room.
Zoe reeked of sexuality. Alex knew from all the harem gossip that she was outrageous in bed with Jebal—and probably with other lovers, as well.
Alex had a strong intuition about that—and Murad was positive she was involved with a lover right now.
“Let us sit. I wish to speak with you.” Jebal’s smile was boyish, friendly.
Alex managed a smile in return, worried now about his reference to tomorrow evening. She sank down on a plush cushion, Jebal sitting beside her. “Zohara, do you not know why I asked you here today?”
Alex’s mind raced frantically. “No.”
“Do you know what day it is?”
Alex hesitated. “Not precisely.”
“It is July thirteenth.”
Alex stiffened.
“Tomorrow is our first wedding anniversary,” Jebal said.
Alex closed her eyes. How could she have forgotten?
“If I recall correctly, we agreed that you would have an entire year to grieve for your first husband.”
Alex wet her lips. “Yes, of course, how could I forget?” Her smile was ragged. “You have been terribly kind to me, Jebal, and incredibly understanding.”
He smiled. He began stroking her wrist. “You have mourned more than a year. Tell me how you are feeling.”
Alex forced down the panic. She must not panic now. Surely there was a way out of the rising dilemma. “I am homesick, Jebal. I miss my country and my countrymen,” Alex said carefully.
Jebal stopped caressing her. He stared. “Still?”
Alex held her breath and nodded.
“I thought you liked it here,” Jebal finally said, appearing dismayed. “I thought you were happy.”
“I do. But I will always long for my home, my people.”
“I cannot let you go, Alex. You are my wife. I am far too fond of you. I will not let you go. You have yet to give me a son.”
Alex remained silent. Zoe had three daughters, but not a single son.
“Will you stay with me tonight?” Jebal asked.
Alex imagined that she lost all of her color. She stared at Jebal out of wide eyes. “Wh-what?”
“Stay with me tonight,” Jebal said, dropping to his knees. He caressed her cheek with one hand. Alex was frozen, paralyzed.
His fingertips drifted down her throat, to her shoulder. Their gazes met.
He had never touched her this way before. Alex was outraged, yet she did not dare move away from him. “I … I have a terrible headache.” She knew her excuse was pitiful.
“I see.” Jebal stood abruptly, scowling.
Alex hugged herself, watching him. “Will you force me to stay?” she whispered.
“No.”
Alex closed her eyes in abject relief.
“Not tonight, anyway,” Jebal said. He towered over her. “But I am growing impatient, Zohara. I am only a man. And you are very beautiful. You belong in my bed.”
Alex nodded fearfully.
Jebal paced restlessly, his outermost gilets swinging about him, the gems glittering in the candlelight. He turned. “Tomorrow is our wedding anniversary and we will celebrate it together,” Jebal said. His glance was piercing. “I hope that pleases you?”
Alex got shakily to her feet. She could not find her voice, but she nodded, having no other choice.
Clearly her time was running out.