Christina’s eyes flew open and turned a darker shade of blue.
“But you—you promised! You gave me your word you wouldn’t rape me. Don’t you have any scruples at all?”
“I always keep my word, Tina. I will not have to rape you. As I told you before, you’ll want me as much as I want you.”
“You must be crazy. I will never want you! How could I want you when I detest you with all my being?” she stormed. “You’ve taken me away from my brother and from everything I love. You keep me prisoner here with a guard at the door when you leave. I hate you!”
Christina stalked from the room, silently cursing him with every horrible word she could think of. Suddenly she noticed two stacks of books and at least a dozen bolts of cloth lying on a couch. She forgot her anger and ran over to examine the goods.
There were silks, satins, velvets, and brocades in some of the most beautiful colors she had ever seen. There was even a bolt of semitransparent cotton that she could use to make chemises. Threads of every matching color, scissors, intricate trims, and everything she would possibly need to make beautiful dresses were lying before her.
She turned to the books, picking them up one by one. There were Shakespeare, Defoe, Homer…. Some she had read before, and some were by authors she’d never heard of. Lying beside the books was a beautifully carved ivory comb-and-brush set.
Christina was delighted. She felt like a small child on her birthday receiving an abundance of presents that would last until another birthday came. Philip had been standing behind her, watching her joy at the surprise. She swung around to face him now, her eyes a soft blue-green again surrounded by their dark ring.
“Are these for me?” she inquired demurely, running her hand over a bolt of soft blue velvet that matched her eyes.
“They were, but I don’t know if I should give them to you after the way you have been acting,” he said.
His eyes gave no clue whether he was teasing her or not. She suddenly felt desperate.
“Please, Philip! I’ll die without anything to occupy my time.”
“Perhaps you could give me something in return,” he replied huskily.
“You know I can’t. Why must you torture me so?”
“You jump to conclusions, my sweet. What I had in mind was a kiss—an honest kiss with some feeling in it.”
Christina took one more look at the bounty of goods on the couch. What harm could one little kiss do, she thought, if it would get her what she wanted? She came to him and waited, eyes closed, but he did nothing. She opened her eyes and stared into his amused ones.
“I asked you to give the kiss, my lady, with feeling.” He smiled down at her.
After a moment’s hesitation, Christina put her arms around his neck and drew his lips down to hers. She opened her mouth to his. The kiss began softly, then his tongue penetrated deeply. The butterfly feeling came over her again, but this time she didn’t fight it. His arms went around her, crushing her body to his. She could feel the hardness between his legs as he lowered his lips to leave a trail of fire across her neck.
Philip picked her up and began to carry her into the bedroom. Christina started to struggle.
“A kiss was all you asked for! Please put me down,” she begged.
“Damn you, woman! The time will come when you’ll gladly go with me. I promise you that.”
He set her down and went outside. A smile crossed Christina’s lips when she saw that she’d won again. But how long did she have before her luck ran out? Philip’s kiss stirred something in her that she didn’t understand. It left her empty, wanting something more, but she didn’t know what.
After a few minutes, Philip came back into the room, followed by a girl who brought in the evening supper. When she left, Philip spoke harshly.
“We will eat now, and afterward I’ll take you to meet my father. He has been expecting us.”
They ate silently, but Christina was too nervous to enjoy the meal. She was a little afraid of meeting Philip’s father. If he was anything like his son, then she had much to fear.
“Couldn’t this meeting be put off for a few days until I can make something more presentable to wear than this?” she asked.
Philip frowned at her. “My father has lived his whole life here. He’s not used to fancy gowns and dresses on women. What you’re wearing will be quite suitable for the occasion.”
“And whose clothes am I wearing? Did they belong to your last mistress?” Christina asked distastefully.
“You have a sharp tongue, Tina. The clothes belong to Amine, the girl who brought in the food. Amine is the wife of Syed, one of my distant cousins.”
Christina felt ashamed, but she wasn’t about to admit it.
