Marguerite Kaye - Innocent in the Sheikhs Harem

You will stay in the palace, as my guest. Ramiz turned toward her. In the firelight, his eyes seemed to glow like amber.

Do you mean I am to stay in a harem? Celias eyes widened in shock. Images from A Thousand and One Nights, of scantily-clad concubines oiling themselves and lolling about on velvet cushions sprang to her mind. Your highness, Ramiz, I am flattered that you should consider adding me to your collection of wives, but

My wife! You overestimate your value. A Western woman, even a titled one, could not aspire to such an exalted position. At best perhaps, she could serve as a concubine.

Celia gave an outraged gasp. You expect me to be your concubine! I absolutely will not! How dare you! How dare you suggest such an outrageous, indecent

He moved so suddenly she had no chance of escape. He seemed to uncoil, to pounce, so that one minute she was sitting next to him, the next she was being dragged helplessly to her feet, held in arms so strong it would be pointless to struggle. Tall as she was, Ramiz topped her by several inches. She was pressed against him, thigh to thigh, chest to chest. His breath was on her face. She could smell him, warm and overpoweringly male. She had never been held thus. She had never been so close to a man.

Innocent in the Sheikhs Harem

Harlequin Historical #1049July 2011

Author Note

The Arabian world of the early nineteenth century is (if youll pardon the pun) very much virgin territory. As for tents, my experience is confined to nights spent under canvas accompanied by those twin stalwarts of the Scottish summer, rain and midges. Not the most romantic and glamorous of backdrops, however breathtaking the scenery.

Then my lovely editor pointed me in the direction of the intrepid Lady Hester Stanhope, and I was instantly captivated by the exotic, intoxicating and above all utterly other world in which she had traveled. It made me wonder, what would it be like for a classic English rose to be stranded in such a place, completely overwhelmed by the alien customs and culture, and wholly in the power of the autocratic ruler of the kingdom in which she found herself. Which is exactly the fate that befalls my heroine, Lady Celia, who finds herself in the behind-closed-doors sensual world of the harem, in thrall to an imperious, powerful sheikh who is so revered as to be thought flawless. Could she possibly be the one to capture the heart of this moody and magnificent prince?

I hope you enjoy immersing yourself in the intensely sensual world I have conjured as much as I have enjoyed creating it.

Innocent in the Sheikhs Harem

MARGUERITE KAYE

Look for the next sensual and dramatic story in
Marguerite Kayes miniseries

Princes of the Desert

THE GOVERNESS AND THE SHEIKH

Available August 2011

Available from Harlequin Historical and
MARGUERITE KAYE

Delectably Undone! #1036

The Captains Wicked Wager

Innocent in the Sheikhs Harem #1049

and in Harlequin Historical Undone! ebooks

The Captains Wicked Wager

The Highlander and the Sea Siren

Bitten by Desire

Temptation is the Night

Claimed by the Wolf Prince

Bound to the Wolf Prince

The Highlander and the Wolf Princess

For Joan (Johanna), who taught me to read,
inspired me to read lots, and who was there that day
on the beach in Cyprus when Kit and Clarissa
first popped into my head. Thank you, and love.

Contents

Chapter One

Summer, 1818

O h, George, do come and see! In her excitement, Lady Celia Cleveden leaned precariously over the side of the dhow in which they had just completed the last leg of their journey down the northern part of the Red Sea. The crew lowered the lateen sail which towered high above their heads and steered the little craft skilfully through the mass of other dhows, feluccas and caiques, all jostling for space in the busy harbour. Celia clung to the low wooden side of the boat with one gloved hand, the other holding her hat firmly in place, watching with wide-eyed wonder as they approached the shore.

She was dressed with her usual elegance in a gown of pale green sprigged muslin, one of several which she had had made especially for the trip, with long sleeves and a high neckline which in London would have been quite out of place but which here, in the East, she had been reliably informed, was absolutely essential. A straw hat with a long veil, also essential, covered her distinctive copper hair, but her tall, slender figure and youthful creamy complexion still attracted much attention from the fishermen, boatmen and passengers of the other craft currently vying for space in the busy port.

George, come and see, Celia called over her shoulder to the man sheltering under the scant cover provided by a tattered tented roof over the stern. Theres a donkey on that boat with a positively outraged expression. He looks exactly like my uncle when a parliamentary vote has gone against him in the House, she said with amusement.

George Cleveden, her husband of some three months, made no move to join her, and clearly was in no mood to be amused. He too was dressed with his usual elegance, in a cutaway coat of dark blue superfine teamed with a striped waistcoat from which a selection of elegant fobs dangled, and buckskin breeches worn with top boots. Sadly, though his outfit would indeed have been perfect for a coach journey from his mothers house in Bath to his own lodgings in London, or even for the ride from his London lodgings to his small country estate in Richmond, it was very far from ideal for a trip down the Red Sea in the blazing heat of summer. The starched points of his neck cloth had wilted many hours ago. His head ached from the heat of the sun, and there was a very distinctive rim of sweat marking the band of his beaver hat.

George eyed his young bride, looking confoundedly cool as a cucumber, with something akin to resentment. Blast this infernal heat! Do come away from there, Celia, youre making a show of yourself. Remember you are a British diplomats wife.

As if she needed reminding! Celia, however, continued to marvel at the spectacle unfolding before her eyes, choosing to ignore her husband. It was something at which she had become surprisingly adept during the short period of their marriage. The wedding had taken place on the very day upon which they had set out for the long journey to Cairo, and Georges new dip lomatic posting. George, the collected, organised undersecretary who worked for Celias father, Lord Armstrong, at the Foreign Office, had proved to be a rather less than intrepid traveller. This left Celia, who was no more experienced than he when it came to traversing the globe, to manage as best she could the challenging task of getting themalong with their mountain of baggagefrom London to Egypt via Gibraltar, Malta, Athens, and an unplanned stop in Rhodes, when their scheduled ship had failed to arrive, and much of their luggage had disappeared. For this, and for a plethora of other minor mishaps which were the result of Celias nave but plucky determination to get them in one piece to their destination, George blamed his wife. Damp sheets or no sheets at all, poor wine and much poorer food, insect bites and insect stings, nausea-inducing pitching seas and seas that were becalmedGeorge had borne none of these with the equanimity Celia had so much ad mired in the man she had married.

She put much of it down to the tribulations of travel, and maintained an optimistic outlook which she had intended to be reassuring, but which seemed to have rather a contrary effect. How can you be so damned jaunty? George had demanded during one particularly uncomfortable crossing, memorable for its weevil-infested ships biscuits and brandy-infested ships captain. But what was the point in lying abed and bemoaning ones fate? Far better to be up on deck, watching hopefully for land and admiring a school of porpoises with comically smiling faces swimming alongside them.