Imprisoned by a Vow

‘I’m feeling a little unwell, that’s all. I—’

‘You’re making yourself unwell, don’t you mean?’

‘No!’ She surged to her feet. ‘I don’t mean that at all.’ She was tired of having people put words into her mouth and overseeing her every move. She was weary and out of sorts and—

‘Tell me, Leila.’ His voice was lethally quiet as he stalked across to block her exit. ‘Is it bulimia or anorexia?’

Joss was determined to sort this out now.

His fragile patience for pampered princesses grew threadbare. And somewhere, deep inside, was a thread of real fear, the knowledge of precisely how dangerous an eating disorder was.

It did no good to tell himself Leila wasn’t his concern. He couldn’t turn his back.

‘It’s neither!’ Her head reared back in what looked like genuine shock. ‘There’s nothing wrong with my eating habits.’

He surveyed her slowly, pleased to see her sick pallor had abated, replaced by spots of high colour in her cheeks and fire in her eyes.

It struck him that his wife was beautiful when roused.

‘Then why have I never seen you consume more than a bite? Why are you sick after eating?’

He stepped nearer, close enough to inhale her fresh scent, and she angled her head high. He’d give her this: she didn’t back down from confrontation. His skin sizzled as she surveyed him. A pulse of something like desire beat hard in his belly.

If he’d known Leila could be so…animated, he might have thought twice about marriage. He’d wanted a demure, stylish hostess, not a spitfire. But the coiling heat in his lower body made a lie of the thought.

‘Do you always jump to conclusions?’ One fine eyebrow arched high on her smooth forehead, giving her a supercilious, touch-me-not air that made him want to level the barriers between them and give her a taste of raw, earthy pleasure. The force of that need shocked him.

‘Do you always avoid questions for which you’ve no answer?’

Her nostrils flared as if she kept tight rein on a quick temper. Unbidden, interest stirred. He’d always liked passion in a woman—in bed, not emotionally.

The thought brought him up sharply.

Leila was his wife. He was not going to bed her. He was not going to risk the possibility of messy, emotional scenes with the woman he’d just tied himself to.

She folded her hands in a show of patience that might have fooled him but for the heat still simmering in those luminous eyes. Despite his better judgement he found himself enjoying the contrast.

‘I haven’t been eating rich meals lately. The food at the wedding feast was designed to impress but it wasn’t to my taste.’

‘You’ve been dieting? Didn’t your father warn you about becoming underweight?’ His mouth thinned at her stupidity. Didn’t she value her health?

‘Stepfather.’ Instantly she pursed her lips as if regretting the correction. ‘And no, he didn’t have a problem with my diet.’

Again that puzzling flicker of almost-expression crossed her face, as if she suppressed something. Something Joss was determined to uncover.

‘And now? You can’t tell me the cakes aren’t to your taste. I saw the look on your face when you took that first bite.’ She’d closed her eyes as if overcome by bliss. The sight of such unadulterated sensual pleasure had been arresting, drawing him towards her and heating a coil of masculine anticipation low in his groin.

Leila shrugged. ‘It was lovely but, as I said, my diet has been very plain, very…restricted. This was just too much of a good thing.’

Joss clamped down the surge of admonition on his tongue. He knew she hid something. But her shock at his accusation seemed genuine. For the moment he’d have to reserve judgement.

‘And now? Do you still feel sick?’

She tilted her head, her eyes widening. ‘You know…’ she paused as if considering ‘…I don’t!’ She looked genuinely pleased.

‘Good. You need to build up your appetite.’

‘I do?’

He nodded, already resuming his seat and picking up his coffee. He was savvy enough to realise it would take a while to get to the bottom of whatever ailed Leila. ‘I’m going away on business but when I return and we start entertaining you won’t be able to run to the bathroom through every meal.’

Entertaining? Shock slammed her and her stomach knotted in dismay. Since when would a couple leading separate lives entertain guests?

Leila sank into her chair, her eyes fixed on Joss as he drained his coffee then bit into another syrupy nut roll with strong white teeth. Dazed, she watched the rhythmic movement of his solid jaw. Clearly he was a man of healthy appetite, part of her brain registered, just as if she weren’t reeling from his announcement.

‘What do you mean, entertaining?’

‘You’ll assist when we have guests.’ He shrugged. ‘A lot of business is done, connections made, socially. One of the reasons I considered you a suitable bride is your pedigree: child of diplomats, brought up in the best circles, with links to many powerful families with whom I’ll be doing business.’ He sat back, clearly pleased with himself. ‘You’re a born hostess. It was one of the things I checked when we met.’

‘Indeed.’ The word emerged between gritted teeth. Her skin prickled as fury engulfed her.

He looked so smug that he’d deigned to consider her suitable as his wife. And he wanted her to be his hostess? As if she owed him something! He’d come to her, wanting her inheritance.

‘That wasn’t in our agreement,’ she bit out.

‘It wasn’t?’ His sculpted lower lip firmed. His eyes narrowed and abruptly the tension in the air thickened.

‘No.’ Leila refused to be cowed. ‘You didn’t mention us entertaining together.’

Slowly Joss crossed one leg over another. His fingers splayed over the arms of his chair. But Leila wasn’t fooled into believing he was relaxed. There was an alertness about him that made her think of a predator, sizing up dinner.

‘You think the mere fact of our marriage entitles you to be kept in the style to which you’d like to be accustomed? Without stirring yourself in any way?’

‘You’re a fine one to talk. You married me for my father’s oil-rich land.’ How dared he try to make her sound mercenary?

‘So I did.’ His smile had a hungry edge that tightened every nerve. ‘And in doing so I acquired a hostess to help me achieve my goals. At present that involves smoothing my dealings with the elite of European and Middle Eastern society. You’re perfectly placed to assist me.’

Perfectly placed!

Leila pressed her lips together rather than let rip with a scathing retort.

‘I’m afraid I have other plans.’ She sat back and stared into sparking midnight-dark eyes.

She was safe now, out of Bakhara. Soon she’d have her own funds and in a country like England Joss couldn’t impose his will as her stepfather had.