Innocent Mistress, Royal Wife
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Rafiq looked at her, heavy-lidded eyes narrowing as he scanned her face. ‘Moraze was known to Arab sailors, but because it wasn’t on their trade routes and had nothing they wanted they rarely came this way. The first settlers were led by a distant ancestor of mine, a French nobleman who had the temerity to conduct an affair with his monarch’s much-prized mistress. Nowhere in Europe was safe, so he travelled farther afield, and eventually found refuge here with a somewhat motley crew of adventurers and sailors and their women.’
Fascinated, Lexie said, ‘I wouldn’t have thought the King of France’s mandate stretched this far.’
He smiled, and the skin at the back of her neck tightened, lifting the tiny hairs there. For a second she thought she saw his ancestor, proud and gallant and tough as he shepherded that motley crew to Moraze.
Rafiq told her, ‘By then it wasn’t the French king he was concerned about. On his travels my forebear stole an Arabian sheikh’s most precious jewel—his daughter—and as she was more than happy to be stolen they needed a refuge they could defend.’
‘When did all this happen?’
‘Several hundred years ago.’
Fascinated, she asked, ‘What happened to the French king’s mistress?’
He looked surprised. ‘I believe she was married off to some elderly duke. Why?’
‘I just wondered,’ she said. ‘I hope she liked that elderly duke.’
‘I don’t think anyone ever enquired,’ he told her dryly.
As though bored by the discussion, he got out and came around to open her door. With the same automatic courtesy he took her arm as they went up the steps and through the door into a vast, tiled hall. She’d expected grim stone inside, but the far end of the hall was high glass doors that opened out onto a terrace bordered by shrubs and trees.
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