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his increased ardor in her regard. Whether or not he was willing to admit it, he clearly wanted out of their pseudoengagement.
    Or had he always been attracted to her in some fashion, but unwilling to act on it because to do so would force the issue of their marriage?
    She preferred that scenario to the one where he found the prospect of freedom so appealing, it alone birthed lust in him over her body.
    Refusing to analyze the confusing situation any further, she brushed out her hair and changed her makeup to a neutral palette with eyes that were rimmed in kohl.
    If not for the highlights in her hair and barely there underclothes, she could have been a bride of Zohra from a hundred years ago. She saw no one in the secret passageways, but heard a peal of feminine laughter as she passed the access to what must have been Amir’s rooms.
    It sounded much too close to be muffled by walls. Having no desire to be caught on her way to Zahir’s room, Angele scooted into a crevice as the sound of bare feet padded down the passage she had just passed.
    â€œShh…the operative word here is secret,” Amir said in a loud whisper to his still giggling wife.
    â€œHow did I not know they existed all the times I stayed in this palace?”
    â€œYou were not yet my wife.”
    â€œI am now.” Grace sounded both awed and very pleased by that fact.
    â€œIndeed.” Amir’s voice was laced with pure possession, however.
    â€œSo, are we going to explore?”
    â€œWould you rather do that, or return to our rooms and celebrate our marriage?”
    â€œGuess.” Silence filled only with the sound of kissing and increasingly heavy breathing followed. Then, Grace said in a husky voice, “This week-long wedding thing is pretty neat, I must say. Western brides only get one wedding night.”
    Their voices faded as the footsteps returned the way they had come and Angele released a pent-up breath. She did not know how Zahir had stood maintaining a hidden affair for so long.
    One night was enough to stretch Angele’s nerves tighter than a model’s corset….

CHAPTER THREE
    S HE made it to Zahir’s room without further incident. Then she stood in front of the lever that would swing an ancient wardrobe within the room open like a door, and gathered her courage. This was it. The moment she’d craved far longer than anyone else would ever know.
    She reached out to pull the lever, but the “door” was already opening. It swung inward to a room lit by numerous candles.
    Clad in the traditional wedding garments of the Zohra royal family, Zahir looked at her with an expression so serious, it made her breath catch. “I began to think you had changed your mind.”
    Unable to speak, she shook her head.
    â€œYour wedding night awaits.” He stepped back. “Come.”
    Her heart hammering, she followed him into the candlelit room, but jerked when he reached behind her, and then blushed at her jumpiness.
    â€œBe at peace. I am only closing the access to the corridor.”
    â€œCan just anyone come in through it?” she asked, another worry finding its place in her maelstrom of emotions.
    â€œOnly the family knows of its existence, and a select few of our security detail, those whose families have served the royal house for generations.”
    â€œBut still.” What if his brother, or father, or something, decided to make a late night visit?
    â€œI have locked it from this side. The lever on the other side of the wall will not move.”
    Relief washed over her. “Amir and Grace were in the corridor.”
    Zahir’s entire body tensed. “Did they see you?”
    â€œNo.”
    He nodded, relaxing a little. “It would not have been a total tragedy, but I would prefer you not to be made the object of speculation.”
    She begged to differ. If she’d been seen, dressed as she was, it would have been both humiliating and a huge and total