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heard, so pertinent were they. Like the Corsair, this man was both intriguing andinscrutable. He had an imperious air about him, as if he surveyed the world from some higher, more exclusive plane. Intimidating, was the word which sprang to mind. Who was he? And what was he doing in her tent in the middle of the night?
    Clutching at the neck of her nightgown, the sash of her robe, her unbound hair, Cassie tried to get up off the cluster of cushions upon which she had been lying and succeeded only in catching her bare foot on a particularly slippery satin one, which pitched her forwards. ‘Oh!’
    His reactions were lightning quick. Instead of falling on to the carpet, Cassie found herself held in a hard embrace. She had never, even dancing a waltz, been held this close to a man—not even by Augustus, that soul of propriety. She hadn’t realised how very different was the male body. A sinewy arm, lightly tanned under the loose sleeve of his tunic, held her against his unyielding chest. Were all men this solid? She hadn’t really realised either, until now, that she was so very pliant. Her waist seemed designed for his embrace. She felt helpless. The feeling was strange, because it should have made her feel scared, but she wasn’t. Not completely.
    â€˜Unhand me at once, you fiend!’
    The fiend, who was actually remarkably un-fiend-like, retained his vice-like hold. ‘You are Lady Cassandra?’ he said, gazing at her in something akin to dismay. ‘Sister to Lady Celia, daughter of Lord Henry Armstrong?’
    â€˜Of course I am.’ Cassie clutched her robe more firmly together. ‘More to the point, who are you, andwhat, pray, are you doing in my tent in the middle of the night? I must warn you,’ she declared dramatically, throwing herself with gusto into the role of innocent maiden, safe now in the knowledge that the stranger meant her no harm, ‘I will fight to the death to protect my honour.’
    To her intense irritation the man smiled, or made as if to smile, a slight curl of the mouth that she’d seen somewhere before. ‘That will not be necessary, I assure you,’ he said. He had a voice like treacle, rich and mellow, his English softly accented.
    â€˜I am here as Prince Jamil’s guest, you know,’ Cassie said warily. ‘If any harm were to come to me and he were to hear of it, he would—he would…’
    â€˜What would he do, this Prince Jamil, who you seem to know so well?’
    â€˜He would have you beheaded and dragged through the desert by a team of wild horses,’ Cassie said defiantly. She was sure she had read about that somewhere.
    â€˜Before or after the beheading?’
    Cassie narrowed her eyes and set her jaw determinedly. ‘You are clearly not taking me seriously. Perhaps I should scream.’
    â€˜I would prefer it if you did not. My apologies, Lady Cassandra, allow me to introduce myself. I am Sheikh Jamil al-Nazarri, Prince of Daar-el-Abbah. I did not intend to alarm you, I merely wished to formally welcome you into my protection. Protection,’ he added sardonically, ‘that you obviously feel in urgent need of.’
    Prince Jamil! Dear heavens, this was Prince Jamil! Cassie stared aghast at his countenance, forgetting allabout the heinous crime of meeting a prince’s eyes, which Celia had warned her about. ‘Prince Jamil! I’m sorry, I didn’t realise, I thought…’
    â€˜You thought I was about to rip your nightclothes unceremoniously from you and ravish you,’ Jamil finished for her, eyeing the luscious curves, barely concealed by her flimsy garment.
    Cassie clutched her nightdress even tighter to her and tried, not entirely successfully, to banish this shockingly exciting idea from her mind. ‘I wasn’t aware that you were going to call on me,’ she said in what she hoped was an unflustered tone.
    â€˜Halim did not mention that I intended to