She was casually chatting with an eager young oil executive when she heard a familiar voice behind her. "Good evening, Pandora."
She went still. Karl Madchen had been born and raised in Munich and had never lost the trace of a German accent. She turned to face him. "Good evening, Father." She held out her hand politely. "How nice to see you again." He looked almost exactly the same. His short, powerful body was perhaps a little more rotund, his blond hair a little more silver than gold, but his eyes were still crystal gray, cold and remote as a high mountain peak. "You look very well."
His expression remained impassive as his gaze went over her. "You haven't changed."
She tried to smile. "I thought you'd say that. I have, you know." She raised her eyes to meet his in challenge. "Were you surprised when Philip told you I was here?"
He raised a glass of white wine to his lips. "Not at all. I always expected it. You've had your eye on him ever since we came to Sedikhan."
Not her eye, her heart. Her father had never understood that. "You don't object to your daughter becoming the sheikh's Khadim?"
"Why should I?" He shrugged. "You will do as you wish. It is your nature. As long as you do not interfere with my life, I'll have no quarrel with you."
She felt the freezing cold touch her. Why could he still hurt her like this? She tried to laugh. "I assure you that if Philip kicks me out I'll try not to do anything that might influence him against you." She took a sip of her champagne cocktail. "And I promise you that I won't come crying to you. I know how you value your comfortable lifestyle here in Sedikhan."
"I would appreciate that." He permitted himself a small smile. "It would be foolish to pretend an attachment that never existed. Neither one of us ever needed anyone else. We were both very self-sufficient."
She lifted her chin. "No, I never needed you. I found that out a long time ago."
"You were always a bright child," he said objectively. "It was a shame you were so lacking in discipline."
Her hand tightened on her glass. "Yes, wasn't it?" Her lips felt numb as she smiled brightly. "I made your life quite uncomfortable. I'm sorry about that." She put her glass down on the rosewood table beside her with careful precision. "And now.if youll excuse me, I think I see Philip signaling me."
"By all means don't keep him waiting." Madchen moved aside politely. "Perhaps well talk again."
She hoped not. How she hoped not! She was moving hurriedly across the room to Philip, conscious only of the need to escape. Philip's back was turned to her, and he didn't realize she was by his side until she slipped her arm into his. He broke off in the middle of a sentence to look down at her. His swift gaze took in her pale face and overbright eyes.
"All right?" he asked quietly.
Her smile was brilliant. "Of course I'm all right. I was just lonely."
His hand reached over to cover the hand that rested on his sleeve. "You're cold."
The whole world was cold. "My cocktail glass was frosted." She moistened her lips. "I'm fine. Really."
His lips tightened. "Perhaps we'd better go in to dinner."
"That would be a good idea," she said, smiling at Philip's bearded business associate with dazzling sweetness. "I'm starved, aren't you?"
During the meal she was conscious of Philip's eyes on her from the far end of the long table. She tried to make her earlier claim of hunger appear valid, but she was barely able to choke down a few bites. She gave up finally and concentrated on keeping up the appearance of gaiety instead. Smiling, chatting with the guests at her end of the table, she burned with a charm and vivaciousenergy that lit up the dining room. As long as she talked, she wouldn't be able to think.
It was the same in the library after dinner, as mint tea, coffee, and conversation ended the evening. She even managed to give a bright, meaningless smile to her father as she stood at the door with Philip, saying polite good nights to the guests.
Then it was over and everyone was gone. She turned away from the door, the smile still painted on her lips. "I think it went very well, don't you?"
"Oh, brilliantly," he said caustically. "Everyone was impressed. You were lighting up the dining room like neon. I should have had the lights turned off and saved on electricity."
"That wouldn't have been appropriate for a multimillionaire like you. You don't have to worry about coins for the electric meter." She smoothed the velvet dress over her hips. "Remind me to tell you how I jimmied the meter one freezing night in my flat in London. It might amuse you."
"I doubt it." He took her elbow and began propelling her down the long hall. "You haven't amused me so far tonight."
"I'm sorry. I'll try to do better next time. It's just as well your guests aren't as difficult to please. I think they found me sufficiently entertaining."
"You practically mesmerized them. I think they even forgot about that atrocious orange wig."
"On the contrary. The ambassador's wife asked me where I bought it. She said it was sure to start a new fashion." Her laugh tinkled like little silver bells. "Isn't that funny?"
"Hilarious," he said grimly. He opened the door to her suite, pushed her inside, and shut the door behind them. "The next social event in Sedikhan will probably see every woman sporting one of those monstrosities." His hands were swiftly removing the hairpins that held the wig in place. "Except you." He pulled the wig and cap off her head. Her hair tumbled down her back in a luminous silver stream. "I never want to see you in it again. Do you hear me?"
She lifted her brows in mock dismay. "You didn't like it? I'm truly crushed, Philip."
"You reminded me of Pagliacci," he muttered. He combed his fingers through her hair, loosening the confined strands. "A damned clown laughing to keep from crying."
She tensed. He was coming too close to the truth. She should have known he would. "I don't know what you mean."
"Stop that awful grinning." He whirled her around and unzipped her dress, shoving it off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. "Get out of the rest of those things while I find your nightgown."
He went to the bureau and riffled through the drawer. When he came back to where she was standing he was carrying a hyacinth blue silk nightgown. "This should do. The rest of that stuff seems about as substantial as cobwebs."
"As becomes a mistress's wardrobe," Pandora said. "Everything conforms to your standing order with the shop in Marasef, Philip. Blue predominating for blondes, scarlet for brunettes, yellow for—"
"Shut up!" He slipped the gown over her head and down over her hips. "I've had enough for one night."
So had she. "I'm sorry." She was smiling. He had told her not to do that, hadn't he? She couldn't seem to stop. "You were looking forward to such a satisfying evening."