"It's more than that," Philip said quietly. "It's productive and life-giving. When the oil is gone it will still be here furnishing grain and a livelihood for thousands of families. It took four long years, but well have a good harvest this fall." His expression was suddenly alight with eagerness. "Do you realize what a miracle is happening here? One pure, crystal drop of water and the desert blooms."
His voice deepened with intensity. "It blooms, Pandora."
"I'm glad. You've worked very hard for that harvest." She felt a sudden rush of love for him. He cared so much, worked himself into exhaustion for the people in his province. How could he possibly think he was lacking in the capacity for emotion?
It was only in his personal life that he forbade warmth and caring. For the last two weeks she had been permitted past his defenses, and she had been filled with a delight that was close to euphoria. They had talked and listened to music. Taken long walks on the estate and in the bazaar. Ridden together, eaten together. She had even made the supreme sacrifice and had taken a stab at learning mah-jongg, a game that Philip was practically fanatical about. He had been surprisingly patient and, given a hundred years or so, she might even begin to like the damn game.
But none of it really mattered. All that mattered was the laughter and warmth between them. How wonderful it was to stand on equal footing with him at last. No longer a child or an enemy, but a woman he treated with surprising respect.
"What are you smiling about?" He sat down beside her, drawing up his knees and linking his arms loosely about them. His gaze of mock suspicion was fixed on her face. "I've learned through the years to be wary when you're particularly pleased about something."
"I was thinking that you're not nearly the chauvinist you pretend to be," she said lightly. "And that pleases me very much. I think you have more appreciation for women than you think."
"I have an appreciation for a certain few of your sex. I wouldn't want you to think I lack in discrimination. For instance, I find there are several aspects of your character that are admirably masculine."
"Masculine?" She repeated the word warily.
He nodded. "Determination, a sense of fair play, honesty. Given time, you might develop a good many others."
"Oh Lord, I spoke too soon." She covered her eyes with her hand. "Shades of Henry Higgins. But I'm no Eliza Doolittle, thank you. I think I brought myself up very well, and, if any further finishing is necessary, I'll do it myself too."
He snapped his fingers. "Independence. I knew I'd left out one of your laudable masculine virtues."
She shook her head. "Impossible," she murmured. "Utterly impossible."
His eyes were innocent as he said with deliberate misunderstanding, "Not impossible. It's improbable a woman should have such qualities, but not—"
"Philip!" she said warningly, and then threw back her head and laughed helplessly. "I give up. You'll never change."
"How perceptive of you to realize that. My ideas and responses have been set far too long to change now. They will bend a little, perhaps, but they won't snap."
It was a warning. A flash of pain pierced through the happiness that surrounded her like a glowing cloud. No, she wouldn't let herself worry about tomorrow. Today was too beautiful to spoil. Philip did care for her. He had enjoyed these last days as much as she had. In the last week he hadn't even mentioned her leaving. Perhaps he was closer to a breakthrough than he imagined.
"I wouldn't admit that if I were you. A set mind is a closed mind." She smiled. "And a closed mind locks out all kinds of intriguing impossibilities that might become possible"—she paused—"someday."
He shook his head. "Fairy-tale thinking."
"Maybe." She suddenly rose to her feet in one lithe motion. "And maybe not." She strode briskly toward the waiting horses. "I'm hungry, aren't you? I'm definitely ready for breakfast. I'll race you back."
He stood up and followed her at a more leisurely pace. "All this energy." He shook his head. "Where do you get it?"
She grinned at him as she mounted the chestnut. "I manufacture it at night. The elves have set up a magic spinning wheel in my room, and all night long I spin strands of energy to use the next day." The smile faded as she met his gaze. "But it happens only after midnight, when the rest of the world is asleep. You're invited to come in and watch. The elves won't mind." Her voice lowered to just above a whisper. "I won't either."
She saw his hand tighten on the saddle, and something flared hot and bright in his eyes.
Then his expression was once again veiled. He swung up into the saddle. "I don't think that would be such a good idea. Magic has a tendencyto disappear when disbelievers appear on the scene. You'd better continue your spinning on your own."
She mustn't let the rejection hurt so much. She knew he was wary of the effect she had on him physically. He had avoided touching her as if she were a plague victim. She could feel the tension in him whenever he brushed against her accidentally. She had thought, at first, that it was her imagination, that she was seeing her own desire reflected in him. But the signs were there, occurring too often to be mistaken. He wanted her. Why the devil wouldn't he give in and take her?
"Well, if you insist." She kicked the chestnut into a trot. "It's your loss. But you don't know what you're missing."
She was wrong. He knew exactly what he was missing, and that was the problem, he thought grimly. Perhaps this damnable abstinence would have been easier if he didn't know just how velvety her skin felt to the touch or how wonderfully tight she was around him as he moved. ... He felt the familiar heat begin to build In him and he checked the thought. He was having a difficult enough time resisting the emotional tumult of Pandora's nearness without risking a sexual maelstrom.
Pandora had reined in several yards away and was looking back over her shoulder In puzzlement. "What's wrong?" Her face lit with a teasing grin. "Having trouble keeping up, Philip?"
He started to laugh. His eyes were suddenly dancing as he spurred after her down the road. "That's an entirely subjective matter," he said solemnly. "There are any number of ways of looking at it."
She frowned. "I don't know what you mean." "Never mind. It's an in joke." He chuckled. "Or should I say, it's an up joke?" He had drawn abreast of her and was passing her in a cloud of dust. "What did you say about a race?"
* * *
The telephone call came when they were halfway through breakfast.
Pandora looked at Raoul in surprise. "For me? Who is it?"
"A Mr. Neal Sabine," Raoul said. "He's calling from Paris."
"Paris? What on earth is he doing in Paris?" she wondered aloud as she pushed back her chair. She was aware of Philip's sudden stiffening across the table from her.
"You're obviously going to jump up and run to find out," Philip said caustically. "You could call him back after breakfast."
"I'd die of curiosity before then. Besides, it might be important."
"What could be so important?" Philip's expression was forbidding. "You said you were through with Nemesis." His lips twisted. "Evidently that didn't include Sabine."