The Widow And The Sheikh (Hot Arabian Nights, Book 1)

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘Yes,’ Julia agreed.

  She held out her arms. He stepped into them. ‘It won’t be easy, Julia.’

  ‘No.’

  He kissed her deeply. She pressed herself urgently against him.

  ‘There are things—many things, that we need to resolve.’

  ‘Yes.’

  This time their kiss was starving. Mouths and lips and tongues and hands, clinging and urgent.

  ‘But perhaps not yet.’

  ‘No.’

  More kisses as they dropped on to the cushions. More as they tore at each other’s clothes, removing only the essentials, kissing frantically, passionately, stopping only for breath before they kissed again. They made love swiftly and without any finesse, caring only to have skin on skin, flesh on flesh, and to show their love for each other in the most primal way.

  * * *

  ‘I intended a rational discussion, not a ravishment,’ Azhar said afterwards, holding her tightly against him, unable to stop his hands from roaming over her body, checking that she really was here in his arms.

  Julia chuckled. ‘I am not sure that the ravishing was entirely one-sided.’

  ‘I have missed you.’

  She rolled around to face him. ‘And I have missed you dreadfully. But what are we to do?’

  His expression became serious. He sat up, pulling her with him. ‘I don’t know, exactly,’ he said. ‘I must rule Qaryma, but I must find a way to do that which allows me to put you before all else. Most of the time at least, for there will be times when I cannot. I have already put a number of measures into place.’

  He told her of his plans for delegating more power to the Council, and of his many other ideas, some already set in motion, some requiring a good deal of further thought. She listened intently, but she made no comment. ‘You are worried that you will be living in my shadow,’ Azhar said.

  ‘It is a very much bigger shadow than Daniel’s.’

  ‘I wish I could disagree.’

  ‘It’s not only that,’ Julia said, worrying at a button on her blouse. ‘You will be expected to marry someone your people think fitting, and that is never by any stretch of the imagination going to be an English widow.’

  ‘I convinced myself I could marry for the sake of my kingdom, but I know now that I never could. My people will have no choice but to accept you, but I hope in time that they will do so from love and respect rather than duty. There will be many who resent you at first, I will not pretend otherwise, but when they see how much I love you, and when they get to know you, I believe their feelings will change. I love you, Julia, and only you. I will not marry a woman I cannot love, which means I can only marry you.’

  ‘You told me once that you never wanted to marry.’

  ‘That was true until I met you.’

  ‘Would you have wanted to marry me if you were not King of Qaryma?’

  Azhar considered this carefully. ‘King or trader, it matters naught. Either way I would have realised eventually that I need you to complete me.’

  ‘Oh.’ Julia blinked furiously. ‘You have such perfect answers.’

  ‘Honest answers. I am not the only one who said they would never marry, Julia.’

  She nodded, biting her lip. ‘I thought freedom was the same thing as independence. I thought I had to be alone to be free. But I am only ever truly myself when I am with you, Azhar. I know, that is such an—an extravagant thing to say, but it is true. I have come to realise that freedom means having the ability to choose. To choose to share your life, to choose to love unconditionally. The two are inseparable. There is no freedom without love and there is no love without freedom. Or am I just twisting my own logic to fit what I want?’

  ‘Your logic, like you, is beautiful and flawless.’

  ‘Oh, Azhar, now you’ve made me cry again.’

  ‘Tell me I’ve said enough for you to consider being my wife.’

  ‘You haven’t asked me.’

  Azhar’s heart skipped a beat. ‘Does that mean you will?’

  ‘It won’t be easy, will it?’

  ‘No. It will be at times very difficult.’

  ‘I won’t be locked away in a harem.’

  ‘I would not dare! You will be as free as I will be. Which at times, will not be very free at all, but I have been thinking—if we cannot leave Qaryma to see the world, then why not find a way to bring the world to Qaryma? Trade is one obvious way, I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before—but the other is you, Julia. You told me once that people travelled from all over England to see your father’s gardens. Do you not think that they would travel much further to see our magnificent gardens? How would you like to establish a botanical garden that would put the recently established one in Cairo to shame? And perhaps to document it, to write your own treatise, publish your own botanical textbook?’

  ‘Azhar!’

  He laughed. ‘I’ll take that as a yes.’

  ‘Yes.’ She kissed him softly. ‘It won’t be plain sailing, but we will be together. That is what matters more than anything isn’t it?’

  ‘Yes, it is. More important than anything else. I love you, Julia. Say you will be my wife. Let us choose to share our lives and our love.’

  She hesitated. He saw her considering every angle, watched her give a little nod as she ticked each point from her internal list. Then she gave a final decisive nod and smiled at him. ‘Yes,’ she said simply.

  He kissed her, secure in the knowledge that he would want to kiss her every single day, and, for the first time in his life, with the absolute certainty that he would do exactly that.

  * * * * *

  Historical Note

  As usual, when researching this book I’ve unearthed a great deal more historical facts than I’ve actually included in the story. Which is as it should be, since romance is the true core of the book, not history. Having said that, I can’t resist sharing some of my period research with you. I hope it enhances your reading experience.

  A fascination with what we now call ‘natural science’ expanded rapidly in the late eighteenth and early nineteenth century. Richard Holmes’s excellent book, The Age of Wonder, is a great introduction to scientific thinking of the time, including the field of botany and the key figures who promulgated it. Joseph Banks was a prime architect in the establishment of the royal collection at Kew Gardens, bringing back a number of exotic specimens from his famous voyage around the world with Captain Cook—and his infamous stay on Tahiti. Before he set out on this voyage Banks was informally betrothed to Harriet Blosset, ward of the famous botanist James Lee and a botanist in her own right. In a very minor way, this pair served as my models for Julia and her father.

  Banks, by then the hugely influential President of the Royal Society, was one of the founder members of the Horticultural Society of London. Established in 1804, and now known as the Royal Horticultural Society, it is membership of this exclusive group to which Daniel aspired. I’ll be honest: I have no idea whether a volume which included succulents and desert plants actually existed in Daniel’s time, but I am pretty certain that no Western woman had travelled so deeply into the desert as I imagine the Kingdom of Qaryma to be in order to discover such exotic specimens.

  For my descriptions of the gardens in the royal palace, and the various imagined environs of Qaryma, I owe much to N. M. Penzer’s somewhat dated but brilliantly detailed book The Harem. It was left behind by the previous occupants of my parents’ house, and I first read it as a teenager, when I devoured every book I could find. My fascination with the harem stems from that first reading, though more recent readings have enhanced this: Lady Mary Wortley-Montagu’s letters; the travels of Lady Hester Stanhope and Lady Jane Digby; and the excellent anthology The Illustrated Virago Book of Women Travellers, which I must thank Alison L. for most kindly sending to me.

  Consul General Henry Salt, at the time this book is set, was taking up his post in Cairo. And although he gets a fleeting mention in this story, he deserves cre
dit as the inspiration for a certain Egyptologist who has a walk-on part in this book. His second name is Fordyce, but he’s actually related to the five Armstrong sisters whose stories I’ve already told in the series of that name, but although he has a small part in each of the next two books I’m afraid you’ll have to wait until the fourth story for him to play a starring role.

  The spelling and naming of ‘period’ Arabian clothes is a tricky call. I’ve gone mostly with Lady Jane Digby’s usage—and, since she was married to a sheikh, she should know.

  I’m sure there’s more I should be sharing with you, but I’ve got the luxury of three more historical notes to write for the remaining books, so I’ll keep my powder dry, as they say. I do hope you’ve enjoyed Azhar and Julia’s story. In fact, I hope you loved it so much that you’ll be looking forward to the next in my Hot Desert Nights series. A shipwrecked heroine, a dark and broody hero, of course... And now you know as much as I do at this moment in time!

  Read on for an extract from FORBIDDEN NIGHTS WITH THE VISCOUNT by Julia Justiss.

  Prologue

  London—late April, 1831

  ‘So your half-brother is getting married.’

  At his best friend’s comment, Giles Hadley, ostensible Viscount Lyndlington and Member of Parliament for Danford, looked up from the reports he was studying in the small private room of the Quill and Gavel, a public house near the Houses of Parliament. ‘George?’ Giles asked, not sure he’d heard correctly.

  David Tanner Smith, Member from the Borough of Hazelwick, gave Giles a patient smile. ‘Yes, George. Have you another half-brother?’

  Stifling his first sharp reply—that he didn’t care who or whether his irritating half-brother married—he said instead, ‘What makes you think George is getting leg-shackled?’

  ‘It all but says so in the Morning Post. “Lady M., daughter of the Marquess of W.,” David read, “has been seen frequently of late in the company of the Earl of T.’s younger son, the Honourable G.H. The lady has wealth and impeccable connections, the gentleman aspirations to high office, even if he is not to inherit. Might this be a match made in political heaven?”’

  ‘Lady Margaret, daughter of the Marquess of Witlow—if I’m correctly filling in the newspaper’s discreet blanks—certainly possesses the credentials to make an ideal wife for any man wanting to dominate Tory circles,’ Giles admitted. ‘No wonder George is interested.’

  ‘Indeed. With the marquess’s wife in delicate health, Lady Margaret has played hostess for her father for years, ever since she lost her husband—Lord Roberts. Died in a carriage accident, tragically soon after their marriage.’

  ‘Five or six years ago, wasn’t it?’ Giles asked, scanning through memory.

  ‘Yes. Besides that, her brother doesn’t care for politics. Which means the man who marries Lady Margaret will not only gain a wife with extensive political expertise, but also inherit all the power and influence the marquess would otherwise have expended on behalf of his son.’

  ‘A shame she supports the wrong party,’ Giles said. ‘Not that I’ve any interest in marriage, of course.’

  ‘A greater shame, if reports I’ve heard about the lady’s charm and wit are true, to waste even someone from the wrong party on George.’

  Just then, the door slammed open and two men hurried in. With a wave of his hand towards the stacks of paper on the table, the first, Christopher Lattimar, MP for Derbyshire, cried, ‘Forget the committee reports, Giles! The session’s going to be dissolved!’

  ‘Truly, Christopher?’ David interposed. Looking up at the last arrival, Benedict Tawny, MP for Launton, he asked, ‘Is it certain, Ben?’

  ‘For once, Christopher isn’t joking,’ Ben replied, his handsome face lit with excitement. ‘Grey’s tired of the Tories making endless delays. He’s going to take the issue to the people. Which means a new election!’

  ‘That’s great news!’ Giles cried. ‘Sweep the Tories out, and the Reform Bill will be sure to pass! Equal representation for every district, a vote for every freeholder, an end to domination by the landed class—everything we’ve dreamed of since Oxford!’

  ‘An end to rotten boroughs, for sure,’ David said. ‘I doubt we’ll get the rest—yet. Though I’m not sure why, as a future earl, the rest is so important to you, Giles. To any of you, really. I’m the only one here not of the “landed class”.’

  ‘You’re the son of a farmer—which makes you “landed” by occupation,’ Christopher said with a grin.

  ‘My late father’s occupation, not mine,’ David replied. ‘I’d be lucky to tell a beet seed from a turnip.’

  ‘Whether we get the reforms all at once or by stages, it’s still a landmark day—which calls for a toast!’ Ben said. Stepping to the door, he called out, ‘Mr Ransen, a round of ale for the group, if you please.’

  ‘Did you truly believe, when we sat around in that dingy little tavern in Oxford recasting the future, that we would ever see this day?’ David asked, shaking his head with the wonder of it. ‘Our views certainly weren’t very popular then.’

  ‘Neither were we, except with the inn’s doxies. What a mismatched set!’ Christopher laughed. ‘Me, ostensibly the son of a baron, but really the offspring of one of Mother’s lovers, as the snide were ever fond of remarking. Giles, ostensibly heir to an earldom, but estranged from his father, with the favoured half-brother dogging his heels, practically panting with eagerness to step into his shoes.’

  ‘And making it clear to our classmates that, should he attain that earldom, he’d not forgive or forget anyone who befriended me,’ Giles added, suppressing the bitterness that always simmered beneath the surface.

  ‘Then there was me, illegitimate son of a lowly governess,’ Ben chimed in. ‘The snide never tired of recalling that fact, either.’

  ‘But all still gentry born,’ Davie said. ‘Unlike this true commoner. It’s selfish, I know, but I’m glad you three never quite fit in with your peers. I can’t imagine how lonely Oxford would have been otherwise.’

  ‘You wouldn’t have been lonely,’ Christopher replied. ‘You’re too clever. You always knew the answers, no matter the subject or the don. Who else could have coached us so well?’

  Before his friend could reply, the innkeeper walked in with their ale. Claiming glasses, the four friends raised their mugs.

  ‘To Giles, our impatient leader; to Davie, our philosophical guide; to our rabble-rouser, Ben; and to the final accomplishment of our dreams,’ Christopher said. ‘To the Hellions!’

  ‘To the Hellions!’ the others repeated, and clinked their mugs.

  While the others drank, Davie turned to Giles. ‘A new election means new strategy. Will you campaign?’

  ‘I’ll make a run through the district,’ Giles said, ‘but my seat’s secure. I’ll probably go canvass in some of the boroughs we’re still contesting. Maybe we can pry more of them out of the hands of the local landowners.’ He grinned. ‘Maybe we can even steal some away from the father of the oh-so-accomplished Lady Margaret.’

  Davie laughed. ‘I hear his seats are pretty secure. But by all means, give it a try.’

  Giles downed the last of his ale. ‘I just might.’

  Copyright © 2016 by Janet Justiss

  ISBN: 978-1-474-04225-3

  THE WIDOW AND THE SHEIKH

  © 2016 Marguerite Kaye

  Published in Great Britain 2016

  by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

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