Desert Rogues Part 2

by Susan Mallery

  “Believe me, I did not want her, either.”

  Daphne felt as if she’d shown up for a big party only to find out the celebration had been the previous night. She felt both awkward and let down.

  “So, um, now what?” she asked.

  He straightened. “I should not have yelled at you before,” he said, “when I found you in the garden. As I told you, I thought you had moved out of our rooms.”

  Had Crown Prince Murat of Bahania just apologized? “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give that impression. I just wanted to work with my clay.”

  “As you should. I enjoy the things you create.” He smiled. “Even when they mock me.”

  Something tightened her heart. She felt happy and nervous at the same time. She cleared her throat.

  “I didn’t really want to leave. Before. Our trip into the desert. All this is so confusing and I reacted to that and what happened with Aisha. I don’t always know what I’m feeling. Then we were fighting, and you said I could go and I said I wanted to and then I was here.”

  He stood and crossed to the sofa, where he sat next to her. He took both her hands in his.

  “I missed you, Daphne. So much so that the tribal elders came to offer me advice.”

  She liked him touching her, but even more than that, she liked the sincerity in his gaze and that he’d missed her.

  “What did they say?”

  “One suggested I beat you. I sent him away.”

  “Thank you. I wouldn’t respond well to a beating.”

  “I am many things, but I am not a bully.”

  “I know.” He would never use his position of strength to take advantage of someone physically.

  “One thought I should take a mistress.”

  Her stomach clenched. The sharp pain made her gasp. “What did you decide?”

  He pulled one hand free and touched her cheek. “I want no other woman. Even if I chose not to be bound by my vows, I would still be true.”

  The pain eased.

  “Finally, the oldest of the elders told me you were like a flower and that I should tend you in your garden.”

  She frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “I haven’t a clue.”

  He stared deeply into her eyes as he slid his hand from her cheek to her mouth. He brushed his fingers against her lips. “Stay with me.”

  She didn’t know if he meant that night or for always. Her heart told her to give in, that in time Murat would learn to yield, while her head reminded her that to stay based on an expected change in behavior was foolish.

  Could she accept Murat as he was? Could she be with him knowing he would overrule her at will and never let her be an equal in their relationship? It wouldn’t take much for her to fall in love with him again, but would he return those feelings? Could a man who thought of her as a mere woman ever give his heart?

  “Stay,” he repeated, then saved her from answering by kissing her.

  She surrendered to his touch, still not sure how far to hold her heart out of reach.

  “You can’t be serious,” Daphne said over dinner, several days later.

  “It will never happen. The Americans are not ready to elect a woman president.”

  “But if they did…”

  Murat shrugged. “You expect me to meet with a woman as an equal?”

  “Of course. Didn’t your father meet with Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher?”

  “Perhaps. I am too young to recall.” He cut into his meat. “You seem agitated.”

  “I’m trying to figure out what I should throw at you.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Such threats of violence over a simple discussion. You see why women are not good in politics. There is too much emotion.”

  She narrowed her gaze, just as she caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

  “You’re toying with me,” she said, both relieved and determined to get him back.

  “Perhaps.”

  “I should have known. You would meet with a woman president.”

  “Of course, but I doubt it will happen during my lifetime. Perhaps our son will have to deal with the situation.”

  She was about to say that any son of hers would respect women and their rights, only to stop herself at the last minute. Perhaps that wasn’t the best conversational tack to take. Not when the truce between them was so fragile.

  It had been three days since Murat had returned from the desert. Three days in which she’d slept in his bed, made love with him and toyed with the idea of simply accepting her marriage as permanent.

  Her feelings grew, and she knew that the point of no return was at hand. If she fell in love with him, she wouldn’t want to go, regardless of their past.

  “You grow quiet,” he said, setting down his knife and fork. “Are you troubled about some matter?”

  “No.”

  Troubled didn’t begin to describe her emotions.

  “At the risk of starting another battle between us,” he said. “It has been nearly three weeks since the first time we made love. You have not started your period.”

  “I know. I’m late.”

  She watched him carefully, but his expression didn’t change. She wondered if he was crowing on the inside.

  “Do you think you are pregnant?”

  She wasn’t sure. “I don’t feel any different, but I don’t know if I should. I could get a pregnancy test and take it if you would like.”

  “What would you prefer to do?”

  “Wait a few more days. Sometimes stress upsets my cycle.”

  She’d certainly had her share of that in the past month or so.

  She expected him to insist that she find out that very evening. Instead he nodded. “As you wish.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “Are you unwell?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “You never give in on anything.”

  He sighed. “I am doing my best to nurture the flower in my garden. Do you feel nurtured?”

  She held in a laugh. He was trying hard. “Nearly every minute of every day.”

  “Ah. Now you mock me again.” He carefully put his napkin on the table and rose. “I think my flower needs a good pruning.”

  He had an evil gleam in his eye. Daphne stood and started to back away.

  “Murat, no.”

  “You do not know what I have in mind.”

  “I can tell it’s going to be bad. Now stop this. Think of your delicate flower. You have to be nice.”

  He made a noise low in his throat and started toward her. She shrieked and ducked away. In a matter of seconds he caught her.

  In truth, she didn’t mind being dragged against him. Even as he pressed his mouth to hers, he caught her up in his arms and carried her into their bedroom.

  “What about dinner?” she asked when he set her on her feet next to their bed and reached for the zipper at the back of her dress.

  “I am hungry for other things.”

  Murat worked through the messages left for him by his assistant. On the one hand he appreciated his new and warm relationship with Daphne. On the other, he found his workdays long and dull when compared with the nights he spent in her company. While his ministers spoke of the oil reserves and the state of the currency-exchange market, he thought of her body pressing against his and the way she cried out his name when he pleasured her.

  Things were as they should be, he thought contentedly. She had made her peace with her situation. Now they would grow together as husband and wife. There would be many children and a long and happy life together.

  His assistant knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” Murat called.

  Fouad entered with several folders. “The king wishes to change your lunch meeting to this afternoon. It seems he is to dine with Princess Calah.”

  Murat smiled at the thought of his father having lunch with the charming toddler. “That is excellent. Have the
kitchen send up a second meal to my suite. I will dine with my wife.”

  “Very good, sir.” Fouad set the folders on the desk. “I have had a call from our media office. Princess Daphne turned down an interview request from an American women’s magazine. They were surprised, as the publication is known for honest reporting. They were interested in making a connection with her, sir, not doing an exposé.”

  “Perhaps she is not aware that such interviews are welcome. I will mention it to her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Fouad completed his business and left. Forty minutes later Murat walked into his suite to find the table set for two.

  “This is a surprise,” Daphne said as she walked into the living room, then crossed the tile floor to kiss him. “A very pleasant one.”

  “My father and I were to have lunch, but he chose instead to dine with a very attractive young woman. So I took the opportunity to spend some time with you.”

  Daphne led him to the table. “Calah?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  “He loves that little girl.”

  Murat’s gaze dropped to Daphne’s flat stomach. Did his child grow there? So far she had not gotten her period, nor had she offered to take a pregnancy test. He had decided to let her make the decision. If she was with child, he would soon know.

  They sat across from each other and spoke about their morning. As she served them each salad, he mentioned the interview with the American magazine.

  “You are welcome to speak with them,” he said. “I will not forbid it.”

  “My flower heart trembles at your generosity,” she said in a teasing voice.

  He pretended to scowl. “I can see I have been too lenient with you.”

  “Not to worry, Murat. If I had wanted to give the interview I would have. But I wasn’t interested.”

  “Why not?”

  Instead of answering, she mentioned that Billie and Cleo were planning a day trip to the City of Thieves and that she wanted to join them.

  “Of course Billie wants to fly us there herself, and the king has said that would not be allowed. She’s too far along in her pregnancy.”

  He watched her as she spoke, noting a slight shadow in her eyes.

  “Daphne, why did you refuse the interview?”

  “It’s not important.”

  Which meant that it was. “I will not rest until you tell me.”

  She set down her fork. “If you must know, I didn’t know what to say. This was for a big bridal issue they’re doing in a few months. They’re collecting romantic stories from different couples and they wanted to talk about how we met and fell in love. I didn’t think it was a good idea to tell them the truth. That you locked me in the harem then married me against my will while I was unconscious. Rather than having to make up something, I declined the interview.”

  She continued speaking, changing the subject to the upcoming trip to the City of Thieves, but he could not hear her. The impact of what she had said—a bald statement of a truth he knew well—seemed to render him immobile.

  For the first time he understood what she had been trying to tell him all along. That he had held her captive, like a common criminal. Of course the quarters were luxurious and she had not been mistreated in the least, but he had locked her away. Then, knowing she wanted nothing to do with him, he had taken advantage of a medical condition to force her into marriage.

  Had he given her the choice, she would have refused him. She would have left. She was not with him because she wanted to be.

  The truth sliced through him like a knife. He had always known that she complained about his treatment, but he had told himself it was all simply the meaningless chatter of a woman with too much time on her hands. He had not considered she had cause for her complaints. Had she been a stranger and appeared with her petition while he had been in the desert, he would have freed her from her marriage and locked away the man in question.

  The phone rang in the suite. Daphne excused herself to answer it. Murat took advantage of her distraction to leave the table. He indicated he was going back to his office and she nodded. On his way out, he noticed a new clay sculpture on a table.

  Two lovers, he thought. Bodies entwined, arms reaching. The sheer passion of the piece took his breath away. It gave him hope. But as he moved closer, he saw the lovers were faceless.

  Did she not see him in the role, or did she wish for another man? He knew he pleased her in bed—her body told the tale all too well for him to think otherwise. But was that enough? Did claiming a woman’s body mean anything when a man could not lay claim to her mind or her heart?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Daphne sat alone in the suite and stared out at the perfect view. The light wind had cleared the air enough for her to see all the way to Lucia-Serrat. Two cats dozed next to her on the sofa, their small, warm bodies providing a comforting presence. But it wasn’t enough to heal the ache in her heart.

  She wasn’t pregnant. Proof had arrived an hour before.

  She’d suspected, of course. That was why she’d resisted taking a pregnancy test. She hadn’t wanted to know. She hadn’t wanted to have to choose.

  Funny how a month ago she would have been delighted with the chance to escape. She would have already had it out with Murat and been busy packing her bags. But now everything was different.

  Instead of relief, she felt a bone-crushing disappointment, which told her a truth she’d tried to deny for a long time—she didn’t want to go.

  Murat wasn’t perfect—he would never understand that what he’d done to her was wrong. He would never see her as a partner, but that didn’t stop her from loving him. She wanted to be with him, regardless of his faults. She wanted their children to have his strength and stubbornness. She wanted to be a part of his world and his history. She loved Bahania nearly as much as she loved its heir and she didn’t want to go.

  Since he’d returned from the desert they hadn’t discussed their future. No doubt he assumed her silence meant agreement, but that wasn’t her way. She wanted to tell him what she’d decided, even if that meant listening to him say how he’d known what was best all along. She wanted to feel his arms around her as he pulled her close and kissed her. She wanted to take him to bed and get started on making their firstborn.

  She stood and walked out of the suite with the intent of finding him in his office. But he wasn’t there. His assistant said that he had gone for a walk.

  Daphne went to the main garden and saw him sitting on one of the stone benches. His shoulders were slumped as he stared at the ground. An air of profound sadness surrounded him.

  “Murat?”

  He looked toward her and smiled. His expression brightened and the sadness disappeared as if it had never been. In response, her heart fluttered and she wondered how she had ever fooled herself into thinking she didn’t love this man with every fiber of her being.

  “I’ve been looking for you,” she said as she walked closer.

  “You have found me.” He shifted to make room for her, then studied her as she sat next to him. He tucked her long hair behind her ear. “As always, your beauty astounds me.”

  “I’m not all that.”

  “Yes, you are.”

  He sounded so serious, she thought, wondering what was going on.

  “Unlike many who shine only for a short time,” he continued, “you will be beautiful for decades. Even as time steals the luster of your youth, you will gleam like a diamond in the desert.”

  “That’s very poetic and very unlike you.” She frowned. “What’s going on?”

  “I have been sitting here thinking about us. Our marriage.”

  Her pulse rate increased. “Me, too. I have to tell you something.” She paused, not sure how to say it all—that she loved him, that she wanted to stay and make their marriage work. But the words that came out were, “I’m not pregnant.”

  He didn’t react. His gaze never wavered, his hand on her remained still.

&
nbsp; “You are sure?” he asked quietly.

  “Very.” She waited for him to say something else, and when he didn’t, she leaned closer. “What’s wrong? Shouldn’t you tell me you’re disappointed? That we’ll be trying again soon?”

  He drew in a breath. “I would have. Before. Now I know that this is for the best.”

  She jerked back as if he’d slapped her. “What?”

  “It is for the best,” he repeated. “A child would complicate things between us.”

  “How can they be complicated? We’re married.”

  “In law, but not in spirit. I am sorry, Daphne. I did so much without thinking of you, and there is only one way to make that right. I will set you free.”

  She couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe. Confused and sure she must be hearing things, she pushed to her feet and walked across the path.

  “I don’t understand,” she whispered.

  He stood. “I was wrong to keep you here against your will, and I was wrong to marry you without your consent. I thought you did not mean your protests, but you did. We cannot have a marriage where you are little more than a prisoner in a gilded cage. I cannot take back what I have done in the past, but I can set it right.” He nodded at the ring on her left hand. “You need not wear that reminder any longer. I will speak to the king and arrange for our divorce. You are free to leave whenever you like.”

  He turned and walked a few feet, then paused. With his back still to her he said, “Take what you like. Clothing, jewels. Any artwork. Consider it compensation for the wrong done to you. There will be a settlement, of course. I will be generous.”

  Then he was gone.

  She made her way back to the bench where she collapsed. Tears poured down her cheeks. She wanted to scream out her pain to the world, but she couldn’t seem to catch her breath.

  This wasn’t happening, she told herself. It couldn’t be that Murat had finally figured it all out, only to let her go.

  “I love you,” she said to the quiet garden. “I want to stay and be with you.”

  But he’d never offered that. Was it because he didn’t think she would be interested, or was it because he didn’t care enough about her? Had she been little more than a convenient bride, one easily forgotten?