The Desert King's Blackmailed Bride

by Lynne Graham

  ‘My mother must’ve been devastated,’ Polly commented sickly, trying to imagine the pure horror of marrying the man you loved and losing him again the next day.

  ‘Dharia was in uproar and naturally Annabel fled home to the UK. There was nothing here for her to stay for. She must also have been aware that Zahir’s family were hostile to her,’ he completed sadly. ‘I was very much in the wrong in the way I dealt with their relationship, Polly.’

  A small hand covered his and squeezed comfortingly. ‘You didn’t know. You made a mistake. You wanted the best for your son. You didn’t know what the future held…none of us do,’ she pointed out quietly.

  Hakim beamed at her, his rounded face flushed with pleasure. ‘Will you give my wife and myself the opportunity to get to know you?’ he asked humbly. ‘We would be very grateful.’

  Polly mumbled that she would be equally grateful. Tears were tripping her up again and she blinked them back in exasperation but her needle-in-a-haystack search for her father had come to an amazing conclusion. Her father was gone, as was her mother, but she had discovered other relatives to comfort her for that loss. It was more, she felt, than she could have hoped for before she set out on her journey.

  ‘But do not be holding hands with the King again,’ Hakim advised in an undertone. ‘The fault was his, not yours, but I will not have your reputation soiled.’

  ‘Are relations here in Dharia between single men and women so strict, then?’

  ‘Only when the King is involved,’ her grandfather admitted wryly. ‘He is a public figure. He must not be seen to resemble his late father by practising any overfamiliarity with a female. Once he is safely married, he will not need to be so concerned about appearances.’

  Polly’s right hand tingled and her face warmed while she distractedly recalled what Rashad had done with her finger. She wondered what an actual kiss would have felt like. With her imagination catching fire at the idea, a wanton charge of heat filtered through her lower limbs and filled her with self-loathing embarrassment. ‘Is he planning to get married, then? Has he a wife lined up?’

  ‘Not as yet but he must marry,’ Hakim told her cheerfully. ‘It is a monarch’s duty to take a wife and have children to provide stability for the next generation.’

  As far as Rashad was concerned, there was definitely a high price to be paid for all that bowing and scraping and luxurious privilege, Polly acknowledged ruefully. She remembered him saying that breaking the rules brought consequences and remembered how quickly Hakim’s censure had brought those consequences home. Rashad had known exactly what he was talking about. She had been naïve and thoughtless, she reckoned ruefully, and, if Rashad was never allowed to be alone with a woman, surely it was little wonder that he had got a little carried away with her hand?

  Wasn’t it even possible that her request to see him alone had given him the wrong impression? Polly winced at the suspicion that he might have believed she was deliberately inviting that kind of attention. But on another level, warmth was still pooling in her pelvis at the recollection. He was a very handsome, very sexy guy and, for Polly, it had been an educational experience to finally realise why other people made such a fuss about the act of sex. If a man just kissing your hand could make you feel that overheated… At that point, she broke off her wandering thoughts and buried them deep.

  *

  Her maid wakened her with breakfast at what appeared to be dawn the next morning and told her with eyes that danced with mischief that she was going on a trip. Polly was not told where she was going or why or whose company she would be in and she assumed that that was probably because the young woman’s small stock of English wasn’t up to that challenge. She wondered if Rashad had managed to contrive some discreet way of returning her to her holiday plans but, when she began packing, the maid’s confusion suggested that that was not the explanation. Had her kindly grandfather made some arrangement for her? Regardless, Polly was delighted by the prospect of seeing a little more of her father’s country because all she had so far seen were the city streets and the view from the palace rooftop.

  The maid led her down a service staircase and through a long tracery of quiet corridors and courtyards that suggested they were taking a more than usually circuitous route through the sprawling palace. They finally emerged into a garage packed with opulent vehicles and with noticeable ceremony she was ushered into an SUV. As they filtered out through the palace gates she noted that another two cars were accompanying them.

  She would phone Ellie later, she promised herself guiltily. In truth she didn’t want to hear any more of her sister’s dire predictions after Rashad had bluntly explained the status quo. She didn’t like the situation and neither did he, but there really wasn’t very much that could be done about it, was there? It wasn’t his fault or hers that his people had chosen to weave her into the legend of his great-grandmother and the fire-opal ring.

  While the convoy of vehicles drove out into the desert, Polly settled back in the air-conditioned cool to enjoy her sightseeing. When they began to trundle up and down dunes, she told herself it was exciting although in reality the steep inclines and declines unnerved her. At one stage they passed by a long train of camels laden with goods and there was much hooting of car horns and shouted exchanges. When they descended the last dune she saw the oasis and her breath caught in her throat because that lush spread of green dotted by palm trees and a natural pool was so very beautiful and inviting in such an arid dusty landscape. The car came to a halt and the door was opened.

  Without warning, Polly was engulfed in a whooping and chattering crowd of women. It unsettled her but the sociable smiles were a universal language of intent and she smiled as much as she could in response. That tolerance became a little more taxed when she was led into a tent and a long dress was presented to her with the evident hope that she would take off her trousers and tee shirt to put it on. Briefly, Polly froze while she wondered if trousers on a woman were a cultural no-no in such company and she decided to change for the sake of peace. Furthermore the dress, which was covered with blue embroidery, was really very pretty and she surrendered, not even objecting when her hair was unbraided and brushed out because it seemed to give her companions so much pleasure and satisfaction.

  Ellie would tell her that she was much too busy being a people-pleaser to do as she liked but Polly loved to make those around her happy, she conceded guiltily as she was escorted between black capacious tents and taken into a very large one overlooking the pool. She sank down in the merciful shade and then Rashad strode in, as informally dressed in jeans and an open shirt as she was formally dressed.

  ‘Rashad…’ she murmured in sincere surprise, feeling her entire body heat as hot as the sun outside and her muscles pull taut in reaction to his sudden appearance. ‘I suppose I shouldn’t call you that. It’s too familiar. What do—?’

  ‘You call me Rashad,’ he interposed without hesitation. ‘How are you feeling after what Hakim told you last night?’

  ‘Still shocked but mainly…’ Polly considered thoughtfully ‘…incredibly happy to have discovered who I am even if I feel very sad that my father is no longer with us. I also like my grandfather.’

  ‘He is a fine man, fiercely loyal and wise.’ Rashad tilted his arrogant dark head to one side and lifted a broad shoulder and dropped it again in a sort of fluid fatalistic shrug that was as electrifyingly sexy as all his lithe physical movements. ‘When he finds you gone from the palace this morning, however, he will be ready to kill me—’

  ‘You arranged for me to be brought out here?’ Polly frowned. ‘Why?’

  ‘It was bring you here or jump balconies to visit you in your bedroom. The bedroom would have been the worst option of all,’ he told her with derisive amusement lancing through his stunning dark golden eyes.

  In truth, very little amused Rashad in the sardonic and cynical mood he was in. He had spent most of the night thinking rather than sleeping, angrily confronting the issue that Polly�
��s arrival with the ring had created and coming to terms with his own position. And the truth of what he should be doing had soon faced him. There was no choice. She was the woman his people wished him to marry. No other woman could even hope to fit into a legend. In reality he did not wish to marry at all but that was his problem, scarcely the problem of the people he ruled. His sense of duty, moreover, was strong. He would not be a selfish ruler like his father; he would put his people first and foremost in his life. It would be a challenge to remarry even though he could see decided advantages to marrying Polly, whom he, at least, desired. He believed that choosing an unknown wife from a photograph, basing the decision on her heritage and what others with a vested interest said about her, would be much more likely to lead to a dissatisfactory marriage. After all, at least he had got to meet Polly and draw his own conclusions…

  Rashad’s eyes were surrounded by the blackest, thickest, longest lashes she had ever seen on a man, Polly was acknowledging giddily, briefly wondering why every cutting edge in his lean dark features was set so hard, from his exotic cheekbones to his aggressive jawline, lending a tough, angry edge to his face. Assuming that that could only be a misapprehension on her part, she savoured the truth that he was still drop-dead beautiful in a way she had never known a man could be.

  It was a serious challenge to drag her attention away from either his lean, darkly handsome features or his tall, powerfully muscled body. Indeed the sheer pull of Rashad’s erotic allure thoroughly unsettled Polly because she could now feel and recognise the desire he incited in her and it was like nothing she had ever felt in her life before. That physical hunger that she had tried and failed to feel with other men was much more powerful and all-consuming than she had expected.

  ‘I had you brought out here to the oasis so that I could ask you to marry me,’ Rashad informed her levelly.

  ‘But we’re strangers!’ Polly exclaimed in disbelief, totally unable to understand what he had just said and take it seriously.

  ‘No, we are not. I already know much more about you than I would know about a bride I chose from a photograph…which, by the way, is my only other option,’ Rashad admitted, choosing to tell her that unattractive truth. ‘An arranged marriage would be considered normal for a man in my position although the practice has died out in our society. I’ve already had one arranged marriage and I don’t want another—’

  ‘You’ve already had one? You’ve been married before?’ Polly whispered in wonderment, because she knew he was only thirty-one years old.

  ‘I was married at sixteen—’

  ‘I’m sorry but I think that’s…barbaric,’ she muttered helplessly. ‘You were far too young—’

  ‘We both were but those were more dangerous times and alliances had to be made and marriage was how it was done,’ Rashad explained. ‘I had no choice and I would very much prefer to have a choice this time.’

  ‘But you said you felt trapped by your people’s expectations,’ Polly reminded him, dancing round the whole topic of his proposal rather than actually getting to grips with it because she just couldn’t comprehend the enormity of what he was suggesting. ‘Now you say you want to meet those expectations—’

  ‘Why not? They chose you but I choose you too,’ Rashad murmured huskily, his dark eyes flashing gold over her intent and expressive face. ‘I want you.’

  And his earthy appraisal left her in no doubt of what he was referring to. That hungry sensation surged and pulsed along her nerve endings and flipped her tummy over to leave her breathless. Her skin flushed, her body coming alive, and she shut her eyes because she could no longer withstand the intensity of his hot gaze.

  ‘And you want me,’ Rashad told her with maddening confidence.

  Polly’s eyes opened and her hands knotted into fists. ‘I think you’ve—’

  ‘No, don’t fight me…it turns me on and if you do that I can’t promise to keep my hands off you as I should,’ Rashad framed in a roughened tone of warning.

  ‘It turns you on…’ Polly repeated in wonderment.

  ‘Because nobody ever fights or argues with me. You can have no idea how boring that becomes,’ Rashad admitted grimly.

  In possession of a very sparky and forceful sister, Polly almost disagreed because she could not imagine finding pleasure in the apparently stimulating effect of dissension. Instead she said nothing, she simply shook her head. ‘Sexual attraction is not a good basis for marriage—’

  ‘It is for me,’ Rashad countered without hesitation. ‘I am convinced that you would make me the perfect wife.’

  ‘But nobody’s perfect!’

  ‘More perfect than flawed,’ Rashad qualified smoothly. ‘The discovery that you have Dharian blood in your veins only adds to your appeal. This is your world now as much as it is mine and you have a family who will love and support you here.’

  Polly bent her head down to escape the temptation of his glittering dark eyes. It was a powerful argument to know that there was another world and another family for her to explore. Apart from her sister she had never had a caring family to lean on, which was why Hakim’s welcome had meant so much to her. She wanted to get to know that family and their culture, she wanted to spend time with them, which, with the cost of travel set against her low salary, would be very difficult once she returned home as scheduled at the end of the week.

  ‘There would be advantages and disadvantages to marrying me,’ Rashad outlined with dry practicality. ‘I do not believe you would be unduly influenced by my wealth but as my wife you would be very rich. On the other hand, you would lose the freedom to do and say exactly as you wish because royals are expected to behave according to protocol. Sometimes that protocol feels stifling but it is there for our protection.’

  Polly flushed very pink because although he had said he hoped she would not be unduly influenced by his wealth, her mind had immediately flown to the good she could do with more money and she was mortified by that embarrassing moment of unwelcome self-truth. But poor Ellie was steeped in student debt and struggling and would be for many more years to come. Moreover, both sisters were desperately keen to trace their missing youngest sister, Penelope, and get to know her, but the hiring of a private detective was utterly beyond their financial means at present. She swallowed hard, ashamed of her thoughts and deciding that money had to be, in truth, the root of all evil and temptation.

  ‘What happened to your first wife?’ she asked him abruptly to escape those shameful thoughts of wealth and what she could do with it.

  ‘Ferah contracted blood poisoning from a snake bite and died five years ago,’ Rashad revealed in a harshened undertone. ‘She did not receive medical attention quickly enough.’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she murmured automatically because her mind was reeling under the burden of all that he had said and her own desperate confusion.

  ‘Do you have an answer for me?’ Rashad prompted with an air of expectancy on his lean, strong face.

  ‘Not yet,’ she admitted, matching his honesty.

  Her brain had flatly rejected marrying him at first. They barely knew each other and it would be insane…and yet? She did want him, in fact she wanted him more than she had ever wanted any man and she was not an impressionable teenager any longer. In fact, what if she never met another man who made her feel the same way that Rashad did? That terrible fear held her still and turned her hollow inside because he made her feel alive and wanton and all sorts of things she had never felt before. And what was more, she was discovering that she liked the way he made her feel.

  ‘Perhaps I can help you to make up your mind,’ Rashad murmured with silken softness. ‘You will see it as a form of blackmail but in reality it is the only possible alternative if you do not wish to marry me—’

  Polly’s head reared up, blue eyes wide and bright. ‘Blackmail?’ she exclaimed in dismay. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘If you don’t marry me, you will have to leave Dharia immediately. Only your departure will e
nd this madness on the streets and in the media.’

  Polly was aghast at that cold-blooded conclusion. ‘You’re willing to throw me out of the country?’

  Hard dark eyes held hers. ‘If that is what it takes, yes…and naturally I would not wish you to return in the near future,’ he decreed harshly.

  Polly was shaken by that solution because she had been planning to get to know her grandparents, her newly discovered Dharian family. She had no doubt that Hakim and his wife would be willing to visit her at least once in London but it would not be the same as staying on in Dharia and having the chance to explore her father’s heritage and culture for herself.

  ‘I cannot allow the current security situation to continue,’ Rashad informed her grimly and he went to the doorway of the tent to clap his hands. ‘We will have tea while you consider your options.’

  Polly didn’t see how tea was going to be the answer to anything but the sheer amount of entertaining ritual involved in the brewing of tea by two robed men at least gave her something to watch while her brain struggled to deal with a rising tide of anxiety. He was using blackmail even if on one level she could understand his position. It was very unfair from her point of view, though, that she should have to suffer for something that was in no way her fault. In many ways by piling on that extra pressure of an immediate departure, he was taking her right to choose away from her.

  ‘Seriously…’ she began furiously, ‘you would actually force me to go home?’

  ‘When it comes to what is best for my country I will always do it,’ Rashad countered with a roughened edge to his dark deep drawl. ‘That is my duty.’

  Polly compressed her taut lips, her hand clenching angrily round her cup. She knew he meant it. It was stamped in the resolve that had hardened his lean, darkly handsome face. Either she stayed on in Dharia and agreed to marry him or she went home again and stayed there. She didn’t need to be pregnant to be offered a shotgun marriage, she reflected angrily. That was what he was offering her with the crowds providing the firepower of pressure.