The Sheikh's Convenient Princess

by Liz Fielding

  ‘I’ll repay her when I donate to her charity tonight.’ He turned to the case and picked up one of a pair of bracelets that nestled against the silk. ‘Shall we begin?’

  She raised her hand without a word and he fastened the wide cuff of diamonds and rubies over her left wrist. Was he taking care not to actually touch her or was that her imagination?

  He repeated the performance with her right wrist and no, it was not her imagination. When the clasp proved awkward she saw that his hands were shaking, no doubt at the cost of this temporary arrangement, but the jewels, at least, could be returned when it was all over.

  She held out her hands to look at the result. Hers were shaking too, she realised, and he caught them and held them, held her gaze. If he thought that was going to steady her he couldn’t have been more wrong.

  ‘Are you going to be all right, Ruby?’ he asked.

  ‘Fine,’ she managed through a throat that felt as if it had been stuffed with boulders. ‘It’s just that I’ve never worn anything quite so...sparkly.’

  He laughed. ‘Shall we try the collar?’

  She nodded and he released her hands to pick up a necklace that was a simple V-shaped geometric collar of diamonds and rubies, with clusters of rubies forming hearts down the centre of the V.

  It was set dressing, she told herself. Just set dressing. Like the dress, the shoes, the contract. All to convince his father that this was real.

  ‘You seem taller,’ he said as he lifted the collar to her throat.

  ‘It’s the shoes.’ She lifted the skirt an inch to reveal a barely-there sandal, her ruby-painted toenails.

  He glanced down and it seemed half a lifetime before he finally looked up. ‘Very pretty,’ he said, his face expressionless, ‘but I’m going to have to ask you to bend forward a little.’

  She dipped her head and as his fingers brushed against the back of her neck she struggled to control the shiver that rippled through her body, tightened her nipples into hard buds against the lace that he would see the moment she straightened.

  After what seemed like an age with his arms around her, drowning in the scent of clean laundry, warm skin, something that might have been sandalwood, the clasp finally clicked into place. He stepped back and she could breathe again. Too soon...

  The backs of his fingers brushed against her skin as he lifted the collar and eased it into place so that the row of hearts was perfectly vertical and the necklace echoed the neckline of the dress where it dipped between her breasts.

  ‘How does that feel?’ he asked.

  ‘Heavy...’ There was a heaviness in her breasts and low in her belly. An ache between her thighs. It had been a long time since she’d shared a bed with a man but with every touch the heat, the need, was building.

  ‘It will soon be over,’ he said, reaching for one of the earrings—long falls of diamonds and rubies.

  ‘Shall I...?’ she asked shakily. She was unravelling and if he touched her again...

  ‘Your hands aren’t steady enough.’

  ‘Believe me, if you were wearing this many diamonds you’d be feeling a bit wobbly,’ she said.

  ‘You’ll get used to it,’ he assured her.

  ‘Not in a million years and you wouldn’t do this for Bibi,’ she said desperately, her knees, hips melting as women’s bodies had melted since the morning Eve woke up and discovered Adam staring down at her.

  ‘No, she would come ready gift-wrapped,’ he agreed as he carefully fitted the earrings in place.

  And it would be his duty to unwrap her. In her case he was doing the wrapping but it wasn’t going to be Christmas for either of them.

  ‘Are they comfortable?’ he asked. ‘Not too heavy?’

  She shook her head and they brushed against her neck.

  Finally he took the last item from the case, a curious piece of white gold, scattered with diamonds and rubies arranged in flower shapes.

  ‘What is that?’ she asked.

  ‘Give me your left hand.’

  She raised it and he took it in his, held it for a moment before sliding the confection onto her hand so that the gems sparkled along her thumb and index finger. ‘A double ring,’ he said, continuing to hold it.

  ‘Did I say wow?’ she asked.

  ‘I think that’s my line. No one is going to lift an eyebrow when I tell them that when you appeared at the fort yesterday morning I knew that I could never let you go. They’ll only wonder why on earth it took me so long to figure it out.’

  ‘A fabulous dress and a king’s ransom in jewels will work wonders.’

  ‘It takes more than that.’ For a moment he just stood there looking at her, then seemed to catch himself. ‘Ready?’

  She nodded. ‘I might need a hand in these heels.’

  ‘Not a problem.’

  He took her right hand, turned and tucked her arm beneath his and slowly, giving her time to become accustomed to the height of the heels, the length of the dress, the tug of the train, he led her across the courtyard to a limousine that was waiting to take them to the Emir’s audience room.

  Noor was waiting to arrange her dress and the train so that she could sit without crushing it, then she climbed into the front seat beside the driver so that she could make any final adjustments when they arrived.

  Bram joined her, reached for her hand. It was all show from here on in...

  He glanced at her. ‘Are you still trembling?’

  ‘It’s just a touch of stage fright. I’ve never been married before.’

  ‘That makes two of us,’ he said with a smile that only made the butterflies worse. ‘The trick is to remember that this is all make-believe.’

  ‘Yes.’ None of this was real so being nervous was just plain silly and she was about to say so but the car came to a halt and the door was opened by whatever passed for a footman in this part of the world. It was like a scene from the evening news where one of the royals was arriving at a gala, even down to the red carpet.

  Bram stepped out and turned to offer her a hand, tightening his grip as she steadied herself on the heels. He waited for a moment while Noor adjusted the folds of her skirt, her train, tweaked a curl into place and then loosely draped a scarf made from the same material as her dress, sparkling with crystals, over her hair.

  Ruby stared up at the splendour of the floodlit dome at the centre of the palace complex as she took her time arranging the ends so that they trailed behind her to the floor.

  ‘It looks like a picture in a book of fairy tales I had as a child,’ she said. ‘Scheherazade telling cliff-hanger stories so that she would live for one more day...’ A shiver ran through her. ‘Is your home like this?’ she asked.

  ‘Similar in layout. I have—had—a house there.’

  ‘It’s going to be very dusty after five years,’ she said, making a feeble joke to cover her nerves. And then, as his eyes clouded, wished she hadn’t. ‘Don’t worry; I’m familiar with the working end of a vacuum cleaner.’

  He grinned. ‘You Garland Girls are such good value,’ he said as he led her along the red carpet that had been laid not for them but in preparation for the arrival of guests for the banquet later that evening.

  ‘Have you told your brother?’ she asked as they entered a great central hall glittering with chandeliers. ‘About this.’

  ‘No.’

  ‘You were afraid I’d change my mind?’

  ‘It seemed wise to ensure that he was as shocked as everyone else.’ He paused, turned to look down at her. ‘You can still change your mind, Ruby. It’s not too late.’

  ‘I would never have let it go this far.’

  ‘Even so.’

  ‘We’re keeping their Highnesses waiting,’ she said and after a moment he moved on, leading her by the hand to a smaller, less i
ntimidating room.

  Ruby had imagined a host of people gathered to witness the occasion but there were only four people present: Princess Violet, Sheikh Fayad al Kuwani, Leila and another man who was presumably the Emir’s aide.

  On the table between them was an exquisitely modern floral arrangement—three perfect dark red roses progressing from a bud at the top to a fully open bloom at the bottom. There were three leather folders, presumably holding the marriage contracts—she wondered what they actually said—a gold pen and a seal. Two chairs had been placed facing the table.

  She had been briefed by Leila and dropped a brief curtsey to the Emir and his Princess and, having received warm smiles from both of them, began to relax.

  The formalities did not take long. First there were photographs, the two of them alone and then with the Emir and Princess Violet, taken by the aide.

  Once they were all seated, he opened the leather folders, took more photographs of Bram signing the contracts and of his cousin signing on her behalf. He then applied the Emir’s official seal to the documents and returned them to their folders.

  Once that was done, Bram reached for her right hand, inviting her to stand before turning to his cousin. The Emir, smiling broadly, produced a ring, a circle of oval diamonds that blazed like fire in the light of the chandelier above them as he handed it to Bram.

  A ring? That wasn’t a tradition in this part of the world. A simple ceremony, the signing of a contract, was just business. A ring made it a wedding...

  Bram held it for a moment between his thumb and forefinger and then, never taking his eyes from hers, spoke in Arabic as he placed the ring on the third finger of her right hand. Then, in English, he said, ‘Rabi al-Dance, you have honoured me by consenting to be my wife and I give you this ring as a sign that we are joined for ever.’

  For ever...

  She stared at it, then up at him, but before the question could form in her head Violet held out her hand and lying on her palm was a plain silver wedding band.

  Bram’s fingers tightened over hers and she saw that he had not anticipated this. However, there was nothing to be done but to take the ring and, having drawn in a steadying breath, place it on the third finger of his right hand. That done, she looked up.

  ‘Ibrahim bin Tariq al-Ansari, you do me great honour by taking me as your wife,’ she said. Then, repeating his pledge back to him, ‘Wear this ring as a sign that we are joined for ever.’

  And it was not a lie. They would be linked for ever by the secret they shared.

  There was a moment of total silence and then there was a spontaneous burst of applause from their small audience before Violet, smiling from ear to ear, said, ‘You have married an Englishwoman, Bram. Where we come from, it’s traditional to kiss the bride.’

  CHAPTER FIVE

  BRAM FELT THE startled tremor ripple from Ruby’s hand to his as Violet demanded a kiss for his bride but she lifted her face, not betraying by as much as a blink that this was an intimacy over and above what she’d signed up for.

  Or maybe, once the rings had been produced, she had anticipated where this had been leading. The ceremony itself had been more than he’d bargained for when he’d asked his cousin to draw up the marriage contract but Fayad’s English-born wife had been determined to make the moment special for her countrywoman and this was part of the show.

  It was nothing. A formality. They were on a stage, acting out the story they had devised, and if the audience insisted on joining in it simply proved how successful they had been.

  All that was required was the briefest touch of his lips but he instinctively lifted his hand to her face, cradling the soft curve of her cheek as he shielded her in this moment of intimacy. He felt the warmth of her breath as her mouth, red as the rubies he’d placed at her throat, parted on an intake of breath and sweet, soft lips trembled against his.

  Or maybe it was him because he couldn’t have been more wrong about this kiss.

  This was that moment when he’d looked up and seen her silhouette against the lowering sun, the moment when she’d stumbled on the steps and he’d held her close, felt her curves fit him as if they were one and knew the scent of her hair, her skin. In that moment the heat of possession surged through him and he became the groom he was supposed to be—primed to fight his way through the throng of her family, overcome his bride’s reluctance to surrender her honour and claim her as his own and his kiss became a brand.

  The flash as someone took a photograph, a smattering of applause, brought him to his senses. As he raised his head Ruby opened eyes that were more black than grey; her cheeks were flushed, her bee-stung lips slightly parted as if on a breath that was stuck in her throat.

  ‘The official photographs are for your father,’ Violet said, apparently noticing nothing amiss in the reaction of two people who had supposedly been lovers for more than a year and had now chosen to make a lifelong commitment. This was a life-changing moment: stunned was the perfect response. ‘For the family album. I’ll have copies printed to put with the contracts but this one,’ she said, grinning as she thumbed something into her phone, ‘is just for you.’

  And then Fayad was hugging him, shaking his hand, and Violet and Leila were kissing Ruby.

  ‘I’m so sorry that we cannot raise a toast to you both at dinner this evening,’ Violet said, ‘but Fayad has explained that Bram wishes to keep the news under wraps until he has told his father.’

  ‘We’ll celebrate properly when you return,’ Fayad said as they walked back through the vast audience chamber and out into a courtyard that was now lit with thousands of white fairy lights in preparation for the evening. ‘Or will you be staying in Umm al Basr?’

  ‘If all goes well I hope to spend time there but the fort is my home,’ he said. Behind him, Violet—walking with Ruby—gave a little cough, reminding him of his changed status and, feeling exactly like the awkward, new-to-this groom he was supposed to be, he looked back. ‘Our home.’ And he reached back for Ruby’s hand, enfolding it in his as he gave it a squeeze of reassurance. ‘Give me a minute, ya habibati, this is all very new.’

  ‘Yes.’ The word came on a little gasp that exactly echoed the way he was feeling and he wanted to tell her that she’d been amazing, tell her...

  Tell her nothing.

  This was a business arrangement. Six months’ salary. Plus the fee to pay her lawyer. And the financial settlement due to the wife of the Sheikh in the event of divorce that Fayad had negotiated on her behalf. They had been writing prenuptial agreements in this part of the world long before the Californians thought of them.

  ‘I’m sorry for rushing you away, but I have to check the last-minute details for tonight’s banquet.’ Violet’s apology as they reached their car was no more than a formality—from her very un-princess-like grin it was clear she believed they couldn’t wait to get back to their apartment.

  Instead they were sitting an arm’s width apart in the rear of the limousine taking them back to their apartment with that kiss sizzling between them. They might be playing newlyweds on a strictly business basis, but all he could think about was the silk of her cheek beneath his hand. The heated welcome of her mouth. What it would be like if this were real...

  Ruby cleared her throat. ‘Ya hab...?’ She struggled for the word.

  ‘Ya habibati,’ he said, keeping his eyes straight ahead. ‘A woman would say ya habibi.’

  ‘Only if she knew what it meant. It’s not a word I’ve come across in my Arabic for Beginners.’

  ‘Beloved.’ He turned and looked at her. ‘It means my beloved.’

  ‘Oh.’ The diamonds he’d placed at her throat sparkled as she swallowed.

  ‘We tend to be extravagant in our endearments.’

  Making a determined effort to get them back on a businesslike footing, but keeping her eyes on the bac
k of the driver’s head, she said, ‘Perhaps you should teach me some...’ She faltered. ‘I should know them.’

  ‘We are not in the west,’ he replied, hanging onto his self-control by a thread. ‘Here, intimacy is a private thing.’

  He had been sharp and she did not reply. Maybe she understood—she seemed to have a rare, instinctive understanding of most things—that he’d been caught without a defence against a kiss that he hadn’t anticipated, for which he had not been prepared.

  He’d had more freedom than his brother—he’d been indulged, given time to enjoy the sports he’d loved, because there would come a time when he’d have to assume the mantle of responsibility, put his people before his own pleasures—but he’d always known that marriage was a rare and precious thing, an alliance of honour between a man and woman whose future had been written for the benefit of family and state.

  Right now he was in the grip of a physical response to an age-old need but this was not a flirtation with a chalet maid or one of the snow bunnies who followed the sport. This was... This was strictly business.

  After what seemed a lifetime of silence the car stopped, the door opened and he was able to step out, draw in a lungful of the cool evening air before turning to offer Ruby his hand.

  He sensed her reluctance to take it; he wasn’t the only one who’d been swept away by that kiss. Hampered by the dress and the height of her heels, however, she had no choice but to lay her hand against his as she stepped from the car. Aware that they were still on show, that unseen eyes would follow their every move, he continued to hold her hand as he escorted her into their apartment.

  Once there, she couldn’t wait to let go of his hand as she kicked off her shoes and headed for the bedroom with an abrupt, ‘I have to get out of this dress.’

  * * *

  Bram had kissed her. Neither of them had anticipated it. The ceremony was supposed to be a formal signing of the contracts, but clearly Violet had other ideas. The dress, the jewels, the perfectly fitting rings...