by Lynne Graham
‘Yes,’ Kirsten mumbled tightly
‘Well, it does my heart good to know that all Lady Posh’s spite and scheming came to nothing in the end,’ Jeanie declared with strong satisfaction.
‘How did Morag Stevens react to the news that Shahir and I were getting married?’ Kirsten was keen to find out how the assistant housekeeper, whose damning evidence as a witness had convicted her, had behaved.
‘When she heard that you were about to become Strathcraig’s new mistress she burst into floods of tears and scuttled away,’ the redhead shared, with a meaningful roll of her eyes. ‘She’s scared stiff—that’s what she is!’
The phone buzzed. ‘The car’s waiting for you.’ Jeanie grinned. ‘Just think—in a couple of hours you’ll be a princess.’
Kirsten looked startled. ‘Nobody has said anything about that. I honestly don’t think it works quite that way—’
‘You mean you pulled a prince and you only get to be an ordinary missus?’ Wearing an expression of comical disillusionment, Jeanie shook her head as they left the suite. ‘What about the baby? Won’t it get a title either?’
Kirsten stepped into the lift. ‘I really don’t know.’
‘His family are probably raging that he isn’t marrying a royal princess!’ Jeanie clamped a guilt-stricken hand to her lips. ‘Scratch that—forget I opened my big mouth.’
Kirsten stiffened. ‘Why? I bet it’s true. Remember how shocked you were when I admitted who the father of my baby was!’
‘Yeah…but when I stopped to think about it,’ Jeanie answered chirpily, ‘Prince Shahir getting off with the most gorgeous good-living virgin under the castle roof is really not that surprising. I mean, there’s not a lot else to do at Strathcraig. Now, don’t forget that I’m leaving straight after the service at the church with Douglas and Elspeth—’
‘Jeanie…that’s silly,’ Kirsten protested, and not for the first time. ‘We’re going to a hotel for a meal. Please join us.’
The plump redhead groaned out loud and laughed. ‘You won’t change my mind about this. No way am I sitting down to eat with a prince…I’d be so nervous I couldn’t eat!’
Donald had offered to give Kirsten away at the ceremony, but Kirsten had thanked him and gently refused. It was to be a very quiet wedding, with witnesses only, and she saw no reason to slavishly follow tradition. In fact, she thought that plain and simple suited the nature of the occasion best. It did hurt that she had not a single relative to attend. She would have loved to have had her brother Daniel with her, but she had no idea where he was. After mustering her courage she had phoned her father to tell him that she was getting married, but Angus Ross had put the phone down the minute he had heard his daughter’s voice.
She had told herself that such things scarcely mattered. After all, it was to be a marriage of convenience, forged primarily for their baby’s benefit. The ring she would receive would not be given with love, or even with respect, she conceded painfully. Shahir still believed that she was a thief, so how could he possibly respect her?
Even so, she had felt that his misconception should not prevent her from recognising their child’s right to the legitimate birth that would enable him to be fully accepted by his father’s family. But his lack of faith in her still stung like acid. On the other hand the gossip that Jeanie had mentioned made the situation look a good deal brighter. Surely if other people suspected Lady Pamela, and Morag Stevens had lied, Shahir would eventually accept her innocence?
‘Go get him, girl!’ Jeanie whispered cheekily in Kirsten’s ear as she began to move down the aisle of the church.
Her cheeks warming, Kirsten made a covert appraisal of the tall, dark and extravagantly handsome male at the altar. There was a younger man standing by Shahir’s side, but she spared the stranger the merest glance because it had been a week since she had last seen Shahir and to her it felt like half a lifetime.
There was no point denying it any longer, she thought ruefully. All that talk about loathing him had just been a brick to hurl for want of any other—a face-saving, juvenile lie. The truth was that she was crazy about him. The sound of his voice on the phone gave her butterflies. When he smiled it was as if wings were attached to her heart.
Spectacular eyes that were the colour of bronze in the dim interior met hers, but he did not smile and she lowered her gaze again.
The service was short. As she made her responses she found that she was very nervous, and she wondered if that was why her skin felt so oddly clammy.
Shahir slid a ring on to her wedding finger and tears flooded her eyes. He was her husband now. She blinked, terrified he would notice her tears and wonder what was the matter with her. Lowering her lashes, however, she hovered lest he wanted to seize the opportunity to kiss her.
‘You’re as a white as a ghost,’ Shahir remarked in a taut undertone, making it evident that kissing could not have been further from his mind.
A single tiny compliment, even a hint of a compliment, would have been sufficient to make the day a happy one for Kirsten. But to be told she resembled the living dead when she had made so much effort to look the very best she could was the equivalent of having a vampire’s stake driven through her heart.
‘I suppose that is why you look as if you’re attending a funeral rather than your own wedding?’ his bride whispered back flatly.
‘It is a solemn occasion.’ His hand closed over hers, his thumb resting against a slender wrist which felt as fragile as the bones of a tiny bird in his careful hold.
Shahir was seriously worried about her health. When he asked her how she was she always said she was fine, but she looked really ill to him. She had admitted that nausea spoiled her appetite, and perhaps that was all that was the matter. If he expressed his concern he might worry her, and upset her, and he was reluctant to take that risk. In a few hours they were leaving for Dhemen. There, the need for her to meet her new gynaecologist would ensure that she could enjoy an immediate checkup.
Kirsten was reflecting that he hadn’t even thought to give her a bouquet to carry. Suddenly her empty hands seemed to emphasise all that their wedding so conspicuously lacked. Love was the obvious missing component—and she had better get used to that, hadn’t she? There was no point hankering after what she could not have.
In the church porch, a lively male voice complained, ‘How much longer do I have to wait to meet my sister-in-law?’
Kirsten had been so preoccupied with her own feelings that she had forgotten Shahir’s companion at the altar.
‘Kirsten…’ Shahir fell still. ‘This is my younger brother, Raza.’
‘Had I met you first, Shahir would be the one acting as best man!’ Laughing brown eyes twinkled down at her, and then narrowed with an astonishment he couldn’t hide when he registered the unmistakable swell of her stomach. ‘But obviously I would have had to meet you quite a long time ago to be in with a chance,’ he completed, in a teasing recovery.
Shahir said something in his own language, his demeanour and tone as cold and crushing as ice. Kirsten went red, and then white, and hastily turned away to conceal her discomfiture. He had not even told his brother that she was pregnant. Obviously he was ashamed of her, and of her condition, and she felt cut to the bone. Her back was hurting. As she resisted the urge to massage the spot she felt a dragging pain stir low in her tummy, and a slight gasp escaped her.
‘What is it?’ Shahir asked instantly.
‘Pain,’ she framed breathlessly. ‘It’s really bad!’
His magnificent bone structure set hard below the bronzed skin. He addressed his brother in urgent Arabic and then bent down to lift Kirsten slowly and gently up into his arms. ‘You should be lying down.’
‘Shahir, I’m scared…the baby!’ she sobbed fearfully, and then she bit back any further words—for he scarcely needed to be told that she was afraid that she was having a miscarriage.
It was not a fear Kirsten had had to deal with before. But it swiftly became a terror that engulfed her in
a tidal wave of bitter regret. She had taken the stability of her pregnancy and the health of her unborn child for granted while she complained about the nagging nausea that continually spoiled her appetite. That acknowledgement filled her with guilt and dread. She had hardly dared to appreciate the miracle of conception, or look forward to the birth of her future son or daughter. Her rigid upbringing had inhibited such free thinking. She had been desperately ashamed of being an unmarried mother-to-be, and she had punished herself by refusing to find anything positive in her situation.
Was this, then, to be the price she paid for her blindness? she asked herself in a panic. Was she about to lose her baby?
Her fingers splayed against the taut curve of her stomach. Right from the beginning she had loved the tiny life growing inside her with protective intensity. But she had not allowed herself to visualise a little boy with Shahir’s silky black hair and raw energy, or a little girl with a feminine version of his imperious brows and the dazzling gift of his charisma. That would have been a step too far for her—an exercise in self-indulgence that she could not allow herself to enjoy.
Choking back a sob, she squeezed her eyes tight shut and prayed.
Shahir made her lie down full-length in the limousine, and positioned himself by her head. He wound her fingers comfortingly within his. ‘We will be at the hospital within five minutes, and the best of care will be yours.’
‘I bet you weren’t expecting this today,’ Kirsten muttered jaggedly.
‘Try to keep calm…’ Shahir smoothed the hair back from her temples in a soothing gesture. ‘When I am with you, you should not be afraid. I will not allow any harm to come to you, and no trouble is so hard to bear when it is shared.’
Kirsten tried to comfort herself with the hope that her pregnancy was far enough advanced for the baby to have a good chance of survival if she went into premature labour. But what if there was something wrong and she was losing their child?
The medical facility she entered was unlike any hospital she had ever visited. The last word in high-tech gleaming luxury, it was a private clinic attached to the charitable foundation that Shahir ran. She was whisked into an examination room at speed. A consultant arrived, and told her that she would have to be admitted and that the following few hours would be crucial.
Helped into bed by a nurse, Kirsten was relieved that the cramping little pains which she had been suffering seemed to be in the process of subsiding.
‘You should go and get something to eat,’ Kirsten told Shahir, when he entered her private room ten minutes later.
He studied her in polite astonishment. ‘Are you joking?’
‘There’s no reason why you should go hungry.’
‘Right now I’m staying here with you.’
‘You don’t have to,’ she told him, but she didn’t mean it; just at that moment she did not want to let him out of her sight.
‘No matter what, I’ll be here.’
That declaration impressed her, and the worst of her tension seeped away. She made herself a little more comfortable in the bed, and a yawn crept up on her out of nowhere. ‘I’m so tired…’ she whispered apologetically.
‘Then try to sleep,’ Shahir suggested. ‘I’ll wake you up if anything happens.’
A drowsy giggle escaped her as she tried to imagine what could happen that she might contrive to sleep through.
She had not actually believed that she would sleep, but she did manage to doze for a while. When her eyes opened fuzzily again the first thing she noticed was her own hand, where it rested on the pillow, and her wedding ring glinting shiny and new on her finger. Shahir was lodged by the window, his back turned to her. Raw tension was etched into the set line of his broad shoulders and the spread of his long powerful legs.
‘I bet this isn’t how you planned to spend your wedding day…’
Shahir swung round, glittering golden eyes zeroing in on her with an amount of concern that surprised her and made her regret her tart comment. ‘If you are well at the end of it, I will have no complaints. You don’t look so pale. Any more pains?’
She shook her head slowly. She was finding it a challenge to remove her attention from him. He was incredibly attractive.
A relieved smile curving his handsome mouth, he approached the bed and gazed down at her. ‘You are strong, and so is our child.’
‘Will I have to stay in here tonight?’
His dark, deepset eyes narrowed, black eyelashes glinting. ‘Yes. Would you like something to eat now?’
‘No, thanks.’
‘I am worried about the amount of weight you have lost, and so is the doctor,’ he reminded her gently.
‘Feeling sick all the time makes for a very effective diet. Have you eaten yet?’
‘I have been so troubled about you that I haven’t even felt hungry,’ Shahir confided.
Her green eyes clung to his lean strong face and she sighed. ‘All right. I get the message. I will try to eat.’
She managed a small meal, and even savoured half of a chocolate mousse before drifting off to sleep again.
Somewhere in the middle of the night she wakened. A shaded lamp shed light into the corner of the room. Shahir was sprawled in a chair by the bed, and she studied him with admiring eyes. A dark shadow of blue-black stubble roughened his jawline and emphasised the beautiful curve of his expressive masculine mouth.
‘Why are you still here?’ she whispered, amazed that he had not left her to the care of the medical staff.
Angling his proud head back, Shahir rested dark-as-midnight eyes on her, his surprise at the question unconcealed. ‘Where else would I be? You’re my bride, and this is our wedding night.’
Kirsten was stunned by that response. She had expected him to say something about his duty of care towards her and the child she carried, or to mention the risk of her going into premature labour. ‘I’d forgotten that…’
‘I hadn’t.’ He stretched out a hand and enclosed her fingers in his. ‘Go back to sleep.’
Even badly in need of a shave he looked quite astoundingly good-looking. ‘Yes, boss.’
He laughed softly, sexily. ‘I like the sound of that.’
‘I should’ve known you’d take it the wrong way,’ she groaned. ‘Will you see that Squeak is looked after?’
‘Our staff will take care of him.’
‘But he’ll be lost without me,’ Kirsten pointed out anxiously.
‘I will personally check that Squeak is OK. How long has he been with you?’
‘My mother gave him to me as a puppy, when I was nine years old. He’s thirteen now,’ she shared.
‘A venerable age. Now, stop worrying.’
Over the following five days it slowly sank in on Kirsten that she had no choice other than to be ultra-careful for what remained of her pregnancy.
‘When will we be flying out to Dhemen?’ she asked Shahir.
‘It would be most unwise for us to attempt the journey now. I am resigned to remaining in London until after the birth,’ he countered, with a wry shrug of acceptance. ‘It is imperative that you rest. Every day that our child stays in your womb makes him or her stronger, though you will find such inactivity frustrating.’
But Kirsten knew that she would only have to live with those limitations for a matter of weeks, and she was willing to do anything that would help her baby to be born safely and in good health. ‘Whatever it takes… Will I have to remain here in the clinic?’
His dark golden eyes were grave. ‘No. If you promise to be sensible, you can stay in our London apartment. Nurses will be engaged to care for you.’
‘I’ll be sensible,’ she swore.
Thirty-six hours later, Kirsten left the clinic and was installed in the penthouse apartment, where she enjoyed a rapturous reunion with Squeak and met the first of the three nurses engaged to watch over her in shifts.
The apartment was very large indeed, and furnished for slick city living with not an antique or a traditional rug in sig
ht. Kirsten was soon ensconced in an opulent divan in a vast bedroom which enjoyed a spectacular view of the Thames.
Mid-morning, several large lingerie boxes were delivered. The boxes contained a selection of pure silk and lace nightwear in her favourite pastel shades, and a hand-signed gift card from Shahir. Encouraged by the nurse looking after her, she immediately donned a pale green nightdress with a matching jacket, and submitted to having her hair brushed for his promised visit at lunchtime.
‘Do you think you will be comfortable here?’ Shahir strode in, coolly immaculate in a light grey business suit. ‘My family use this as a base when they visit London. Raza stayed here while he was at university, but he has his own apartment now. Perhaps it is time for me to acquire a more private dwelling?’
As Shahir moved deeper into the room the nurse slipped out, with a coy smile that only embarrassed Kirsten.
‘That nurse is acting like we’re honeymooners, desperate to be alone with each other,’ she muttered apologetically.
In answer, Shahir bent down. Closing one deft hand into the shining fall of her silvery blonde hair, he circled her luscious pink mouth with his until her lips parted and allowed him to delve deep in an expert and provocative foray. Wildly disconcerted by that sensual exploration, Kirsten felt her body quicken with startling urgency. The rosy tips of her breasts pinched tight into a distended and tender fullness that made her whimper low in her throat in disconcertion. Coming down beside her on the bed, Shahir tasted her lips slowly and hungrily, and then lifted his dark head.
‘If only we were free to take advantage of being alone…but we’re not. The sweetest pleasures are always forbidden.’ A wicked smile slashed his lean, savagely handsome features with a wildness that shocked her as much as it excited her. ‘But the knowledge that you desire me as much as I desire you helps me to be patient.’
Ludicrously unprepared for his confrontation, which had come out of nowhere at her, Kirsten quivered with outrage and uncertainty. ‘But that’s not true!’
Assured brown fingers smoothed over the prominent thrust of her pouting breasts beneath the fine silk, teasing at the stiff and straining crests she would have hidden from him had she only had the opportunity. With a moan of shame she flushed to the roots of her hair and shut her eyes tight, even though she was guiltily conscious that she was revelling in the achingly sweet tingling of her sensitive flesh.