Chapter 4
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Farid stared at the closed bedroom door and realized he'd been out of line … way out of line. He had spoken to her not as a servant, but as an equal. He'd practically yelled at her, and that was unacceptable behavior.
He hadn't realized until this moment how much he had embraced the idea of stepping into Samira's life as helpmate and father to her unborn child. He'd been well aware of the fact that a marriage to Samira would in all likelihood be temporary, but the commitment he made to her child would last a lifetime.
Certainly it was duty that drove him – duty and the desire to honor a promise to a dead man, but it was also more than that.
He knew what it was like to grow up with an aching need inside, the need for a father. He didn't want Samira's child to grow up with that same sense of emptiness.
In his case, the emptiness could have been filled had his mother only told him the truth. But she hadn't. She hadn't told him the truth until it was far too late. He shoved the thought away, hating the anger that instantly pressed tight against his chest.
Swiping a hand through his hair, he walked over to the window and stared out at the manicured gardens in the distance. For a moment, as he'd faced off with her, he'd forgotten that she was a princess and he was merely her servant.
He'd forgotten everything except the fact that if she didn't marry him, she would be fodder for gossip and the child she bore would be branded a fatherless bastard. He'd forgotten everything except his own need to make sure that her child didn't suffer the same kind of empty childhood he had.
He owed her an apology, but apologies had never come easily to Farid. He moved away from the window and sat, deciding he'd wait until she came out of the bedroom to make an apology to her.
As he waited, he thought over the events of the day. She had been quiet throughout the afternoon of shopping. After lunch they had wandered the piazza, going in and out of the little shops along the way.
She had bought presents not only for her family members, but for friends and favorite servants as well, and he was reminded again that Samira was known for her generous nature. And it was the generosity of her nature and her spirit that made her a favorite among the royal family.
Farid knew there were many who sought out Samira's advice when it came to matters of the heart. Apparently there were some who appreciated her fanciful notion of love.
One thing was clear to him. She was right when she'd said she'd always been the dutiful daughter who had never caused her parents any grief. Of the princesses of Tamir, Samira had always been the quietest, the most unassuming of the three.
She spent much of her time involved in a variety of charity work and was a major supporter, both financially and emotionally, of promoting literacy in Tamir.
He had a feeling she would never be strong enough to stand up to her father no matter how much time she spent here preparing to do so.
She remained in her room until dusk had fallen outside, then she swept out of the bedroom, her gaze not meeting his. "I'm going for a walk," she said coolly. "I need some fresh air to clear my head."
She didn't wait for him to acknowledge her words, but instead strode to the door and stepped out into the shadows of approaching night.
Farid hurried after her. "Princess Samira," he said softly, intentionally using her title to remind himself of his position. "I owe you an apology," he said.
She stopped walking and turned to face him, her expression more solemn than he'd ever seen it. "I think we owe each other an apology," she said with a graciousness he couldn't help but admire. "Please, let's just walk in the garden. I really do need some time to think." He nodded and fell in step beside her.
Landscaping lanterns softly illuminated the narrow path that wound through the formal gardens, and the air was heavily perfumed by the variety of lush flowers. The sound of a fountain bubbled from somewhere nearby, adding to the peaceful serenity of the garden.
The moon was full in the sky, spilling down a shining light that caught and reflected on the silvery threads in Samira's clothing. It made it appear as if she were covered with tiny stars.
They walked at a leisurely pace that should have been relaxing, but the thought of their heated exchange weighed heavy on Farid's shoulders.
"Do you really think I can't be a good mother?" she finally asked, breaking the silence that had lingered thickly between them as they walked.
Farid looked at her in surprise. "Of course not. In fact, I'm certain you will be a good mother."
She stopped walking and motioned to a nearby concrete bench. They sat side-by-side and she gazed at him, a little wrinkle of worry between her delicate brows. "But you don't think I'm capable of raising a child alone?"
He sighed, realizing she'd apparently misunderstood what he'd been trying to say to her during their exchange earlier. "Princess, there is no doubt in my mind that you are more than capable of raising a child by yourself, but no matter how good a mother is … a mother isn't a father. In any case, it was not my place to say those things to you. I was way out of line."
"Apology accepted," she replied, then smiled. "And I'm sorry for calling you cold and arrogant."
"I must confess, you aren't the first to use those kinds of terms when describing me."
She smiled again, but the smile was only fleeting. She raised her face toward the moon and sighed. Farid watched her, noting how the bewitching moonlight emphasized the delicacy of her facial features.
With her head tilted back, he could see the graceful column of her throat. Her skin looked unbelievably smooth, and his fingers tingled with the sudden desire to reach out and touch.
Her eyelashes were sinfully long and thick around her almond-shaped eyes and as he watched she closed them and once again released a tiny sigh.
The sigh moved something inside him. It sounded so forlorn, so lonely. Farid knew all about loneliness. He'd lived with it for most of his life. It felt comfortable to him, but apparently not to her.
She lowered her face, opened her eyes and gazed at the grounds around them. "It's beautiful here, isn't it?"
Farid followed her example and looked around. "The gardens are impressive, but no more so than the ones in Tamir," he replied.
She smiled at him, the gesture as always filling her features with a pleasing warmth. "You're a loyal countryman." Her smile disappeared and she continued to study him. "I know so little about you, Farid. Tell me about yourself."
"What do you want to know?"
"I don't know … let's start with where you grew up."
"My parents were simple farmers and we had a little place just outside of the palace gates. I still own it, but I'm not there often." It had been difficult, going back to that place after his mother's death a year ago. There had been too many memories, both good and bad.
Once again she looked up at the moon. "I used to dream of what it would be like to be raised on a farm by an ordinary family."
Farid wondered if it was the surrounding flowers that filled his senses with such a delicious fragrance or if it was the scent of the woman seated next to him. "I thought all little girls dreamed of being princesses."
She laughed and looked at him once again. "I guess they do … unless they are a princess." She stood. "Let's walk a little more."
They walked for a few minutes in silence. This time the silence was a companionable one rather than the tense quiet that had existed between them when they'd initially left the guest house.
"I always thought life as a farmer's daughter would be far easier than life as a sheik's daughter," she finally said. "As a princess, you learn very early that people will pretend to like you because of your title, that people will try to take advantage of you for power, or position, or political reasons."
Her features tightened and her hands clenched at her sides and Farid knew what she was probably thinking. "Do you think that's what happened with Caruso?" he asked softly. "That he used you?"
"Of course
that's what happened," she said, her voice holding an angry edge. "I'm not sure what he hoped to gain by seducing me, but it certainly didn't have anything to do with love."
"But you loved him?"
She didn't answer for a long moment. "No, I didn't love him. Oh, I thought I did at the time, but I realize now I was in love with the idea that he loved me. I was in love with the future he painted with his smooth, lying words."
She paused a moment to lean over a bush that held bright orange blossoms as big as a dinner plate. She breathed deeply of one of the blossoms, then turned back to him, her gaze once again curious.
"Have you ever been in love, Farid?"
"No."
She straightened, still looking at him. "There's never been a special woman in your life? Have you really never felt a kind of fluttery, valentines-and-flowers kind of love?"
"Never. To be honest, there's been little time for women. I've worked hard to achieve my position as bodyguard and that has left little time for other pursuits. Besides, the only kind of love I really believe in is the love of my country. I don't believe in that valentine-and-flower sort of love you spoke of."
He could tell that his words disturbed her, but he couldn't pretend to be somebody he was not … not even for a princess.
Besides, if she did eventually agree to marry him, then she should know up-front that the romantic kind of love she apparently believed in would not be an option.
They continued walking. "What about your parents? Did you love them?"
"Of course," he replied automatically.
"Tell me about them."
"My mother was a simple woman. Her pleasures came from her family and from the farm. She loved planting and watching things grow and taking care of me and my father."
"And your father?"
He frowned thoughtfully. "My father was a good, patient man. He had a strong work ethic and a huge heart. He died when I was twelve." Grief welled up inside him as he thought of the man he had loved and lost. He quickly tamped it down, along with the anger that always accompanied it.
He was grateful that she didn't attempt to console or placate him with words or a touch. "So, you know what it's like to be without a father."
"I do."
"And that's why you said all the things that you did to me?"
He nodded. "Every child, whether a girl or a boy, deserves the love of two parents."
Her soft brown eyes studied him for a long moment. "And you could love a child who wasn't of your blood?"
Although she asked the question with a lightness of tone, he knew his answer was vitally important. And the answer was easy. "Yes, I could easily love a child that wasn't mine, especially if I was in his or her life from the very beginning."
She nodded, her expression thoughtful. "Let's go back to the guest house. It's been a long day and I'm getting tired."
They changed direction and headed back the way they had come. She once again fell silent and the only sounds were of the insects chirping their night songs and the faint swish of her jalabiya against her thin pants.
"If I agreed to a marriage in name only to you, then you would be agreeing to a lifetime of celibacy." Even in the semidarkness he could see the pretty blush that accompanied her words.
"Would you not be agreeing to the same?" he countered pointedly.
"Of course…" Again that endearing little wrinkle appeared in the center of her brow and her cheeks deepened in hue with a new blush. "But I think that sort of thing is easier for women than men."
"I don't know about other men, but if we marry, then I'll abide by the conditions you wish. I'm the master of my emotions. My emotions never rule me."
She offered him a small, teasing smile. "I think I could have guessed that."
They reentered the guest house and she turned to face him. The wrinkle across her forehead was gone and from her eyes radiated a peace he hadn't seen since they had arrived in Montebello.
"Does your marriage proposal still stand?" she asked.
He nodded, his heart suddenly quickening its pace.
"Then I accept," she said. "We'll discuss the details tomorrow," she said, then turned and headed for her bedroom door. When she reached the door she turned back to look at him.
"Farid, the kind of love I once dreamed of, the valentines-and-flowers kind of love, is not a foolish or silly notion." Her eyes darkened. "It's just apparently not destined for me." She disappeared into her room.
* * *
Ursula Chambers watched Desmond Caruso from across the table in the Glass Swan Restaurant. God, the man was so hot. He was easily the best-looking man in the place with his raven-dark hair, piercing black eyes, chiseled features and charming cleft chin.
She wasn't oblivious to the admiring glances he'd received from the other female diners from the moment they'd walked into the elegant dining establishment. The fact that other women coveted him and she was the one with him filled her with an intoxicating feeling of power.
From the moment she had met him at her family ranch in Shady Rock, Colorado, she'd known the unbelievably handsome man with royal ties just might be her ticket to her big break in life.
"You're looking quite smug," he now said to her as they lingered over dessert and coffee.
She smiled. "And why shouldn't I? I've just had an incredible meal in a beautiful restaurant with a stunning view." She swept her hand toward the window that offered a panoramic view of the harbor.
"I noticed you made sure you ordered the most expensive items on the menu," Desmond said dryly.
"And I'm worth every dime," she replied.
"Of course you are, my love," he replied smoothly, his dark gaze inscrutable as he looked at her.
She wrapped her fingers around her coffee cup, her gaze lingering on him. She was more than a little bit in love with him and there was a part of her that felt he had been brought into her life by the divine hand of fate.
"What?" He looked at her expectantly.
"I was just thinking that it must have been fate that brought us together. I mean, of all the places in Colorado for Prince Lucas to show up after his plane crash, he came to work on my sister's place. And then you showed up looking for clues to his whereabouts."
"You know how anxious we all were to find out anything we could about Prince Lucas's well-being." He cast a quick glance around as if to make certain nobody else could hear their conversation.
Ursula smiled knowingly. She knew exactly what Desmond had had in mind when he'd shown up at her ranch looking for the whereabouts of the missing heir.
If Prince Lucas wound up dead, then Desmond's half brother Lorenzo would ascend to the throne and Desmond would be assured a position of power.
"But now he's back. I assume he's no longer suffering any amnesia?"
"No. It appears he has all his memories back." Desmond frowned, the gesture doing nothing to detract from his attractiveness. "Which, unfortunately, means he remembers that he's never particularly liked me."
Ursula ran a perfectly manicured index finger around the rim of her coffee cup, then looked up at him once again. "Don't worry, Desmond, I have the means to see to it that Prince Lucas is forever in your debt … and mine." She saw the sharp edge of hunger that lit his eyes, the intensity that suddenly radiated from his body.
"What is it, Ursula?" He leaned across the table and she could smell the woodsy scent of his expensive cologne. "Tell me what you know."
He reached across the table and took one of her hands in his. As always, she thrilled at his touch.
Damn him. She wanted to see that hunger in his eyes for her, not for what secrets he thought she possessed. "Talk to me, Ursula," he urged.
Suddenly she was mad at him all over again. After all they had shared, after all their schemes and dreams, the moment the crown prince had been found and Desmond had returned to Montebello, he'd stopped communicating with her, had ignored her messages and calls.
She pulled her hand from his and rose gracefully from
her chair. "I really don't think this is the time or the place. Besides, I need to go visit the ladies' room."
As she walked to the back of the restaurant toward the restrooms, she was aware of several men's gazes following her progress.
She'd once had a lover tell her she had the grace and posture of a queen with just enough sensual sway to her hips to hint at a whore.
He'd had no idea how many hours she'd practiced her walk, her stance, the very presence she radiated. He'd had no idea the sacrifices she'd made to make certain she looked as good as possible.
The continuous dieting, the exercise, the facials and hairdressers, they had all been necessities to prepare her for her glorious future … a future that was now just at the tips of her fingers.
All the bad breaks were behind her now. She was on the verge of achieving her greatest success – a permanent position of power in the Montebello palace. She would live like a queen, all thanks to her sister and the secret that burned in Ursula's heart.
The powder room in the Glass Swan was as elegant as the restaurant itself. Several gold-brocade chaise lounges awaited weary ladies and the walls were lined with brightly lit mirrors. She stood before one of the mirrors and eyed her reflection.
She'd been right in buying the little black dress she wore, although it had been prohibitively expensive. It fit her as if it had been made specifically for her, emphasizing the breasts that had cost her a small fortune, her slender waistline and slim hips.
The darkness of the dress enhanced the blond of her hair and the blue of her eyes. Leaning closer to the mirror, she frowned as she saw the tiny lines that fanned out from her eyes.
She was thirty-five years old and it was beginning to show. A terrified desperation swept through her, along with a rage at the unfairness of life.
She'd always believed that by the time she reached thirty she'd be a famous, wealthy actress. She'd gone to New York City with that goal in mind and had hooked up with a manager who'd quickly become her lover.
Unfortunately, Derek had dropped her not only as a lover, but as a client, and her dreams of power and prestige had gone up in smoke. She'd been forced to run back to the ranch in Colorado with her tail tucked between her legs.
SECRETS OF A PREGNANT PRINCESS Page 5