by Heidi Rice
Drawing the introductions to a halt, he called over the man whom they’d already been introduced to as his father’s former head of household.
‘Um… Saed,’ he said, glad he’d managed to remember the man’s name as he pressed his hand to Orla’s hip. Now he’d begun touching her it was becoming harder and harder to stop. ‘Could you take my fiancée to my chambers?’ Apart from anything else, he wanted Orla well rested, because he planned to keep her very busy tonight. ‘And make sure she has everything she needs.’
The older man’s brows shot up his forehead, his expression a picture of shock, his skin darkening as he flushed. ‘But, Your Majesty, it will bring much dishonour on yourself and Mistress Calhoun for such an arrangement before the wedding on Friday.’
‘The… What wedding?’ he snapped. Orla stiffened beside him, obviously as horrified as he was by this information. ‘I didn’t authorise a wedding,’ he said, his voice raw with fury.
What the hell was going on? He’d never been informed of any such arrangement. Certainly hadn’t sanctioned it.
‘The Ruling Council made arrangements for your convenience, Your Majesty,’ the man said, his eyes darting towards the council members who were standing on the other side of the courtyard, out of earshot.
‘What…?’ Karim bit off the swear word as the man flinched. ‘What convenience?’
This was intolerable, inconceivable. He had never given any indication he wished for a wedding to be arranged on his behalf.
He could feel Orla beside him, trembling. Did she think he had engineered this, lured her here to trap her into marriage?
The fury was tempered by the brutal stab of guilt… And the hazy pain of memory. His mother’s face dragged him back to the darkest days of his childhood, the words she had uttered so many times in her distress, before she took her own life.
He didn’t love me, Karim. He used me, he tricked me, and then he discarded me, because he never really wanted me.
Other memories, ones he’d blocked for so long, clawed at the edges of his consciousness as Saed continued talking.
‘For Your Majesty’s convenience,’ the man said, his face getting redder as his confusion and concern increased at Karim’s reaction. ‘The Ruling Council believed…’ He trailed off, his gaze darting to Orla, who had gone painfully still beside him.
Why did that only make this worse? That she hadn’t asked him to explain? What did she think was happening here?
‘What did they believe?’ he snapped through gritted teeth, trying to control his temper, and the bitter pulse of guilt.
‘It was always your father’s way, to arrange a wedding as soon as possible so that…’ Saed trailed off again.
His father? The mention of the man he had always despised had the fury galloping into his throat. The bastard had tried to manipulate him in life and now he was managing to do it from beyond the grave? He wasn’t going to tolerate this.
‘So that what?’ he demanded, his voice rising, but he suspected he already knew the answer.
‘So that he wouldn’t have to wait,’ the man replied so softly Karim could barely hear him. ‘To consummate the marriage.’
Of course.
His father had enjoyed exploiting women. He had used them and discarded them. Sometimes he married then, sometimes he didn’t, but when he wanted a woman one thing he never did was wait.
‘The Ruling Council have arranged for Mistress Calhoun to be housed in the Women’s Quarters, as is tradition, to honour her as your betrothed, until the marriage is performed,’ Saed continued, practically quaking now.
Karim felt sick—as the implications of what had happened began to sink in—and shame engulfed him. This catastrophe wasn’t Saed’s fault. Any more than it was the fault of the Ruling Council. They had simply assumed he was as much of an entitled, insatiable bastard where women were concerned as his father—and they had been trying to honour Orla as his betrothed while also giving him what they had assumed he would demand, this woman in his bed as soon as possible.
The irony—that he had brought Orla to Zafar intending to do exactly that without actually marrying her—only made this situation more screwed up.
But the truth was, the only person to blame for this catastrophe, other than a dead man, was himself.
‘It’s okay, Karim. I can go to the Women’s Quarters now, if that works best for everyone.’
At the quietly spoken words, he turned to Orla. But where he had been prepared to see accusation and disgust, maybe even fear, all he saw was concern… And something far worse—trust.
Why did that only make him feel like more of a bastard?
What had he ever really done to deserve her trust? How could she have so much faith in him and his motives, when he had done nothing to earn it?
The look in her eyes reminded him for one agonising moment of the woman who had clung to him, after he had marched across a ballroom to protect her from the unwanted advances of another man. In that moment, as her fingers gripped his neck and her face pressed into his shirt, she had seemed more like a girl than a woman. An innocent, vulnerable girl who deserved to be cherished and had needed his protection.
The pulse of guilt and shame threatened to engulf him again at the disturbing thought that the man she needed protecting from now was him.
‘That would probably be for the best, until I can get this sorted out,’ he said, his voice so rough it scraped against his throat like sandpaper.
‘I will have Mistress Calhoun escorted to the Women’s Quarters immediately,’ Saed announced, clicking his fingers to summon two women over from the line of palace staff. The manservant looked so relieved at this new turn of events, it was almost funny.
Although Karim had never felt less like laughing.
If he’d been angry at the prospect of being forced to take his father’s place on the throne of Zafar, now he felt sickened by his own actions.
He’d always believed he was a much better man than the man who had sired him. Had always taken his moral superiority for granted, but when had it ever really been tested until now? And already he’d been found wanting.
He’d brought Orla with him to Zafar because it had been the expedient thing to do politically, but also because he had wanted her for himself. He had convinced himself his sexual needs took precedence over everything else—and had quite possibly put her into an untenable position as a result. Because getting this wedding stopped now might well be impossible.
How the hell was he going to explain to the Ruling Council he did not wish the wedding to go ahead as planned without also cluing them into the fact the engagement had simply been a ruse to frustrate his father? Whatever he did now, he realised, with a bitter sense of regret, Orla and he would not be able to feed the hunger tonight.
How could he have her brought to his chambers without raising lots of questions about his own integrity, not to mention the integrity of their engagement?
He tried to remain as dispassionate as possible while Saed introduced Orla to the two women who were about to take her away from him, for God only knew how long. One was an older woman called Ameera, who was Orla’s most senior lady-in-waiting, while the younger woman, Jamilla, had been hired as the new Queen’s PA.
As the older woman fussed over Orla, Karim was finally forced to lift his hand from her hip. Before she could leave him though, he snagged her wrist and tugged her round to face him. Tucking a knuckle under her chin, he lifted her face to his.
‘Don’t panic, Orla,’ he murmured, so only she could hear him, before he placed a parting kiss on her lips. He’d compromised both of them enough already by reacting so violently to Saed’s mention of the wedding. He needed to calm down and work out a solution. ‘I’ll figure this out.’
He forced himself to draw back and let her go. Perhaps having her safely ensconced in the Women’s Quarters wasn’t such
a bad thing. At least it ought to stop him thinking with a part of his anatomy that wasn’t his brain. Something he’d been doing way too much of recently.
To his surprise, given how badly he’d messed up, instead of looking anxious or annoyed, she sent him another uncomplicated, far too trusting smile—the shadow of desire in her eyes undimmed. ‘It’s grand, Karim. I’m not panicking. I have faith in you.’
But as he watched her walk away, the sway of her hips doing nothing to dim the hunger that had got them both into this fix in the first place, he realised it wasn’t her faith in him that was the problem.
It was his faith in himself.
He’d strived his whole life not to be a man like his father. Had always been sure to be honest and open in his relationships with women. To let them know what he could offer and what he could not. But with Orla, nothing had ever been that easy or uncomplicated. And now he’d crossed a line he wasn’t sure he had the strength, or the integrity, to uncross.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
‘YOUR HAIR IS like flame, Orla. Is it real, or from a bottle?’
‘It’s real.’ Orla choked out a strained laugh at the typically forthright comment from Ameera, as the older woman washed her hair. Thank goodness for Ameera’s chatty, friendly presence or she would probably have lost her mind completely in the last two days.
She’d been in Zafar for nearly seventy-two hours now, most of it cocooned in the palace’s lavish women’s quarters.
The morning after she’d arrived she’d been given a tour of the stables by Karim’s stable manager, who had told her the new King wanted her advice on the care of the beautiful Arabian stallions that had once belonged to his father. She’d been flattered by Karim’s faith in her, and at least it had given her something to do, but she’d also been disappointed that she hadn’t had a chance to see him herself. So far the only contact she’d had with Karim personally was a two-line note yesterday morning, thanking her for her feedback on the horses, which he had said was invaluable, and then a cryptic mention of how he was working on ‘resolving their situation to everyone’s satisfaction’.
But since then she’d heard nothing—and the wedding was tonight. Ameera, though, and the other ladies-in-waiting, seemed convinced it was going ahead—in approximately four hours’ time—because they had arrived in her suite of rooms that morning and insisted on beginning the seemingly endless process of preparing her to become the new Queen of Zafar.
Orla had never felt more embarrassed or confused or anxious in her life.
But she’d had no choice but to try and force herself to relax.
Whatever was going on diplomatically, she hadn’t lied to Karim, she trusted him. He’d sounded as shocked as she had felt when Saed had informed him of the planned event, and she had no doubt he had probably been trying to prevent it from happening. But it had dawned on her this morning, when Ameera and the other women had begun gossiping, brimming with excitement at the prospect of the wedding—and all the guests who had begun to arrive—that getting it stopped might have turned out to be an impossible feat. Not least because how was Karim going to do that without admitting to everyone theirs was not a real engagement?
It was a humongous mess, she could see that, and possibly not one he was best placed to deal with when his whole life had already been thrown into turmoil by the huge challenges the country faced in the wake of his father’s death—something that had also been a hot topic of discussion among the women.
‘You are very tense,’ Ameera said, massaging Orla’s scalp with a fragrant shampoo scented with bergamot and orange. ‘You must not be nervous. The wedding will be a glorious event. The whole of Zafar is excited to greet our new Queen as well as our new King.’
Orla swallowed down the hysterical laugh that had been threatening to pop out of her mouth all morning at Ameera’s generous words—the flush of guilt, though, was impossible to contain.
What would Ameera and the rest of Zafar’s population think if they knew she and Karim hardly knew each other? And that this whole engagement was a total fraud?
The flush intensified, though, as she remembered Karim’s bold kiss when they had parted and the fierce possessiveness in his gaze as she’d been led away.
Okay, maybe they weren’t a total fraud any more. She cared about him, and what he was going through. Probably more than she should. And she still wanted him, desperately. As the minutes had ticked by over the last forty-eight hours and she’d got no more word from him about whether the wedding had been cancelled, she’d come to the conclusion that maybe going through with it wouldn’t be so terrible. Especially if it meant they could finally deal with the driving hunger that had consumed them both—well, certainly her anyway—for days now.
After all, if they could fake an engagement, why couldn’t they fake a marriage?
‘You blush very prettily,’ Ameera said, grinning, as she finished rinsing Orla’s hair.
Orla felt the blush ignite. Terrific. As if this situation weren’t awkward enough, now everyone could see how eager she was to end up in Karim’s bed.
Way to go, Orla, it’s official, you’re a total hussy.
‘The new King is very handsome…’ Ameera murmured, the indulgent smile in her voice only making Orla feel more exposed. But then the woman added, ‘From the way he kissed you in the courtyard, so tender and so much in love, I think he is not a man like his father—and you are nothing like his mother—so your wedding night should be a good one.’
Ameera laughed as she draped a linen cloth over Orla’s head to dry her hair.
Orla straightened in her chair and turned to meet Ameera’s gaze, surprised by the mention of Karim’s parents.
She had been in the quarters for three days now, and she’d got the definite impression no one wanted to talk about the dead King. Because every time his name was mentioned in front of her, looks were exchanged and the subject was changed. Which, now she thought about it, was beyond weird. After all, he had died less than a week ago.
All she knew about Karim’s mother were the things she’d discovered while trawling the Internet for information about him the day before she had met him. By reading old press reports, she had discovered that Cassandra Wainwright had been a young British heiress, who had married and divorced King Abdullah, returned to England with her son and then died five years later when Karim was still only ten years old… Which was perhaps why he had never mentioned her. But why was there so little information about her? Orla had been able to find virtually nothing out about the death of the former Queen of Zafar, or why the marriage had ended.
Until Ameera’s cryptic comment.
‘I think he is not a man like his father—and you are nothing like his mother—so your wedding night should be a good one.’
She probably shouldn’t ask Ameera about Karim’s parents. His past was none of her business. But she was desperately curious about them both. She knew Karim hadn’t had a good relationship with his father, but she also knew how much he was struggling with his death, even if he didn’t want to admit it. And now she was wondering about what had happened to his mother on her wedding night, too.
Was being curious about Karim’s parents and their relationship so wrong? After all, she might well have to actually marry Karim this evening, because they were running out of time to have the wedding stopped.
‘Did you know Karim’s mother, Ameera?’ Orla blurted out.
Ameera’s smile faltered, and her eyes lost the twinkle of amusement that had been an essential part of her personality over the last few days. Did she regret letting the information slip? Orla felt sure she did, but just when she was convinced Ameera would refuse to answer, the lady-in-waiting nodded. ‘Yes, I knew the King’s second wife. I was a maid in the palace, when she first arrived here and they married.’
‘What was she like?’ Orla asked.
‘The King has not spoken o
f his mother to you?’ the woman asked, her gaze kind, but also probing.
Orla blushed at the perceptive comment, but the lady-in-waiting’s gaze remained kind and knowing.
‘Karim and I haven’t known each other that long,’ Orla said, carefully. That definitely wasn’t a lie. ‘He’s never talked to me about his mother, but I know he didn’t get on very well with his father.’
Ameera let out a sad laugh. ‘The new King has not visited Zafar since he was a boy, and has not seen his father in over a decade, so, yes, it is true. They did not get on well.’ The sad smile flattened to be replaced with a guarded expression. ‘I am afraid I cannot tell you about what went on in the marriage, because Cassandra swore me to secrecy many years ago. And it is a vow I have never broken. His Majesty was only five when he left Zafar with his mother, but I think if he was aware…’ She paused, sighed. ‘Then he would not wish me to speak of it either.’
Orla’s pulse pounded heavily at Ameera’s statement—and the sadness in her eyes, which was so unlike her usually cheerful demeanour.
So something had been terribly wrong in the marriage before the divorce, and Karim might have witnessed it? Was that where the haunted look had come from when they drove through the walls of the palace into the grounds?
He’d insisted he had no feelings for his father, but it had been obvious then, as well as the night she had gone to his study, that the truth was more complex. Perhaps it wasn’t that he didn’t have feelings for his father, but that he didn’t want to have feelings for him.
‘Do you…? Do you know why Karim and his father didn’t get along?’ she asked.
He had seemed so alone in his study that night, but also during the flight over and the journey to the palace. So closed off and wary and tense. Karim had always been dominant, commanding, pragmatic rather than demonstrative, so it hadn’t really surprised her that he hadn’t wanted to lean on anyone, let alone her. But she knew he could also be playful, and unbelievably hot—because she’d glimpsed that man too during the heated moments they’d shared in the car—before all this had happened.