by Lynne Graham
‘The palace,’ Butrus announced with discernible pride as the car passed below a stone portcullis.
Azrael’s jawline squared because he expected a disparaging comment about the ancient medieval building sprawling in front of them.
‘What wonderful gardens!’ Molly carolled in astonishment when she glimpsed the lush trees and colourful borders bounding a central fountain. ‘My goodness, that must take so much work and watering in this heat.’
‘It does indeed,’ Butrus responded warmly. ‘But we are very partial to the greenery in gardens and the peace to be found there.’
Molly finally focused on the stone structure before them. ‘Your people must be very fond of castles,’ she remarked naïvely, thinking of the desert fortress.
‘The castles were all built by Djalia’s invaders,’ Azrael countered deflatingly. ‘And the décor and the level of comfort hasn’t moved on much since the fourteenth century.’
‘But think of the history and the people who must have lived here over the centuries,’ Molly enthused, determined not to encourage him in his negative outlook.
The wall of heat that met her when she climbed out of the car daunted her a little. The stone portico over the entrance cooled her and she accompanied the two men into a wide tiled hallway, obviously a more recent addition to the historical structure. A crowd of staff were gathered there, all bowing very low. In fact a couple of the women fell on their knees in front of Molly, and she didn’t know what to do and shot Azrael a dismayed glance. He spoke softly and a sensible older woman from the back of the crowd moved forward to receive instructions.
‘Haifa oversees the household. She will show you to your room,’ Azrael advanced. ‘She speaks a little English.’
Molly followed Haifa up a curving turret staircase and then along a stone corridor. She was beginning to realise that the castle was considerably larger than first impressions had suggested and had evidently been much altered and extended over the years. She was shown into a room furnished with faded grandeur and some rather exotic pearl inlaid furniture that included a massive bed hung with regal blue draperies. An adjoining room contained bathroom facilities that were newly installed but unfinished. A shower cabinet sat in pieces in one corner, plumbing equipment filling it but the other facilities appeared intact and functional.
‘We bring food,’ Haifa assured her, showing her across the corridor to a sitting room that was bare but for a beautiful rug and a low table. ‘Please wait, Your Highness.’
Your Highness? Molly’s eyes widened. Who did this woman think she was? Or was it simply her lack of English at fault? Maybe the poor woman had assumed she was some visiting royal dignitary. Reluctant to embarrass or confuse Haifa by trying to correct her, Molly folded down on her knees by the table. A mere minute later a procession of servants filed in bearing dishes and enough food to supply a banquet. Without speaking, Molly indicated her choices and received selections and finally sat back to eat, although it was not a very comfortable experience with all the servants stationed by the wall, clearly intent on watching her every move and springing to attend to any request she might have. She ate quickly and returned to her room but even there it wasn’t possible to be alone. Haifa arrived with two young smiling women and laid out dress after dress on the bed for her examination. If she liked nothing, more would be forthcoming, Haifa assured her in dumbshow.
Molly quickly picked one of the silk, heavily embroidered dresses to forestall a further parade of fashion options. She was desperately in need of a change of clothes and too well aware of the fact to be choosy. Underwear was brought next in a choice of sizes. It was lingerie from some very fancy provider, each piece beribboned, lacy or embroidered and generally very flimsy, Molly registered, unimpressed. But, keen to replace the bra that had vanished in the cave, she went into the bathroom to try some stuff on and returned with the items that fitted her. Nightwear and summer sandals were produced for her examination then and she had to suppress an impatient sigh while wondering if there was some assumption that she would be staying in Djalia for months without luggage or clothing of her own. Garments accepted and duly admired, she was still not left in peace. Only when one of the women had been allowed to run her a bath was she finally left alone to sink into the warm, rose-scented water and relax.
Azrael, however, had never been further from relaxation. He was in shock and struggling to hide it while asking all the relevant questions of his very long-winded legal expert.
‘Marriage by declaration has been on our statute books for hundreds of years,’ Professor Abdi had declared. ‘But it has not been used since your great-grandfather ran off with Sheikh Hussein’s daughter in the nineteen twenties. He wanted the law retained so that nobody could ever accuse him of not being legally married.’
Azrael had no interest in his rackety great-grandfather’s history. All he remembered about him was that he had caused an enormous scandal by kidnapping a woman on the morning of her wedding to another man. That he had married her had been the least of his sins.
‘To recap, you’re telling me,’ Azrael breathed tautly, ‘that, even today in Djalia, a man can marry a woman simply by declaring that she is his wife?’
‘In front of witnesses. The marriage contract is verbal and complete as long as there are witnesses—’
‘But what about the bride’s consent?’ Azrael demanded. ‘In such a situation the woman has not given her consent.’
‘In law she does not have to give consent for the union to be binding and legal,’ the professor assured him. ‘You must appreciate that such arrangements were common hundreds of years ago when women were viewed as property.’
‘Hundreds of years ago in a different world,’ Azrael groaned through gritted teeth.
‘Even so, such a marriage is, while unusual, very traditional,’ Djalia’s most senior judge told him, as if that might constitute good news. ‘Naturally, however, everyone expects a more formal ceremony to follow.’
‘I will be honest with you, Emir,’ Azrael murmured, drawing himself up to his full imposing height. ‘I declared that Miss Carlisle was my wife to protect her reputation and, if asked, I intended to say that I had married her in London at the Djalian Embassy last year, which would have been impossible to disprove.’
‘Now you need say no such thing or indeed make any explanations whatsoever,’ Emir Abdi told him cheerfully. ‘By ancient law, you are now a married man and the young lady is your legal wife. May I wish you both every happiness, Your Majesty—’
‘Are you telling me that I would have to get a divorce to regain my freedom?’ Azrael pressed in disbelief.
‘But you are not thinking of divorce,’ Butrus broke in to state in haste.
‘Hashem made divorce a dirty word within the royal family,’ the professor agreed with a censorious frown. ‘He had as many brides as that English King in the Tudor times...what was his name?’
‘Henry VIII. Our King will not be emulating him,’ Butrus asserted confidently.
‘An instant divorce would be seen as questionable and it would be unpopular,’ the professor opined warily. ‘People would be very disappointed, but of course if in time you—’
‘There will not be an instant divorce,’ Azrael swore with determination, registering that his options were few and getting fewer with every word the older man voiced. ‘Thank you very much for your advice, Emir, and let us please do whatever it takes to get the law of marriage by declaration off the statute books. We must be seen to move with the times.’
Azrael reeled away from that meeting with his usual cool fracturing fast. He was married, legally married, and there was nothing he could do about it because, even if he was desperate enough to admit that he had lied in the first place, the public declaration of marriage he had made would still stand. He breathed in deep and slow, striving for calm.
‘That was...enlightening,’ he conceded quietly, for want of any better word. ‘I must discuss the situation with...with my wife.’
‘Prince Firuz is eager for you to call him,’ his assistant informed him. ‘I expect news of your marriage has reached Quarein.’
‘That is one phone call that can wait,’ Azrael declared without hesitation.
CHAPTER SIX
AZRAEL WANTED A shower and a change of clothes and he headed straight for his bedroom, it not having occurred to him that the staff would have lodged Molly in the same room. He crossed the threshold at the same time as she erupted out of the bathroom accompanied by a cloud of billowing steam. He came to a very sudden halt and stared, for with her spectacular curves enhanced by turquoise silk panties and a matching lace bra, her pink bath-warmed skin gleaming through every tiny aperture of the lingerie, Molly was a vision of stupendous sexiness.
‘What are you doing in here?’ Molly gasped, racing to the bed to snatch up the dress she had left there and hold it up against her to provide cover.
‘This is my room,’ Azrael admitted, wishing she would lower the dress a little to give him another riveting glimpse of the full creamy mounds of her breasts cradled in that low-cut bra. The hardening at his groin was unavoidable. ‘I did not realise you were in here.’
‘Why was I put in your room?’ Molly enquired with a frown, retreating at speed back into the bathroom to get dressed. ‘Be out in a minute!’ she called, yanking the dress down over her head and forcing her arms into it.
‘This is the only bedroom with a private bathroom,’ Azrael told her truthfully.
Very much ruffled and still clawing her wet hair out from below the dress, Molly emerged again, acknowledging that it was fortunate that she was not particularly vain because Azrael kept on seeing her at her worst. ‘Oh...right—’
‘We’ll talk after I change. You could wait for me in the room next door. I have ordered coffee for us,’ he told her as he rifled through a chest of drawers to pull out items of clothing.
Still in her bare feet and very flushed, Molly left the room and padded along the corridor to a spacious room that contained antique armchairs. A servant arrived with a tray and a plate of tiny sugary delicacies. Molly munched through one while she waited for Azrael and wondered how soon she would be travelling home. What was he planning to do about the passport problem? Contact the British Embassy on her behalf? But then they would naturally want to know how she had contrived to travel to Djalia without a passport. Azrael would not want to be forced into an explanation on that issue. Why was everything so difficult? she thought ruefully.
Azrael sent all the staff back to their quarters before he left the bedroom. Sheathed in jeans and a white linen shirt, he joined Molly.
‘Coffee?’ she asked politely, intending to play hostess and then looking up and fully taking him in and almost gasping at his sheer impact. Azrael was always gorgeous, no matter what he wore. In fitted jeans and a shirt that delineated every line of his lean, powerful body, with his long black hair feathering damply back from his brow, he was breathtakingly handsome.
‘Thank you. I can look after myself,’ Azrael asserted, pouring a cup of black coffee and heaping several spoonsful of sugar into it.
‘You use a lot of sugar,’ Molly could not resist remarking.
‘Yes. I like it.’ The flash of perfect white teeth gleaming in his half-smile made a lecture on dental health seem redundant. ‘We have a problem that we must discuss. I want you to take a deep breath if you feel like shouting and listen. Do you think you could do that?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Molly parried a tinge weakly, still reeling as she was from that utterly alluring smile of his.
‘But you can try,’ Azrael pointed out with emphasis. ‘Because shouting will get us nowhere in our current predicament.’
Her smooth brow indented. ‘What predicament?’
‘First, I will admit that this is all my fault,’ Azrael intoned gravely. ‘I said something on impulse which turned out to be a very bad idea but my intentions were good.’
Molly nodded, wondering what on earth he was talking about.
‘When we walked out of the cave I made an announcement. I was unable to be honest about why you were staying with me at the desert fortress as that would have meant exposing Tahir,’ he explained. ‘I knew that there would be speculation that you were my mistress—’
‘Your mistress?’ Molly stressed in lively astonishment. ‘Are you serious?’
‘What else would I be doing hidden away at the fortress with a secret female guest?’ Azrael fielded drily.
Molly clashed with glittering dark golden eyes and her face suddenly burned hot as fire, forcing her to trail her gaze away again and focus on the ornate coffee pot. Was the desert fortress where Azrael took women? Of course, there were women in his life, she told herself impatiently. He was too heart-stoppingly beautiful not to have a constant procession of equally beautiful women in his bed and because Djalia was a conservative place he would naturally have to be discreet about his liaisons.
Azrael breathed in deep. ‘I didn’t want you to be subjected to that type of unpleasant rumour and targeted by the press. It would have damaged your reputation.’
Molly tilted her head back and studied him in wonderment. ‘If I lived in Victorian times, I expect I would have worried about my reputation but not these days—’
‘I do not think you—an innocent woman—would have enjoyed the sort of opinions that would have been bandied about in the press,’ Azrael asserted. ‘And you did not deserve such a humiliating experience after what Tahir had already done to you. When I faced the crowd outside the cave I wanted to protect you from adverse comment of any kind and for that reason I said you were my wife.’
A pin-dropping silence fell. Rigid in her chair, Molly stared at him as if he had been telling a joke and she were still waiting to hear the punchline.
Relieved by her lack of reaction, Azrael went on talking. ‘I spent six months in London last year, forging useful alliances while I waited to make the final push of our campaign against Hashem. Few people have any idea what I did during that period and, if asked, I intended to say that I had met and married you while I was living in London—’
Molly’s green eyes were huge and her lower lip had dropped. He had so much more imagination than she would ever have dreamt, she registered in awe, but he also had an insanely honourable streak a mile wide. ‘What a crazy, crazy thing to have done in your position!’ she exclaimed in consternation. ‘What on earth got into you?’
‘Sadly that is not the end of the story,’ Azrael extended grudgingly. ‘I have since learned that that simple public statement that we are married is accepted in law in Djalia as a legal declaration of marriage. That is what I have to tell you. According to our most senior judge we are genuinely husband and wife now.’
Very slowly, as if her limbs were stiff, Molly rose from her seat. ‘No...that’s not possible,’ she told him firmly.
‘I wish it were not but that is the situation as it stands,’ Azrael countered grimly. ‘We are legally married.’
Molly looked at him in disbelief. ‘We can’t be. You admitted it was your fault and that it was a mad impulse. You said something...foolish, so now you fix it.’
Azrael threw his wide shoulders back. ‘I’m afraid I can’t.’
‘Of course you can,’ Molly shot back at him half an octave higher in her mounting frustration. ‘Of course you can fix it! You told me that you were the law in Djalia.’
‘If only it were that simple, Molly,’ Azrael sliced back. ‘But it is not. Many other factors are involved here—’
‘I don’t care about other factors. I only care about me!’ Molly snapped back roundly, ringlets dancing round her flushed cheeks. ‘You unfix this stupid marriage or I’ll be guilty of murder!’
‘It is unthinkable for me to request an immediate divorce. It would look very bad, as if I am a man who does not know his own mind, a man who casts a woman off without even living with her for a few months—’
/> ‘While the real truth is that you’re nutty as a fruitcake and locked in the ethics of a bygone age!’ Molly threw at him at full volume. ‘Who the heck but you would worry about a woman’s reputation in this day and age?’
‘I am not ashamed of an honourable urge to protect you—’
‘I don’t need protecting!’ Molly yelled at him at the top of her voice. ‘I’m a strong, independent woman, perfectly capable of looking after myself—’
‘But not when you’re being kidnapped and not when you’re lost in the desert,’ Azrael derided.
‘And only you would dare to throw that at me!’
‘It is the truth,’ Azrael pointed out without hesitation. ‘In the space of a few days I have rescued you twice from dangerous situations. Now I find myself in a position where I need to ask you to be understanding and reasonable.’
‘You were not reasonable with me!’ Molly flung at him straight off, green eyes electric with anger. ‘You threatened to keep me a prisoner until I agreed not to slap charges on Tahir, but now I do understand one thing. The Djalian royal family are all crazy as loons. Your brother kidnaps me, you imprison me and tell me we’re married without me even being asked how I feel about that—’
‘I am sure you feel as trapped and resentful as I do,’ Azrael cut in.
Molly lost colour and tossed her head, turning away defensively, wondering why she wasn’t warming to that honest admission of his the way that she should. He felt trapped and resentful at the idea of being married to her. When she didn’t want to be married to him in the first place, how could that acknowledgement hurt her feelings? Why did she feel very much as though he had just smacked her in the face with a wounding truth?
‘We can’t possibly be married when I didn’t agree to it,’ she told him dismissively, taking refuge in a more basic argument.