The Desert King's Secret Heir Page 13

  Yet Idris paused, watching mother and son. Again that hard thud resonated through his chest as if his heart beat out of sync.

  ‘Thank you, Arden.’

  Her head shot up, her brows furrowing in puzzlement.

  ‘King Dawud was my grandfather. A great leader and revered among my people.’ It was a shame his son, Idris’s uncle, hadn’t ruled in the same mould. ‘I’m honoured you named our boy after him, and pleased that you thought to give Dawud such a gift. You could as easily have severed any connection with my country. I appreciate what you’ve done for him.’

  Her eyes rounded, her mouth opening a little before she snapped it shut. ‘It seemed only right.’

  Idris knew that for many women doing what Arden had would have been a step too far. He admired her for that.

  He was discovering Arden was far more than a sexy bed mate and the mother of his son. She might even have the strength and generosity to prove the naysayers wrong and become the Sheikha his kingdom needed. The wife he hadn’t realised he wanted till now.

  Perhaps marriage wouldn’t be nearly the trial he’d imagined.

  CHAPTER TEN

  ARDEN SMOOTHED THE skirt of her full-length dress. The silvery material was soft as gossamer, the cut amazing. Only the best for the Sheikh’s wife.

  She stared at the intricately inscribed wedding band on her left hand, proof she really was the Sheikha.

  Her mouth quirked. Her life was full of such proofs. She hadn’t slept alone since the wedding and had grown used to curling up against Idris’s hot, muscled body through the night. She’d almost become accustomed to the hum of arousal that filled her when he looked at her with that particular gleam in his dark eyes.

  She’d stopped fretting over the fact she enjoyed the sex, enjoyed being with him. Surely it made sense to accept the perks in this marriage of convenience. Especially when increasingly she caught glimpses of the charming, engaging man she’d known before duty took over Idris’s world. That man made her smile even when her day had been exhausting.

  A pity she found it far more difficult being royal.

  The sight of people bowing before her made her feel a fraud. Even on her visits to schools where the children seemed fascinated by their ruler’s foreign wife, Arden felt like an interloper. She enjoyed being with the kids, sharing their smiles and enthusiasm, but all the time she knew they believed her to be someone special when really she was utterly ordinary.

  Except for the fact she’d married Idris.

  Daily she struggled with the simplest of royal protocols. As for understanding who was who in the complicated hierarchy of regional politics... Arden had given up trying to follow the complex behind-the-scenes machinations and treated everyone with the same courtesy she would have in London. She’d seen raised eyebrows at several gaffes but it was the best she could do. She wasn’t bred to this role like Princess Ghizlan.

  The thought of Ghizlan made her eyes dart to her dressing room’s full length mirror. Arden didn’t have Ghizlan’s panache but she had to admit that tonight she looked different. With her hair up and wearing a stunning silver couture dress, she looked a far cry from the frazzled single mum who’d attended the royal reception in London in a borrowed dress.

  Different enough that Idris would notice?

  Of course he’ll notice. He doesn’t miss anything.

  What you mean is, will he appreciate you as he would someone like Princess Ghizlan?

  The snide voice made her stiffen. Was she really that pathetic? Idris noticed her. And he was attracted. Their passionate lovemaking proved that.

  But Idris made the best of circumstances, as she did. He hadn’t chosen her because he loved her, or because she met the qualifications of a well-bred princess. He hadn’t really chosen her. She’d been foisted on him by circumstance and scandal.

  And still she craved—not his approval—but his admiration. She wanted to be more than an encumbrance or a convenient partner.

  Arden stared into the shadowed eyes in the mirror and knew that was bad. She shouldn’t need any man’s admiration to feel good about herself. This...craving was a weakness. A sign she felt far more than she should for the man she’d married.

  Or perhaps, she thought with relief, it was just that things were so different here. She was out of her depth so surely it was natural to crave a sense of belonging, of being appreciated.

  A glance out of the window at Zahrat’s capital city, a mix of ultra-modern and traditional architecture, reminded her how far she was from home. Everything here, though fascinating and often surprisingly modern and easy, was foreign. Her experience of the world beyond the UK was limited to the single week in Santorini when she’d met and fallen for Idris.

  She had so much to learn. No wonder she was floundering, despite the intensive lessons. She hated feeling so out of her depth. It ate at her self-respect.

  ‘Sorry I’m late.’ The deep voice made her spin round.

  Idris stood in the doorway, in his tailored tuxedo looking scrumptious enough to eat.

  Heat radiated across Arden’s throat and cheeks as she remembered the way she’d nibbled her way along his body this morning. She’d paused to savour the taste of him till he’d growled impatiently and flung her onto the mattress, imprisoning her with his bulk and driving them both to completion with a series of quick, perfect lunges that reminded her again how very good he was at sex, how experienced, especially compared with her.

  ‘Are you okay?’ His brow knitted and he stepped closer. ‘I’ll be by your side all evening. There’s nothing to worry about.’

  Arden forced her mind away from the delights of his naked body. ‘Of course there isn’t. Who’d get nervous about a royal reception for several hundred VIPs?’

  Idris smiled and her heart gave that little shivery beat. The man had too much charisma, especially with that hint of a laugh in his eyes. ‘Most of them will be more nervous than you. Besides, all you need to do is smile and be yourself. They’ll be charmed.’

  Sure. As if the local glitterati were interested in the ramblings of a London florist whose passions, apart from her son and her sexy husband, were gardening, tennis and curling up with a good book.

  ‘I’ve brought you this. I thought you might like to wear it tonight.’ He held up a box of royal-blue leather, stamped with ornate gilt work. Arden recognised it. The diamond and pearl necklaces she’d worn at their wedding had been lifted reverentially from similar boxes.

  ‘That treasury of yours must be enormous,’ she murmured, forcing a smile to cover her nerves. The value of the pieces she’d worn at the wedding had only added to her tension. What if she’d damaged them?

  ‘It’s big enough. Remind me to take you to look. You could pick out some pieces you like.’

  Arden couldn’t imagine it. She wasn’t the sort to wear pigeon’s egg rubies to show off her newly manicured hands.

  ‘Aren’t you going to open it?’

  Her eyes snapped to his. She thought she read excitement there. But she must have imagined it—a second later and the impression was gone as he glanced at his watch. It was time they made their appearance.

  Taking a deep breath, Arden lifted the tiny gold latch then raised the lid. Whatever she’d been about to say disintegrated as she gasped, barely able to take in what she saw.

  ‘You like it?’

  Arden shook her head. Surely it couldn’t be real.

  ‘Of course it’s real.’ Had she spoken aloud?

  A large, square hand plucked the exquisite choker necklace from its nest of oyster satin and lifted it, dazzling her.

  The piece was about two inches wide, diamonds and platinum creating a delicate tracery of leaves that sparkled outrageously. Above and below it was edged with what looked like ribbon but was actually square cut green stones she guessed were
emeralds. The necklace secured at the back and at the front it dipped gracefully towards a single huge faceted emerald drop.

  ‘I’ve never seen anything like it,’ she croaked. It should belong to an empress.

  ‘Here, let me.’ Idris stepped behind her and she felt the cool weight of it around her throat, the pendant heavy against her skin while his fingers deftly closed the clasp at her nape. ‘Take a look. It goes perfectly with what you’re wearing.’

  Arden was still in shock and it affected her hearing. To her ears Idris’s voice sounded strangely hoarse. And the grip of his hands as he turned her towards the mirror seemed to dig in too hard.

  She lifted her head and stared.

  * * *

  ‘Well?’ Idris cleared his throat over unfamiliar tightness. ‘Do you like it?’

  ‘I don’t know what to say.’ In the mirror Arden’s eyes were huge, but she didn’t smile.

  Why didn’t she react? In the past generous gifts to lovers had been received with enthusiasm.

  But this was different. She was different. He’d never had a lover so unconcerned with his prestige and wealth. Arden tried hard to fit in with life at court but he suspected she wasn’t impressed by its pomp.

  Which made him wonder how she felt about him. It niggled that, except when they were naked, he found it hard to read her thoughts.

  He’d commissioned this personally with her in mind. He’d seen some preliminary work by a renowned jeweller and immediately imagined it gracing Arden’s slender throat. He’d never before had something made specifically for any woman. Was that why he was eager for her reaction?

  It looked superb. Regal but feminine. Elegant but incredibly sexy. So sexy he wanted to see her wear it and nothing else. He wanted to ignore the guests waiting in the Hall of a Thousand Pillars and make urgent love to her.

  Then make slow, thorough love to her all over again.

  He was on fire and not just because she looked spectacular in silk and emeralds. He always burned for her. Even when she wore old clothes to finger paint with Dawud. Especially when she wore those tight jeans...

  Idris forced his hands from her bare arms, looking over her shoulder at her reflection in the glass.

  His wife. His queen.

  She was beautiful.

  ‘Say you like it.’ The words jerked out, appallingly needy, as if he craved approval. It was an unfamiliar feeling, one that disturbed him.

  ‘I like it.’ Their eyes met in the mirror and his doubts fled. What he read in her face, the softening warmth and wonder, were everything he could want.

  It reminded him of her ardent passion. Every time they had sex she made him feel more than the man he’d been before. He was rapidly becoming addicted to that radiant pleasure.

  This was the first time Arden had regarded him with that glowing wonder when they weren’t having sex. Idris wrapped an arm around her waist, tugging her back against him, revelling in the way she fitted so perfectly.

  ‘Though I’m not sure it’s really me,’ she whispered. ‘I’m more a noodle sort of girl.’ Her mouth twisted wryly in that self-effacing way and Idris recognised the reference to the bangle she and Dawud had made one day out of dry pasta.

  ‘Believe me, it’s you.’ She mightn’t be the most classically beautiful woman in the world, but Arden had a vibrant loveliness all her own. ‘You look spectacular.’

  Soft colour washed her cheeks. ‘Not as spectacular as you.’

  ‘Even without diamonds?’ He pretended to preen and was delighted when she giggled.

  Two months of marriage and he’d discovered her smiles could change his mood in an instant. Each one felt like a gift to be savoured. More and more he found himself responding, teasing and laughing, living in the moment instead of always focused on work.

  Why was Arden’s warmth and enthusiasm so potent? He put it down to the fact it was easier to live with a woman who was upbeat and practical, ready to meet him halfway. He’d discovered marriage far less difficult than expected, if he didn’t count the continuing fallout over his choice of bride. Though even that was fading as diplomacy, frantic hard work and his bride’s refreshing ways worked their magic.

  ‘Diamonds would be overkill with that dinner jacket.’ Her smooth brow furrowed. Her fingers went tentatively to the emerald resting just below her collarbone. ‘You’re sure about this? I can’t help feeling nervous wearing something so expensive and beautiful.’

  Idris had never heard any woman express such a sentiment. Arden continued to surprise him.

  ‘I’m sure. You can pretend it’s made of pasta if that makes it easier.’

  She grinned and a shaft of warmth shot straight through him. ‘I might just do that.’

  ‘Come on, Princess.’ He turned and held out his arm.

  He couldn’t describe the feeling inside when she smiled up at him and slipped her arm through his. Satisfaction, triumph, pride. None quite captured the unfamiliar blast of delight he experienced as he swept out of the room with Arden on his arm.

  * * *

  Arden was flagging after the initial round of introductions but gamely kept her chin up. How Idris managed so many handshakes, so many bows and introductions from people all eager to make an impression, she didn’t know. Her muscles ached from fatigue, even though she’d taken Ghizlan’s advice and worn beautiful shoes that were still comfortable and not skyscraper tall.

  She wished Ghizlan was here. It would have been comforting to have a friend on her side. People were generally pleasant, except for those few older men who always regarded her stonily as if her presence was a catastrophe. Arden drew in a slow breath, reminding herself acceptance would take time.

  Nevertheless it was tough keeping up the image of royal correctness. Formality didn’t come naturally to Arden.

  Ghizlan had understood her total inexperience. There’d been no need to pretend with her and that had been liberating. Against the odds they’d bonded over the fiasco in London. Ghizlan had texted answers to questions about dress codes and etiquette, along with scurrilously funny anecdotes about ceremonial disasters, for months now. But in the last few days there’d been nothing. Not since her initial response to Arden’s sympathy on her father’s unexpected death.

  Ghizlan had returned home and it was no surprise she had no time for messages. Idris said there was some question over who would succeed Ghizlan’s father as Sheikh. Ghizlan would be busy with that and—

  ‘Excuse me, Sire. I must talk with you.’

  Arden blinked, stirred from distraction by the voice of the palace steward. The line of people being presented had petered out so she and Idris stood a little apart from the throng, on the royal dais. Two thrones inlaid with gold and precious stones dominated the area and she’d deliberately turned her back on them. Silly to be overawed by some furniture but they, like the eye-watering perfection of the necklace she felt every time she swallowed, reminded her she was an imposter here.

  ‘Can’t it wait?’ Idris matched his voice to the steward’s low tone.

  ‘I’m afraid not, Your Highness. I would have done something about it before but you asked me to leave tonight’s arrangements to my staff—’

  ‘Because I entrusted you with the celebrations to open the new city hall and convention centre next week. I value your expertise to bring it off in style.’

  ‘I pride myself it will be a success, sir. But in my absence there’s been a...regrettable error of judgement. A problem with the banqueting hall I’ve just discovered.’

  ‘A problem? It was in perfect condition yesterday. Has it been damaged?’

  A tingling began between Arden’s shoulder blades. A tingling that skittered down her spine and wound into her belly, unsettling her already nervous stomach. She swung around to meet the palace steward’s eyes just before he dragged his gaze back t
o Idris.

  The tingling became a wash of foreboding, stirring nausea. Had she erred again? And tonight of all nights, when she’d been at such pains to complete her royal duties with grace and decorum?

  ‘Not damage as such, Your Highness. If I’d been here it would have been rectified immediately. Unfortunately my second in charge, though competent, isn’t as familiar with the way things must be done.’

  The old man’s eyes flickered but didn’t meet hers. Yet Arden knew instantly he was remembering the times they’d clashed. The day when, thin-lipped, he’d warned her that using an ancient mosaic-floored corridor for games with Dawud was inadvisable. And that allowing a group of visiting schoolchildren into one of the palace courtyards might not only damage national treasures but show disrespect for royal tradition.

  His manner intimated that disregard for the riches surrounding them was only what he’d expect of an outsider who had no concept of Zahrati custom and sensibilities.

  ‘I’m afraid it’s probably my fault,’ Arden said, her voice defensively brusque. She was tired of being on the back foot, continually reminded of the many ways she didn’t measure up as a royal spouse. Not that Idris ever said a word. But others, like the steward, were always sure to tell her.

  ‘Your fault?’ Idris smiled and heat danced through her, reminding her of the strange intimacy between them when he’d given her the necklace. Of the sense, for a second or two, that maybe she was wrong and there was more to their marriage than convenience and necessity.

  The steward shuffled his feet and the idea shattered.

  ‘I suspect the problem relates to today’s visitors. Am I right?’

  She met the steward’s guarded stare with outward confidence. She mightn’t like the man, might even believe he was deliberately difficult, but she had no intention of showing her horror that once more she was in the wrong. First there’d been the contretemps when an elderly lady had curtsied to her and Arden had impulsively helped her rise when it seemed her knees had locked. How was she to know that touching a stranger at court without invitation was a shocking misdemeanour?