The Desert King's Secret Heir Read online

  ‘It is a big deal in Zahrat. Where the royal family is concerned tradition is slow to change. And tradition has it that when the Sheikh enters the city his people will greet him in silence, bowing to show their loyalty.’

  Arden’s heart sank. She hadn’t even arrived at the palace and already she’d broken some important rule.

  ‘So I shouldn’t have stopped and got out?’ She frowned. ‘Leila won’t get into trouble, will she? I spoke to her before she spoke to me, you know.’

  He shook his head, that elusive hint of a smile rippling further along his mouth. She felt an answering pang deep inside. Once his smile had made her glow all over, when she’d believed he loved her.

  ‘Far from it. She’ll be the centre of attention. She’ll probably dine out on the story when she’s old and grey.’

  ‘So it’s just me who’s broken the unwritten law.’

  ‘More a guideline than a law.’ Lustrous dark eyes held hers and Arden felt her heart thump against her ribcage. ‘And I told you, that’s approval you hear. You’ll hear it again the day we celebrate our wedding.’

  She’d got this far by not thinking about their marriage. It was a travesty of all she held dear. To marry not for love but for show went against all the hopes she’d once cherished.

  ‘They were impressed too that you spoke our language.’ He paused. ‘I was impressed. Why didn’t you tell me?’

  ‘Why should I? Clearly it made no difference to my suitability as your wife.’ Was it imagination or did she truly taste bitterness on the word wife? ‘Besides, I don’t really speak it. I started learning but didn’t get far. I was too busy with Dawud and work.’ She thought grimly how those words glossed over her constant exhaustion as she’d struggled to provide for her son. Lucky she was good at her job so her boss had been understanding. ‘I only know some very basic phrases but Hamid helped me practice the pronunciation.’

  Idris’s eyebrows slanted down in what could only be described as a scowl. What was his problem? That she only knew a few phrases after all? Or was it something to do with Hamid? Surely he wasn’t still convinced she and Hamid were lovers? He’d spoken to his cousin. He must know now that wasn’t true, even if Hamid had begun to see their relationship leading further than she wanted it to go.

  ‘Nevertheless, it’s a valuable bonus that you know as much as you do, and that you’ve demonstrated it to my people. That’s one more thing in your favour when it comes to them accepting this marriage.’

  ‘In addition to my son, you mean?’

  Idris had made it clear their relationship, if you could call it that, was a necessary evil.

  ‘Our son, Arden.’

  For long seconds he held her gaze, till she felt heat rise in her cheeks and turned away. It was fantasy to imagine she read something intimate in those black velvet eyes.

  The road was rising and above the rooftops a citadel rose, amber in the sunlight, on sheer cliffs. A massive palace grew there, apparently out of the very rock. Its roof glittered, dazzling her eyes even from this distance.

  Idris must have followed her gaze.

  ‘The Palace of Gold,’ he murmured. ‘Your new home.’

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  ARDEN HAD BEEN dumbfounded by the palace when she’d seen it from the limousine. But the interior was even more stunning. The older parts of the building featured walls studded with semi-precious jewels, while the modernised sections were unlike anything she’d ever seen.

  She knew Idris was a man with a deeply sensual side but she was shocked at the luxury of his home. Until Ashar, her guide when Idris excused himself and disappeared down another corridor, mentioned it had been Idris’s uncle, the previous Sheikh, who’d lavishly updated the royal accommodation.

  Arden’s suite was vast, comprising a bedroom for Dawud with a bathroom and playroom that linked to accommodation for the nanny. For Arden there was a sitting room, study and bedroom. The bedroom had three walls of pale sea-green silk which on one side hid a walk-in wardrobe and a bathroom almost as big as her old flat.

  Scallop-edged arched windows gave an unrivalled view of the city and the coast beyond. Her bed, the biggest she’d ever seen, sat on a raised platform with ornamental drapes of silver tissue pulled back from the head. Exquisite raised plasterwork on the wall behind it gave the impression of a vast silvery tree with delicate curling shoots and leaves inlaid with mother-of-pearl.

  She couldn’t begin to imagine how many hours of craftsmanship had gone into decorating the room, much less the cost.

  As for sleeping here...

  Arden shook her head. She’d feel like an imposter, curled up in that vast luxurious bed. The room was a breathtaking fantasy, designed for a princess.

  She looked down at the silver-embroidered bedspread, noticing intricately stitched figures of horsemen in procession, banners streaming, riding across the spread. Horsemen with the proud warrior demeanour of Idris as he’d sat astride his stallion today. Until she’d stopped the cavalcade to talk with Leila.

  Arden stared at her hand on the fine embroidery. Pale skin instead of the lovely golden colour of the locals and of Princess Ghizlan. Short, sensible nails. Hands that were nimble and strong after years working as a florist, wiring bouquets, lifting heavy buckets of water, snipping and arranging and making deliveries. Not the delicate, pampered hands of a princess, despite her recent manicure.

  What on earth was she doing here?

  Arden’s knees gave way and she collapsed onto the edge of the mattress, chest tight and breath unsteady.

  Just as well she’d left Dawud in his playroom under Misha’s watchful eye while she explored the suite. Arden didn’t want him to see her anything but calm. She couldn’t afford to let her doubts and fears mar his acceptance of their new surroundings. Not if they were to stay here.

  Anxiety gnawed at her belly.

  She firmed her lips. She’d already faced this doubt and decided she was doing the right thing for Dawud. Yet that didn’t stop the horrible sensation of being trapped. Losing control of her future scared her, as much as the unwanted emotions Idris stirred. The longing for what could never be. What she needed now was something familiar, something normal. Someone on her side.

  Hamid. She hadn’t spoken to him since the night of the embassy reception. The night her life went off the rails.

  Arden reached for her phone, then hesitated. She’d wanted to talk with Hamid about the change in him—from friend to would-be lover. But so much had happened that she hadn’t picked up the phone. Now, thanks to Idris, Hamid knew she was betrothed to his cousin.

  She drew in a slow breath. This wouldn’t be easy. But no matter what false hopes Hamid had begun to harbour, he’d been a good friend when she needed him and she owed him an explanation. She’d never told him who Dawud’s father was, because by then she’d given up trying to find him, believing Shakil had unceremoniously duped and dumped her. Hamid must be reeling too.

  She punched in his number and lifted the phone.

  * * *

  Idris found her in the bedroom. She still wore the pale gold suit that emphasised her slenderness, but she’d kicked off her shoes. The sight of her bare feet on the intricate mosaic floor conjured images of the rest of her naked. Naked and willing in his bed. Once her fresh enthusiasm, sweet honesty and sexy body had made her more alluring than any woman he’d known. It seemed that hadn’t changed.

  His heart gave a now familiar thump—a symptom of the weakness he hadn’t been able to eradicate. Even now when, because of her, he faced a diplomatic nightmare in his homeland and more especially with their regional neighbours.

  Relations with Ghizlan’s country had been tinder-dry for generations and the prospect of a dynastic marriage to seal their new-found peace was a huge win for his people’s well-being. Now that was in tatters.

  He
should be dealing with the fallout, ensuring peace and prosperity, especially now he had a family to care for as well as a nation. Instead he’d taken a break from crisis talks that would go on all night to check on Arden. Idris raised a hand to knock but let it fall as she spoke.

  ‘I understand, Hamid.’ She leaned against the window frame, her posture defeated—head bowed and shoulders slumped. ‘Of course.’ She swiped at her cheek. ‘Goodbye, then.’

  The sight of her dejection hit Idris a hammer blow. There was a crammed full feeling in his chest, the suspicion of an ache there at odds with the fire of anger in his belly. Was she really so cut up about leaving Hamid? Had she been in love with him?

  Idris considered himself a civilised man, far removed from the tyrants who’d ruled this country long ago. Yet at the moment he’d happily have slammed his fist into his cousin before throwing him into a dungeon.

  He stepped into the room, the riding boots he still wore loud on the fine tiles.

  Arden’s head whipped up and he had a swift impression of tear-glazed eyes and burning cheeks before she pivoted away to place her phone on a bedside table.

  When she turned back her colour was high but she was completely composed.

  ‘I’d prefer you to knock before coming into my room.’ She folded her arms. Did she know how provocative she looked? Her hair was coming down in sensual waves around her shoulders and her touch-me-not air was an incitement to tip her back onto the bed and put an end to the pretence she didn’t want him as he wanted her.

  Except she’d been crying over his cousin. The thought was an icy douche to desire.

  ‘You’ll need to get used to my presence in the suite.’ When she opened her mouth he continued. ‘I intend to see my son regularly and establish a relationship with him. I’ve got three years to catch up on, remember?’

  Slowly Arden nodded. ‘Of course.’ Her voice was croaky. ‘But not in my bedroom.’

  Idris was tempted to inform her this was the royal bedroom, to be shared by the Sheikh and Sheikha. But she looked so damnably vulnerable with her stiff spine and sad eyes. It made him feel, yet again, that he were in the wrong. When he was the one putting things right!

  Besides, he’d promised himself he’d keep out of Arden’s bed. There was enough scandal already. He would honour tradition and his bride-to-be by keeping his distance temporarily.

  ‘Then come into the sitting room. We need to talk.’

  * * *

  Arden watched him disappear with a swish of his long cloak from spectacular shoulders and fought the squiggle of feminine heat swirling through her.

  Would it always be this way? Would she always go weak at the knees around Idris?

  She flattened her lips and told herself it was just memory—the fact he’d been her first and only lover. In time she’d look at him and feel nothing.

  The enormity of that lie almost undid her. If anything, her yearning for the warmth they’d once shared, the crazy but potent sense of belonging, was stronger than in all the years since they’d parted.

  She didn’t want to face him. But she had no choice.

  He stood near the window, feet wide, hands on hips, face set in stern lines. He looked as if he ruled everything he surveyed.

  Arden bit down rueful laughter, realising it was true. He did rule it all.

  ‘You wanted to talk?’ She sank onto a chair, repressing a flutter of foreboding. His mouth looked stern, as if something displeased him.

  That would be her. Already defying protocol on her first day as well as upsetting his plans for a grand marriage.

  The idea of becoming Sheikha was as appealing as walking a tightrope. She hated the certainty she’d fail ignominiously.

  ‘I do. We need to set some ground rules.’

  ‘Ground rules?’ Her brow puckered.

  His wide shoulders lifted. ‘We’ve had no discussion about our expectations of each other.’

  Arden sank back. ‘You mean like not coming into my room uninvited?’

  His lips flattened but he nodded. ‘That sort of thing.’

  Arden racked her tired brain. This wasn’t the best time to talk, when she was exhausted and stressed. But she owed it to herself and Dawud to take the opportunity.

  ‘I want an equal say in all decisions affecting Dawud, his education and how he lives.’

  Idris’s black eyebrows slanted down. ‘There are traditions around how a crown prince is raised.’

  ‘And I’ll try to respect as many of those as I can. But I insist on the right to decide, with you.’ It was an enormous concession. She’d always made every decision for her son. Learning to share would be tough—relinquishing any control over him scared her. But she’d agreed living here was best for Dawud. Now, reluctantly, she had to make that work, no matter the personal sacrifices, like pretending to be something she wasn’t and consulting Idris on important issues.

  ‘If I don’t like the traditional ways, I expect full consultation. I expect us to negotiate an agreed solution. And I need that agreement in writing.’ Arden laced her fingers tightly. Idris had the weight of royal authority but she refused to budge. She couldn’t gamble on Dawud’s well-being. ‘If you can’t agree to that the deal is off.’

  Those expressive eyebrows rose. ‘You’d try to back out of the marriage?’

  Arden lifted her chin. ‘Not try. I would. I’m accepting your terms by coming to live here, and by agreeing to marry. But I won’t give up the right to decide what’s best for my son.’

  For long seconds Idris surveyed her silently, then abruptly he nodded. ‘That’s fair. I agree.’

  Arden sank back, her heart racing. She’d been prepared for a fight.

  ‘What else?’

  What else mattered as much as her son?

  ‘I’ll try not to flout too many traditions in Zahrat, but I’d prefer to wear my own clothes, western clothes, most of the time. I wouldn’t be comfortable wearing a veil.’

  His sculpted lips lifted at the corners. ‘You may not have noticed, but veils are optional. A lot of women, at least in the cities, opt for western dress. Zahrat is traditional in many ways but very few would expect a European woman to dress in Zahrati costume.’ He paused. ‘Anything more?’

  There were probably lots of things but that was all she could think of at the moment. Except for one thing.

  ‘Even though this isn’t an ordinary marriage, I’d prefer it if you kept any...liaisons private. I don’t want to know about them and I don’t want Dawud to hear about them when he’s older.’ It would be enough trying to make this marriage of convenience work without Idris flaunting his lovers. The idea of those faceless, but no doubt gorgeous, women made her feel nauseous.

  ‘My liaisons?’ The hint of a smile vanished from his face.

  ‘Your lovers.’ She dragged in a tight breath. ‘I’d appreciate you being discreet.’

  His nostrils flared as if he repressed annoyance, but he gave a curt nod. ‘Agreed.’

  Arden tried to feel relieved but instead felt absurdly wobbly. Her husband-to-be had just promised to keep his lovers out of sight. It wasn’t as if this were a love match. It was a paper marriage for purely practical reasons, but it seemed plain wrong to go into it making arrangements for other women to share her husband’s bed.

  Especially when, to her dismay, he still made her crave intimacies she’d never shared with anyone but him. Not just sex but the warm feeling of being appreciated, being special.

  ‘Arden?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘I asked if there was anything else.’

  She shook her head. ‘That’s all I can think of at the moment. Now, if you’ll excuse me...’ She made to get up from her seat.

  ‘Not so fast. You haven’t heard my expectations.’ Gleaming eyes held hers and suddenly Ar
den found herself breathless.

  ‘It’s not enough that I move here and agree to marry you? I’m the one making all the concessions.’ Her voice was strident, masking nerves.

  ‘Believe it or not, we’re both making compromises, Arden.’ He said no more but she knew he was thinking of Princess Ghizlan, beautiful, charming, no doubt with a pedigree a mile long and an innate knowledge of diplomacy and protocol and royal ceremony and all those things Arden was totally lacking.

  ‘Okay.’ She knotted her fingers in her lap. ‘What else?’

  ‘Since you raise it, no lovers. Not even in secret. Once you marry me I expect complete loyalty.’ His face had that stark look again, nostrils flared and jaw taut.

  Arden stared. What difference could that make when this wasn’t a real marriage? Then she realised she was about to protest just for the sake of it. She’d had no interest in men since Shakil/Idris, especially since Dawud’s birth and her almost constant state of exhaustion. As for the frisson of erotic energy she felt when she was with Idris, she knew it was only a hangover from the past. She couldn’t imagine herself ever having the time or inclination to fancy herself in love with anyone else.

  ‘Okay.’

  His eyebrows slanted up as if he’d expected an argument. ‘And I’d rather you kept contact with my cousin to a minimum. Friendships between men and women aren’t the norm in Zahrat and your friendship would be misinterpreted.’

  ‘You don’t ask much, do you?’

  Idris said nothing, just waited for her response.

  Once more she felt like refusing him, because surely what he asked was unreasonable. Except she’d already just said goodbye to one of her closest friends. Hamid had told her it didn’t feel right to maintain their friendship once she married his cousin. Reading between the lines Arden knew he was hurt she’d chosen Idris. Whichever way she looked at it, her friendship with Hamid was in the past.

  ‘Very well,’ she muttered, ‘I’ll avoid contact with Hamid.’ She paused, waiting for more. Except suddenly she couldn’t take any more. Arden shot to her feet. ‘If that’s all, I’d like to be alone now. I’m tired from the trip.’