Читать книгу The Sheikh Takes A Bride - Caroline Cross - Страница 11

“You’re absolutely right, Kaj,” Joffrey Dunstan, Earl of Alston, said in his usual thoughtful way. “She’s even lovelier than I remembered.”

Glancing away from the slim, auburn-haired young woman who was the subject of his observation, the earl retreated a step from the balcony railing overlooking the grand ballroom of Altaria Palace. Though more than two hundred members of Europe’s elite milled down below in their most elegant evening wear, they might not have existed for all the attention he gave them.

Instead, with a bemused expression on his face, he turned to stare at his companion, who stood in a pocket of shadow, hidden from casual observance. “But marriage? You can’t be serious.”

Sheikh Kaj al bin Russard raised an ink-black eyebrow in question. “And why is that?”

“Because… That is…” Always the diplomat, Joffrey cleared his throat and tried again. “Surely you’re aware that Princess Catherine has a certain…reputation. And Sheikh Tarik’s will was quite specific—”

“That I marry a virgin of royal blood.” Kaj grimaced. “Have a little faith, cousin. I haven’t forgotten my father’s unfortunate directive. I’d simply remind you that for all Catherine’s reputedly wild ways, there’s a reason she’s known as the ice princess.”

“I suppose you have a point. Still…”

Kaj took one last look at the woman he intended to marry, his hooded gray gaze admiring her auburn hair and slim white shoulders before he turned his full attention to his favorite relative.

He was quite aware that, despite the fact their mothers were sisters, there was no physical resemblance between himself and Joffrey. His cousin was five-ten, with a slim build, blue eyes, cropped blond hair and a fair, exceedingly English face. In contrast, he was a trio of inches over six feet, with a distinct copper cast to his skin and ink-black hair long enough to necessitate pulling it back for formal affairs like tonight’s.

Yet for all their outward differences, he valued Joffrey’s opinion above all others.

It had, after all, been his cousin’s matter-of-fact friendship that had eased Kaj’s crushing homesickness for his homeland of Walburaq when he’d been sent away at age eight to attend English boarding school. Just as it had been Joffrey’s steadying presence and astute counsel that had allowed Kaj to get successfully through Ludgrove and Eton, where he’d stood out like a hawk among pigeons. In all the ways that mattered, Joffrey was the brother Kaj had never had.

The reminder softened the chiseled angles of his face. “If it will ease your mind, Joff, I’ve made certain inquiries. The princess may be a tease, but she’s no trollop. On the contrary. I have it on excellent authority that her virtue is very much intact. Her pleasure seems to come from keeping her admirers at arm’s length.”

Joffrey’s eyes widened in sudden comprehension. “You see her as a challenge!”

Kaj shrugged slightly, his broad shoulders lifting. “If I have to marry, I might at least enjoy the courtship, don’t you think?”

“No, I most certainly do not,” the other man retorted. “At least not to the exclusion of more important considerations.”

Kaj crossed his arms. “And those would be what, exactly?”

“Compatibility. Mutual respect and understanding. Similar values. And…and love.” A faint flush of embarrassed color tinted the earl’s cheeks at that last, but his gaze was steady as he plowed stubbornly on. “This isn’t a prize to be won, Kaj. This is your life, your future. Your happiness.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” the sheikh inquired softly. “Trust me. I have no intention of making my parents’ mistakes.”

Joffrey looked instantly stricken, as well he should since he was one of the few people who understood the price Kaj had paid for Lady Helena Spenser’s and Sheikh Tarik al bin Russard’s disastrous marriage, bitter divorce and subsequent flurry of heated affairs. “Of course not. I didn’t mean to imply you did. It’s just that this hardly seems the answer.”

“And what is?” Kaj’s voice was studiously polite. “Given the need for my bride to be pristine, what are my choices? Should I marry one of those tremulous debutantes your mother keeps throwing into my path? Or should I make an offer for some Walburaqui chieftain’s daughter, a sheltered innocent who’ll build her whole life around me?” He sighed. “I don’t want that, Joff. I want a woman who’s pragmatic enough to see a union with me as a mutually beneficial partnership. Not some starry-eyed romantic who’ll fall desperately in love with me and expect me to fulfill her every wish and need.”

“Ah, yes, adoration can be so trying,” Joffrey murmured.

Kaj felt a lick of annoyance, only to have it vanish as his gaze locked with his cousin’s and he saw the affection and concern in the other man’s eyes. His sense of humor abruptly resurfaced. “More than you’ll ever know,” he said dryly.

For an instant Joffrey looked surprised, and then his own expression turned wry. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I doubt excess worship of you will be a problem with Princess Catherine,” he said, matching Kaj’s tone.

Kaj cocked his head in feigned interest. “Do tell.”

The earl shrugged. “It’s simply that the more I think about it, the more I understand your choice. Unlike every other female on the planet, the princess has never shown the slightest tendency to swoon when you walk into the room. And though she may indeed be a virgin—I bow to your superior sources—she doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who’ll ever fall at your feet in girlish devotion. As a matter of fact—” he glanced down at the ballroom spread out below them “—you’ll probably be lucky to get a date.”

Kaj followed his gaze. He quickly noted that Altaria’s new king, Daniel Connelly, was about to kick off the dancing with his queen, Erin. Of more immediate interest to him, however, was the discovery that the group of young men vying for Princess Catherine’s attention had grown even larger than before. He felt an unexpected pinch of irritation as one would-be swain said something that made her laugh. Vowing to put an end to such familiarity—and soon—he nevertheless refused to rise to his cousin’s bait.

Catherine would be his. He’d given a great deal of thought to her selection, and one way or another he always got what he wanted. “I appreciate your concern, Joffrey, but I assure you I’ll do just fine.”

“Yes, of course.” The other man’s words were perfectly agreeable, but there was a note of skepticism in his voice that was distinctly annoying. “I merely hope you’re not counting on a quick courtship. Because from the look of things, it may take some time just to breach the crowd around her, much less win her heart.”

“Oh, I think not,” Kaj said firmly. “One month should do the trick.”

Joffrey turned to look at him, brows raised. “You’re having me on, right?”

“One month and I’ll have Catherine of Altaria in my bed, my ring on her finger. Guaranteed.”

Joffrey rocked back on his heels. “Really. Doesn’t that first part rather violate your father’s purity directive?”

Kaj rolled his eyes. “I think not. My intended is supposed to be chaste for me—not with me.”

“I suppose you have a point.”

“I suppose I do.”

“In that case… Care to chance a small wager as regards to your success—or lack thereof—in this venture?”

“By all means. Simply name your terms.”

“Well, I have always fancied Tezhari…”

Kaj nodded. His cousin had long coveted the exquisite Arabian brood mare. “Very well. As for me, I think the Renoir that graces your drawing room at Alston will make Catherine a lovely wedding present.”

Joffrey winced but didn’t back down. “It’s a deal, then. And may I say good luck. Because in my opinion, you’re going to need it.”

For the first time all evening, Kaj smiled, regarding the other man with cool confidence. “That’s very kind of you, Joff, but unnecessary. This hasn’t a thing to do with luck. It’s all about skill. Trust me.”

At that his cousin laughed. “Why do I suddenly feel as if I should pen the princess a note of condolence?”

The sheikh nonchalantly flicked a nonexistent speck from his impeccably tailored Armani tux. “I can’t imagine. But I do hope you’ll excuse me.” His gaze once more located Catherine down below, and he felt a distinct spark of anticipation. “I suddenly find I’m in the mood to dance.”

“Oh, by all means.” Joffrey stepped back, clearing the way with a flourish.

A twist of amusement curving his mouth, Kaj strolled away.

“Please, Highness.” The handsome young Frenchman at Catherine’s side gripped her hand and drew it toward his lips. “You are so very exquisite, with your Titian hair and your yeux emerauds. Take pity and say you’ll dance with me.”

Fighting an urge to roll her “emerald eyes,” Catherine told herself to be patient. After all, the ball, for which she’d done the bulk of the planning, was going well. Overhead the thousand tiny lights in the mammoth chandeliers twinkled like iridescent butterflies. The lilting strains of the orchestra were neither too loud nor too soft, and the scent of blooming flowers drifting through the score of French doors thrown open to the mild March night was refreshing rather than overpowering.

Add the men in their sleek black tuxedos, the women draped in silk and satin and a glittering array of jewels, and it was perfect, a storybook scene. Most important to Catherine, the guests of honor—her cousin Daniel and his wife, Erin, Altaria’s new king and queen—appeared to be enjoying themselves.

She watched for a moment as they danced, smiling at each other. There was such happiness in the looks they exchanged, such perfect understanding. Out of nowhere she felt an unexpected pang of envy.

What must it be like to share such closeness with another person? Catherine couldn’t imagine. She might be only twenty-four, but she’d long ago concluded that such intimacy wasn’t for her.

Her conviction had its roots far in the past, when her nouveau-riche mother had happily surrendered Catherine to the royal family, making it clear in the years since that she regarded her illegitimate daughter as a stepping-stone to high society, nothing more.

It had been further shaped by Catherine’s father, Prince Marc, who had always treated her like a unique trinket to be displayed when he wanted, then promptly forgotten once his need to impress others had passed.

Only her grandmother, Queen Lucinda, had ever truly cared for her. But that wonderful lady had passed away five years ago, and her loss had only underscored to Catherine how truly alone she was.

Oh, she had an abundance of suitors, but none of them had ever bothered to get to know the real her, the person beneath the public facade. They were too afraid of making a misstep and losing the chance to win her favor—and with it her money, her connections and, she supposed, her body.

Usually she didn’t care. But every once in a while she caught a glimpse of what her life might have been if she’d been born plain Catherine Rosemere, instead of Her Highness Catherine Elizabeth Augusta. And she would suddenly feel unutterably weary of fawning admirers, frivolous soirees and always feeling alone no matter how big the crowd that surrounded her.

Oh, poor, pitiful princess, said a mocking voice in her head. What a trial to be required to spend time in such a lovely setting, surrounded by the cream of high society. How unfair that you have to wear pretty clothes and listen to a few hours of lovely music and some meaningless chatter. What a tragedy that you’re minus your very own Prince Charming.

One hates to think how you’d stand up to a real problem, like being hungry or homeless. Or wait, how about this—you could be dead, like your father and grandfather, their lives snuffed out in an accident that now appears to have been no accident at all, but rather a deliberate act of murder.

Appalled at the direction her thoughts had taken her, Catherine cut them off. But she was too late to stop the anguish that shuddered through her. Or the guilt that came hard on its heels as she recalled the report by the Connelly family’s investigator concluding that the speedboat involved in the disaster had been sabotaged. A speedboat meant to be manned by her, not her father.

“S’il vous plaît, belle princesse.” The Frenchman stepped closer, demanding her attention. She looked up to find him gazing limpidly at her, looking for all the world like an oversize, tuxedo-clad flounder. “Do say yes to just one dance. Then I can die a happy man.” Practically quivering with anticipation, he pressed his wet mouth to the back of her hand.

The tight rein Catherine had on her emotions snapped. She snatched her hand away, just barely suppressing the urge to scrub it against the delicate chiffon of her midnight-blue dress. “I told you before, Michel, I’m not in the mood. What’s more, I’d appreciate it immensely if you’d hold off expiring for at least the next forty-eight hours. Your absence would throw a decided wrench into the seating arrangement for Monday night’s banquet.”

The young man blinked. Then, as her words sank in, his smile abruptly vanished. “But, of course,” he said, pouting in a way that made him look more fish-like than ever. “A thousand pardons, Highness.” Stiff-backed with affront, he turned on his heel and marched off.

Catherine felt a prick of remorse, but quickly dismissed it. After all, she’d been exceedingly polite to Michel the first three times she’d refused his requests to dance. She could hardly be held responsible that he refused to take no for an answer.

Sighing, she glanced at the miniature face of her diamond-encrusted watch. It was barely half past ten, which meant it would be at least another two hours before she could hope to make an unremarked-upon escape. She wondered a little desperately what she could do to make the time go faster.

She was saved from having to come up with an answer as a small murmur ran through the throng surrounding her. A second later everyone in front of her appeared to take a collective step back, clearing a path for the tall, ebony-haired man who strode toward her with a palpable air of leashed power.

Catherine tensed, the way she always did when she encountered Kaj al bin Russard. Although most of the women she knew found the enigmatic Walburaqui chieftain irresistible, she personally didn’t care for him. Granted, his chiseled features, heavily lashed gray eyes and beautifully accented English had a certain exotic charm, but there was simply something about him—an innate reserve, the assured, almost arrogant way he carried himself, his indisputable masculinity—that she found off-putting.

She watched as he cut a swath through the crowd like some Regency rake from a bygone age, her edginess increasing as she realized his gaze was locked on her face.

He came to a halt and swept her a slight bow. “Your Highness.”

She gathered her composure and inclined her head. “Sheikh.”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the chance to tell you in person how sorry I am for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she replied dutifully. “The flowers you sent were lovely.”

He made a dismissive gesture. “It was nothing.” He moved a fraction closer, making her intensely aware of how big he was. “Would you care to dance? The orchestra is about to play a waltz. Strauss’s Opus No. 354, if I’m not mistaken.”

Common sense urged her to simply say no and be done with it. But curiosity, always her curse, got the better of her. “How would you know that?”

“Because I requested it. I believe you once mentioned it was your favorite.”

“I see.” Ridiculously, she felt a stab of disappointment. In the past two months everything had changed: her father was gone; her position as court hostess was coming to an end; her entire future was uncertain. Now here was Kaj al bin Russard, apparently deciding to join her band of admirers. Though she hadn’t liked him before, he’d at least been unique. “How resourceful of you,” she said coolly. “Unfortunately, my favorite has changed.”

“Then this will give you a chance to tell me what has supplanted it.” Without warning he reached out and clasped her right wrist with his long fingers.

His touch gave her a jolt, and for a moment she felt anchored in place by the sheer unexpectedness of it. Then she instinctively tried to pull away, only to find that though he was careful not to hurt her, his grip was as unyielding as a steel manacle.

Her temper flared at the same time her stomach fluttered with unexpected excitement. “Let go of me,” she ordered tersely, mindful of the interested stares suddenly directed their way.

“Oh, I think not.” Matching her clipped tone, he stepped to her side, planted his hand in the small of her back and propelled her toward the dance floor. “It would be a shame to waste such enchanting music. Plus it just so happens—” he swung her around to face him, waited a beat as the orchestra launched into the waltz, then pulled her close and led off “—I’m curious to see how you’ll feel in my arms.”

Catherine couldn’t believe it. Speechless, she stared up at him. She was shocked at having her wishes ignored, shocked by his statement—and more shocked still by the startling discovery that his hand felt deliciously warm against her cool, bare back.

She shivered as his fingers slid lower, unable to stanch her reaction. Only the sight of the faint smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth saved her from making a complete fool of herself by whimpering or doing something else equally mortifying. “How dare you!” she managed instead, finally finding her voice.

“How dare I not, princess.” Never missing a beat, he guided her deeper into the phalanx of whirling dancers. “I could never forgive myself if I let the most beautiful woman in the room remain all alone during her former favorite waltz.”

His outrageous flattery, coupled with the realization that he’d noticed her solitary state, brought her chin up. “Is there some reason you’re toying with me?” she asked abruptly.

His gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered for an endless second. When he finally raised his eyes, they had a lazy, knowing quality that caused an unexpected clenching in the pit of her stomach. “You really must pay more attention. Toying is hardly my style.”

“Just what do you hope to gain from this?” She managed to keep her voice steady, but just barely.

“Surely it’s obvious. The pleasure of your company.”

“And you believe this is the best way to attain it?”

One black eyebrow rose in question. “Isn’t it?”

“No,” she said flatly. “I don’t like being commandeered.”

“Ah.” His expression lightened. “Does it happen often?”

“Of course not!”

He shrugged, and she felt the steely strength of his body beneath her fingertips. “How unfortunate. Perhaps you simply need to give yourself over to the experience. You might find you enjoy it.”

Oh, what nerve! She opened her mouth to reply, then stubbornly shut it again. She would not let him provoke her into causing a scene. She would not. Besides, it was time he realized he didn’t get to have everything his way. Pursing her lips, she deliberately shifted her gaze to the weave of his impeccably tailored jacket and tried to pretend the rest of him didn’t exist.

To her surprise, rather than making another outrageous comment, he actually fell silent. At first she was grateful…until it dawned on her that with the cessation of conversation between them, she was growing increasingly conscious of other things.

Like the hardness of the thigh brushing hers. And the size of the hand now pressed firmly to the base of her spine. Then there was his scent, all dark starry nights and cool desert breezes. Not to mention the warmth that radiated seductively from his powerful body.

Suddenly, she felt…funny. Hot, cold, short of breath and shivery. Alarmed, she tried to pull away, but it was not to be. Instead of letting her go, the sheikh gathered her even closer.

“Princess?”

She felt his heartbeat against her breast, and the funny feeling grew worse. “What?”

“Relax. You’re far too lovely to be so unyielding. And far too intelligent not to accept that sometimes the best things in life are those we initially resist.”

It was too much. She jerked her head up to stare at him. “I suppose you include yourself in the category of ‘best things’?”

He smiled. “Since you see fit to mention it, yes.”

“Oh, my. And here I’ve always believed conceit wasn’t a virtue but a vice.”

He made a tsking sound. “Such a sharp tongue, little one. But then, the past weeks can’t have been easy. Tell me, does it bother you that much to be passed over as Altaria’s ruler?”

Well, really! “Of course not. I’ve known all my life that women are excluded from inheriting the throne. What’s more, Daniel will be an excellent king. He has a very American sense of responsibility and a fresh way of thinking that should be good for the country.”

To her surprise, he actually appeared to consider her words. “I agree.”

“You do?”

“Yes. I’ve had occasion to do business with the Connelly Corporation in the past, and found your cousin to be a very resourceful man. Still, it’s not Daniel who concerns me, but you. It’s never easy to lose a parent. Even a disappointing one.”

Wonderful. And just when she thought he might have some redeeming qualities after all. “That’s hardly any of your business.” Particularly in light of the second part of the Connelly investigator’s report, which had revealed that her father died owing considerable amounts of money due to extensive gambling. The now familiar shame pressed her, but she thrust it away. She had no intention of discussing her father’s shortcomings with the sheikh, never mind her failures as a daughter.

He didn’t seem to notice the chill in her voice, however. “My own father passed away some seven months ago. I was never the son he wanted, just as he was never the father I needed. Yet it was still hard to lose him.”

“Oh.” Suddenly confused, she set her own concerns aside, wondering again if she’d misjudged him—and why he would say something so revealing. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. Typically, he’s managed to complicate my life even now.”

“In what way?”

“It seems if I’m to inherit, I must marry.”

She was so startled by the disclosure that for a moment she couldn’t think what to say. “How…how unpleasant for you.”

“Not really. It’s been a challenge, but I’ve finally settled on a wife.”

Her budding sympathy evaporated at the complacency in his voice. “I’m certain she’s thrilled,” she said tartly.

Incredibly, he laughed, a low, husky chuckle that turned several female heads their way and had an odd effect on the strength of her knees. “Perhaps not yet, but she will be.” He looked down at her, his eyes gleaming with good humor…and something else.

It took her a moment to identify what she was seeing. And then it hit her.

Possessiveness.

Her breath lodged in her throat as she was struck by a terrible suspicion. In the next instant she found herself reviewing everything that had just passed between them—his sudden attention, his insistence they dance, that surprising revelation about his father. And for the first time she let herself wonder just what was prompting his uncharacteristic behavior. It couldn’t possibly be because she was the future wife he’d “settled” on. Could it?

Of course not. The very idea was ludicrous. Not only didn’t she care for him, she barely knew him, any more than he knew her. And yet, why else would he be looking at her as if she were a prime piece of real estate he’d decided to acquire?

The waltz ended. Determined to make an escape, she looked around, relief flooding her as she spied her cousin, the king, standing alone a few feet away.

“Daniel!” Forcing a smile to her lips, she took a step back the instant Kaj loosened his grip and hastened to her cousin’s side, linking her arm with his. “What luck to find you!”

Clearly startled, Daniel tore his attention from his wife, who was threading her way through the crowd, apparently headed for the powder room, and turned to look at her. “Catherine. Is everything all right?” Concern lit his jade-green eyes.

“Yes, yes, of course. It’s simply that I was dancing, and then I saw you and realized I’d forgotten to tell you I talked to your mother earlier and she’d like me to visit Chicago soon since Alexandra has asked me to be one of her bridesmaids.”

A frown knit her relation’s sandy eyebrows. Catherine felt an embarrassed flush rise to her cheeks since she was fairly certain his distress was caused by her rapid-fire statement, rather than the reminder of his sister’s recent engagement to Connelly Corporation executive Robert Marsh.

But all he said was, “I see.” Before he could comment further, he caught sight of Kaj, his frown disappearing as a welcoming smile lit his face. “Al bin Russard. How nice to see you again.”

“Your Majesty.”

“I take it you’re the one responsible for my cousin’s rather breathless state?”

“I believe I am,” Kaj said easily.

To Catherine’s disbelief, the two exchanged one of those men-of-the-world looks she always found totally irritating. She drew herself up, gathering what was left of her dignity around her like a cloak. “I really do need to talk to you, Daniel.”

“Right.” With an apologetic smile for the other man, he said, “If you’ll excuse us, then?”

Just as Catherine had hoped, Kaj had no choice but to take his leave. With impeccable manners, he tendered the pair of them a bow. “Of course, Your Highness.” He shifted his gaze to Catherine. “Princess, thank you for the dance. I look forward to seeing you again.”

Not if she could help it, Catherine vowed. With a flick of her head, she turned her back, dismissing him. Sheikh Kaj al bin Russard might not know it yet, but as of this moment she had every intention of excluding him from her life like the unwelcome intruder he was.