Читать книгу Modern Romance Collection: December 2017 Books 1 - 4 - Эбби Грин, Линн Грэхем - Страница 14

CHAPTER FIVE

AZRAEL GRITTED HIS teeth and watched Molly shiver while she slept. Never had he met such a hot-tempered woman. She went off like a rocket every time he offended her. She had gone off like a rocket in his arms as well, he recalled helplessly, his aching body hardening in enthusiastic recollection of her soft, silky skin and gloriously inviting mouth. In angry denial of that weakness, he stalked down the length of the cave and covered her with the cloak he had wrapped her in earlier.

Naturally he had assumed that the offer of financial compensation had slowly worked on her to change her mind. What else was he supposed to think? Now instead of feeling relief that Djalia was safe from a huge international scandal, he was in a rage. What was it about her that aggravated him to such an extent? Made him stumble into tactless speech and assumptions? He, the consummate diplomat, who had learned to watch every word he spoke from an early age! But he was no diplomat in Molly’s radius. She got under his skin. She infuriated him but she was also incredibly exciting. He had never experienced that livewire connection with a woman before. He dredged his eyes from her slight figure in frustration and looked longingly at the pool, which would give his overheated body the coolness he craved.

With a wary eye in her direction he stripped and bathed for the second time that day. She might be cold but he was much too hot and the dust clogging the air and falling on every surface made him feel unclean. Freshened up, he unrolled his bedding by the fire and with a suppressed groan stalked down to check on his guest again. He touched her hand and it felt like ice and he swore under his breath. Taking a deep breath, he bent down and lifted her, praying that she wouldn’t wake and assume that he was making some kind of sexual approach when his sole concern was that if she got any colder she might develop pneumonia or some such thing. She weighed very little, which he thought was a sign of fragility and unhealthiness. No wonder she was feeling the cold so badly. Keeping her wrapped in the cloak, he lay down with her and almost groaned again. Once she recovered her body heat, she would make him too warm.

Molly stirred, aware of the hard ground below her hip and the furnace-like heat at her back that made her feel deliciously cosy. She curled back into that reassuring warmth with a drowsy sigh.

‘Be still. It is not yet dawn,’ a familiar voice intoned, far too close for comfort.

‘Azrael?’ she squeaked in consternation.

‘Who else?’

‘Well, I don’t know, do I?’ Molly snapped defensively. ‘I went to sleep alone.’

‘You were shivering with cold. I had to do something.’

Stiff as a block of wood, Molly rolled her eyes in the dimness and shifted position.

‘Stop moving about. You’ll keep me awake,’ Azrael complained, already aching from the effects of a warm, curvy woman moving against his groin.

Well, at least she didn’t need to worry that he was about to make a pass at her, Molly thought sourly. He was more concerned with getting back to sleep, but her eyes widened as he shifted and she recognised the hard thrust of his arousal against her bottom.

‘Sorry, I’m not used to sleeping with anyone,’ she mumbled, hot-faced at what even she knew to be a natural morning condition for a man.

Azrael thought about that. ‘How is that possible?’ he queried in audible surprise.

And that fast Molly wanted to slap him again.

‘And you suggested that I might be prejudiced?’ Molly scoffed helplessly. ‘Forget about all those well-worn clichés you’ve heard about Western women. Like many others, I don’t sleep around.’

‘You don’t have to sleep around to be accustomed to sharing a bed,’ Azrael countered.

‘Don’t know what you mean by that,’ Molly framed drowsily lacking in comprehension because she was deciding that the heat he provided definitely overruled his unfortunate personality. ‘But I’m still a virgin.’

And with that simple statement, she stunned Azrael into silence. Was it possible? He lifted his tousled dark head to look down at her and a faint sleepy snore escaped her, proving that if she had said it for effect she wasn’t staying awake to see if it had worked. He blinked, long black lashes fanning back down as he settled back again. He was not prejudiced, he reasoned fiercely. But it was possible that the casually sexual women who had entertained him in the past had somewhat skewed his expectations, he conceded thoughtfully. A virgin. And Tahir had kidnapped her! It was little wonder that she had been so shattered by her ordeal. Azrael removed the hand he had resting on her hip and backed off from direct contact. His aroused body screamed a protest but he studiously ignored it, his handsome mouth set in a rigid line. Once again, after all, he had been guilty of an assumption that had been an insult.

* * *

Molly was roughly shaken awake and urged to tidy up. She scrambled up, eyes alighting on Azrael, who was pacing and muttering.

‘What on earth?’ she began in bewilderment, her brow pleating as she heard the racket of helicopter rotor blades and raised voices.

Azrael held his fingers to his mouth in the universal silencing gesture. ‘There are soldiers outside the cave,’ he told her at low pitch. ‘We are being rescued.’

‘That’s wonderful...why are you being so—?’

Teeth visibly gritting, Azrael strode towards her. ‘Because the Djalian council declared an emergency and organised a totally unnecessary search for me, which in turn created a nationwide panic. Now there are journalists waiting outside and far too much interest in our plight has been stirred up,’ he ground out in exasperation.

‘OK...’ Molly dragged out the acknowledgement reflectively and quite unthinkingly reached up to twitch his wildly tousled black hair back into some sort of order, belatedly recognising where the greyish film that rose in the air came from. ‘You’re covered in dust—’

Azrael caught her fluttering fingers in his. ‘You will not speak when we go outside. I will handle everything...’

‘Relax,’ Molly urged him gently, believing that she understood the source of his apprehension. ‘I have no intention of saying anything about Tahir. His name won’t cross my lips—’

‘Nothing must cross your lips,’ Azrael told her tautly, wondering if she was always so naïve while cursing his brother and the predicament he had put them both in.

It did not seem to occur to her that if they could not tell the truth about why she was in Djalia, they would both be plunged into a maelstrom of demeaning conjecture. Azrael had never been publicly associated with any woman and he and Molly had spent the night alone in a cave. He could already hear Molly dismissing that reality as trivial and marvelling that anyone could possibly be interested in such a fact. Azrael, however, was less naïve. He knew his people would assume that Molly had been staying at the fortress with him because she was his secret lover, and nobody would be that shocked that he had a lover because he was a single man.

But, even so, it would still be unthinkable for him to stand back in silence while Molly’s reputation was tarnished for ever by speculation that she was his mistress. Had Molly not, through no fault of her own, already suffered enough? Tahir had brought her to Djalia without her permission and Azrael had refused to let her go home. That was the only reason she had fled into the desert where she had almost died. Azrael lifted his arrogant dark head high, secure in the conviction that he was a king who did know right from wrong and that he did take responsibility for his mistakes. It was his duty to protect Molly from the consequences of Tahir’s insanity and his own misjudgement.

And there was only one way to achieve that feat. For the first time in his life he would tell a lie to his people, he reflected grimly, but it would be a relatively harmless lie that would pull a mantle of respectability over their predicament. And by the mere voicing of that single lie, all the sleazy speculation and undertones would miraculously die a natural death. Molly would then go home. The episode would be forgotten and her good name would remain unblemished because he would announce that they were married. A few months down the road there would be a discreet mention in the press that he had obtained a divorce.

Impervious to Azrael’s brooding silence, Molly splashed her face in the pool and dried it again on the soggy towel before digging her feet into her shoes. Freshened up, she hurried back to Azrael. He reached for her hand and she shot him a startled look.

‘All you do is smile and in minutes we will be leaving,’ he assured her bracingly.

‘And I’ll be going home?’ she pressed.

‘Within a few days...once we get your passport problem sorted out,’ Azrael extended smoothly.

Nothing could have prepared Molly for the sheer melodramatic behaviour of the crowd waiting outside the cave. People fell down on their knees and wailed to the heavens; people wept with relief at the very sight of Azrael and had to be restrained by the soldiers from surging forward and embracing him. She had never seen such a fevered public demonstration of emotional attachment in her life. Throughout cameras flashed, questions were shouted and ignored and commentators stood by talking into microphones. Molly was so taken aback by the extravagant furore that Azrael need not have worried that she might say something inappropriate: shock had completely silenced her.

Silence fell when Azrael spoke in his own language and she saw surprise and other unrecognisable emotions cross faces in rapid succession. Smiles broke out. Heads were dipped. Eyes flew in Molly’s direction and lingered and she froze. Whatever Azrael was saying appeared to be welcome news that both soothed and pleased his audience.

‘Well, whatever you said went down very well. Everyone seemed to lighten up,’ Molly commented as they trudged towards a helicopter, literally surrounded by a phalanx of heavily armed soldiers.

Azrael shot her a warning glance and she heaved a sigh and mimicked a zip being drawn across her lips. Well, Azrael hadn’t lightened up any, which was no surprise to her. His conscientious little assistant, Butrus, was talking rapidly and very quietly on his mobile phone, a troubled expression stamped on his face. It seemed that the emergency as such was not yet quite over as far as he was concerned. Molly leapt up into the helicopter and settled in the seat Azrael indicated. He had rescued her, she reminded herself resolutely, so she could be quiet and biddable in public...as long as she could still shout at him in private.

Of course, there wouldn’t be much opportunity for that now, she registered. Or any need. After all, she had agreed not to report Tahir to the police, which meant that Azrael had no further need to have any more personal or private meetings with her. She would be stowed in a guestroom until the passport business was sorted out and then conveyed home. Her sojourn in Djalia would soon just be an exotic memory of her brief visit to another world. And it definitely was another world, she acknowledged, staring out at the sweeping golden sand dunes interspersed by craggy rock formations sculpted into weird shapes by the elements. Azrael had called the elements violent and perverse and those words reminded her of the feelings he inspired in her.

It would be good to get away from all the emotional and physical turmoil Azrael had unleashed in her, she told herself firmly. She hadn’t been sensible, she hadn’t been practical, hadn’t thought of yesterday or tomorrow or even next week. She had almost had unsafe sex even though she knew that that would be a mistake. Wasn’t that a lesson in itself? She had never realised how overwhelming sexual hunger could be. Involuntarily her head turned and found Azrael’s bold bronzed profile.

Black stubble outlined his aggressive jawline, highlighting the sculpted perfection of his lips, luxuriant black lashes low over his eyes. Her mouth ran dry and her heartbeat thumped and hurriedly she snatched her gaze away again, mortified by her susceptibility. She was acting like an infatuated teenager, she conceded in exasperation. Yes, it was past time she went home, time to go back to serving drinks with a smile, emptying waste-paper bins and seeking another client who wanted to improve their spoken English. That would all be real world enough to set her feet back firmly on the ground.

Azrael strove not to listen to Butrus dealing with an obstreperous member of the Djalian Council, the tribal leaders who acted as Azrael’s official advisors and support and, if need be, his critics. And right now the council was shouting up a storm because they wanted a public occasion for his wedding, a day of celebration, a big show. They didn’t care how long he had been married, he had to be seen to be married. Azrael had not foreseen that outpouring of demands and expectations, but he supposed he should have done and perhaps he would have had he not been so tired. Molly had kept him awake all night and he had not slept the night before that either, troubled as he had been by his conscience. Now his conscience was clear. He had done what he could to protect Molly and now that connection was also almost at an end. He shut his eyes, refusing to think about that.

‘A visitor awaits us at the palace,’ Butrus whispered as they walked towards the airport building, a spectacular building with a tiled roof that glittered like gold and more chandeliers than a ball room.

Azrael didn’t voice his usual objection to the castle being labelled a palace. Butrus believed that a reigning monarch had to live in a palace because it sounded more impressive. Unhappily a Crusader castle briefly occupied during the nineteen twenties and barely updated since scarcely lived up to that grand designation.

‘I’m not in the mood for a visitor,’ Azrael admitted bluntly. ‘Who is he?’

‘Our most senior judge, Emir Abdi. He has important information to offer concerning the announcement you made,’ Butrus advanced grimly.

Azrael braced himself for an hour of prosy talk about some esoteric point of law that only a university scholar would find fascinating. Professor Abdi was an erudite man but Azrael was at heart a soldier and a man of action and he found the older man’s interminable explanations and arguments trying.

‘We are in trouble,’ Butrus murmured warningly. ‘I did advise you against making that announcement. It has created enormous excitement—’

‘It is done and I am always facing trouble of some kind,’ Azrael declared resignedly, distracted by the copper glitter of Molly’s hair in the sunshine and the very purposeful way she walked. Nothing, not Tahir’s infamy, not the worst the desert could throw at her, dimmed Molly’s buoyant spirit. She glowed like a light in darkness. What a weird thought to have, he acknowledged with a frown.

Molly was enthralled by the city of Jovan as an SUV carried them down the main thoroughfare. ‘It’s fantastic,’ she told Azrael, staring out at ancient houses, covered markets and elaborate mosques. ‘It’s so unspoilt—’

‘Oh, it’s definitely unspoilt,’ Azrael agreed wryly. ‘Unlike other cities it’s been preserved untouched for generations.’

‘Tourists would go mad for this. It’s so authentic and that’s what people want these days,’ Molly said enthusiastically, peering out at a little man trying to herd goats out of the traffic onto the pavement, smiling as a much better dressed man went to help him and all the cars stopped.

‘People also want hotels and we don’t have them,’ Azrael said drily.

‘So...build them!’ Molly exclaimed impatiently. ‘Embrace a can-do attitude, Azrael. Stop looking at the negatives and concentrate on the positives.’

Butrus listened with appreciation to that practical advice and reflected that his royal employer would have to embrace that attitude sooner than he thought, if Professor Abdi was to be believed and there was no one in Djalia who knew the law better than he.

‘I hope I get a little time for sightseeing,’ Molly continued hopefully, shooting Azrael a smile brimming with interest.

‘We will see.’ Azrael compressed his shapely mouth, refusing to meet those sparkling eyes, seeking distance from the intimacy they had established. He would not be controlled by his libido as he had been in the cave. A faint shudder racked him at that recollection of that ferocious lust and the reality that he could have seduced a virgin. The situation could be much worse, he told himself impatiently.

‘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.’

His wife. It changed everything. His 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.