Читать книгу Mills & Boon Modern February 2014 Collection - Ким Лоренс, Кэрол Мортимер - Страница 33

CHAPTER FOUR

LEILA GRIPPED THE side of the washbasin as terror sliced through her like the cold blade of a sword. She wanted to scream. Or to throw back her head and howl like an animal. But she didn’t dare. Because her fear of discovery was almost as great as the dark suspicion which had been growing inside her for days.

She stayed perfectly still and listened, her heart thudding painfully in her chest. Had anyone heard her? Had one of the many unseen servants been close enough to the bathroom to catch the sound of her shuddered retching?

She closed her eyes.

Please no.

But when she opened them again, she knew that she could no longer keep pretending. She couldn’t keep hoping and praying that this wasn’t happening, because it was.

It had started with a missed period. One day late. Two days late—then a full week. Her nerves had been shot. Her heart seemed to have been permanently racing with horror and fear. She was never late—her monthly cycle was as reliable as the morning sunrise. And the awful thing was that she’d had to pretend that it had arrived. She’d forced herself to wince and to clutch at the lower part of her stomach as if in discomfort, desperate not to alert the suspicions of her female servants. Because in that enclosed, watched world of the palace, nothing went unnoticed—not even the princess’s most intimate secrets.

She had told herself that it was just a glitch. That it must be her body behaving in an unusual way because it had been introduced to sex. Then she had tried not thinking about it at all. When that hadn’t worked, she’d made silent pleas to Mother Nature, promising that she would be good for the rest of her life, if only she wasn’t carrying Gabe Steel’s baby.

But her pleas went unanswered. The horror was real. The bare and simple fact wasn’t going away, simply because she wanted it to.

She was pregnant.

Her one brief experiment with sex—her one futile attempt to behave with the freedom of a man—had left her with a consequence which was never going to leave her. Pregnant by a man who never wanted to see her again.

She was ruined.

With trembling fingers, she tidied her mussed hair, knowing she couldn’t let her standards slip. She had to maintain the regal facade expected of her, because if anyone ever guessed...

She thought about the meagre options which lay open to her and each of them filled her with foreboding. She thought what would happen if her brother found out, and a shudder ran down her spine. She gripped the washbasin, and the cold porcelain felt like ice beneath her clammy fingers. Murat must not find out—at least, not yet.

She was going to have to tell Gabe.

But Gabe had gone back to England and there were no plans for her to see him again. He had spent a further fortnight working here in Qurhah without their paths ever crossing. Why would they? He had made it clear that he wanted to forget what had happened and she had convinced herself she felt the same way. She’d found herself reflecting how strange it was that two people who’d been so intimate could afterwards act like strangers.

Even the farewell dinner given in honour of the English tycoon had yielded no moments of closeness. She and Gabe had barely exchanged any words at all, bar a few stilted ones of greeting. During the meal she’d read nothing but cool contempt in his pewter eyes. And that had hurt. She had experienced for the first time the pain of rejection, made worse by the dull ache of longing.

Her mind working overtime, Leila shut the bathroom door behind her and walked slowly back to her private living quarters. Gabe Steel might not be her first port of call in normal circumstances, but right now he was the only person she could turn to.

She had to tell him.

But how?

She looked out over the palace rose gardens where the bright orange bloom which had been named after her in the days following her birth was now in glorious display.

If she phoned him, who wasn’t to say that some interfering palace busybody might not be listening in to her call? And phoning him would still leave her here, pregnant and alone and vulnerable to the Sultan’s rage if he found out.

But if she left it much longer it was inevitable he would find out anyway.

A sudden knock at the door disturbed her, and her troubled thoughts became magnified when one of her servants informed her that the Sultan wished to see her with immediate effect.

Leila’s mouth was dry with fear as she walked silently along the marble corridors towards Murat’s own magnificent section of the royal palace. Had he guessed? Was he summoning her to tell her that she had brought shame on the royal house, and that she was to be banished to some isolated region of their vast country to bring up her illegitimate child in solitude?

But when she was ushered into his private sitting room, Murat’s demeanour was unusually solicitous, his black eyes narrowed with something almost approaching concern.

He began by asking whether she was well.

‘Yes, I am very well,’ she lied, praying that her horror at this particular question would not show on her face. ‘Why...why do you ask?’

Murat shrugged. ‘Just that you seem to have been almost invisible lately. You don’t seem to have been yourself at all. Is something wrong, Leila?’

He’d noticed!

Despite her wild flare of fear, Leila knew that she must not react. She must not give her clever brother any inkling that she was concealing a desperate secret. With a resourcefulness she wasn’t aware she possessed—though maybe desperation was in itself an inspiration—Leila shrugged. ‘I have been feeling a little discontented of late.’

His eyes narrowed. ‘In what way?’

She licked her lips. ‘I feel as if I have seen nothing of the world, or of life itself. All I know is Qurhah.’

‘That is because you are a princess of Qurhah,’ Murat growled. ‘And your place is here.’

‘I know that,’ said Leila, thinking that he made her sound like an ancient piece of furniture which had never been moved from its allocated place on the rug. ‘But you travel. You get to visit other countries. And I...I have seen nothing of the world, other than the surrounding lands of the desert region.’

The Sultan’s black eyes narrowed. ‘And?’

She forced herself to say the words, to make him think that she had accepted the future which had been planned for her. A future which could now never happen, because what prospective royal husband would wish to take a bride who carried another man’s child?

‘I know that my place is here, Murat,’ she said quietly. ‘But before I immerse myself in the life which has been mapped out for me—could I not have an overseas trip?’

Beneath his silken headdress, Murat’s dark brows knitted together. ‘What kind of trip?’ he echoed.

Leila could hardly believe she’d got this far and knew she mustn’t blow it now. She thought about the tiny, forbidden life growing inside her and she drew in a deep breath. ‘You know that Princess Sara has a place in London?’

‘So I gather,’ said Murat carelessly.

Leila watched her brother’s reaction closely, but if he was hurt to hear the name of the woman he’d once been betrothed to, he didn’t show it.

‘She often writes to me and tells me all about the fabulous shopping in the city,’ Leila continued. ‘Many times she has asked me to visit her there. Couldn’t I do that, Murat—just for a few days? You know how much I love shopping!’

There was silence for a moment. Had she made her request sound suitably fluffy? If she’d told her brother that she wanted to go and see a photographic exhibition which was being launched, he would never have approved. He was one of those men who believed that shopping kept women subdued. Lavish them with enough stuff and it kept them satisfied.

‘I suppose that a few days could be arranged,’ he said eventually.

Leila gave a little squeal of joy—showing her brother the gratitude she knew would be expected of her—but it was with a heavy heart that she packed for her forthcoming trip. She thought about the terrifying secret she carried. About how humiliating it was to have to seek out a man who did not want her, to tell him something he would be appalled to hear.

Arrangements were made between the palace and Princess Sara, who Leila had known since she’d been a child. Sara had once been promised to Murat himself but was now married to Suleiman, and they had homes all around the world.

With a retinue of bodyguards and servants, Leila flew by private jet to England where they took over the entire top floor of the Granchester Hotel in central London. She was one step closer to Gabe. One step closer to sharing her news—and didn’t they say that a problem shared was a problem halved?

But then she remembered his cold face as she’d sat beside him at the banquet. She forced herself to recall the fact that he had never wanted to see her again. There was to be no fairy-tale ending with this man, she reminded herself sombrely. She looked out of the penthouse windows of her hotel suite, across a beautiful park alive with flowers—and a terrible feeling of isolation came over her.

She could see couples openly walking together—their arms looped around each other as they kissed. A young child chased a dog and, behind him, a woman wheeled a pram. Everyone seemed part of the world which lay before her eyes—all except her. And Leila couldn’t remember ever feeling quite so alone as she did right then.

Knowing she couldn’t keep putting off the dreaded moment much longer, she picked up the hotel phone and dialled Gabe’s office, her heart pounding with apprehension. She had to go through two different people before his voice came on the line, and when it did—he sounded distant.

Wary.

Terror gripped her as she realised she was about to drop a live grenade into his perfect life.

‘Leila?’

‘Yes, it’s me. How...how are you, Gabe?’

‘I am well.’ There was a pause. ‘This is a surprise.’

‘I imagine it is.’ She drew in a deep breath. ‘Look, I need to see you.’

‘I thought we’d agreed that wasn’t such a good idea. And anyway, I’m back in England now and I’m not planning to return to Qurhah for a while.’

Leila stared out of the window. The child which had been chasing the dog had fallen over and a woman—presumably the child’s mother—was picking him up and comforting him. She realised how hopelessly ill-prepared she was to become a mother and her heart clenched. ‘I’m in England too,’ she said. ‘In fact, I’m in London.’

She could hear so much more in that second pause. She imagined his mind working overtime as he tried to figure out what the hell she was doing in England and why she was calling him. And if he asked her outright—would she have the guts to tell him on the phone?

‘What are you doing in London?’

For a moment, she didn’t answer. He asked the question so casually. Did he think, with the arrogance which seemed to be second nature to all alpha males, that her desire for him was so great that she was prepared to trample over her pride in order to seek him out? Didn’t he have a clue what she might be about to say? That their rash act of passion might have yielded this very result? ‘That’s what I’d like to talk to you about.’

‘Where are you staying?’ he asked. ‘I’ll come over.’

Her gaze drifted down to the traffic which was clogging the park road, knowing it would be much easier if he came here than having to negotiate her way round this strange new city. But if Gabe wanted nothing to do with this new life...then might that not complicate matters further? Why implicate him to her retinue as the father of her baby, unless he was willing to accept that role?’

‘I’m at the Granchester. But I don’t want you to come here. It’s too...public.’ She gripped the phone more tightly. ‘Can I come to your place?’

At the other end of the line, Gabe listened to her hesitant words, and his eyes narrowed. It was a presumptuous question and one he would usually have deflected. Invitations to his home were rare and he was the one who did the inviting. His apartment was his refuge. His sanctuary. It was where he went to escape. If ever he spent the night with someone, he preferred somewhere which provided him with a clearly marked exit route. Where he could be the one doing the leaving.

But Leila was different. Her royal status set her apart from other women. It made people break rules for her. Unwillingly, he felt the quickened beat of desire as he remembered her blue eyes and the silky texture of her olive skin. His mouth dried as he recalled her hot, tight body. He leaned back in his chair and stared at the ceiling. Why the hell hadn’t she told him who she really was at the time?

‘This is all very mysterious,’ he said. ‘Do you want to tell me what it’s all about?’

‘I’d rather do it in person.’

Oh, would you, my presumptuous princess? With a flicker of irritation, Gabe waved an impatient hand at Alice, his newly promoted assistant, who had just stuck her head around his office door. ‘Very well. I’ll send a car for you at seven.’

‘No,’ answered Leila flatly. ‘That won’t be possible.’

‘Excuse me?’

‘My bodyguards will not permit me to visit a man’s apartment. It must be done in total secrecy. Will you be there tonight—at two a.m.?’

‘Two a.m.?’ His deep voice reverberated with incredulity. ‘Are you out of your mind? Some of us have work to go to in the morning.’

‘I’m afraid that the cover of darkness is the only solution to ensure I won’t be seen, and I can’t afford to be seen,’ she said, a note of determination entering her voice. ‘It will be best if you send the car for me then. But I need to know if you’ll...if you’ll be alone?’

‘Yes, I’ll be alone,’ said Gabe coldly—and gave her the address.

Leila’s heart was racing as she replaced the phone, but she couldn’t shake off her feeling of apprehension—and hurt—as he cut the connection without even the politeness of a formal goodbye. Was he always this cool towards the women he’d slept with—as if he couldn’t wait to put as much distance between them as possible? And how the hell was he going to react when she told him?

She told her retinue that she intended to rest for the remainder of the evening and instructed them to order themselves food from room service. Then she phoned Sara, cutting through the princess’s delighted exclamations by telling her that she needed a favour.

‘What kind of a favour?’ asked Sara.

‘Just that if my brother calls and asks if we’re having a good time together, you tell him yes.’

‘I think it’s unlikely that your brother will call me himself,’ said Sara drily. ‘Is there something going on, Leila? And does that something have to do with a man?’

‘How did you guess?’

‘Because with most of my girlfriends, it’s usually a man,’ answered Sara with a wry tone. ‘Don’t suppose it’s anyone I know?’

Leila hesitated. In a way she was wary of saying anything, but part of her wanted to blurt it out. ‘Actually, you do. You used to work for him and he came to your wedding.’

There was a long silence. ‘I hope you don’t mean Gabe Steel?’ said Sara, her voice low and disbelieving.

‘That’s exactly who I mean.’ Leila could feel a skitter of panic washing over her skin. ‘Why, what’s the matter with him?’

‘There’s nothing the matter with him—that’s the trouble. Just about every woman in London is or has been in love with him at some point. He’s gorgeous, but he’s a heartbreaker, Leila—and my advice is to stay away from him.’

It’s too late for that now.

‘I can’t,’ said Leila slowly. ‘Will you cover for me, Sara?’

Sara’s sigh came heaving down the phone. ‘Okay, I’ll cover for you—just so long as you promise me you won’t do anything stupid.’

I already have, thought Leila, but she injected a breezy note into her voice.

‘I promise,’ she said as she put the phone down.

She could hear the sound of the room-service trolleys being trundled along the corridor towards the rooms of her retinue. Praying that their attention would be occupied by the novelty of eating Western food and that they would eat too much of it, she settled down to wait.

Shortly before ten, she allowed her servants into the room to turn down the bed and generally fuss around while she did a lot of exaggerated yawning.

The next few hours seemed to tick by with agonising slowness but Leila was too strung out to be sleepy, despite her long flight. Just before two o’clock she dressed and slipped on her raincoat and peered outside her room to find the corridor empty. With a surreptitiousness which was becoming second nature, she took the lift down into the empty foyer and walked straight outside to where Gabe’s car was waiting.

Her heart was hammering as the plush vehicle whisked her through the darkened streets of London, before coming to a halt outside a looming tower of gleaming glass which overlooked the wide and glittering band of the river Thames.

And there was Gabe, waiting for her.

The pale moonlight illuminated his features, which were unsmiling and tense. As the vehicle drew to a halt she could see that he was wearing faded jeans and a sweater which hugged his honed torso and powerful arms. He looked shockingly sexy in a rock-star kind of way and that only added to Leila’s feelings of discomfiture. As he bent to open the car door his eyes looked as forbidding as a frozen lake which had just been classified as unsafe.

Her mouth felt dry. Her legs were unsteady as his narrowed gaze raked over her. How was she going to go through with this?

‘Hello, Leila,’ he said, almost pleasantly—and she realised he was doing it again, just as he’d done on the night of the banquet. His civilised words were sending out one message while his eyes glittered out something completely different.

‘Shall we go inside?’

Glass doors slid silently open to let them inside the apartment block. She was aware of a vast foyer with a jungle of elaborate plants. A man sitting reading by lamplight at a desk seemed to show surprise when he saw her walking in beside the tycoon with the dark golden hair. Or maybe she was imagining that bit.

But she certainly wasn’t imagining Gabe’s detached manner as they rode in one of the glass elevators towards the top of the tall building. She might as well have been travelling with a statue for all the notice he took of her, but unfortunately she wasn’t similarly immune.

She tried to look somewhere—anywhere—but he filled her line of vision in his sexy, off-duty clothes. Her gaze stayed fixed determinedly on his chest for she didn’t dare lift it to his face. She tried to concentrate on the steady rise and fall of his breathing instead of giving in to the darkly erotic thoughts which were crowding into her mind. He didn’t want her—he couldn’t have made that more clear. Yet all she could think about was the way his hands had slid round her waist when he’d still been deep inside her, the spasms dying away as he’d pumped out the last of his seed.

His seed.

The elevator stopped, the doors opened and Leila stepped out—straight into a room which momentarily took her breath away. An entire wall consisted of windows which commanded a breathtaking view of the night-time city, where stars twinkled and skyscrapers gleamed. The floors were polished and the furniture was minimalist and sleek. It was nothing like the ancient palace she called home and she felt as if she had walked into a strange new world.

For a moment she just stood and stared out of the windows. She could see the illuminated dome of St Paul’s Cathedral and moonlight glittering on the river Thames. There was the sharp outline of the Shard and the pleasing circle of the London Eye. For years she had longed to come here, but never like this—because now she was seeing the famous city through the distorted lens of fear.

‘Can I get you a drink?’ he asked.

Leila allowed herself a moment of fantasy that this was a normal date between two people who had been lovers. How would that work? Would he open champagne and let her drink some before taking the glass from her hand and kissing her? Was that how he usually operated? Probably not at two in the morning when his night was being disturbed by a woman he was indifferent to...

For a moment she wondered what she might have done in this situation if she’d been a normal, Western woman—with all the freedoms that those women seemed to take for granted. There would have been no need for her to behave like this. Moving around under cover of darkness. Having to throw herself on the mercy of someone who didn’t want her...

‘No, I don’t want a drink, thanks,’ she said. ‘That’s not why I’m here.’

‘Then why don’t you sit down,’ he suggested, ‘and tell me why you are?’

She sank onto a leather sofa which was more comfortable than it looked. ‘Look, there’s no easy way to say this—and I know it’s going to come as a shock, but I think I’m pregnant.’

For a moment Gabe didn’t say a word. He couldn’t. It was a long time since he had felt fear, but he felt it now. It was there in the hard beat of his heart and the icy prickle of his skin. And along with fear came anger. The sense that something was happening to him which was outside his control—and hadn’t he vowed a long time ago never to let that happen to him again?

Yet on some instinctive and fundamental level, her words were not as shocking as she had suggested. Because hadn’t he already guessed what she was going to say? Why else would she have pursued him like this across thousands of miles? She was a desert princess and surely someone like her wouldn’t normally seek out a man who’d shown her nothing but coldness, no matter how much she had enjoyed the sex.

But none of his thoughts showed in his face. He had been a survivor for too long to react to her dramatic words—at least, not straight away. He had spent his life perfecting this cool and impenetrable mask and now was not the time to let it slip. He studied her shadowed eyes and seized on the words which offered most hope. The only hope.

‘You only think you’re pregnant?’

She nodded. ‘Yes, but I’m pretty sure. I’ve been sick and my...’

Her words tailed off, as if she couldn’t quite bring herself to say the next bit, but Gabe was in no mood to help her out—and certainly in no mood to tiptoe around her sensibilities. Because this was the woman who had disguised herself. Who had burst into his suite and come on to him without bothering to tell him who she was. She might have been a virgin but she certainly hadn’t acted like one—and he was damned if he was going to let her play the shy and sensitive card now. Not when she was threatening to disrupt the ordered calm of his life. Disrupt it? She was threatening to blow it apart.

He felt a sudden flare of rage. ‘Your what?’ he prompted icily.

‘My period is late!’ she burst out, her cheeks suddenly turning red.

‘But you haven’t done a pregnancy test?’

‘Funnily enough, no.’ She bit her lip. ‘It’s not exactly easy for me to slip into a chemist back home to buy myself a kit. Somebody might recognise me.’

He wanted to say, You should have thought of that before you let me strip you naked and lead you to my bed. But he was culpable too, wasn’t he? He had deflected the advances of women before and it had never been a problem. So why hadn’t he sent this one on her way? Why hadn’t he read any of the glaring clues which had warned him she was trouble? Had the subterfuge of her disguise and the fact that she was being pursued by bodyguards turned him on? Brought colourful fantasy into a life which was usually so cool and ordered?

‘I used a condom,’ he bit out.

Like a snake gathering strength before striking again, she drew her shoulders back and glared at him with angry blue eyes. ‘Are you seriously suggesting that somebody other than you could be the father, Gabe?’

He remembered the way her trembling hand had circled his erection until he had been forced to push it away, afraid he might come before he was inside her. Had she inflicted some microscopic tear in the condom with those long fingernails of hers? And had that been deliberate?

But he pushed those thoughts away, because nothing was certain. And a man could drive himself insane if he started thinking that way.

‘I’m not suggesting anything, because at the moment all we have is a hypothetical situation,’ he said. ‘And we’re not doing anything until we have facts. There could be a million reasons why your period is late and I’m not going to waste time thinking about some nightmare scenario which might never happen.’

Nightmare scenario.

Leila flinched as his words cut into her like the nicks of a dozen tiny blades. That was all this was to him. Remember that. Hold that thought in your mind and never forget it. A nightmare scenario.

Had she thought that he would make everything all right? That he would sweep her into his arms as men sometimes did in films and stroke her hair, before telling her that she had no need to worry and he would take care of everything?

Maybe she had. Maybe part of her had still bought into that helpless feminine fantasy, despite everything she knew about men and the way they treated women.

‘Perhaps you could go and buy a pregnancy test for me,’ she suggested, staring out at the dark sky, which was punctured by tiny stars. ‘Since I find the thought of braving the London shops a little too much to contemplate at the moment.’

Something small and trembling in her voice made Gabe’s eyes narrow in unwilling comprehension. He wasn’t used to picturing himself inside the skin of a woman—except in the most erotic sense—but he did so now. He tried to imagine this pampered princess transplanted to a foreign country, bringing with her this terrible secret. How must it feel to give such momentous news to a man who did not want to receive it?

‘We’re not having some do-it-yourself session,’ he said flatly. ‘I will make an appointment for you to see someone in Harley Street tomorrow.’

Her eyes were suddenly wide and frightened.

‘But somebody might tip off the press if I am seen going to the doctor’s. And my brother mustn’t find out. At least, not in that way.’

‘Haven’t you ever heard of the Hippocratic oath?’ he questioned impatiently. ‘And patient confidentiality?’

Leila almost laughed. She thought that, for a man of the world, he was being remarkably naive. Or maybe he just didn’t realise that royal blood always made the stakes impossibly high. It made the onlooking world act like vultures. Didn’t he realise that professional codes of conduct could fall by the wayside, when a royal scoop like this offered an unimaginably high purse?

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ she said.

Gabe watched as she reached for her handbag. She was wearing that same damned raincoat, which reminded him uncomfortably of their erotic encounter in Qurhah. For one tempting moment he entertained the thought of having sex with her again. It had been the most amazing sex of his life and he still couldn’t work out why.

Because he had been the first?

Or because her touch had felt like fire on a day when his heart had been as cold as ice?

He remembered the way her long legs had parted eagerly beneath the quest of his hungry fingers. The way she had moaned when he had touched her. He could almost feel the eager warmth of her breath on his shoulder as he’d entered her, as no man had done before. Vividly, he recalled the sensation of tightness and the spots of blood on his sheets afterwards. He closed his eyes as he remembered seeing them spattered there like some kind of trophy. It had felt primitive, and he didn’t do primitive. He did cool and calculated and reasoned because that was the only way he’d been able to survive.

Pain gnawed at his heart as he tried to regain his equilibrium, but still his body was filled with desire. Wasn’t it also primitive—and natural—for a man to want to be deep inside a woman when she’d just told him she might be carrying his child?

His mouth tightened. If he pulled her into his arms and started to kiss her, she would not resist. No woman ever did. He imagined himself reacquainting himself with her scented flesh, because wouldn’t that help him make some kind of sense of this bizarre situation?

‘Leila,’ he said, but she had stood up very quickly and was brushing her hand dismissively over the sleeve of her raincoat, in a gesture which seemed more symbolic than necessary.

‘I must get back before anyone realises I’ve gone,’ she said.

She walked across to the other side of the room, and Gabe felt the bubble of his erotic fantasy burst as she fixed him with a cool look. For a moment it almost seemed as if she had just rejected his advances—even though he hadn’t actually made any.

‘Phone me at my hotel and tell me where to meet you tomorrow,’ she said. ‘I will have to use Sara as a decoy again, but I’m sure I can manage it.’

‘I’m sure you can,’ he said with the grim air of a man whose whole world was about to change, whether he wanted it to or not.