Читать книгу Modern Romance Collection: May 2018 Books 5 - 8 - Кейт Хьюит - Страница 14

CHAPTER FIVE

OLIVIA CURLED UP on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. She couldn’t even begin to comprehend everything that had happened and, far worse, what it might mean. Married. Married.

She’d been an idiot for not realising, or at least not suspecting, something of what had been going on. It had been some kind of ceremony, she could see that now, and through her dazed confusion she’d managed to grasp snatches of words: commitment...responsibility...vow. She’d heard it, but she hadn’t put it all together to realise what was actually happening. How could she have? She hadn’t known her captor was Prince Zayed, or that he thought she was Princess Halina.

But even that was the pinnacle of stupidity, Olivia thought wretchedly. Why would a stranger kidnap her, the governess, a mere servant? Of course he’d thought she was someone else. Someone important.

And as for what had come afterward...as magical as it had been, she couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t wrap her mind around it...or what it might mean.

Through the tent flap Olivia could see a sliver of dawn sky, a pearly pink lighting up the world. Her body ached with fatigue, and her mind too. She needed to sleep, like Zayed had suggested. And after that... Olivia couldn’t even begin to think what the future held.

She stretched out on the bed, inhaling the already familiar musk of Zayed. The feather mattress still bore the indent of their entwined bodies. She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. Her mind seethed with remembered sensations, and she felt herself tensing up despite her best efforts to relax. She was never going to get to sleep, yet she knew she needed the rest. Desperately.

Somehow, despite the tumbled thoughts in her mind, the tension in her body, she fell into a restless doze that at some point turned into a deep, dreamless slumber. When she awoke, for a few seconds she couldn’t remember what had happened, and she lay there, blinking up at the tent ceiling, her mind fuzzy and blank. Then it came back with a sickening rush, and she closed her eyes as her mind relentlessly played a montage of memories from the night before: the moment Zayed had come through the window, dark and fearsome, yet with those gentle eyes; then the dizzying fall from the window; the endless hours on horseback...and then...

Olivia let out a rush of breath. Even now she could feel Zayed’s mouth on hers, moving so persuasively, his hands caressing her, knowing exactly how to touch her and make her respond. And her own utter wantonness... She hadn’t even questioned herself, not really. She’d simply wanted...and taken. Or, rather, let herself be taken.

It had to be mid-morning now; the tent was baking hot, bright sunlight filtering through the entrance flap. The skimpy robe Olivia had put on last night now stuck to her body. She rolled into a sitting position, groaning as her head spun, no doubt from the alcohol she wasn’t used to, as well as being dehydrated. From outside the tent she could hear the sounds of activity: men talking in shouts and laughter; a horse nickering. What, she wondered as she held her head in her hands, happened now?

A few moments later Suma came in with a tray of food and drink. She smiled at Olivia, looking pleased.

‘You wear the robe,’ she said in more distinct Arabic. Zayed must have told her that Olivia had trouble understanding. What else had he said? How many people knew what had transpired in this tent? Olivia had a feeling it was just about everyone in the camp, and she blushed with the shame of it.

‘Yes, thank you,’ she answered in her own halting Arabic. Suma put the tray down on the table.

‘Come and eat,’ she instructed. ‘Drink.’

‘Thank you.’ Olivia realised she was both thirsty and hungry. She’d had little to eat and drink last night besides the arak, a few grapes and a bit of cheese. Remembering how Zayed had fed her a grape made her blush all over again. How could she have allowed him such liberties? Why hadn’t she been thinking more sensibly?

‘It was a good night,’ Suma said with satisfaction. She beamed at Olivia as Olivia sat down at the table and began to serve herself some of the traditional Arabic dishes. There was labneh yogurt with lemon juice, fava beans with mint and fresh cucumber, as well as dates flavoured with cardamom. It all looked delicious. There was also a little brass carafe of coffee that smelled wonderful.

‘A bride needs to eat,’ Suma added, smiling widely. She looked homely and happy, and even through her embarrassment Olivia’s heart went out to her. Did Suma not realise she wasn’t the Princess? That this marriage was a complete disaster? ‘Especially if there is a nunu.’

For a second Olivia didn’t know what she meant; the phrase was colloquial and beyond her understanding. Then she saw Suma pat her stomach meaningfully and realisation rushed through Olivia. A baby. Especially if there was a baby. If Zayed had got her pregnant.

She stared at Suma in ill-disguised horror, but the older woman merely took it as maidenly surprise and chortled happily before leaving the tent. Olivia stared down at the plate piled high with various dishes, her mouth dry, her appetite vanished. What if she was pregnant?

It was perfectly possible, she realised with a sick feeling. Her cycle was regular and she was right in the middle of it. Even she in her virginal—or not—innocence knew that this was a peak time for fertility. She could very well be pregnant with Prince Zayed’s baby.

Recrimination tore through her, worse than before. She felt like screaming, stomping her feet or, worse, sobbing. How could she have been such a besotted fool? Twenty-two years of living quietly, staying safe, and she’d risked it all in a single night with a stranger. It was as if, last night, she’d become someone else entirely.

The trouble was, she couldn’t stay as that person. She wasn’t that person. And now she was back to being plain Olivia Taylor, except she was married to a prince and she very well might be expecting his child. She would have laughed at the sheer lunacy of it, if there hadn’t been a lump the size of a golf ball in her throat.

Somehow she managed to choke down some of the breakfast. She needed to eat and drink, nunu or not. She’d half finished her plate when Suma returned with fresh clothes, thankfully modest. Olivia took the loose tunic and trousers with murmured thanks.

‘You wish to wash?’ Suma asked, miming washing. ‘The oasis has a private area. You go?’

Olivia nodded. She’d like to see something other than this tent, even if she inwardly quailed at the thought of facing a camp full of strangers. With some miming and basic directions, Suma instructed her how to get to a private inlet of the oasis.

Smiling and murmuring her thanks, Olivia took a deep breath and then ducked out of the tent.

* * *

‘My Prince?’

Zayed started from his ill-humoured reverie to see Jahmal at the entrance to his private tent, a respectful but inquisitive look on his face. Did he know of his mistake? From the guarded curiosity on his aide’s face, Zayed doubted it, but Jahmal could sense something was wrong.

‘It...went well?’ he asked cautiously.

Zayed almost laughed, except there was nothing remotely funny about this situation. Nothing at all. He’d spent the last hour pacing his tent and trying to figure a way out of this mess of his own making. Because it was of his own making, no matter what Olivia Taylor was in it for. If he’d kidnapped the right woman, he would not be here, cursing his fate as well as his own idiocy.

‘It went,’ he said tersely. He scrubbed his face with his hands, exhaustion crashing through him. He hadn’t slept for over twenty-four hours and he didn’t foresee much sleep in his future. He still had no idea what to do to fix this situation. Send an envoy to Hassan? How the hell could he explain?

‘The Princess is...happy?’ Jahmal ventured, his forehead creasing as his dark eyes searched Zayed’s fierce expression.

This time Zayed did laugh, because what else could he do? There were no walls to punch, no way to let out the fury he felt, directed solely at himself. For ten years failure had not been an option—and yet after all the war, all the bloodshed, all the loss, grief and pain, he wondered if the last decade had been nothing but failure. And now this.

‘I have no idea how the Princess feels,’ he told Jahmal, ‘because she’s not here.’

Jahmal’s frown deepened. ‘My Prince? I don’t understand...’

‘I took the wrong woman,’ Zayed explained, biting each word off and spitting it out. It was like some ridiculous farce. ‘I kidnapped the governess, not Princess Halina.’ Colour surged into his face just from stating it so baldly. How could he have been so stupid?

‘The wrong woman...’ Jahmal’s face drained of colour. ‘But...did she not say...?’

‘No, she didn’t say. She didn’t protest at the wedding, either.’ An hour of sitting here stewing had made suspicion solidify in Zayed. He might be to blame for taking the wrong woman, but why the hell hadn’t Olivia spoken up? There had been plenty of opportunity. Why hadn’t she asked who he was? He’d assumed she’d known, because she’d never said otherwise. Really, she’d been remarkably quiet, all things considered. And that made him wonder if she’d seen a good deal and decided to take it.

There was, he knew, only one way to find out. Not that it would make much difference to the outcome, but at least it would ease his conscience when he informed Olivia in no uncertain terms that he was divorcing her and marrying Halina at the earliest opportunity...and that she would help him to achieve that goal.

After Jahmal left, Zayed decided to go talk to Olivia. The sooner he could implement some damage control, the better. But when he went to the tent, it was empty, and Suma informed him that Olivia had gone down to the oasis to bathe. Fine. He would see her there.

The small camp was built around a verdant oasis, shaped like a kidney, so there were several private inlets. Olivia had gone to one of these, well out of sight of the camp, and Zayed strode down the palm-fringed path to the private cove to find her.

He paused as he crested a gently rolling dune; Olivia was hip-deep in water and wearing absolutely nothing. The breath rushed out of Zayed’s lungs as he took in her perfect slender form, the bright morning sunlight gilding her body in gold.

She held a cloth above her head, squeezing it so water dripped out, the droplets running down her shoulders and back. Desire surged through him, an irrepressible force. Zayed clenched his fists, willing it back. Lust for this woman had weakened him once. It would not do so again.

He came down the hill, the long grasses that fringed the oasis rustling as he moved, and Olivia turned, gasping as she caught sight of him. She rushed to cover herself and Zayed’s mouth twisted sardonically. Her maidenly outrage was just a little too melodramatic to be convincing, especially considering what they’d been doing together mere hours ago.

‘You don’t need to rush,’ he drawled as she waded out of the water and snatched a towel. ‘I’ve seen it all before.’

‘That doesn’t mean you need to see it again.’ She knotted the towel above her breasts, her hands shaking. Zayed folded his arms and surveyed her dispassionately. Never mind that she looked utterly lovely, with her dark, damp hair already starting to dry and curl in tendrils about her heart-shaped face. Never mind that her eyes looked huge and blue, and that those thick, sooty lashes drove him to distraction. Never mind.

‘As soon as possible, I am going to send an envoy to Sultan Hassan, explaining the situation.’

Her eyes widened and Zayed thought he saw disappointment flicker in their stormy depths, vindicating his suspicions. She was in it for herself. She had to be.

‘Everything about our situation?’ she asked cautiously.

‘Word will already have got out.’

‘Even so...’

‘I am not a liar.’ His voice came out hard. ‘I will be honest with Hassan, and so will you.’

‘Me?’

‘You will write him a letter that I will include as part of my correspondence, explaining what happened and how you did not correct my misinformation.’

Anger flared in her eyes and she hugged her arms to herself, hitching the towel higher. ‘Correct your misinformation?’ she repeated with a surprising edge of acid to her voice. ‘I didn’t realise it was my responsibility to make sure my abductor’s kidnapping attempt went smoothly.’ She planted her hands on her hips, making the towel slip and affording Zayed a tantalising glimpse of the rounded curves of her breasts. ‘When should I have done that, Prince Zayed? When I was being thrown out of a window? Or when I was gagged on horseback?’

‘I removed the gag.’ Pain flickered at his temples as he set his jaw.

‘Or when I was thrust into a tent and a marriage ceremony without having exchanged a word with you? What should I have done? Said, Pardon me, but I think you might have the wrong woman?’

‘Surely,’ Zayed gritted, ‘you realised a mere employee would not be kidnapped?’

‘A mere employee.’ Hurt flashed in her eyes and she looked away. Zayed suppressed an unnecessary flicker of guilt. He’d only been stating the truth. It wasn’t meant to be an insult. ‘I’m afraid I was too overwhelmed and fearful for my life to consider the practicality of it all,’ she said after a moment, her gaze still averted.

Rage billowed inside him, rage he knew shouldn’t be directed at her, or at least solely at her. Yet he could not keep himself from it. ‘And later? When we were in the tent alone, eating and drinking—surely you could have said something then?’

Colour washed over her cheekbones. ‘What should I have said?’ she asked in a suffocated voice.

‘You could have said who you were! You could have asked who I was. We could have avoided consummating the marriage, which would have made things much simpler now.’ Olivia didn’t answer and Zayed took another step towards her. ‘Unless you had no intention of revealing who you were. Or that you knew who I was.’ It wasn’t quite a question and her gaze swung back to him, her fine eyebrows drawn together.

‘What are you implying?’

‘That you took advantage of the situation,’ Zayed said evenly, ignoring the flicker of unease that rippled through him. Olivia had gone very still, her blue eyes wide, her expression strangely fathomless.

‘Advantage,’ she said after a moment, her tone as fathomless as her face.

‘Yes, advantage. As a lowly governess, essentially a servant in the royal household with few prospects, you saw the advantage in being my wife. Being Queen.’

‘Queen? Of what?’ Contempt rolled off every syllable. ‘A huddle of tents in the desert?’

Zayed flinched under the words, although he knew they were more or less true. ‘I will regain my inheritance,’ he said in a near growl. ‘I promise you that.’

‘When? And why would I take such an enormous risk?’ She hitched the towel higher, her face flushed now, her eyes bright with anger and even hurt. ‘You are contemptible to suggest such a thing.’

‘What am I supposed to think?’ Zayed demanded. ‘There were any number of opportunities for you to tell me who you were.’

‘I didn’t realise I needed to! Why should I?’

‘And what about after?’ Zayed took another step towards her; he could smell the freshness of her damp skin, almost feel her quiver. ‘What about the wedding night?’

She set her jaw, although her hands shook on the towel. ‘What about it?’

‘You fell into my arms easily enough. Too easily, I think.’

‘It is to my own shame and regret that I did.’ Tears trembled on her lashes and she blinked them back. ‘Whatever you believe.’

‘What woman falls into bed with her kidnapper, without even knowing his name?’

‘What man seduces a woman without checking who she is first?’ Olivia snapped. ‘I accept I was seduced, and far too easily at that. But you are the one who kidnapped me, Prince Zayed. You are the one who took me from my home and forced—’

‘I did not force.’ The words were low and deadly.

‘Not...not that. But the wedding ceremony. You didn’t even explain—’

‘I thought you knew.’

‘Then you made a lot of assumptions, and now you are paying the price, as am I.’ With her chin held high, Olivia went to move past him, but Zayed grabbed her wrist, feeling the fragile bones beneath her skin.

‘We are not done here.’

She whirled around to face him, fury tautening her features, the towel slipping so her breasts spilled out, golden and perfect. Despite everything, or perhaps because of it, desire arrowed through Zayed, impossible to resist. He drew her towards him and she came, willingly, her lips parting, her features already softening. It was that easy. Her instant acquiescence hardened something inside him and he dropped her wrist.

‘Even now you are willing,’ he said, not bothering to hide his disgust, and Olivia flushed crimson as she yanked the towel back up.

‘As were you,’ she choked. ‘Don’t deny it.’

‘I am not now,’ he told her coldly, and then turned away, only to still when he saw Jahmal coming over the hill. How much had his aide seen?

‘My Prince.’ Jahmal’s gaze flicked to Olivia and then away again quickly. ‘Forgive my interruption, but a message has just come through.’

‘A message?’ Zayed tensed, wondering if Hassan had already heard, was already angry. If he broke the betrothal... Except, of course, Zayed had already broken it by marrying another woman.

‘It is Malouf.’

Olivia might not have understood the Arabic, but she clearly understood that name, for she gasped softly.

‘What has he done?’ Zayed demanded.

‘He sent some men to raid a village two hours’ ride from here. There are wounded.’

Zayed swore. Malouf wreaked his bloody war to no purpose and innocents paid the price.

‘Let us depart at once.’ He started to stride from the oasis when Olivia’s voice stopped him.

‘Wait!’ she cried, and Zayed turned around impatiently.

‘What is it?’

She stretched out one slender hand. ‘Take me with you.’