Читать книгу For Duty's Sake - Люси Монро, Lucy Monroe, Люси Монро - Страница 8

ZAHIR felt those two small words like they were blows from the strongest of sparring partners. Part of him had always expected some kind of betrayal from Elsa Bosch, though not to the extent she had gone to. He had never been able to give her what she craved: commitment for the future.

However, he had believed Angele a woman of supreme honor and understanding of her duty.

“You are not serious.” He looked closely, trying to see evidence of too much champagne, but her pupils were not dilated.

Her cheeks were flushed, but the topic of their conversation could easily account for that.

“I am.” She looked down at the Bedouin figure and reached out to touch it almost wistfully. “I will not allow you to be locked into a marriage with a woman you cannot love.”

“And you expect to be loved by your husband.” Where had she gotten her romantic notions of marriage? Certainly not from her parents.

“Yes.”

“You appear to forget the importance of duty and family obligation.”

A deep, burning anger flickered briefly in Angele’s dark eyes. “My mother’s adherence to duty is one of the primary reasons I am so determined not to follow through on this farce of a marriage.”

“There is no farce in joining the royal houses of Zohra and Jawhar.”

“I am not of the royal house of Jawhar, no matter how indulgent King Malik is toward me and my father.”

It was true. From one of the most influential families in Jawhar, Cemal had been fostered in the royal household when his parents died. He’d been raised like a brother to Malik, but they shared no blood relation. Which had actually played in favor to the agreement drawn up ten years before as Zahir and Angele had no blood common between them.

“I did not think this bothered you.”

“It doesn’t.”

“You cite it as reason for not keeping your commitment.”

“I never made a commitment. When I was thirteen I was informed that one day we would marry.”

A mere girl. He had felt compassion for her. “But you never complained. Why now?”

“I spun fairy castles in the air, dreams that took me too long to realize they had no basis in reality.”

Dreams of love. Didn’t she know? That commodity was not for such as them. “You need to consider this more carefully.”

“Zahir, I’m giving you your freedom.” Exasperation and a tinge of anger laced her tone. “Instead of trying to talk me out of it, you could simply say thank you.”

Did she really believe she was doing him a favor? He did not think so. “Our families will be shamed.”

“Oh, please. Nothing official has ever been announced.”

“Nevertheless, the expectation exists.”

“So?” She shrugged, as if really, this did not matter. “Those who have expectations will have to be disappointed.”

“Like my father. Like the man you call uncle. They will be humiliated.”

The look she gave Zahir said she did not buy his calamity scenario. “Disappointed maybe but, in that regard, not as much as they would be by a divorce.”

“Why divorce?” Though he admitted he did not know her as well as he could, he had never considered her a pessimist. “You are not making any sense.”

“Zahir, can you honestly tell me that you are not feeling even a little niggle of hope right now? That relief isn’t warring with your need to talk me out of doing what you know you want?”

Shock held him silent. Her words implied that she actually believed she was doing him some sort of favor; that somehow he would and even should thank her for threatening to break her word. He tried to think of what could have caused her to draw such a ridiculous conclusion, but despite his superior intellect he came up with nothing.

No possible reason for her outlandish ideas.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping just enough that he knew she was not as calm about this as she was pretending to be. “Your silence speaks better than your words could. I will take full responsibility for the aborted engagement with our families and the media.”

“No.” He surged up from his desk, realizing that perhaps now was not the time to intimidate with that barrier between them.

“I have only one request.”

He halted on his way around the desk. “What is it?”

“I want one night in your bed, the wedding night I will not now have.”

If she had shocked him with her threat to break their agreement, this request practically had him catatonic. What in blue blazes was she thinking?

“Why?” he ground out while trying to somehow make sense of his prim and proper princess-to-be offering him, no, demanding from him, something that should not be indulged in until after their marriage.

The next heir could not be conceived under a cloud.

“I want you to be my first.”

Well, naturally. “But you do not wish to marry me.”

Did she truly believe there was any sense, even the smallest modicum of logic in such a scenario?

“Did you want to marry Elsa Bosch?”

He’d indulged in fantasies at one time. He’d believed himself in love. More fool him. But even then he’d known it was pure fantasy to even consider such a thing. He’d soon realized that more than her career made her the wrong choice as future queen of Zohra.

Even in his most youthful exuberance of untried emotion, he had not been a fool. “It was not a consideration.”

“But you had sex with her.” The blunt words falling from Angele’s usually prim mouth added to his sense of falling down the rabbit hole.

It was time to put a stop to this conversation. “That is not something I will discuss with you.”

“I’m not asking you to—I’m simply making an observation.”

“This entire conversation is insane.”

“No, what is insane is two people prepared to marry for the sake of nothing but family obligation in the twenty-first century.”

Her American upbringing had much to answer for.

“I will one day be king. The woman who rules Zohra by my side must be a suitable match.” Angele knew this. He should not have to repeat it for her. “Love has nothing to do with the obligations you and I must uphold.”

“You say it like it’s a dirty word.”

It was his turn to shrug. In his life? That particular emotion had caused more pain than pleasure.

“Your brothers have both found love.”

“They do not have the responsibilities of the crown to uphold.” And neither man had had a particularly smooth road to true love, either.

Zahir had no desire to follow in their footsteps in that regard. He had enough of his own challenges in life to face as ultimate leader and servant to his people.

“Your father doesn’t wear a crown.”

“Don’t play semantics with me—this is too important.” He could not believe she was saying these things. “I believed you understood the importance of your obligations.”

“My greatest obligation is to myself. I know you don’t see it that way.” She quoted an Arabic proverb he often used that was strangely apt to their situation. “I’m not that person. I don’t believe countries will topple if their leaders seek personal happiness in a manner of integrity.”

“What is honorable about breaking our engagement?”

“We aren’t engaged.” “As good as.”

“Really? You truly believe that?” she asked as if his answer carried great import.

“Yes.”

Unutterable sadness came over her features and the light in her eyes dimmed. “I’m sorry.”

“You will give up this idea of backing away from our wedding?”

“No.” Her voice was laced with determination, but there was a flicker of fear in her expression.

And suddenly, he thought he understood. Things that made no sense began to fall into a picture he could comprehend. She was concerned about their compatibility in the bedroom. As well she might be.

In one respect, she was spot-on. They were not a nineteenth-century couple where the bride and groom had been expected to go to the marriage bed untouched. Or, at the very least, the bride.

She’d spent her life in the United States, surrounded by a culture that had demystified sex and frequently glorified it. He had never made improper advances because, despite his claim, they were not actually engaged.

At first, Angele had been too young, and later he’d had his liaison with Elsa. A relationship doomed from the beginning, but one that allowed him to come as close to escaping the stranglehold of his everyday responsibilities as he ever would, if only for the brief moments they’d had together.

He had foolishly allowed his emotions to get involved. So, when he’d discovered he was not her only lover, he had been hurt. And he was still angry with himself for being that vulnerable.

In the midst of his own self-allowed turmoil and the growing crush of his responsibilities without outlet, he had neglected to notice the impatient discontent in the woman he was slated to marry. Yet another casualty to the folly of allowing emotions to reign in one’s life.

Angele shook her head and glared at him. “Stop it.”

“Stop what exactly?”

“Thinking so hard. I just know you’re trying to figure out a way to guilt me into maintaining the status quo. And that is not going to happen.”

“No, I can see it is not.” Angele needed reassurance that their marriage would not be devoid of passion.

Something he had done nothing to convince her of in the intervening years since the original contract was negotiated. Considering how his member stirred in his trousers at the sight of her in the sexy dress, he knew he would have no problem reassuring her now, however.

“You want to have sex with me.”

She flinched, but squared her shoulders and nodded. “I’m offering you your freedom. I do not think a single night of lovemaking too high a price to pay for that.”

The words were just noise to cover her sexual fears and insecurities. He understood that, but one thing stood clear. She considered a night in his bed a gift.

He looked deep into her eyes and made another realization—one that both inexplicably pleased him and stirred pity in his heart. “You are in love with me.”

Zahir had always known Angele fancied him something rotten, but he’d considered it a mere girlish crush. However this woman before him was no child and the feelings so apparent on her features had a depth that shocked him. Love was not a comfortable or safe emotion. From this point forward, it would not hurt her to love him, but she did not know that. He would never betray her as Elsa had betrayed him.

“What was your first clue? My clumsy attempt at a kiss at eighteen, or my slavish devotion and refusal to date other men despite the fact we are not formally engaged?”

If he expected shock from her at his revelation, or horror, he would clearly receive neither.

He did not point out that her love for him made no sense in light of her demands and threats to back out of their families’ arrangements. He had already decided she had no real desire to do that, she was simply looking for reassurances.

The need for which made even more sense in the light of her feelings for him.

Nor did he point out that her love was based on a distant relationship. How could she know him well enough to love him? But she believed herself in love and that was enough to cause her pain and worry in their current situation.

“I apologize for not realizing your feelings sooner.”

Acknowledging the hurt she must have experienced over the years of their pseudoengagement, was not comfortable, but he was not a man to shirk from his responsibilities. “Love is a painful emotion.”

“You’re telling me?” she asked with disbelief and then the horror came. The color drained from her face as her eyes registered a mortal wound. “You are telling me … that you loved her.”

For the first time in his life, he was tempted to outright lie. He had learned the art of misdirection and when it was most politic to withhold information at an early age, but he made it a practice never to tell a direct falsehood. Even for the sake of politics.

His honor would not stand for it.

“It does not matter. Ms. Bosch and I are finished.”

“But you loved her, didn’t you?”

“That is not something I’m ever going to discuss with you.” The past was over. He and Angele had a future to build.

His youthful feelings embarrassed him and they were over regardless.

“You don’t need to. The photos show the truth, if you look for it. I didn’t … I don’t think I wanted to believe it was possible. It was painful enough to accept you were so much more relaxed and happy with her.”

“You gleaned all this from a single photo?”

“No, but that’s not something I want to discuss right now.”

No, right now, she wanted reassurances he was more than happy to give. Nevertheless … “We can hardly disappear from my brother’s wedding feast.”

“Why not? You did.”

“I had business to attend to if my father was to remain free to preside over the festivities.” “You often sacrifice for your family.” “It is my privilege to do so.” “I believe you mean that.”

“I do.”

“You’re an amazing man.”

“And you love me.” He had no intention of opening himself to that depth of emotion again, but he would protect hers. It was his duty to do so.

And he always did his duty.

“The wedding festivities will last into the wee hours of the morning. Tonight is not the ideal time for us to share our bodies for the first time.”

“What do you suggest?”

“You are in the country for the next three days?” “Yes, we’re staying for the full wedding celebration.”

Despite Angele’s refusal to play a role in the wedding, her family had been at the palace since the prewedding festivities began. He had seen very little of her because he had been busy with state business. He had believed she was busy with the bridal party, even if she wasn’t an official member of it.

“I will make arrangements for your last night here. There are no official events after the final breakfast that day.”

He put his arm out. “Now, I believe it is time we returned to the feast.”

She laid her small hand in the crook of his arm and let him lead her from his study, the stress this discussion had caused her evident in the fine tremors of her delicate fingers against his jacket sleeve.

Two nights hence, he would show her she had nothing to fear from him in any way.

Despite the sun having set an hour before, the tile floor on the balcony off Angele’s room warmed her bare feet. She’d long since discarded the expensive but uncomfortable glittery heels she’d worn for the final celebratory feast of Amir and Grace’s nuptials.

She still wore the figure hugging silk sheath. By an as yet undiscovered New York designer, its subtle composition made the most of her figure, hinting at bedroom seductions while having no single element that could be pointed to as anything other than proper.

Her father had been angry she’d foregone the traditional dress the women of the Jawharian royal family had opted to don for the evening feast. Only Angele wasn’t a Jawharian princess, no matter how much her father might wish otherwise.

Her mother had stood up for her. Looking like American royalty in a beautiful European-designed gown, Lou-Belia had told Cemal to take a chill pill. The look on Angele’s father’s face had been worth the price of admission and then some.

But the expression that flashed over Zahir’s features when he’d seen Angele’s dress had been even better. His gray eyes had heated to molten metal and his lids had dropped in a look of pure sexual predatory interest before he’d schooled his features into diplomatic blank-ness. It hadn’t been just the once, either.

She’d caught that heated stare directed her way more than once over the course of the evening. Each time, it increased her desire for the feast to be over, for her one night with Crown Sheikh Zahir bin Faruq al Zohra to begin.

The celebration was over now and she could go to Zahir as soon as she wanted. The only thing stopping her was the garment lying so innocently on her bed.

She’d discovered the galabeya upon returning to her room. The traditional wedding dress in this part of the world, the white silk gown embroidered with gold thread looked like it belonged in an Arabian Nights fantasy. The Arabic lettering in the intricate embroidery told the story of the first Sheikh’s marriage to the wife that helped him found the house of Zohra.

A note from Zahir lay atop the galabya.

My dear Angele,

You indicated a wish to have a wedding night. Please do me the honor of wearing this gown, worn by my grandmother in her wedding to my grandfather.

I look forward to seeing you in and out of it.

Zahir

The day before, he had told her to come to him via the secret passages she’d never known for certain existed. She’d guessed, since the palaces in Jawhar all had them, but Angele had never been privileged with that information regarding the royal palace of Zohra. Until now.

Now, when she planned to leave the palace of Zohra tomorrow and never return to it.

With a deep sigh, she turned from the darkness toward the warm light emanating from her bedroom. The galabeya shimmered under the glow, calling to and repelling her with equal fascination.

He wanted her to wear a wedding dress on their single night together. It was mind-boggling, but not nearly as shocking as it should have been. Part of her wanted the fantasy. Her subconscious at least was on the same page as her soon to be former almost-fiancé.

So, why balk at his request? The galabeya was easily the most beautiful one she had ever seen, the needlework making the Arabic letters look like art and perfect in each stitch. The matching slippers were beyond elegant. And looking at them, she knew they were exactly her size.

How had Zahir managed that?

A tiny voice warned against the cost tomorrow to that kind of indulgence tonight. But it was her one night, the only time for her to be with the man of her dreams. Perhaps it would make the morrow harder, but she would not balk at letting it fulfill every fantasy possible.

She changed into the galabeya, shivering with a sensuality she’d kept locked deep inside since her first sexual feeling, as the silk whispered against her skin. She’d opted to wear a modern bra and panties in matching white silk and lace, rather than the traditional underclothes Zahir had left with the dress. After all, this wasn’t a wedding, but a seduction.

Though she was not at all sure any longer who was seducing whom. Certainly Zahir showed none of the reticence about bedding her that he always had done before.

Perhaps it was because his relationship with Elsa had ended. The one and only time their picture together had featured in the media, it had quickly been followed by a discreet announcement that any liaison there might have been between the two had ended.

In addition, Angele could not let herself forget the offered price for this night was ultimately Zahir’s freedom. Perhaps that, if not she directly, accounted for his increased ardor in her regard. Whether or not he was willing to admit it, he clearly wanted out of their pseudoengagement.

Or had he always been attracted to her in some fashion, but unwilling to act on it because to do so would force the issue of their marriage?

She preferred that scenario to the one where he found the prospect of freedom so appealing, it alone birthed lust in him over her body.

Refusing to analyze the confusing situation any further, she brushed out her hair and changed her makeup to a neutral palette with eyes that were rimmed in kohl.

If not for the highlights in her hair and barely there underclothes, she could have been a bride of Zohra from a hundred years ago. She saw no one in the secret passageways, but heard a peal of feminine laughter as she passed the access to what must have been Amir’s rooms.

It sounded much too close to be muffled by walls. Having no desire to be caught on her way to Zahir’s room, Angele scooted into a crevice as the sound of bare feet padded down the passage she had just passed.

“Shh … the operative word here is secret,” Amir said in a loud whisper to his still giggling wife.

“How did I not know they existed all the times I stayed in this palace?”

“You were not yet my wife.”

“I am now.” Grace sounded both awed and very pleased by that fact.