Читать книгу His Queen By Desert Decree - Линн Грэхем, Lynne Graham - Страница 9

CHAPTER TWO

AZRAEL’S HEART SANK when Butrus ushered Molly Carlisle into the library of his desert fortress, where he normally contrived to relax. In truth, while deeply resenting the position he found himself in when he had done nothing wrong, he had had enough of her for one day. But he straightened his broad shoulders, reminded himself of his duty to Djalia and felt ashamed of that momentary shrinking from what had become necessity.

Whether he liked it or not, he had to placate Molly Carlisle. It didn’t matter how much money it cost to buy her silence. It didn’t matter even that bribery of any kind appalled him and contravened his values. Butrus was correct: ‘needs must when the devil rides’, some homely but apt saying the older man had picked up from his Scottish grandmother. But the entire distasteful business might have been more bearable had he found Tahir’s victim less attractive, he conceded grudgingly.

Of course, he couldn’t remember when he had last had sex. That was probably all that was amiss with him: the weight of a celibate life. Not that, strictly speaking, he was expected to be celibate but he could only relax and enjoy his sensual nature outside Djalian borders because to do otherwise could risk attracting unsavoury comparisons with Hashem’s orgies with his so-called concubines. Unhappily for Azrael, the time and freedom to travel abroad where casual affairs were not seized on and dissected did not feature in his current crammed schedule. And he had already learned that nothing he did, nowhere he went and nobody he even spoke to was considered too trivial to provide fodder for the Djalian free press. His every word, his every act was reported on. Only here in the desert at the fortress built by his ancestors was he usually left alone in peace.

And absolutely the very last thing he needed in his sensitised radius was a woman with a shape that even in a long dress was impossible to ignore. She had hourglass curves, an incredibly womanly figure and a luscious full mouth that would put X-rated images into the head of a saint. And he was no saint. At heart he was merely a man like any other with all a normal man’s needs and wants and he really did not wish to be reminded of that exasperating reality when he could do nothing to assuage his libido.

* * *

Mr Gorgeous looked more like Mr Grumpy, Molly reflected, noting the hard lines etched into his stunning features. Sadly, it didn’t detract in the slightest from his male beauty, although she was irritated that his head was covered and she couldn’t see his hair to see if it was as dark as his brother’s. She liked looking at him, no harm in that, she rationalised. It wasn’t as though she liked anything he said or anything he did and finding out that he was a king was downright off-putting because how was someone as ordinary as she was supposed to know how to tiptoe politely round his royal sensibilities? She didn’t like him; he didn’t like her. She could see his animosity in the steely glint in his darker-than-dark eyes, the flare of his classic nose, the challenging angle of his jaw and the set compression of his full male lips.

His hostility wasn’t a problem for her though, she thought ruefully. All she wanted was to go home, back to the life she had been very rudely ripped from, and no haughty, proud royal personage would deflect her from her rights or her wishes.

‘I’m not easily impressed, Your Majesty, but I do apologise if anything I said earlier caused offence.’ Molly trotted out her prepared opening speech, seeing the point of smoothing her way in advance with a little civility. It was surface-thin civility but he didn’t know that, did he?’

Azrael’s lip curled because he could read insincerity at twenty paces and her eyes told him the truth that her voice did not. Even so, he was equally willing to dissemble if it solved the problem. ‘It is forgotten,’ he assured her. ‘How may I help you?’

‘I want to go home...as quickly as that can be arranged,’ Molly admitted.

‘And your desire to see my brother prosecuted?’ An ebony brow lifted enquiringly.

Involuntarily, Molly flushed. ‘Is unchanged but I’ve realised that the crime would be more properly handled where it occurred...in London.’

‘Naturally I do not want that.’

Molly tossed back her head, rich coppery ringlets rippling back from her cheeks. ‘I fail to see why,’ she admitted bluntly. ‘You weren’t involved in what your brother did, were you?’

‘No, but the crime took place in my country’s embassy and at my brother’s request a member of embassy staff illegally acquired the drug used to sedate you. Tahir then brought you here to Djalia, intending to transport you to this fortress, which belongs to me. The reputation of Djalia and my own reputation is thus very much involved in this offensive matter,’ Azrael told her with equal directness. ‘The member of staff has been returned here to face charges of drug abuse and the servant who assisted my brother in his wrongdoing has been dismissed.’

‘How was I transported here?’ Molly queried uneasily.

‘The women in Tahir’s birth country, Quarein, wear full veils. You were veiled and conveyed through the airport in a wheelchair and no questions were asked because my brother holds diplomatic status. You were put in the cabin of the private jet owned by Tahir’s father, Prince Firuz, the ruler of Quarein, and were still there when the jet was boarded at our airport. The steward was so concerned by your unconscious condition that he instructed the female stewardess to remain with you throughout the flight. He also alerted Tahir’s father, who immediately contacted me. At no stage were you left open to any form of abuse.’

Molly swallowed hard on her relief because in the back of her mind she had worried about what could have happened to her body while she was unconscious and had scolded herself for her fears. She breathed in slowly. ‘That is good,’ she muttered a little unevenly as she looked down at the worn mosaic tiled floor, embarrassed by her secret apprehension that she could have been touched while she was unaware of it.

For a split second, she looked so vulnerable that Azrael’s conscience propelled him forward one dangerous step to offer inappropriate sympathy before he stopped himself in his tracks. ‘I do recognise that you have suffered a very traumatic experience,’ he breathed almost harshly. ‘And I deeply regret that a member of my family subjected you to such an ordeal, but be assured that Tahir will be most severely punished. His father is horrified by what he has done—’

‘That means nothing to me,’ Molly broke in quickly, keen to forestall such a shift in their dialogue because Tahir’s family was not her concern.

‘Quarein is much stricter than Djalia when it comes to relations between men and women,’ Azrael extended, royally ignoring her interruption. ‘In Quarein the sexes are segregated and women are very much protected. Men are executed for crimes against women there.’

‘And not here?’ Molly could not resist asking.

‘While Hashem was in power here, men were executed daily for every kind of crime, many for very small crimes and many who were innocent of any crime other than opposition to his regime,’ Azrael told her with gravity. ‘It was an inhumane system.’

‘It’s not my business anyway,’ Molly backtracked hurriedly, wondering how she had got led into such a discussion. ‘My only interest here is in how soon I can go home.’

Azrael opted for honesty. ‘I do not want to release you only for you to return to London to pursue Tahir’s prosecution. I will do almost anything to avoid that happening because I will not have Djalia damaged in the fallout from such an appalling scandal.’

It was his wording that unnerved Molly. Talk of ‘releasing’ her implied that she was not free to leave when she wished. ‘Am I a prisoner here, then?’

Azrael sidestepped that leading question. ‘I am determined to settle this affair for once and all with you before you go home.’

A pair of green eyes inspected him with a level of scorn Azrael had never met in a woman’s gaze before. ‘And how do you plan to settle it?’

Ironically, Azrael was grateful to be urged to that distasteful point. ‘By compensating you liberally for your ordeal in return for your silence.’

Molly was very much taken aback by that declaration. ‘You’re offering me money to keep quiet?’ she gasped in disbelief.

‘Compensation,’ Azrael framed, wishing he could gag her to force her to listen, wishing she weren’t acting shocked because he had been shocked by the concept too until Butrus had laid out all the possibilities before him. He did not wish to see any admirable qualities in her because it only intensified the attraction of something that could never ever be.

After all, in all likelihood he would be married in a few months. He would probably accept the bride from Quarein his stepfather had already suggested to him. Nasira was Prince Firuz’s niece and Azrael had met her when they were both still children, thinking even then that she was rigorously well behaved and very devout. Why did those worthy assets turn him off rather than turn him on? He didn’t want to think about that. He had yet to meet Nasira as an adult and if Prince Firuz’s wishes were followed, he would not get the chance to meet her before marrying her because that was the tradition in Quarein. Worryingly however, a veiled queen would be a retrograde choice in the eyes of his people, whose women had never worn the veil.

‘But money,’ Molly responded in unconcealed disgust. ‘I want justice, not money!’

‘Perhaps in an ideal world,’ Azrael countered. ‘Unfortunately, it is not an ideal world that we live in.’

‘My desire to have your brother prosecuted is stronger than my desire for money,’ Molly assured him fiercely. ‘I am not a forgiving woman.’

‘With respect, I suggest that you consider my offer,’ Azrael advised with icy cool, the hauteur of his finely sculpted features intense. ‘If you do not consider it, we are at stalemate and, as you have already said, you want to go home.’

Something inside Molly just snapped wide open and let out a flood of pent-up anger. Mr Gorgeous was a complete seven-letter word and she was tempted to land him a punch for his nerve in saying that to her. She had been drugged and kidnapped and now pressure was being put on her to accept financial compensation in place of a prosecution! How dared he? How dared he assume that she was the sort of woman who could be bought off? It was true that she was poor and had to work for a living and that more money would certainly come in very handy, particularly with regard to the cost of Maurice’s care, she acknowledged reluctantly, but she also had principles and she knew right from wrong.

‘A crime has to have a punishment,’ she shot back at him, her raised voice reverberating at an embarrassing volume up through the domed ceiling above them. ‘Nothing else is acceptable to me!’

‘If that is the case I am sorry for it,’ Azrael grated, thoroughly tired of the way she shouted at him. She was a hot-tempered virago of a woman, he decided, pleased to have found a fatal flaw hidden at the very heart of such beauty. As a man who rarely lost his own temper, he had little tolerance for those with less control. Furthermore, he hadn’t been shouted at since he was a soldier in training and it was one aspect of military life that he did not miss.

‘And I am sorry that you are a king who does not appear to know right from wrong,’ Molly fired back with an unconcealed contempt that sent Azrael’s stunning deep-set eyes flaring to a scorching rage-filled gold.

But, raised in a much harsher school than she had been, Azrael gritted his teeth and exerted restraint over the teeming volatile emotions he had learned to rise above as a teenager when, innocent of fault, he had been whipped and humiliated. He had taken his punishment like a man to protect his mother. He knew that he could withstand any punishment to protect his country. And what were words? Opinions? Was he so weak that he could even react to such a condemnation from someone who knew nothing of the sacrifices he had been forced to make throughout his life? No, he was not weak.

In a stormy tempest of fury, Molly raced back up the spiral staircase and felt momentarily dizzy, realising then that it was a very long time since she had last eaten. Gamila appeared with another tray while Molly was struggling to decide what to do next. This time, Molly accepted the meal, acknowledging that Azrael was unlikely to be planning to either drug or poison her. Was she being naïve though? Should she be scared? Azrael was determined to prevent her from returning home to report Tahir’s crime and clearly hoping that time would take care of her opposition.

Well, she had already lost her waitressing job. A failure to turn up for her shift was all that would take, she reflected gloomily. Was she being naïve about her safety in this desert castle? Wouldn’t it suit everyone here very well if she were simply to disappear? A cold shiver snaked down her spine despite the humidity. Nobody back home even knew where she was, nor would anyone find out. Her friend, Jan, would try to phone her and then might mistakenly assume that she had found more lucrative part-time work. Sadly, Molly worked such long hours that she had had little recent time free to catch up with Jan, who had recently given birth to her first child.

She shouldn’t have eaten that food, she thought fearfully. How could she possibly be safe in Djalia when so much appeared to hinge on her keeping quiet about Tahir’s crime? And here she was refusing and arguing with the Djalian King, who froze into an ice statue of chilly dignity every time she raised her voice. Not exactly the way to make friends and have a positive influence on people, was it?

But she was a victim and she wanted the perpetrator punished. Was that so wrong? Unnerved by her own flailing thoughts, Molly sat there wondering what to do next. She refused to be coerced into not doing what she had the right to do and that was reporting Tahir to the UK police. No doubt there would be some people back home just as eager to make the story go away if offending people in high places in an oil-producing country would result. No, she was not that naïve, but she was also determined.

And if Azrael wasn’t prepared to return her to the airport she would get herself there. It couldn’t be far away. Djalia was a tiny country, wasn’t it? She seemed to recall Tahir making some remark of that nature, a vaguely derogatory one. And if she had been recovered at the airport and brought to the fortress it was unlikely that the airport could be that far away, she reasoned, immediately feeling more upbeat about her prospects of escape under her own steam. Why should she sit here acting like a willing prisoner?

She was utterly innocent of fault in what had happened. But did Azrael believe that? Or did he suspect that she had encouraged Tahir in his delusions? She knew that there were women who would have encouraged Tahir simply because he was rich and willing to buy expensive gifts but she wasn’t one of them. But did Azrael know that or did he believe the worst of her? Sixth sense suggested that Azrael cherished a half-empty-cup view of life while she preferred the half-full-cup version. He would believe the worst and, in the circumstances, be glad to believe the worst of her if it made his half-brother’s wrongdoing seem more understandable and more forgivable.

It would undoubtedly not occur to Azrael that she was a good deal less experienced with men than most women in her age group. Had that not been the case, would there have been anything in Tahir’s attitude that she would have recognised as threatening? Could she somehow have averted that threat? How could she tell? Aside of the few casual dates she had enjoyed as a schoolgirl and the single boyfriend she had had since her grandfather went into care, Molly had had neither the freedom nor the time to explore the world of sex. The boyfriend had been short-lived because she hadn’t particularly enjoyed his kisses and when he had demanded more she had ditched him, reckoning that if he had been right for her she would have wanted to have sex with him, instead of being repulsed by the idea of it. There was the possibility, though, she conceded wryly, that she had a naturally low sex drive because she was not remotely bothered by her lack of experience and only very mildly curious about what she might be missing. Although, if she was honest, she reflected grudgingly, she had been considerably more curious since she first laid eyes on Azrael...

But what on earth did it matter what Azrael thought of her? Why would she even care?

Well, the unwilling prisoner was about to make a run for it, Molly decided. Recalling all those soldiers on the floor below, she realised she would have to wait until night fell and most people were asleep and then creep out. Buoyed up by the belief that she could thumb her nose at Azrael’s coercion and escape Djalia, Molly lay back on her bed, smiling for the first time that day. Throwing a spanner in the works of Azrael’s god complex held immense appeal for her.

Luckily she hadn’t unsealed the water bottle that had arrived with her very tasty meal. She wasn’t stupid enough to think that she could head into the desert heat without water, but she wondered how far and in which direction the nearest road lay. Positioning herself by the window for a couple of hours, she kept watch for vehicles, and there were several four-wheel-drive rough-terrain cars that rolled down the dunes but they all traversed the same route, she noted with satisfaction. She would follow their tracks out back to civilisation and freedom.

* * *

‘Tahir will be harshly punished by his father,’ Butrus reminded his monarch. ‘Prince Firuz is a severe man.’

‘As I have cause to know,’ Azrael reminded the older man wryly, for Firuz was his stepfather.

Some years after Azrael’s father had been executed in Djalia, Azrael’s mother had returned to Quarein and remarried. The following year Tahir had been born. A former princess of Quarein, Azrael’s mother’s marriage to the ruling sheikh of Quarein had been as much a political alliance to strengthen her teenaged son’s standing as a personal relationship. Always guiltily aware of that truth, Azrael had grimly tolerated Firuz’s tough parenting regime and pitied his kid brother for what lay ahead of him.

‘He will not escape a whipping,’ Butrus mused out loud with a faint but perceptible shudder. ‘You should tell Miss Carlisle that. Tahir will pay heavily for his stupidity. His father will ensure it. Prince Firuz makes no allowance for youthful mistakes.’

‘Unhappily for Tahir, this was much worse than youthful idiocy. It was a crime,’ Azrael pronounced stonily. ‘I feel dirtied by the whole business. For the first time in my life I have threatened a woman.’

‘Our country comes first and last,’ his advisor murmured heavily. ‘Occasionally there will be a need to face repugnant choices and choose the lesser of two evils.’

Azrael excused himself for the night. His brain recognised that Butrus was correct and that being a king would sometimes plunge him into contentious issues, but in his heart he was too conflicted to accept it. He had always tried to be an honourable, decent man but now he was utilising coercion on an innocent woman and the necessity of that treatment inflamed his pride and his own sense of justice. He felt guilty now.

About an hour before dawn, Molly crept down the spiral staircase carrying her shoes, the little tube of lip salve she had had in the pocket of her jeans and the bottle of water in a carrier bag she had found stuffed in the bathroom cabinet. She had tucked in a towel to cover her head from the heat because she had no hat to use. She had left her jeans behind, seeing no reason to burden herself with having to carry anything she couldn’t use. The forecourt, which had been so busy earlier in the day, was deserted but for one soldier stationed by the wall smoking. She lurked in the shadows until he began patrolling the battlements again and turned his back to the steps that led down to the next level. Then quick as a flash she darted out into view barefoot and sped down the steps.

There appeared to be no more guards but she still had to find her way out of the fortress. Fortunately for her, everywhere seemed to be deserted and she went down another flight of steps to find herself in a walled courtyard with closed gates and a pack of parked four-wheel drives. She wished she could steal a car and wondered what the punishment for that would be in Djalia. But starting up a car engine would attract attention, wouldn’t it? Or would it? Vehicles had been coming and going at all hours late into the night while she’d watched. At the same time she doubted her ability to drive up a steep sand dune and feared coming to grief at that first hurdle.

Picking her way between the cars while on the watch for anyone moving, she reached the gates and, with all the strength she had, she thrust down the iron bar on the gate to open it. As it creaked noisily open she slid out through the gap with a fast-beating heart and fled.