Читать книгу Desert Rogues Part 1 - Сьюзен Мэллери, Susan Mallery - Страница 12

The rest of the introductions passed in a blur. Before Dora could put names to faces, she found herself being led down a long, wide hallway by a dark-haired servant, then shown into a stunning three-room suite. The young woman was talking, but Dora couldn’t hear anything. She could only stare in disbelief.

The main parlor was at least thirty by forty feet with twenty-foot ceilings. Cool marble covered the floor, but the walls were creamy white—nearly the same color as the palace itself. A large mural of a mother camel and her baby at an oasis decorated the wall to her left, while tapestries hung on the right.

Western-style furniture made an attempt to fill the vast space, but there was enough open area to hold an aerobics class. Still, the most spectacular feature of the room was the wall of windows leading out to a balcony overlooking the Arabian sea.

Dora walked to the French doors and let herself out. Instantly soft sea air surrounded her. The faintly sweet scent teased her, making her relax. There were small tables and chairs along the balcony and she realized it was common to all the rooms on this floor. The individual balconies with their wrought-iron railings were one floor above.

As she had been when she’d first stepped off the airplane, Dora was swamped with a sense of entering a very foreign world. While she seemed to have made a good impression on the king, it hadn’t lasted very long. He’d been anxious to get rid of her—probably so he could speak with his wayward son. If the family wasn’t happy with her marriage to Khalil that must mean that they’d had other plans for him. Which made sense. He was a prince, after all. It wasn’t as if they were going to let him pick his future wife.

“Oh, Khalil, what have you done?” she asked softly and covered her face with her hands. Why hadn’t she thought this through? He wasn’t a regular man who got to choose his future bride. He was royalty. Marriages like his required state approval, didn’t they? Or was that just in England? She glanced down at the heavy diamond ring she wore. Perhaps they weren’t even married.

“Your Highness?”

Dora straightened, then turned to see the servant standing just inside the living room. “Yes?”

The woman was in her early twenties, very pretty, with large dark eyes and beautiful hair pulled back into a bun. She wore a short-sleeved gray dress with sensible flat shoes.

“Your suitcases have arrived. I would like your permission to begin unpacking your things.”

Dora felt as if she were suddenly in a movie where she was to play the innocent American tourist thrust into a difficult situation. But she had a bad feeling her problems weren’t going to be neatly solved in less than two hours.

“What’s your name?”

“Rihana, Your Highness.” The young woman gave a slight curtsy. “It is my honor to serve you.”

Dora wished she could say that it was her honor to be served, but she knew it would take her a long time to get used to that. “Are you allowed to call me anything but ‘Your Highness’?”

Rihana smiled. “Of course. Princess Dora is an acceptable title.”

“Then let’s use that, instead. If I hear my name, I have a better chance of realizing you want a response.” Dora glanced to her left and saw oversize double doors. “Is the bedroom in there?”

“Yes.”

“Then why don’t I unpack my clothes myself? That way I’ll know where they are.”

Rihana frowned. “Princess Dora, my job is to take care of you.”

“And before I arrived, what was your job then?”

“I am part of the household staff.”

“I see.” Dora smiled. “But as I’ve just arrived, I’m going to guess that your assignment to help me is recent. Therefore you probably still have some household tasks to complete.”

Rihana looked confused. “Of course, but they will not interfere with my service of you, Princess. I am a hard worker.”

“I have no doubt.” She drew in a deep breath. “I’m not used to the ways of this country, or of the palace and it’s going to take me a little while to fit in. For now, let me unpack myself. I promise tomorrow you may serve as you see fit.”

Rihana hesitated. Dora smiled, then pointed to the door. “It’s all right, Rihana.”

The young woman made her way toward the exit. “If you change your mind, simply pick up the telephone and ask for me.”

“I will. Thank you.”

When she was alone, Dora stepped into the bedroom. This room was slightly smaller than the living room, but no less impressive. A four-poster bed stood on a raised platform in the center of the room. The opposite wall was glass, with French doors leading out to the common balcony. Blue, green and gold tiles formed a mosaic on the walls, the colors circling each other in exotic disarray.

The furniture was slightly more Oriental, with black-lacquered sides and gold Chinese characters for drawer pulls. Dora crossed the marble floor and pulled open the wooden closet doors, then blinked in stunned surprise at the empty space before her.

This wasn’t Khalil’s suite of rooms; she hadn’t been put in with her husband. Instead she’d been shown to guest quarters, who knows how far from the family’s section of the palace.

Fear and worry knotted in her stomach. What did this mean? Was it a mistake? Would Khalil come looking for her when he realized she wasn’t to share his room? Or was this the way of royal life in El Bahar? Why on earth hadn’t she done some research before they’d left New York?

Fear turned to panic when she realized that except for Khalil and his family, no one in the world knew where she was. Everything had happened so quickly, she hadn’t had time to call any of her acquaintances. Her mother was gone, she hadn’t seen her father in years. She could simply disappear, and no one would ever miss her.

She walked into the living room and paused by the entrance. Was she a prisoner here? Scenes from old movies filled her brain. Pictures of women trapped, stolen, killed. Her mouth went dry as she wondered if she would ever see the land of her birth again. Sadness filled her as she realized she had only herself to blame for this situation. She’d been so excited to have a man interested in her that she hadn’t thought about the consequences of her decision. A prince had appeared in her sad little world, and she’d jumped at his offer of marriage.

She had to get out of here. Now!

Dora pulled open the door to her suite and stepped into the hallway. Her first shock was that the door opened easily, the second was that there wasn’t a guard posted in the hallway. She still remembered those fierce, armed men by the entrance to the palace.

She looked one way, then the other, trying to remember the direction to the front of the palace. If her suite faced the water then that was south and the palace faced…

“Princess Dora, may I help you with something?”

“What?”

She looked up and saw an elderly man standing in front of her. He carried several thick towels in his thin, brown arms. His dress wasn’t familiar to her—an open robe over light-colored loose trousers and an equally loose shirt—but his expression was friendly and welcoming.

“Are you hungry, Your Highness? May I bring you a tray of food? Or would you like me to call Rihana?”

She opened her mouth then closed it. Obviously if she wanted to escape, she needed a plan. “I’m fine,” she said. “Thank you.”

She retreated to her room. First things first, she thought, as she shut her door. Item one—calm her heart rate. Item two—figure out a plan.

She collected a pad of fine linen paper from the desk in the corner, then settled on the sofa. After drawing a rough outline of the palace as she remembered seeing it when they’d flown over on their way to the airport, she began filling in the rooms she knew. Which meant she could write in the entrance, a hallway and her suite. Nothing else. Maybe she could ask Rihana to take her on a tour.

Dora leaned back into the comfortable cushions. Perhaps she was making this too difficult, she thought. Maybe she should simply pick up the phone and ask to be connected with Khalil. After all, he was her husband. If they could speak, if she could at least see him, things would be better. That decided, she closed her eyes for just a minute. She hadn’t slept the night before on the plane. She’d been too tense, with too much on her mind. Just for a second, she thought drowsily. One little second…

“I’m sorry, child, but you don’t have much time,” a voice said.

Dora stirred, then blinked and realized she was in a most awkward position, sprawled in a corner of the sofa. She looked up and saw a tall, slender woman with streaks of gray in her thick, dark hair. A beautifully tailored sapphire-colored suit made her look regal, while matching stones glittered at her ears. But it was her face that captured Dora’s attention. Despite her obvious age and the tiny wrinkles in her paper-thin skin, she was an amazing beauty.

“Fatima,” Dora breathed as she first sat up, then rose to her feet. She realized she was speaking with a woman who was both the mother of the king and a queen in her own right. “I mean, Your Highness.” She gave a shaky curtsy.

Fatima patted her smooth chignon and gave a quick wave. “Oh, please, we’re family, my dear. If Grandmother is too familiar, then call me Fatima. Or ‘Exalted One.’ I’ve always enjoyed that particular title. Of course it was first spoken to me by a visiting head of state some forty years ago. The man in question had his hand sliding up my inner thigh as he said it. I informed him that I was more than willing to be his lover but when my husband, the king, found out about our affair, and I was very bad at keeping secrets, he would make sure that particular dignitary lost his ability to ever be with a woman again. If you get my meaning.”

Fatima winked, then her expression turned slightly sad. “I miss him. My husband, not the other man. Despite my teasing, I was a good and faithful wife for nearly forty years. We had a wonderful marriage.” She touched the neckline of her suit. “It’s Chanel. Don’t you simply adore the Chanel line? I knew Coco, but then at my age, it’s easy to have known everyone. So you’re Khalil’s new wife. I would guess that you’re quite confused by all this.” She motioned to the room.

“More now than before,” Dora replied without thinking, then pressed her fingers to her mouth. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to say that.”

Fatima surprised her by laughing. “Yes, but the point is you were thinking it.” The older woman took a seat on the far end of the sofa, then patted the cushion next to her, indicating Dora should sit as well. Dora sank down gratefully.

“I’m a bit eccentric,” Fatima continued. “Some of it is age, but a lot of it is just me. I’ve had more than seventy years to perfect my oddness and I take great pleasure in doing or being the unexpected.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “We’re surrounded by men, my dear. If you haven’t noticed, you will. Givon’s sweet wife died some years ago and I can’t get him to remarry. He had three sons. Bahania, our neighbor to the east and the land of my birth, has a royal family with four sons and only one daughter. We women have to stick together.”

Dora didn’t know what to say to Fatima, so she kept quiet. She still had the oddest sensation of being caught up in a dream. Of course, she’d been living with that feeling since Khalil had first walked into her bedroom and told her that he wanted her.

“The palace is in an uproar,” Fatima said. “Part of the problem is that the youngest son of the king married in a foreign country in a civil ceremony to a complete stranger.” Fatima leaned forward again and patted the back of Dora’s hand. “No offense, dear, but we don’t know you, do we?”

Dora could only manage a weak, “I suppose not,” in response.

“Then there’s the whole issue of Khalil not being like this at all. I won’t say he’s the most arrogant of his brothers because they can all be difficult, but he’s not impulsive. Now if Malik had suddenly shown up with a bride in tow, that would have been more understandable. But not Khalil.” Fatima frowned thoughtfully. “How well do you know my grandson?”

Dora swallowed. “I, um, worked for him while he was in the United States. I was his secretary.”

Finely plucked eyebrows rose at her statement. No doubt Fatima knew that Khalil had been away for all of three weeks.

“An impulse,” the dowager queen said more to herself than Dora. “Has he told you about his scar?”

The unexpected question left Dora blinking in confusion. “The one on his face?”

“It’s the only one I know about, although if he has a more interesting scar you must tell me the story.”

Dora felt as if she’d taken a wrong turn and ended up in an alternative universe. “I don’t know how he received the scar on his face and that is the only scar I know about.”

“Too bad.” Fatima laced her hands together on her lap. “You must ask him about it, then. From that scar Khalil learned many things, including not to speak without thinking first. I simply do not understand. I’m sure you’re a lovely girl, but you’re nothing like Amber. Is that why he married you?”

Coldness returned to Dora, and with it the sense of stepping off into darkness. “Who is Amber?”

Fatima studied her for a long time. Dora didn’t know what the other woman was thinking, and she didn’t want to know. She had a feeling that things had just gone from bad to worse.

“Until your marriage, Khalil was engaged to the youngest daughter of El Bahar’s prime minister. I take it he never mentioned this to you?”

Dora could only shake her head. Engaged? He’d been engaged? She swallowed, but the sick feeling in her stomach didn’t go away. Then why had he married her? That first night he’d talked of being swept away, but that couldn’t be it, could it? Had he really fallen for her? She wanted to believe that was the reason he’d acted so hastily, but she’d never had that kind of luck before.

“When were they to have been married?” she asked, her voice low and scratchy.

“Khalil never agreed to a date,” Fatima said thoughtfully. “I hadn’t realized that before, but it all makes sense now. He was waiting to fall in love. How very romantic.”

Dora tried to look suitably impressed herself, but she had a feeling she still looked a little green and unstable. Khalil desperately in love with her? She wanted it to be true. More than anything. Was it possible?

“Here’s what we shall do,” Fatima told her. “El Bahar moves quickly into the modern world, but we also remain steeped in our traditions. The people will not approve of the youngest son of the king marrying a woman in a foreign country. It smacks of—” Her gaze widened. “Oh, dear, you didn’t marry because you were pregnant did you?”

“I’ve known him less than a month,” Dora blurted. Then there was the matter of them only doing it the one time. Pregnancy was hardly an issue.

“Of course. Well then, to dispel that rumor and any others, I suggest you two have a second marriage ceremony. This one a bit more traditional. Say in two weeks? In the meantime we can all start mending fences with the prime minister and his family.”

“I don’t know what to say,” Dora told her honestly. “If you think that will help, then I’m happy to participate.”

“Good.” Fatima rose to her feet. “Now it’s time to dress for dinner. I don’t suppose Khalil bought you anything from Chanel, did he? The boys did not inherit my sense of style.”

She walked into the bedroom and moved to the open suitcases on the bed. Dora trailed after her. By the time she reached Fatima’s side, the older woman had been through most of her things and had created two piles. Dora guessed they were “keep” and “discard.”

“The blue will look lovely,” Fatima said, holding up Dora’s favorite dress. “It’s light enough in color so we won’t look as if we’re trying to dress alike.” She gave an impish smile. “Or would you like to greet your new husband by wearing traditional dress?”

“I don’t think either of us are ready for that.”

“I would guess you’re correct on that account.” Fatima handed her the dress, then touched her arm. “Don’t be frightened of us, Dora. Or if you are, don’t let us see. We respect strength and determination in El Bahar, even in our women. My son is angry and disappointed right now, but it’s directed at Khalil, not you. So if he appears curt, don’t let him know that he’s hurt you. You must be strong. If you let any of the Khan men dominate you, you are setting yourself up for a life of servitude. Do you understand?”

“I think so,” Dora said, wondering if she ever would understand.

Fatima gave her a little push toward the bathroom. “Go dress. I’ll wait, then I’ll take you down to dinner. I received a not-so-subtle message from my son that the meal was to be for the men only, so we’ll be catching them off guard. Always a good thing. Now hurry.”

Thirty minutes later Dora followed Fatima down endless hallways. She caught glimpses of large rooms, filled with both Eastern- and Western-style furniture. There were fountains tucked into alcoves and beautifully lit gardens. While she was still confused and nervous, she couldn’t help being excited at the thought of exploring this beautiful palace and its grounds.

They rounded a corner and found themselves in an intimate dining room. The long table could seat ten or twelve, but there were only four place settings that evening. The king sat at the head of the table, with two of his sons on his right and Khalil on his left. All four men looked up as they entered.

“Are we late?” Fatima asked, ignoring the king’s expression of displeasure. “I was just telling Dora that tonight there would be a family dinner where we’ll discuss how to handle the crisis. The timing is unfortunate. After all, this is her first night in El Bahar. However, I thought that having her here with us all was certainly better than leaving her alone in her room.”

Khalil nearly grinned as his grandmother’s frosty glare caught the king’s gaze and held it. Givon Khan might be one of the five or six most wealthy men in the world, and a beloved and powerful monarch, but he was still a man who had to deal with a formidable mother. Fatima was in her seventies, but she wasn’t someone to be taken lightly.

Khalil waited for his father to draw his battle lines. Not unexpectedly, the king decided this wasn’t the time or place for a confrontation. He nodded toward one of the servants waiting patiently at the rear of the room. Two more place settings appeared.

“Mother, your willingness to think of others is what has made you the woman you are,” Givon said, rising and holding open his arms. “As always, you are wise beyond your years.”

Fatima walked toward him and let herself be folded into his embrace. She touched his cheek. “I’m seventy-three, Givon. It’s time to stop saying I’m wise beyond my years, don’t you think?” She turned her attention toward the table. “Dora, sit next to your husband. Jamal, move over. I’ll sit between you and your brother.”

In a matter of seconds Fatima had the table arranged to her liking. She settled between her two oldest grandsons, but shot Khalil a look that warned him he would have much to answer for later. Khalil found himself looking forward to the exchange. He’d avoided marrying Amber. Nothing else mattered.

He glanced at his bride. Dora tried to give him a smile, but it quivered at the corners, then failed completely. He knew that his father had settled her in a suite on the far side of the palace. More proof that the monarch did not approve. Khalil braced himself for the next round of tirades against his thoughtless, irresponsible behavior. He told himself it didn’t matter what his father said; the marriage was binding.

“I am still not sure what I’m supposed to tell Aleser,” Givon said as a servant served a salad of fresh greens and goat cheese. “He has been my most loyal adviser for more than thirty years. We grew up together. We always agreed that his oldest daughter would marry one of the princes from Bahania, cementing the relationship between our two countries.”

“Whose fault is that?” Fatima asked blandly. “You’re the one who didn’t have any daughters. Besides, his oldest daughter did marry one of the princes.”

Givon ignored his mother and continued to focus his attention on Khalil. “In return, his youngest daughter would marry into our royal family. She was engaged to you, Khalil. We had all agreed.”

“Apparently not all of us,” Fatima said. She speared a piece of arugula. “I quite like Dora, and I think she’ll be a far better match than Amber. The girl’s smart, and she’s got backbone. My grandsons are too stubborn. They need women with backbone.”

Khalil forced himself not to laugh or look at his father, although he could imagine the older man’s outrage at his mother’s comments. But there was little Givon could do. He couldn’t force Khalil to divorce his wife. Fatima’s approval was not easily given and not something the king could ignore.

Khalil glanced at his grandmother. Why had the old woman sided with him on this matter? Did she know something of Amber’s antics?

He noticed that Dora hadn’t touched her food. He wanted to tell her to relax, that everything was going to work out, but he didn’t want to speak in front of his family. Instead he slipped his hand under the table and found hers, then squeezed her fingers. She gave him a grateful smile.

“The problem is easily solved,” Fatima said. “In two weeks, we’ll have a traditional ceremony. That will appease the people.”

“What about Aleser?” the king asked. “How are we to appease him?”

“The man has children of his own. I suspect he understands they can be difficult at times.” Fatima took another bite of salad. Her sharp, brown eyes glittered with amusement. “In the meantime, Dora can come live with me in the harem. I will teach her all she needs to know to be a good wife to a prince.”

Khalil frowned. He’d known that his father had moved Dora into her own suite as an expression of his displeasure, but Khalil had planned to change that arrangement this very evening. She might not be the woman of his dreams, but he’d married her, and he had every intention of bedding her. For one thing, he wanted sons. For another, he’d enjoyed their lovemaking, and he wanted to experience it again. But if she was in the harem, she was out of reach to him.

“That’s not possible,” Khalil said curtly. “Dora and I are married. We will share quarters.”

Fatima raised her eyebrows. “You weren’t in a hurry to correct the situation this afternoon.”

“I was with my father.” Having his hide taken off, he thought grimly.

“No matter. It won’t hurt you to wait two weeks to share time with your bride.”

“As I said, that’s not possible. If nothing else, Dora works for me.”

“Not anymore, Khalil,” Fatima informed him with a triumphant smile. “She’s a princess now, not a secretary. You’re just going to have to do without her.”

When they’d finished dinner, Khalil walked a quiet Dora to the door of the harem. He’d brought up their living arrangements twice more, but Fatima had been adamant. Dora was to spend the next two weeks with her, learning how to be a proper wife. Khalil wasn’t sure what those lessons would entail, but he doubted Dora would take well to them. She was a very Western woman.

“I’m sorry about this,” he said when they stopped in front of an ornate gold door. A design of an exquisite garden had been etched into the precious metal. “I thought we’d be together, but it’s only for a couple of weeks.”

He was speaking as much to himself as to her. For reasons he didn’t understand, a need had built inside of him and made him ache. He wanted her more than he’d wanted anyone in a long time.

She turned on him. “Our living arrangements are the least of our problems, Khalil. Why didn’t you tell me you were engaged?”

He shifted uncomfortably. “Yes, well, perhaps I should have mentioned that.”

“Perhaps? That’s the best you can do? How do you think I felt when I found out that you were supposed to marry someone else?”

“Why does it matter? I married you.”

“Which leads to a couple of dozen other questions.” She turned away from him and pressed her fingers against the door.

“Is this real gold?”

Her question made no sense to him. “Of course.”

Her laugh sounded strangled. “Golden doors and broken engagements. So why did you marry me instead of her? What’s her name? Amber?”

He hadn’t expected to answer questions about his exfiancée, so he wasn’t prepared. The truth was unacceptable. Dora would never understand. He wanted to pound his fist against the wall and scream out his frustration. What had seemed like a sensible plan when he’d been in New York had quickly turned into a disaster. Why couldn’t everyone leave him alone? He was married—his wife was, if not suitable, then someone who could be made suitable.

“I didn’t love her,” he said at last.

Dora stared at him expectantly, but he didn’t have any more to say. He wondered briefly how strange all this must seem to her. A new country, in-laws, a palace.

“You won’t have to stay here two weeks,” he promised. “I’ll speak to my father and have your things moved into my room.” As he studied her, he remembered how it had been between them. The feel of her soft skin and her body, so hesitant, yet yielding. Hot blood coursed through him, arousing him. He moved closer.

“It was good between us,” he murmured, leaning close and touching her mouth with his. “I want you.”

She drew back. “I wasn’t sure what to think. You haven’t wanted to, well, be together since that first time. I thought maybe you’d decided our marriage was a mistake.”

Doubts filled her brown eyes. Doubts and questions. In New York it had been easy to lie to her, but it was more difficult now. Was that because of their location, or did it have something to do with the fact that he knew her better? She was no longer an employee, but a person.

He slipped his hand around the back of her neck and drew her next to him. “It wasn’t a mistake.”

“So you still love me,” she breathed in relief and closed her eyes.

“There will be none of that!”

A sharp voice cut through the quiet. Khalil jumped back and saw his grandmother standing next to him. Fatima took Dora’s arm and led her into the harem. Khalil took a step forward, as if he would go with them, but he had known since he was a young boy that this gold door marked a point of no return for him. He’d never once set foot inside the harem and that wasn’t going to change tonight.

Biting back a curse of frustration, he stalked down the hall and out onto the common balcony. He breathed in the familiar scent of the ocean and the fragrance that was unique to El Bahar.

“I wouldn’t be happy, either,” a familiar voice said.

Khalil looked up and saw Malik, his oldest brother, standing by the balcony.

“You’ve been married, what, three days, and you’ve already lost your bride.”

“I know. I’ll speak to Father.”

“Save your breath,” Malik told him. “He’s not going against Grandmother. Not in this matter.”

Khalil knew that Malik was right, but he didn’t have to like it.

Malik moved close and rested his hand on his brother’s shoulder. Dark, wide eyes, similar to his own, stared into his face. “For what it’s worth, I think you’ve made a good choice. Amber was not suited for the life of a princess.”

And then Malik was gone, leaving Khalil to wonder if his brother recalled more about his night with Amber than she had realized.