Prince Hani drew back his shoulders, looking, for an instant, ten years younger. A self-satisfied light shone from his eyes. It doubled as he traded a look with Princess Sanurah, who giggled behind her white glove.
"You'll see, my boy." Rasyn fought to keep his irritation from showing as Prince Hani clapped him on the back. "You'll see."
***
Just get through tonight, girl, Libby told herself the next day, fighting the dread that threatened to overwhelm her.
All she had to do was fake her way through the reception tonight and then Rasyn had promised to take her away for a while. But the vicious butterflies from the night of that first reception in Abbas were back with a vengeance.
She put her hand on her belly to try to calm them, taking care not to catch her silk pashmina shawl on the ruby bracelet Prince Hani had given her. She longed to slump down on the couch, but didn't dare wrinkle the designer gown she wore, a scarlet dress that wouldn't be out of place on the red carpet at the Oscars.
The only problem was that she didn't know if the butterflies were acting up because of the reception, or because she was going to go away with Rasyn.
She just couldn't forget her conversation with Imaran that day in the breakfast room. Something about it had hit too close to the mark. If Rasyn had the talent of telling her everything she wanted to hear, Imaran had the gift of playing up all her fears. She'd let Rasyn convince her that he loved her, but Imaran had made her doubt everything, made her realize that she didn't know Rasyn very well. Made her wonder why all of this had happened. She caught herself starting to chew on her lip and forced herself to stop.
Mercifully, a knock on the door interrupted her just as she was about to turn into a total nervous wreck.
Her husband slipped inside the apartment.
Rasyn in black tie. The designer suit had been tailored to emphasize the width of his shoulders and slimness of his hips. The white shirt contrasted with the dark olive of his skin. He wore the black jacket unbuttoned, with casual, sexy ease. All the air was sucked out of her lungs. His mere presence chased all thoughts of her conversation with Imaran out of her mind. She almost forgot her renewed resolve to keep him out of her heart.
Almost. But not quite.
Seeming to recognize his effect on her, Rasyn raised a black eyebrow. The corner of his mouth twitched up as he crossed to her with a confident, unhurried stride. Her heart thudded against the bodice of her strapless gown as he placed his hot palms on her hips and pulled her against him.
"When we get back to Abbas, will you wear this dress for me?" His voice was throaty with desire.
With his mouth an inch away and his exotic scent going to her head like fine champagne, it was all she could do to nod.
He put his lips to the pulse behind her ear. "Good," he whispered. "Because I want to see you take it off."
A cough loud enough to echo off the gilded ceiling made Rasyn turn. She looked over his shoulder to see one of the beefy guards stationed outside her room staring them down.
Rasyn rolled his eyes, making her laugh. "Do you think your jailers can be bribed?"
"You could try," she said, and then thought better of it. Making love with Rasyn was incredible enough—adding a sense of danger to the mix might just be more than she could bear.
Then again, it couldn't be long now before he realized his mistake in marrying her. Maybe on their honeymoon? Soon, she'd only have memories of her time here. Of Rasyn's mischievous smile. Of all the pleasure they'd given each other.
She shook off the sad thought.
"Perhaps I will." His promise sent shivers of anticipation over her bare shoulders. "In the meantime, Madam, I will content myself with being your escort for the evening."
With an exaggerated flourish, Rasyn offered her the crook of his arm.
"I thought we couldn’t touch in public."
"In Abbas we cannot. Damali is a more open society. Despite our sinful state—" The emphasis Rasyn put on the word 'sinful' was almost sinful in itself. "—we can show a minimum of affection."
"How much?"
"You can take my arm."
That made her smile. A minimum of affection, for sure.
Rasyn continued in a mock-serious tone. "But there are consequences. You have to understand that doing so means we are committed for life in the eyes of all who see us."
She should refuse. They weren't married here, she reminded herself. There would be dozens of women in the room more suited to him than she was. At that thought, the butterflies started taking bites out of her stomach.
Libby nodded and took his arm.
Chapter Fourteen
Rasyn didn't like being seated so far from his wife. He should be at her left hand, not banished from the head table. Instead, he had to sit with Imaran and the other dignitaries from Abbas.
From the continuing cold reception he got from Prince Hani, he suspected this had something to do with their unorthodox wedding. His Highness had become protective of Libby. Maybe a bit overprotective.
On the other hand, it did give Rasyn a much better view of her as she smiled graciously at her new admirers... the entire kingdom of Damali. Or at least the few hundred of them who had been invited to this event. Princess Sanurah was a popular woman. Now, so was the woman who had saved her life.
With Prince Hani on one side of her and the princess on the other, his Libby faced the endless well-wishers with style and composure. He'd picked out her clothes himself. With the scarlet gown that hugged her curves, long white gloves, and rubies nestled in the curve of her elegant throat, all she lacked was a tiara to make her look like a real princess.
Of course she'd never be real royalty, he admitted, but she'd blossomed into a woman he'd be proud to have at his side for the rest of his life. He couldn’t wait until tomorrow, when they could leave Damali and that life would start.
After the dinner, a few of the Damali upper crust made glowing speeches about the princess and Libby's hand in saving her life.
"You'd think she'd fought off bandits, not spilled soup on the woman." Imaran's voice, whispering in his ear, had a hard edge. "Your mistress looks wonderful tonight."
"My wife's name is Libby." Rasyn struggled to keep his tone both low and civil, hoping that the ambient room noise would cover his irritation.
The Damali general who had been speaking finished his long-winded speech, making the room erupt into a round of polite clapping. The applause intensified as Prince Hani himself approached the podium.
"Is she worth losing Abbas?" Imaran asked.
"I think you have nothing to complain about," Rasyn told his cousin. "It benefits you in the end, does it not? Parliament can hardly repeal a law they just passed."
"By the time they do, Uncle Anwar will have passed." Imaran drummed his fingers on the white tablecloth, as if he was bored with the whole thing.
"My friends," the prince began. "Thank you for gathering at this joyous occasion..."
Rasyn soon let the sound of his speech trail off in his mind.
"Everybody will be content," he told his cousin. Oddly enough, he found that it was true. For himself, at least. "You will rule Abbas and I will have my Libby."
Imaran leaned back in his chair, the corners of his mouth tipped down. He'd never been a happy child, Rasyn reflected, remembering the lost-eyed boy who had been his playmate in his youth. Perhaps losing his father at such a young age had hit Imaran harder than it had himself.
A single hope burned in Rasyn's heart like a midnight campfire in the desert darkness, that this evening marked the end of their conflict. From this point, Imaran would be set free from seeing him as competition for the throne of Abbas. They could be comrades and brothers again.
Rasyn looked to the head table, where his wife blushed prettily at Prince Hani's praise. Later tonight—scalding lust rose in his gut at the thought—he would sneak into her room like a secret lover and make her pale skin flush with a different kind of heat. Tonight, and for the rest of their
lives.
With heroic effort, he drew his attention from the object of his desire to the old man standing at the podium. Prince Hani's tone indicated that his speech was drawing to a close. Rasyn watched as the prince extended a hand to draw his wife to the microphone with him. The thought of such an old man with such a luminous young woman seemed ridiculous, but when she looked at him with pride in her dark gaze, the idea became less strange.
Someday, with work and patience, Libby would look at him that way. He was sure of it.
"The kingdom of Damali has always prided itself on hospitality and generosity. We cannot let a service to the country go unrewarded, though no reward can repay what this young lady has done for us." The prince's tone rose to a dramatic peak. "It is in this spirit that Princess Sanurah and I are pleased to announce, on behalf of the citizens of Damali, that we are bequeathing the territory known as the Sabr Valley to Libby Fay, who shall be crowned as the ruling princess of that province as soon as arrangements for the coronation can be made. We have great faith that she and her descendants will rule that place with compassion and wisdom as long as God shines his face upon her."
Blood pulsed in Rasyn's ears, drowning out the stunned silence shrouding the room. Horror stiffened the now-damp hairs on the back of his neck as his mind reeled, refusing to believe the prince's words.
So that's what Prince Hani had meant the night before. His surprise. By awarding Libby the Sabr Valley, he'd made her royalty. Parliament's law couldn't prevent him from succeeding Uncle Anwar now.
Rasyn's stomach churned acid. All his plans... Everything he'd done...
Gone.
The two people he cared for most in the world turned to take in his reaction. Libby, her face a bloodless contrast to her scarlet gown, raised lost, stunned eyes that seemed to beg for support and reassurance.
In contrast, Imaran's face warped into a mask of rage that was just as quickly replaced by an unreadable blank canvas. As Imaran stood, blocking Rasyn's view of Libby, the scrape of his chair across the marble floor rumbled through the silent room. With high dignity, Imaran smoothed the line of his dinner jacket.
"Congratulations." Imaran spoke too quietly for anyone else in the room to hear. "Abbas is yours. You've won."
***
As he strode down the unfamiliar palace halls in search of Imaran, Rasyn clenched his teeth until they ached. It had all been for nothing.
Instead of unburdening himself of one country he didn't want in favor of a cousin who would take it on gratefully, he was saddled with both Abbas and the Sabr Valley. Not to mention a wife...
Why hadn't she just played her part like he'd planned? But this wasn't the time to think of Libby. He needed to concentrate on finding his cousin, not be distracted by the memory of the mixture of horror and vulnerability on her face.
Imaran would likely never forgive him, but he had to try to talk to his cousin. To come clean about everything and attempt to rescue what he could of their relationship.
Rasyn turned another corner. His gut churned to find a vaulted hall as empty as the one he'd just left.
"Dammit." The curse provided little release from his pent-up anger.
Wait. This hall ended in a night-dark space. A private inner courtyard like the one in the Abbas royal palace? He followed the instinct drawing him to it.
Just as he was about to continue his search elsewhere, a man-shaped shadow moved from its place at the base of a thick-trunked date palm and resolved into the form of his cousin.
"Have you come to gloat?" His tone oozed pain.
"Imaran." He stepped through an archway and passed from the well-lit hallway into a dark garden open to the night sky.
The slow, even noise of a single pair of hands clapping filled the otherwise quiet vacuum. "Well done." The gloom silhouetted Imaran's face. "I have no idea how you accomplished that."
He opened his mouth to speak, but his cousin went on before he had the chance.
"Then again, you always were the favorite. You married a woman who is completely ill-equipped to be queen, managed to circumvent Parliament and delivered the Sabr Valley back to Abbas. All without lifting a finger. Is there anything else of mine you want? It's much easier to just give it to you than have it taken from me so painfully."
The acidic anxiety that had been eating through Rasyn's gut since he'd heard the announcement went still. In its place was a cool rage that wasn't under his control.
"I never wanted this."
"Oh, but you've managed it with such efficiency." Imaran's tone dripped with condescension that fuelled the cold flame of Rasyn's anger. "Even the tabloids are thrilled with your queen. However did you arrange for a photographer to capture you on your knees in that hotel lobby?"
"I did not plan that."
Imaran's laughter split the quiet night. He scrubbed his hand over his face like a man who hadn't slept in a week.
Rasyn could no longer hold back his anger. "You have no clue what I have done to avoid all this. For you," he spat out.
"For me? Please, you shouldn't have." Imaran's sardonic smile made Rasyn clench his fist at his side—the only way to avoid blackening his cousin's eye.
His neck began to prickle with some sixth sense warning of a deeper danger. He didn't have to look behind him to know that he wasn't alone with his cousin. And that the presence he felt was his wife's. He knew as surely as he knew his own name that Libby stood behind him, a little to his right, and that she took in every word he spoke.
But it was too late to stop what was coming next. He could no longer hold in his words. At that moment, Imaran's feelings ceased to matter; Libby's feelings ceased to matter. He could no longer bear the weight of the lies. The truth would be told.
With a chill in his tone that rivaled Imaran's, he spoke. "You accuse me of selfishness? You see me as a thing in the way of your desires. You have always been like a brother to me, and yet you have let our uncle set us against each other. All I wanted was for Uncle Anwar to finally see who was his rightful heir. You."
Imaran's eyebrow's drew together as if he couldn't understand plain English.
"I was willing to sacrifice years of my life to do it. Think of it, Imaran. Why do you imagine that I married a foreign woman that I did not know after the public spectacle of her humiliating us?" He paused at the sound of an indrawn breath behind him, but there was no stopping the truth now. "Did you think I did it despite the fact it would cost me the kingdom? I did it because it would."
For a heartbeat, there was no sound but the night breeze riffling the leaves of the date palm far above.
"I did not want to inherit Abbas. So I went to New York—"
Imaran, his sarcasm evaporating like water in the desert, tried to interrupt. "Rasyn, your wife—"
"It no longer matters," Rasyn continued. "I went to New York to find an unsuitable woman and marry her, in the hope that my foolishness would open Uncle Anwar's eyes. And I did it for you."
Imaran spoke an Arabic curse under his breath.
With the sharp edge of his rage dulled, he turned to where he knew Libby stood. She met his eyes with a cold stare. The night cast her pale skin with blue—in her winking jewels, she had become a princess made of ice.
"For him?" Her tone was oddly calm. "You claim you did this for Imaran? Don't make me laugh. You did it because you're terrified. You can't stand the idea that you might let someone down. I didn't see it before because I assumed you were telling the truth—but you're not the sort of person to be lead around by your heart, are you? Imaran was right about that."
Rasyn couldn’t deny it.
"You didn't just pick me because I fit your plan—you picked me because I was just a servant to you, the lowest person on the totem pole. You could do whatever you want to me without worrying about letting me down. To you, I was as far down as I could go."
"You know," she continued, her voice lacking all emotion. "I agree with you. Imaran should definitely rule Abbas. You're so terrified to have people dep
end on you that you have to control their every move, even if they don’t know it."
Rasyn's heart burned at her words. "You make no sense."
Imaran spoke, the resentment was gone from his voice. "She makes perfect sense. You have felt guilty over... what happened to me."
"Your heart attack," Libby said.
When Imaran flinched, she gentled her tone. "Rasyn told me."
"I did it to myself," Imaran said.
"I should have stopped you," Rasyn said.
"Your wife is right. In fearing to make errors, you have taken responsibility for errors that were not your own. My mistakes are not your fault." Imaran turned to Libby. "I have misjudged you. I only wished to—"
Libby cut him off. "It's okay. Apology accepted. Don't wreck it with excuses."
Imaran eyed him, but spoke to Libby. "Do you wish me to remain?"
Libby shook her head, and Imaran swept away without another word.
"I am not afraid of anything," Rasyn said, barely recognizing the fierce note in his own voice.
Libby crossed gloved hands under her breasts. "Your uncle watched Imaran's father get the woman he loved but he was too proud to do the same for himself. He poisoned both your lives, making you both just like him. Someday, Rasyn, you'll lie on your deathbed and string people along like puppets because you weren't strong enough to tell the truth."
She lifted her chin with a regal tilt. "You've treated your cousin like an object of pity and your wife like an inferior being. No more," she said, in an unwavering voice. "I divorce you."
"Libby—"
"I divorce you."
"Please, just listen," he said.
"I divorce you."
She walked away with a swish of expensive silk. When she stumbled, leaving one of her designer shoes behind, she didn't even break her stride. For a while, he just stood there, staring at the damn thing tipped over on its side on the white marble floor.
***
The dark wooden door loomed over Libby as if the roaring lions were about to leap out of the carving and rip her to shreds. But to her, it all seemed distant and unreal. Her feet didn't seem to belong to her as her steps carried her to the door of the royal apartments.
Cinderella and the Sheikh (Hot Contemporary Romance) Page 11
