The Widow And The Sheikh (Hot Arabian Nights, Book 1)

by Marguerite Kaye

Witnessing the effect of his words, Kamal continued with renewed malice. ‘When he became ill he asked me to send for you. I told him that I had done so, and then I am afraid I informed him that your response had been singularly disappointing. You would not come to Qaryma, I told him. You made it clear that you never wanted to see Father again. He was most upset, as you can imagine. And bitterly disappointed.’

  Azhar clenched his fists so tightly his nails dug into his palms, drawing blood. ‘So you gave him no choice but to appoint you his Regent, which was your plan all along.’

  ‘Not quite. My plan was to make him so angry he disowned you completely and named me his heir.’

  ‘But he didn’t.’ Azhar got to his feet once more. ‘I thought my father bequeathed me Qaryma to punish me for leaving. I see now that he did it to keep the kingdom safe from your treacherous clutches. He knew—or he must have strongly suspected—that you lied about the first summons, why else would he insist the second was made in the presence of Council?’

  ‘The act of a dying autocrat, no more,’ Kamal protested. ‘He cannot possibly have guessed that I...’

  ‘...deceived him. He must have,’ Azhar interrupted, his mind racing. ‘To swallow his pride, to be prepared to make the first move to heal the rift between us, my father must have feared greatly for Qaryma’s future at your hands. It must have cost him dearly to be forced to appoint you Regent.’

  ‘It was my right. It was my right.’

  Kamal, fists clenched, expression sulky, took a hasty step forward. Azhar put a restraining hand on his brother’s chest. ‘Attempt to strike me,’ he said with icy calmness, ‘and we will be spared the need to secure the services of an executioner to despatch you for a treasonable act, for I will throttle you myself with my bare hands.’

  He would never mete out such draconian punishment, but Kamal did not know that. The colour drained from his face, his knees gave way and he crumpled, prostrate on the tiled floor below the throne, sobbing and begging for mercy, just as the Chief Overseer had done an hour previously.

  ‘Get up,’ Azhar said, sickened.

  ‘What will you do with me? I am your brother, your only brother of true royal blood, you cannot possibly mean to...’

  But Azhar had had enough. ‘You have brought nothing but shame and dishonour to our royal lineage,’ he hissed, white with fury. ‘I came here willing to overlook your weaknesses, to help you to become the King that Qaryma deserves, and you have done nothing but lie to me, cheat me, deceive me. I came here, Kamal, to give you what you wanted most because I thought you deserved it, and because it is the last thing that I wanted. You have not only done your best to ruin our kingdom, you have destroyed my life in the process. Get out! Get out and do not dare show your face to me again. I will decide your fate when I am ready.’

  Kamal hesitated, but whatever he saw in Azhar’s face persuaded him that further pleas for mercy would fall on stony ground. Deliberately refraining from bowing, he turned his back and left the kiosk, head defiantly high. Azhar watched him go, waiting for the door to close behind him, another moment for the garden door to close, and then he slumped down on the throne, dropping his head into his hands. Ten years ago, he had been on the other side of that door when it had slammed shut. Now, he was on the inside. Not just inside but locked inside. For ever.

  Chapter Ten

  Wearily rubbing her neck and rolling her shoulders, for she had been working since first light, Julia took a sliver of melon from her untouched luncheon tray. Outside, the sky was newly washed by yesterday’s storm, a celestial blue with not a single cloud to mar it. Though she had any number of loose ends to tie up in order to complete Daniel’s treatise, and despite Daniel’s watch ticking away remorselessly, almost reproachfully, Julia decided that she was going to steal some of the remaining time for herself, and start work on capturing the hidden garden in the Fourth Court.

  * * *

  Half an hour later, bathed and changed into her favourite tunic of lemon muslin, pale-green trousers and matching slippers, Julia turned the key in the door which connected the two gardens. It was like stepping into a perfumed bath, scented by all the familiar flowers and herbs of home, mingling with the exotic, more heady scents of the desert. She closed her eyes, trying to fix every single element in her head in the elusive hope that one day she would be able to recapture it, perhaps even recreate it in a garden of her own. But for the moment she would try to preserve it in watercolours.

  Azhar was sitting on a stone bench in the shade of an archway where roses grew in wild profusion. He was staring out over the parapet at the desert, lost in his own thoughts, and did not see her. He was dressed in white silk, his formal robes, though he had cast off his cloak and headdress. His hair, recently cropped, sat like a silk cap on his head, the ruthlessly short cut drawing attention to the sharp planes of his cheeks. The starkness of his beauty stole her breath away, but the bleakness of his expression twisted her heart. Setting her painting equipment on to the path, she stepped lightly forward, joining him on the bench.

  ‘Julia.’

  Azhar put his arm around her, tilting her head on to his shoulder, pulling her tight against him. She could feel the rise and fall of his chest. The soap he used was scented with lemons. Through the silk of his tunic, his skin was warm. Their legs were touching, thigh to knee. She shifted her foot to rest her slipper against his boot, and he stirred, kissing the top of her head, releasing her but only to push back her headdress, to run his fingers through her hair, and then to kiss her slowly, lingeringly, with a hint of desperation, before releasing her a second time.

  ‘Julia. How did you know I would be here?’

  ‘I didn’t. I came to paint.’ She smoothed out the frown which furrowed his brow.

  ‘The first time I showed you this garden—this secret garden—you said you thought it would give my father solace, a private place of refuge. I didn’t understand you then, but I do now.’

  ‘What has happened, Azhar?’ she asked, already dreading the answer.

  He shook his head, the sensuous curve of his mouth turned down in an expression of such pain that she almost couldn’t bear to look at it. ‘Kamal?’ she whispered, taking his hand.

  His fingers gripped hers painfully as he nodded. ‘I realised last night that I could put it off no longer,’ he said harshly. ‘That cursed watch I brought you. So little time left to set matters to rights, I thought. And now...’ His voice cracked. ‘Now I have all the time in the world.’

  ‘You have decided to stay?’

  He swallowed hard. ‘I have no choice.’

  She listened as he recounted his interview with Kamal, biting back indignant exclamations, while a deep, burning anger at the weak, selfish, unworthy man who called himself Azhar’s brother grew inexorably.

  ‘He was completely unrepentant,’ Azhar finished. ‘He seemed to think that the diamonds were some sort of legitimate compensation for his regency.’

  ‘How do you intend to deal with him?’

  Azhar shook his head dejectedly. ‘It will bring shame and dishonour to our royal name if I publicly accuse him, and shame and dishonour upon myself if I do not.’

  ‘I don’t know what to say. I can’t even begin to imagine how you must feel.’

  ‘You are the only person on this earth who can,’ Azhar replied with a ghost of a smile. ‘No one knows me as you do. You know what a poisoned chalice the crown of Qaryma will be to me. You, and only you, understand what it will cost me.’

  ‘Oh, Azhar, I wish with all my heart that you did not have to do this. If there was any other way...’ Julia stopped, her voice clogged with tears.

  ‘Don’t cry, I beg you. It had to be done and cannot be undone.’

  ‘Then I shall not cry,’ she said with a sniff and a faltering smile. ‘To learn that your father actually kept track of your whereabouts—that he was proud of you—that at least, is one positive thing to emerge from this, is it not?’

  ‘Another poisoned chalice. If I am c
ompletely honest, I am not at all sure that I would have responded to that first summons, had Kamal actually sent it,’ Azhar said, looking troubled. ‘It would have been my opportunity to make my peace with my father, but I fear I would have seen the price as too high to pay, Julia, suspecting that if I came back I would not be capable of leaving a second time. A suspicion that I have just now managed to prove was well founded. But I deeply regret that I did not make my peace with my father.’

  ‘You cannot bear the sole burden of guilt,’ Julia said decidedly. ‘Your father waited nine years before extending the olive branch, and even then he did it only because he fell ill. Nine years which have served to make you the man you are, and that man will be a better ruler for the experience.’

  ‘Thank you,’ Azhar said, kissing her hand. ‘I know you say these things only to ease my guilt, but I appreciate the sentiments.’

  ‘I say these things because they are true. And the most important truth of all is that it is the—the essence of you, the man in here,’ she said, laying her hand over his heart, ‘the honourable man who can give nothing less than his all, whether it is to his business or his country, that’s what makes you the best King Qaryma will ever have.’

  ‘And now I have made you cry again.’

  Julia shook her head. ‘I’m not—it is not you. I wish—oh, Azhar, I wish there was something I could do to help you.’

  He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb. His eyes were dark, still troubled. ‘Do you mean that?’

  The way he looked at her made icy fingers of fear clutch at her heart. ‘What do you require of me?’

  Azhar got to his feet, clasping his hands behind his back, looking out over the parapet at the desert. ‘If I am to do this, if I am to wear the crown, then it is best that I do so as soon as possible. From now on, my time will not be my own—I cannot afford to be distracted, Julia.’

  Her heart plummeted. ‘I see,’ she said, trying to keep the disappointment and sense of rejection from her voice. She knew she had no right to feel that way but there it was regardless.

  ‘No, you don’t.’ Azhar caught her as she made to turn away from him. ‘These last few weeks, the precious time we have spent together has been the only ray of sunshine in what has been a torrid experience. I have come to greatly value your judgement, to rely on being able to talk matters over with you, knowing that you will always be honest with me, no matter what the cost. A rarity for a man in my position, believe me, since no one dares challenge my judgement.’

  ‘You will be Sheikh al-Farid, King Azhar of Qaryma,’ Julia intoned, quoting the words he had once recited from the coronation. ‘You will be the font of all wisdom, the provider of all happiness. The infallible one, whom none may question. Do I have that right?’

  ‘Almost word perfect,’ Azhar said. ‘Unfortunately,’ he added with a twisted smile. ‘Which means that our spending time together must come to a halt. I must start as I mean to go on Julia—alone. My decisions must be my own, and my desire for you—you know how strongly I desire you—but it can have no place in my life now either. I must dedicate myself to my kingdom. When they place the crown on my head, I will belong to Qaryma. And I plan to be crowned as soon as it can be arranged.’

  ‘Are you afraid that if you delay, you might not go through with it?’

  He flinched, for her tone was sharp, but he met her gaze openly. ‘Yes.’

  The simple admission broke down all her defences. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I couldn’t bear to make things more difficult for you. I will do whatever you ask.’

  The relief which flooded his face was her reward. He pulled her into his arms, kissing her gently. ‘I ask only that you understand.’

  ‘I do.’

  ‘Thank you.’ He kissed her again. ‘You will use the extra time usefully, I hope?’

  ‘I—yes. Johara told me of an oasis where there is a unique kind of moss, I had hoped—but it is not necessary. I have more than enough to occupy my last—the time I have remaining here, thank you.’ Was this the end? Was he expecting her to say goodbye? No, she could not believe it, there were arrangements to be made, a guide to hire—no, she would not allow herself to think that this was the last time she would see him. Utterly dejected, Julia cast around for her drawing equipment. ‘I wanted to paint this secret garden, but if you are going to be in residence at the Royal Kiosk...’

  ‘I will have someone inform you when the garden is unoccupied so you may work undisturbed.’

  She could feel the tears welling. She would not allow them to fall. Muttering another thank you, Julia picked up her painting box and fled.

  * * *

  Julia set down her paintbrush and studied the two landscapes critically. In the three days since she had last seen Azhar, she had been working on them almost exclusively. The light was not yet perfectly captured in the seascape, but she was pleased with the mood.

  Aisha, setting the dinner tray down on the table, studied the almost-finished works. ‘These are beautiful. This is your home?’ she asked. ‘I have never seen the sea. It is vast and so beautiful.’

  Julia nodded. ‘Much as your desert is for me.’ She had always considered Marazion Bay her home, though she had not lived there since she married Daniel. The house she had shared with her husband near Truro, leased from an acquaintance of her father’s, would be occupied by someone else by now. After the funeral, Julia had boxed up their few possessions and had them placed in storage at her father’s house. He had assumed that she would come to live with him when she returned from her supposed visit to the Highlands.

  Julia had no idea what she was going to do with her freedom once she attained it. She had not thought beyond fulfilling her promises to Daniel, but those would take her perhaps three, at the most six months more to execute. Her work here in Arabia was already completed. Now that she had finished the landscapes for Azhar, she intended to spend what time remained painting the pictures which would become her own personal mementos of her momentous time here.

  Aisha had finished setting out the dainty array of dishes on the table. ‘Prince Azhar is very busy preparing for his coronation,’ she said.

  There was sympathy in her eyes. ‘Yes, I know,’ Julia said. Now that it was almost over, she could not see the point in pretending that Aisha didn’t know how often Azhar visited her here. Aisha had proven herself the soul of discretion and Julia was happy to have her company. ‘He told me he would be unable to visit again.’

  Aisha ushered her to the table. ‘As it should be,’ she said with a smile. ‘Prince Azhar is an honourable man. It is known that he spends much time with you. You are a foreigner, you have no husband and you are so skinny,’ she said with a small smile. ‘People cannot understand why he does not take a more suitable mistress.’

  Colour flooded Julia’s cheeks. Living so isolated from the rest of the palace, it had been easy for her to pretend that the nature of her relationship with Azhar was privy to no one save Aisha. Knowing that she had been the subject of gossip, none of it flattering, was mortifying. ‘I have caused a scandal,’ she said, putting her hands to her flaming cheeks.

  Aisha shook her head. ‘No, people understand that Prince Azhar is a virile man with needs...’ Her mime made it quite clear what she thought Azhar needed. ‘It is shocking that you are a foreigner, but we are not shocked by his having a mistress.’

  ‘But after his coronation?’ Julia asked with a sinking feeling.

  ‘After, it would be unthinkable,’ Aisha said, shaking her head vehemently. ‘A king must be above reproach. But I tell everyone that you are returning to England, and that when you are back there,’ she concluded with a reassuring smile, pointing to Julia’s painting, ‘you will find a fine English husband. So when he has been crowned, King Azhar can find a fine Arabian princess. As it should be, yes? Both happy.’

  Both happy. As the door closed behind Aisha, Julia pushed the plate of delicious food she had been served aside. Aisha had not meant to hurt her. She had on
ly said what Azhar had told her more obliquely himself. He must be aware of the scandal she would cause if she remained here after he had been crowned, yet he had said nothing of the damage her simple presence would do to his reputation—though when she thought back to that conversation, she could see that he had implied it. If he had made the situation so starkly clear, she would have insisted on leaving as soon as possible, but even in extremis, when his world was crashing down around him, Azhar had been thoughtful enough to ensure she had enough time to finish that blasted book of Daniel’s. While she had been selfishly focused only on being deprived of Azhar’s company.

  How long after he was crowned, would it be before he was expected to marry? For he would marry. Being Azhar, incapable of half-measures, he would do everything in his powers to be the best King possible. Which meant ensuring that there was a Crown Prince waiting to take his place when the time came. He’d told her that himself, in the Divan room—was it really less than two weeks ago?

  Abandoning any notion of eating, Julia opened the window and stepped out into the cool evening air, making for her favourite spot under the lemon tree. Azhar would marry and produce an heir for the sake of his kingdom. She would never marry, for the sake of her hard-won freedom. That much had not changed, but something else had. And quite profoundly so. She leaned back against the bark of the tree, closing her eyes. She loved him. Dear heavens, how she loved him. A most fundamental shift, and a very, very unwise thing for her to have allowed to happen, for it changed nothing. None the less, she loved him.

  The scent of the lemons reminded her of the soap Azhar used. Julia wrapped her arms around herself. When they lay on her divan in the aftermath of making love, his skin was salty, slick with sweat. He liked to pull her tight against him then, her bottom snuggled into his groin, one hand heavy on her waist, the other cupping her breast. When she touched him, when he was aroused and she stroked him slowly, her hand curled around his girth, tight and then looser, tight and then looser, his expression was almost one of pain. His fingers curled into the sheets in his efforts to control himself, but Julia had learned how to send him out of control. She knew how to touch the most sensitive spot to make him climax almost immediately. She had a similar spot and he knew exactly how to touch that too. She knew how to hold him tight inside her, to make him pulse, pulse, pulse, but to prevent his release. He could do things with his fingers and his mouth that kept her on the edge of her climax for what seemed like hours, and he could do other things that sustained her climax beyond what she thought possible. He had taught her to take delight in her body.