The Sheikh's Shock Child

by Susan Stephens

  ‘Of course,’ the lawyers agreed, standing up. ‘We’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ she told Miss Francine as soon as the door had closed behind the visitors. ‘I meant what I said.’

  Miss Francine gave a grateful smile, which at the same time seemed to accept there was nothing to be done. Millie had other ideas. There was one person with enough money to put this right, and, after everything Miss Francine had done for Millie, she was going to enlist his help.

  Ask Khalid for money when she’d broken off with him? See him again? Speak to him? He wouldn’t even take her calls. He’d wanted a clean break too.

  She wouldn’t let Miss Francine down. Her elderly friend deserved a far better end to her working life than this. She didn’t waste any time placing the call to Khalid. The sooner she got it over with, the sooner she could...well, if not exactly relax, at least satisfy herself that she’d tried every avenue.

  Khalid answered on the second ring. She might have thought he’d been waiting for her call, if his comment hadn’t been quite so crisp and short. ‘I’ll send transport for you,’ he said.

  ‘That’s not what I want,’ Millie said tensely. ‘I’m not coming back to Khalifa.’ She drew a deep, steadying breath. ‘I’m asking for your help.’

  ‘Money?’ he said flatly.

  ‘But not for me,’ Millie said quickly, going on to explain the situation.

  ‘Is money all you want?’

  ‘Should there be anything more?’ Of course there should! She had to tell him about the baby—Over the phone? No. She couldn’t do that to him.

  ‘Anything more?’ he queried. In the pause that followed, she could picture him frowning.

  ‘No. There’s nothing more,’ she confirmed, knowing she could never agree to his terms. Becoming Khalid’s mistress while he lived with an arranged bride would break her, and that was even supposing he hoped for something more.

  Millie’s heart was in pieces to hear Khalid sounding so unemotional. It was as if he hadn’t missed her at all—and why should he? They were still worlds apart, Millie concluded sadly, not only in the physical sense, separated by thousands of miles, but by a yawning gulf in their destiny. But she couldn’t allow any of that to matter now. She had to try and do a deal with him, to save Miss Francine’s laundry. Taking a deep, steadying breath, she hit him with her first idea.

  ‘Would you have any objection to my putting Miss Francine’s lawyer in touch with your Development Grant department? I thought that perhaps they could look at the possibility of franchising the business,’ she went on. ‘It would mean everything to Miss Francine to keep the name.’

  ‘And she could be a figurehead?’ the deep, husky voice at the other end of the line said thoughtfully.

  ‘Exactly,’ Millie agreed, relieved that he’d caught on so fast. She smiled to herself, thinking, when did the hawk of the desert ever have any difficulty in making a decision?

  ‘I’ll think about it, and let you know,’ he said.

  The line cut abruptly. She stared at the receiver in her hand, and only then realised that tears were streaming down her face.

  * * *

  Millie, Millie, Millie. Just the sound of her voice was enough for him to start cancelling appointments. Since the moment they’d parted, he’d realised that there was only one woman he could ever care for. To be a better man than his brother meant leading by example. It took time to effect change in an ancient constitution like that of Khalifa, but alterations would be made. On that he was determined.

  He had omitted to mention to Millie the fact that he was in England. An invitation to dine with royalty in London at the palace tomorrow night to discuss various matters had prompted this visit. After talks and a dinner, a ball was to be held in his honour. Anticipating hopeful parents with a daughter to offload, he had planned to make his excuses and leave the palace before the ball. Hearing Millie’s voice again had changed that decision.

  * * *

  Impatiently knuckling away tears, Millie replaced the receiver in its nest. There was no point cradling it, as if that could keep Khalid close. She had to be patient and wait to see if he would be as good as his word. She believed franchising Miss Francine’s laundry would be a good investment, and could only hope that he agreed. But now she had work to do. Sprucing up the laundry to entice any investor was essential. She owed it to Miss Francine to make sure the business looked its best.

  Everyone at the laundry was only too eager to repay Miss Francine’s kindness by pitching in to touch up paintwork in rooms that hadn’t been decorated for years. Millie’s job was to check the machinery was working smoothly, and when they finished Miss Francine had promised a special supper to celebrate what she was already calling ‘a new era’ in the laundry’s history, as if the deal to save it were already done.

  Much to Millie’s relief, her elderly friend seemed to have regained her former vigour, and brightened even more when Millie mentioned another idea she’d come up with, which was for Miss Francine to invite some of the workers to move into her spare bedrooms, much as Millie herself had done after her mother’s death. Miss Francine was known for her soft heart, and many of the girls had experienced unpleasantness in their past like Millie. This would not only provide those who needed it with stability, but would give Miss Francine company and a little extra cash.

  When their long day had finally ended, Miss Francine hurried out of the office with a printout in her hand. ‘This has just arrived from the Sheikh’s office,’ she explained in a voice trembling with hope. ‘His business development team is coming here to look us over!’

  ‘That’s wonderful,’ Millie exclaimed as excitement rose around her.

  Khalid hadn’t let her down.

  Maybe jobs would be saved, and the name of the laundry kept intact. The expression in Miss Francine’s eyes was so full of happiness that it took hold of Millie’s heart and twisted it hard.

  ‘Do you really think we’ll be okay?’ she asked Millie.

  ‘I know we will,’ Millie said confidently as she plucked the pencil out of her up-do to tick another job off her list.

  * * *

  Everyone was laughing at each other’s paint-streaked faces, especially at Millie’s face, as she had added a good dose of black, greasy oil, and not just to her face, but all over the dungarees she’d been wearing to work on the boiler.

  ‘I need to check one more thing,’ Millie said as she climbed back into the tiny, spider-infested cubbyhole where the ancient boiler was housed. She would clean it out, once she had a minute—if that ever happened, Millie thought, grimacing as she stared around in the gloom. Brushing a web out of her hair, she checked the valve she’d replaced was working smoothly, and then carefully backed out of the confined space on all fours.

  ‘Phew, it’s hot in there,’ she exclaimed as she emerged into the light. ‘I’ll have to set up a fan or something before the Sheikh’s team arrives—’

  It was the silence that alerted her to something out of the ordinary. Standing, she turned around. ‘Khalid?’

  Millie’s stomach clenched alarmingly and, turning away, she was forced to put her hand over her mouth.

  One. Two. Three. Time up! Turn around.

  ‘We were only speaking on the phone an hour or so ago,’ she exclaimed heatedly, as if he were in the wrong. ‘How on earth did you get here so quickly?’

  ‘I’m overwhelmed by my welcome,’ he said dryly.

  His smoky, mocking tone, and those eyes...those all-seeing, darkly amused eyes, made her heart beat off the scale.

  Was he really here? Their baby! How would he take it? I love you—so, so much. Oh, good grief, what do I look like with webs in my hair and oil on my face? I never thought to see you again, and now you’re here—

  And breathe.

  ‘No! Don’t touch me!’ she yelped, backing away as Khalid, lo
oking like the master of the sexual universe in a rugged jacket and jeans, advanced. ‘I’m covered in oil and spiders’ webs.’

  As she spoke the room cleared as Miss Francine quickly ushered everyone out.

  There was no stopping Khalid now. Closing the distance between them in a single step, he took hold of her arms in a non-negotiable grip, and, blazing a fierce look into her eyes, he demanded, ‘Do you really think I care about a few spiders’ webs?’

  ‘You should—I mean, your expensive jacket—’

  He snarled something in Khalifan that needed no translation, and dipped his head; he savaged her mouth with a kiss so deep, so firm and passionate, she almost swooned in his arms. When he let her go there was a moment she would never forget, when they stared at each other. So many frustrated hopes and dreams must be reflected in her eyes, while his were stonily determined. ‘I can’t do this again,’ she whispered.

  ‘Yes, you can,’ he said. ‘And you will.’

  He was to marry some suitable princess. Why pretend? Millie’s heart had already been dashed to pieces on the harsh rock of reality. But that didn’t stop her heart aching with love, even as the more sensible part of her wished they could have remained continents apart, so she would never have to go through the grief of losing him again.

  ‘You’re coming with me,’ he rapped.

  ‘No, I’m not,’ she argued, incredulity ringing in her voice.

  ‘That wasn’t a suggestion,’ Khalid assured her. ‘We’ve wasted enough time. Do you want my help or not?’

  ‘At the laundry?’ she said in confusion. ‘Of course, I want your help. But not if you’re blackmailing me—I’ll find some other way.’ She stared at him tensely. They had to get this straight.

  Neither was prepared to back down, or give in. They were perfectly matched, she thought a little wistfully.

  ‘You have a decision to make,’ Khalid told her.

  Think—think straight—make the right call.

  She only had one shot at this. A lifetime of work had gone into the laundry, as well as all the precious lives Miss Francine strived so hard to put back on track. It wasn’t just jobs at stake here, but people’s futures and their happiness, and maybe even survival for some of her friends. She had to get this right. It wasn’t about her feelings for Khalid, or even for her own self-respect; it was a bigger decision than all of that.

  ‘Where are you going from here?’ she asked tensely.

  ‘To my London home,’ Khalid told her succinctly, his eyes stern, his mouth firm.

  Well, that wasn’t too bad. It wasn’t as far away as Khalifa. ‘Can’t we talk here?’

  With a sound of impatience, Sheikh Khalid—for she could think of him as nothing else now, and in this setting—raked his hair. ‘I can’t just book into the local motel.’

  He had a point.

  ‘You wanted to discuss Miss Francine’s case,’ he reminded her. ‘And you convinced me this meeting can’t wait. I can’t wait,’ he added in a clipped tone. ‘I have a country to run, and business at the palace in London. Either you come with me now, or I return to the capital without you, in which case you can go through the usual channels to apply for the grant.’

  Millie’s jaw dropped. ‘You are blackmailing me.’

  ‘I’m telling you how it is,’ Khalid stated without emotion, though there was fire burning behind his eyes.

  So much for romantic reunions, Millie thought, feeling her spirits dip even as her determination to do something right strengthened. ‘I’ll have to change my clothes—’

  ‘No time,’ he rapped. ‘Everything will be waiting for you when we arrive. Go and say goodbye to your friends.’

  Millie’s mind was in turmoil. This was crazy. She was still getting over the shock of seeing him. And coming to terms with how much she’d missed him, she silently admitted. Khalid’s stern expression held nothing but impatience, though his kiss had suggested he was pleased to see her, she accepted wryly. If she had a chance of saving Miss Francine’s business, she didn’t have a choice, and better she told him about the baby when they had some prospect of privacy in his London home. ‘Ten minutes,’ she said.

  ‘Five,’ he countered.

  She fired a look into Khalid’s fierce dark eyes, to let him know she’d do this, but was no pushover. He held her stare locked in his, and in that split second she knew there would be trouble ahead. Putting down her tool bag, she headed into the next room to break the news that she was leaving to her employer and friends.

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN

  NOTHING IN KHALID’S life was slow or ordinary, Millie accepted as she ducked down beneath the rotor blades before climbing into his helicopter. Having seen her harness was correctly fixed and her headphones in place, he took the pilot’s seat, and before she knew it they were soaring over London.

  Green areas were at a premium in the centre of the city, but the Sheikh of Khalifa owned a very large swathe of green, with an impressive dwelling, a palace, really, set like a jewel in the middle of the most fabulous grounds. There was even a lake, she noticed, and as the aircraft swooped lower she could see the bustle of a big city beyond his perimeter walls. The haven inside those walls reminded her of an oasis in the middle of a glass and concrete city.

  What else did she expect of the hawk of the desert? Millie wondered as Khalid hovered the aircraft over the helipad set in a courtyard the size of two football pitches, before landing it precisely in the centre of the cross.

  His voice came through the speakers. ‘The building dates from Tudor times,’ he said as he closed down the engines.

  At least he seemed to have relaxed. ‘I’m impressed,’ she said truthfully.

  ‘Wait until you see inside,’ he added as the engines fell silent.

  Khalid was right about the inside of the building. It was the most spectacular interior she’d ever seen. It was a disappointment when he didn’t offer her a tour, and simply handed her over to the care of a smiling housekeeper.

  She had thought they’d have some time together, Millie reflected as he jogged up the stairs. When was she going to tell him about the baby? Would she have to make an appointment to see him? This entrance hall was so grand, with its vaulted ceiling and acres of marble floor, that she felt like a very tiny cog in the huge engine of his life.

  But the housekeeper was friendly as she escorted Millie to her suite of rooms. To her fabulous suite of rooms, Millie amended, trying not to overreact at each new revelation. While meticulous attention had been paid to ancient architectural detail, every gizmo and tech advancement was available to make life easy, though, of course, discreetly hidden away, she saw as the housekeeper opened a drawer in an antique chest to show her the controls for lighting and blinds, and heating and air con.

  ‘You should be comfortable,’ the housekeeper said with monumental understatement. ‘And if there’s anything more you need, please don’t hesitate to call on the house phone.’ Which was also cunningly concealed in a drawer in the nightstand.

  Old English panelling gleamed with loving care, while Millie’s feet sank into soft rugs as she stared around. She had loved the rich, vibrant colours of the desert, but she loved these muted pastels just as much.

  ‘I hope you like your accommodation,’ the housekeeper said warmly as Millie stared up at the colourful frescoes and took in the intricate plasterwork, and walls covered with silk, rather than paper or paint.

  ‘I love it,’ Millie enthused. ‘These are the most beautiful rooms I’ve ever seen.’

  ‘There’s a view to the lake,’ the housekeeper revealed as she drew the floating voile drapes aside.

  ‘This is just exquisite,’ Millie breathed as she trailed her fingertips across the top of a mahogany dressing table. And a world away from what she was used to. It only made the gap between her and Khalid seem wider.

  ‘I ordered the scents—’ she�
��d been trailing her fingertips across, Millie realised now, drawing her hand back fast as the housekeeper mentioned them ‘—from our most famous store in London. I wasn’t sure of your taste, so I hope you like at least one of them?’

  ‘I like all of them, and thank you for your trouble.’ As gilded cages went, this surely had to be one of the most opulent and refined, though it was hard to see this as a cage or a trap. Khalid’s housekeeper couldn’t have been nicer. Any guest would feel welcome here.

  ‘Nothing is too much trouble for His Majesty’s guests, Ms Dillinger.’

  And this was said so warmly it wasn’t easy to think Millie was just the most recent in a long line of His Majesty’s female guests. ‘I’m sure not,’ she agreed, returning the housekeeper’s smile.

  The tour continued into the bathroom, and then into a fully fitted dressing room.

  ‘I have also taken the liberty of ordering a number of gowns for you to choose from for the ball tomorrow night.’

  ‘The ball?’ Millie queried. She gazed in incredulity at the glittering collection of fabulous gowns.

  ‘His Majesty has been invited as guest of honour to a ball at the palace tomorrow evening,’ the housekeeper explained. ‘He thought you might like to accompany him.’

  Millie was speechless. At first, she thought, I’d be like a fish out of water. But then she remembered her friends at the laundry. They’d give their eye teeth to take a look around the palace, and she could tell them about it when she returned to King’s Dock.

  ‘I can’t thank you enough for all the trouble you’ve gone to,’ she told the housekeeper.

  ‘Don’t thank me, thank His Majesty—who sends his regrets, but he has business to attend to for the rest of the day and evening, and so he will meet you tomorrow evening at the ball.’

  No chance to talk to him about the baby before then?

  Arriving at the palace without an escort tomorrow night seemed an insignificant challenge compared to that.

  ‘Would you like me to send up some food?’ the housekeeper asked as she prepared to leave.