by Kim Lawrence
When his mouth lifted neither moved. They stood breathing hard, their lips close but not quite touching, until the sound of a person nosily clearing his throat in the doorway caused them to break apart.
‘Good evening, Father.’
Beatrice, her face scarlet, turned to see the King, flanked by two uniformed guards, standing in the doorway.
CHAPTER NINE
HAKIM AL KAMAL was not the frail figure Beatrice had been expecting, but a robust-looking man with a head of dark hair streaked with silver. His cleanshaven face was surprisingly unlined, and his piercing dark gaze was very familiar. It was at that moment moving from her to Tariq.
‘This isn’t what it looks like,’ she blurted.
The King’s bushy brows lifted towards his hairline. ‘Things rarely are.’
‘This is Beatrice Devlin, Father.’ Tariq didn’t appear to be even faintly discomposed by his father’s arrival.
Beatrice didn’t know whether she ought to bow or curtsy. Given the option, she would have fallen through a large hole that would have magically opened at her feet.
The arrival of the medical team en masse saved her from having to make the choice. In seconds the room was full of people, and she took the opportunity to move surreptitiously towards the door.
She was congratulating herself on her escape when a voice behind her stopped her in her tracks. ‘Running away?’
Beatrice carried on walking, but a moment later he fell in step with her. ‘It was a bit crowded in there,’ she said, without turning her head.
‘I need to go back.’
She gave a negligent shrug. ‘Go,’ she said, thinking, Please! It was hard not to think about that kiss—and if she did she really wouldn’t be able to hold it together—when the person who had done the kissing was standing a few inches away.
Tariq looked at her set profile, expelled an exasperated breath through his teeth, and caught her by the shoulder.
‘Don’t touch me!’ she breathed, backing away, her eyes wide.
‘Don’t worry—I will explain the situation to my father.’
Beatrice stared, and wished that first he’d explain it to her. How had this happened to her?
‘He will give his permission for you to marry Khalid.’
Back at her apartments in the palace, Beatrice made the call to Emma. When the other girl had stopped alternately weeping and asking Beatrice if she was sure Khalid was out of danger, she announced with unusual determination in her soft voice that she would catch the next flight there and would see Beatrice when she arrived.
Beatrice didn’t tell her that she wouldn’t be there.
Her continued presence here would serve no useful purpose except to confirm the painful truth. She was in love with Tariq, and when he discovered the full truth about her deception—as he surely would—he’d despise her even more than he already did. If that were possible.
It turned out there were no seats on the direct flight back to London until the next day. Beatrice appealed to the booking clerk, who worked out a tortuous route home via France later today. But she’d get there quicker, he said, if she waited until the next day, and it would be a ten-hour stop-over in Paris. Beatrice booked herself a ticket anyway.
A ten-hour wait in an airport was to her mind infinitely preferable to risking the chance of coming face to face with Tariq and blurting out goodness knew what. All she had to do was keep a low profile until this evening.
She was considering how best to do that when a round-eyed and excited Azil appeared to tell her the King had re quested that Beatrice visit him.
She broke off when she saw Beatrice’s half-full case and ex claimed in dismay, ‘You’re not leaving, miss?’
‘Yes, I’m going home.’ Only I have no home. She felt the sting of self-pitying tears in her eyes and reminded herself that was the way she liked it.
Her life style had made her adaptable. It meant she could come some where totally alien and exotic—and you couldn’t get much more alien or exotic than Zarhat—and fit in without getting emotionally attached to the place…or the people. Then off she went to her next little adventure.
‘I like meeting new people and only being responsible for myself.’
She saw the young girl staring at her in total in comprehension and thought, Who are you trying to convince, Bea?
‘Ask Sayed to come in, Azil. I think you might have got the message wrong.’ She had been here long enough to know that the King did not request visits from just anyone these days.
He communicated even with his most trusted advisors through Tariq, and until she had seen him today at the hospital Beatrice had imagined he was an invalid.
Sayed came in without an invitation, projecting disapproval.
‘Does Prince Tariq know you are planning to leave?’
‘Why should he? It’s none of his business,’ Beatrice retorted, sticking out her chin.
‘I think it is possible he might not agree with you.’
So, nothing new there! ‘Your Prince,’ she said slamming down the lid, ‘thinks everything is his business. Azil has been telling me the King wants to see me. I’m assuming she’s got that wrong.’
‘His Highness has re quested that you attend him.’
Beatrice stared at him in horror. ‘You’re not serious?’ She saw Sayed’s face and groaned out loud. ‘What does he want to see me for?’
The question almost caused Sayed’s leathery face to break into a grin. ‘He did not confide in me.’
‘And even if he did you wouldn’t blab. I know…’ She glanced down at the clothes she was wearing. ‘I’ll have to change.’
Sayed cleared his throat and explained tact fully, ‘Actually, I think the request was of the immediate variety.’
‘You mean it was a summons?’ Beatrice clutched her head and expelled a shaky sigh before firming her mouth. ‘Oh well, I suppose I might as well get it over with,’ she said, in the tone of a condemned woman. ‘I’ve no idea what he’d want to say to me. Couldn’t you just tell him I’ve booked my flight?’
‘Oh, I would imagine he already knows. Little in the palace happens that the King doesn’t know about.’
‘Did you try and make that sound sinister to spook me out?’
This time Sayed did permit himself a grin.
The King’s private apartments were in the oldest part of the palace, and it took a good fifteen minutes before they reached them. Beatrice still hadn’t come up with anything he might want to say to her beyond the obvious—Hands off my son—but she had thought of quite a few things she would like to say to him.
The small court yard she was taken to was a lot less intimidating than the throne room she had imagined. The space was empty but for the King, who sat on a carved stone bench dressed in flowing white robes, his head bare, revealing his leonine silvered mane.
He was reading a book that he set aside when she entered.
‘Take a seat, Miss Devlin. You have been with us some time, and we have not had an opportunity to meet before today, but I have been aware of your…actions.’
Did Tariq report to him?
‘Tariq has not discussed you with me.’
Tariq, it would seem, had inherited his spooky perception from his father. ‘Does everyone have their own set of spies here?’ a startled Beatrice blurted.
The King did not look offended. ‘I need other eyes and ears, as I do not leave my apartments these days.’
Beatrice decided that on balance she didn’t want to know what those eyes and ears had been telling him about her.
‘My son…Tariq…he—’
‘He—’ she cut in, unable to contain the indignation and anger that been building inside her on the way over. ‘Tariq—your son—’ She broke off, breathing hard as she tried to control her feelings. Her grip of royal protocol was shaky, but even she knew you couldn’t tell a king that he ought to consider the consequences his reclusivness had on other people.
‘Tariq…?’ the King pro
mpted gently.
‘I thought you were some sort of invalid—but look at you. You’re fine…totally fine!’
The King looked startled by the accusation.
‘So you need a stick?’ she conceded, her glance shifting to the cane at his side. ‘And you feel a bit self-conscious about your speech?’
‘My people need to see a strong ruler.’
‘I’m a stranger, but even I know the people here love you. Have you for got ten that?’
The King’s eyes narrowed. His glance was steely as it rested on her face. No slurring was evident as he spoke, a regal warning in his stern voice.
‘You forget to whom you speak.’
Of course she had gone too far. But she reasoned it was too late to pull back—and what did she have to lose?
‘I know I’m no great loss to diplomacy, and I’m sorry—I know I’m speaking out of turn—but I hate to see Tariq… Oh, I know his shoulders are broad and he’s capable—he’d be the first person to tell you he’s the most capable person on the planet—’ she vented a dry laugh and tucked her hair behind her ears ‘—and I’m well aware that he’s not exactly troubled by lack of self-belief, and I know it will be his job one day. But not yet.’
The King had allowed her to continue speaking partly because her forthrightness had a certain novelty value. But as he listened to what she was saying he wondered if there was not a grain of truth in it. Also, this young woman had the most expressive face he had ever seen, and he found it entrancing to watch the expressions flicker across her beautiful face.
‘He worries about you, he worries about his brother, and as dear as Khalid is, I don’t see why he gets to swan around playing the playboy while Tariq does all the hard work. Responsibility would do him some good. I’m sorry, I know it’s none of my business—and you brought me here to ask me something…?’
She angled a questioning brow and waited tensely for his response, wondering what the penalty was for telling the King a few home truths.
‘I did. But you have answered all my questions, Miss Devlin.’
She was worrying about this enigmatic response when he smiled and asked if she would like some refreshment. As it clearly wasn’t really a request, Beatrice smiled nervously and took a seat.
CHAPTER TEN
WHEN he had told Beatrice that his father would agree to the marriage Tariq had never doubted his ability to make good his promise.
But he’d been wrong. His father’s attitude was totally inflexible. When reasoned argument and persuasion had failed he had resorted to moral black mail, asking the King if he was willing to sentence his son to a life without the woman he loved at his side.
‘He will love again.’
‘For some men there is only one love, one soul mate.’
His father had responded to this pressured retort with scornful laughter. There were no cir cum stances, he had told Tariq, that would make him agree to this marriage between Beatrice Devlin and Khalid.
He’d then said some things about Beatrice that had made Tariq forget the respect his parent was due and resulted in an exchange of harsh words, after which Tariq had stormed out of his father’s apartments.
He headed directly for the hospital. His intention was to explain the situation to Khalid and promise his brother he would do everything in his power to change their father’s mind, but that it might take some time.
The consultant caught up with him just as he was about to enter Khalid’s room. When the medic was finished, he condensed the report.
‘So there will be no long-term consequences for Khalid?’
‘None,’ the doctor agreed cheer fully.
Tariq expressed his gratitude and entered his brother’s room. Khalid was sitting in a chair, a phone pressed to his ear as he looked out at the bustling city street far below.
Tariq closed the door quietly and prepared to wait until his brother had finished speaking.
‘And I love you, Emma, you know I do, and soon we will—Hey! What—?’ He cried out as the phone was snatched un ceremoniously from his grasp. ‘Tariq! I didn’t hear you…’
‘But I heard you, little brother,’ Tariq said as he dropped it in the jug of iced water at the bedside. ‘Who,’ he asked, in a voice like cold steel, ‘is Emma?’
Khalid’s eyes fell from his brother’s hot, accusing glare. ‘I didn’t know you were there…’
‘Who is she?’
‘Oh, all right, then,’ he muttered, glaring defiantly at his brother. ‘I’m sick of all this pretending anyway. Emma is the girl I love.’
Inside Tariq rage flared hot, but outside he was as cold as ice. ‘Yesterday you loved Beatrice.’
‘When you meet Emma you’ll love her too, Tariq.’
Tariq’s jaw clenched. ‘I do not transfer my affections quite so easily as you appear to,’ Tariq observed sardonically. ‘And are you planning on marrying her too? Or are you planning on starting up a harem?’
Khalid flushed at the sarcasm. ‘If you must know,’ he yelled in a driven voice, ‘we’re already married. We had a civil ceremony. And Emma is having my baby. And if you and Father don’t like it, too bad!’
The colour seeped from Tariq’s face. ‘Is what you say true?’
‘Yes, but—’
‘You disgust me!’
Khalid looked shaken by the venom in his brother’s voice. ‘I didn’t want to lie, but Beatrice is—’
Sucking in a breath through flared nostrils, Tariq held up his hand. ‘I saw her face when she heard about your accident… She sat by your bed—’ He stopped, shook his head, and regarded his brother with contempt. ‘If you were not already in a hospital bed I would put you there.’
With a last contemptuous glare at his brother, Tariq walked out of the room.
As she opened the door to allow Tariq to enter, Beatrice was very conscious of her packed cases in the next room.
‘I have just been to see Khalid.’
Beatrice looked at his face and her heart sank.
‘Something has happened?’
Tariq nodded. ‘Yes, it has.’
Beatrice sank into a chair, pale-faced and feeling sick. Emma was even now on her way here, and she had told her Khalid was fine.
‘Not that kind of something.’
Her head came up. ‘You mean he’s all right?’
Tariq’s jaw tightened. ‘He is well.’ That would only be a temporary situation.
Beatrice expelled a long shaky sigh of relief. ‘Then what…?’
‘There is no easy way to tell you this.’ His dark eyes moved over her face before he swung away suddenly, saying something angry in his own tongue.
Beatrice stared at his rigid back, a perplexed frown pleating her brow as he began to pace the room. ‘I wish you’d tell me what’s wrong, because I promise you I’m imagining all sorts of terrible things.’
‘There is another woman.’
Beatrice stared at him. ‘Another woman?’
His lip curled in contempt. ‘She is called Emily.’
Suddenly comprehension and relief dawned. ‘Emma,’ Beatrice corrected.
His brows shot up. ‘You know about her?’
‘She’s my best friend.’
Tariq swore under his breath. He dropped down and, squatting on his heels so that their faces were level, caught one of Beatrice’s hands. ‘If he told you he had finished with her I’m afraid he was lying, Beatrice,’ he told her gently.
‘He didn’t tell me that. I know he loves Emma.’
Tariq’s brow creased as his dark eyes scanned her face. ‘You know he…and yet you are with him?’
His tone made her flush defensively. ‘It’s not like that,’ she protested, wondering why Khalid had only told his brother part of the story.
He shook his head and raised a clenched fist to his forehead as he struggled to control his temper. ‘Are you so besotted that you are willing to share him? Have you no pride? No self-respect?’ he raged. ‘Did you also know that he has marri
ed this woman?’
Beatrice’s eyes widened. ‘Married?’ she yelped. ‘They got married?’
‘And she is carrying his child.’
Shock wiped the colour from Beatrice’s face. ‘A baby!’ Beatrice ex claimed, her face registering her amazement at the news.
‘You think this is the end of the world,’ he said. Beatrice didn’t resist as he took her shoulders and pulled her to her feet. ‘But it is not,’ he promised her. He hooked his thumb under her chin and forced her face up to his. ‘You could have any man you wanted.’
The kindness in his voice was her undoing. Tears began to seep from her eyes, streaming un checked down her face. ‘I don’t want any man,’ she quivered. ‘Only one man.’
Anger, molten hot, surged through him as he looked down into her shimmering eyes. His fingers tightened around her upper arms. ‘That is not true. You wanted me,’ he gritted.
Oh, my God, he knows. With an inarticulate cry of horror she began to pull away, but Tariq jerked her back, causing their bodies to violently collide, knocking the air from her lungs.
The anger rolled off him in waves she could literally feel as he snarled, ‘It may not be the pure and elevated emotion you apparently feel for my brother, but you wanted me…you want me.’
Standing thigh to thigh, both breathing heavily, they locked eyes.
‘I…’ As her throat clogged with an emotional thickness Beatrice shook her head.
‘Deny it!’
Beatrice lifted her chin, anger lending an extra sparkle to her luminous eyes as she responded to his cruel challenge. ‘I can’t,’ she shouted. ‘Are you happy now?’
He didn’t look happy. He still looked ferociously angry, the strong angles of his patrician features taut as his burning gaze roamed across the soft contours of her upturned features.
Beatrice felt her anger drain. Her breath quickened and her heart skipped several beats; the stretching silence vibrated with raw sexual awareness.
‘I could make you forget him.’
