Conquering His Virgin Queen (Harlequin Presents)

by Pippa Roscoe

  But he’d been wrong.

  The evening of his wedding the kiss they’d shared had been incendiary. One he’d so desperately wanted to explore that when his aide had approached him, panicked with the news that might throw Farrehed into war, Odir had paused.

  For one moment he’d actually considered letting the world go to hell, because all he’d wanted was to lose himself in his new bride. To luxuriate in the sensual promise still heavy on his tongue from her lips.

  And in that horrible moment he’d known the madness his father had felt for his mother.

  The fact that his father had used his son’s wedding day to disguise his invasion into Terhren was unspeakable. But the greater betrayal was Odir’s, because he should have known better.

  So he’d left his bride waiting for him in his palace suite and taken a helicopter with a handful of aides, leaving the rest to follow the next day. And he had embarked on three weeks of intense, secret negotiations with the Sheikh of Terhren.

  And when he’d returned? He’d done everything in his power to shake the hold of their attraction. To ensure that he would never be tempted to disregard his duty again. He’d thrown himself into trade negotiations, soothing the effects of his father’s hurts and betrayals, and developed the infrastructure that would make Farrehed great again.

  And now, to ensure that all that work, all his sacrifice, wouldn’t crumble to dust come eight tomorrow morning, he needed his wife’s agreement to return to his side.

  He would have her answer before he gave the speech. And if she still said no? Well, then he had his next weapon at hand—one that she wouldn’t be able to shake off.

  * * *

  The noise that greeted them as they exited the lift was deafening and disorientating.

  The events of the last hour had gone to her head. Odir’s offer, delivered in the form of an uncompromising command, still pounded in Eloise’s head, mixing with the painful cacophony of hundreds of inebriated conversations.

  It was a shock to the system for a woman who had been living such a quiet, modest and almost unrecognisable life for the last six months.

  Each and every one of them would stop and stare if they knew that the future Sheikha of Farrehed had been working as a personal assistant to the CFO of a private medical facility, tucked away in the heart of Zurich.

  Eloise’s heart ached. She missed the calm practicality and sensible comfort of her life there. It hurt to step back into this world of deceitful smiles, barbed compliments and cutting remarks, all hidden beneath a light tone as if laughter would make such inherent rudeness socially acceptable.

  She looked about her and saw it all dressed up in diamonds as if they would hide the dirt. And she wondered for perhaps the first time what would happen if she let her poised façade drop and allowed her true self out...

  * * *

  Odir nearly groaned out loud as the young Prince of Kalaran marched towards them with a sneer painted across his fleshy features.

  ‘Odir,’ he said, barely veiling his contempt, and then turned to Eloise. ‘Oh, I don’t think we’ve met?’

  Fury ignited in Odir and protective instincts danced across his hackles. It was one thing for him to take issue with his wife, but something completely other for the Prince of Kalaran to be so openly disrespectful to the future Queen of Farrehed. The man’s audacity made him furious.

  He was about to say something when he felt the soft hand of his wife on his arm.

  ‘Oh, we have,’ Eloise assured him. ‘In fact, wasn’t it Prince Imin who threw up on the sixteenth-century hand-woven tapestry at our engagement party, darling?’ she asked of Odir.

  ‘I had thought that was a cousin of the Duke of Cambridge, but now you mention it...’ he replied with the affected haughty disdain she had once mocked him for.

  ‘I believe it cost nearly two thousand pounds to get it cleaned,’ she continued.

  ‘It was more in the region of four, if I remember rightly.’ Odir frowned, as if giving it deep thought.

  ‘Two thousand pounds is nothing compared to what your father and brother cost Kalaran,’ Imin spat angrily.

  ‘You will address my husband by his proper title, Prince Imin,’ Eloise commanded, and the ice in her voice was enough to cover the desert in frost.

  Shockingly, a look of contrition passed over the man’s features.

  ‘Prince Imin, whatever deals my father made with yours I will take up directly with him,’ Odir said.

  ‘Oh, good. I had been concerned by recent news of his ill health. I do so hope that everything is okay, Sheikh Odir.’

  Odir balled his hands into fists, only Eloise’s grip on his arm anchoring him to the moment.

  ‘Prince Imin, whilst it has been...interesting to see you again, I’m afraid there is someone over there with whom we have important things to discuss.’

  With that snub, expertly delivered, Odir allowed himself to be led away by his wife.

  This was what he had wanted from their union. A partnership—someone to stand beside him as he navigated the furious waters of the treacherous political sea wrought by his father’s grief-stricken madness. That was what he had once seen in Eloise, and the glimpse of what might have been struck him dumb for just a moment.

  And, then, he could scarcely believe that Eloise was giggling.

  ‘Did you see the look on his face? I thought... I thought he was going to explode,’ she said awkwardly in between bursts of laughter.

  Odir felt an answering smile tugging at his lips. ‘Would that he had...’

  The mirth left her eyes, and something sober passed across her features.

  ‘Is that what you’ve been dealing with?’

  ‘What?’ he asked, pulling himself from thoughts of his wife.

  Was this not what he’d wanted to avoid? The all-consuming thread that wound around them until all he could see was her?

  ‘When did things become so bad between Farrehed and Kalaran?’ Eloise asked, wide eyed.

  ‘After Jarhan’s broken engagement and the recent trade agreements with Terhern things have been difficult,’ Odir admitted.

  It wasn’t as if he were confiding in her—just that he was sharing things she would have to know once she returned to his side, he told himself.

  ‘I hadn’t realised...’

  Odir let an exhausted breath escape. ‘Do you really care, Eloise?’

  Hurt slashed across her features. ‘Of course I do, Odir. Farrehed became my country—they are my people too,’ she said.

  And in that moment Eloise realised the truth of her words. The time she had spent working with the desert tribes had shown her the strength of Farrehed’s nomadic people.

  Memories played with her, dancing across her skin the way the desert heat and sun once had, making her feel warm for the first time in what felt like years. Instead of burning and swelling up within the arid atmosphere, as she had once feared, Eloise had felt herself come alive. It had been a different sort of life from the one she had carved for herself in Zurich, but one she was surprised to find that she’d missed.

  As they moved through the crowd Eloise slipped a practised smile onto her lips and scanned the people about her without really seeing anyone.

  Until her eyes rested on a familiar face beside the bar and several threads of emotion wrapped themselves around her, pulling on her heart. Pleasure, sadness, surprise and a little fear. Jarhan was propping up the bar, a drink in his hand. She’d never seen Jarhan drink until that night six months ago. She wondered why he was here. It was strange that the two Farrehed Princes would be at such a minor event in the royal social calendar.

  Jarhan met her eyes, expressing a wealth of emotion he’d never been able to give speech to. And just like that something eased around her heart. She could tell that he regretted that night more than anything. He could never have guessed at its shocking consequences, and Eloise felt sadness and pity rise within her.

  A conciliatory smile threatened to lift the corners of her mout
h. He had been such a source of comfort to her during her husband’s long absences. He had been sweet, and funny, but always seemingly on the outskirts of the royal family. Never quite fitting in.

  She supposed that it was quite possible he never would now. Not after the broken engagement that had followed the events of the night that had started all this...mess.

  She felt Odir’s heavy gaze on her and turned to him.

  ‘Don’t test me, habibti,’ he whispered, with more anger than she had expected, or had ever heard in his voice before. ‘I need your answer and I need it now.’

  She looked back to Jarhan, saw in him the cost of duty and sacrifice, saw the weight of it almost crushing her friend, and knew then and there that she would not—could not—live like that.

  ‘No, Odir. My answer is and always will be no. There’s too much hurt—’

  ‘Don’t talk to me of hurt. Not tonight, Eloise.’ He gave her a grim smile. ‘I’m sorry, but you have left me with no choice.’

  With that he departed, pushing his way through the throng of international dignitaries, socialites, actors and actresses—the world’s wealthiest people, all waiting for him.

  Without needing to request silence, he ensured the crowd was hushed and ready for his welcoming words.

  Eloise was suddenly unsure. What had he meant by that?

  At first her concern was so great she could not quite make out the words of his speech. She turned to Jarhan, but he was no longer by the bar and she couldn’t see him anywhere. There was no comfort, no support—nothing and no one she could lean on. She was alone in a sea of people, and only the sound of her husband’s voice tied her to the land.

  Swells of gentle laughter crashed against her as the crowd lapped up the speech asking for generous donations to the charity Odir had spoken of earlier in the evening. The part of her mind engaged in the present dimly recognised that the initiative Odir was presenting had been a project she had started months before she had left. A project that he had seen to fruition.

  Anger warred with confusion at the threat he had left her with, and she couldn’t quite shake the feeling that she had been backed into an invisible corner. Eloise knew—just knew—that Odir was about to do or say something that she would never be free from.

  Slowly her addled mind began to make out more and more of the words her husband was saying in his powerful but enticing voice.

  ‘And it is because of you that healthcare in the outer reaches of Farrehed will be able to continue. My country, my people and my family give thanks every day that you are willing to do business with my country, and for how important those relationships are not only for the present but also for the future. For the future generations of my people and my family.’

  He paused, and found Eloise within the crowd.

  Why was he talking so much about his family? she wondered. Why had his tone grown so soft, almost conspiratorial?

  ‘A family,’ he continued, ‘that I am pleased to say will be increasing in number very soon.’

  He held out an arm, gesturing towards her, and Eloise suddenly felt the weight of a thousand eyes, heavily and happily on her. The crowd erupted into a thunderous burst of applause. Words of congratulation and good wishes littered the air that had burst to life in the last few seconds.

  And for the first time in her life Eloise forgot her practised smile, forgot how to play the game.

  Because her husband had just told the world that she was pregnant.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  August 1st, 23.00-00.00, Heron Tower

  IT WAS ALL Eloise could do not to burst into hysterical laughter. In fact there were tears pressing against the back of her eyes—she could feel them—and she thought...hoped...they were from laughter rather than anything deeper.

  Noticing curiosity begin to enter the faces of the people surrounding her, she slipped a smile over the shock she felt and turned to thank them for their good wishes.

  Eloise prayed that they would take the flush of anger painting her cheeks as one of happiness. She was going to kill him. Literally. The moment he came within two feet of her—which, she judged, was just about all the space she would need to ensure that he would never be able to have children and not just imaginary ones.

  She would do considerable damage to his Crown Jewels. And not the ones he wore on his head.

  She turned her gaze back to the podium, where Odir had been standing only moments before, to see him slowly making his way through the crowds of people reaching out to slap him on the back, to shake his hand, congratulating him and his Princess on their good fortune.

  Good fortune?

  ‘Get out!’

  The words he’d once said to her in anger, after incorrectly assuming she’d had an affair with his brother, now proved her salvation. She caught one glance from him and turned and fled—just as she had all those months before.

  Knowing that there was no way he could get to her quickly without causing a scene, she stepped into the quiet corridor. Greeted with a silence that was more deafening than the noise the guests had created, she paused, not knowing where to go. One of Odir’s guards appeared at the end of the hallway and she felt another one behind her.

  Eloise took one step forward and then two back. She felt utterly trapped. She had been on the brink of freedom. She had been on the brink of getting everything she had ever wanted. And now it had been cruelly ripped away by her husband with just one sentence.

  Looking ahead of her at Malik, she knew she would not be able to find help from that quarter. Not this time. Odir had claimed his bride without even having a wedding night.

  And wasn’t that the greatest irony of all? That he had declared his virgin bride pregnant with his child?

  She saw a sliding door to the balcony that wrapped its way around the tall building and walked through it, instantly buffeted by a stiff breeze that cut through the confusion of the last few minutes and drenched her in night air.

  Carefully designed heaters were placed near low-slung beige cotton-covered seats and sofas. Discreetly hidden canopies had been pulled back, out of the way of the strong wind that failed to take the heat out of the air. She walked to the furthest end of the balcony, gripping the metal railing, allowing the bite of cool metal to penetrate the numbness surrounding her.

  And there, out in the dark alone, with London lit up before her—as if it too was celebrating the royal child she was supposed to be carrying—she felt every brush of the warm wind, pulling her hair loose from the pins she had bound it with, catching at the fabric of her dress, tugging it this way and that. She wished she could disappear—be swept across the far reaches of England and away from here.

  For the love of God, she was a virgin—so very much the last person who was ready to become a mother, let alone to a child born from an immaculate conception!

  It had taken the three weeks after their wedding night for Eloise to realise that her husband wouldn’t come to her bed. Had her unpractised kiss horrified him that much? Had that been what drove him from her? Or had it all been lies? His promises of more than an arranged marriage designed solely to get his ring on her finger?

  Eloise shook her head, as if to rid herself of the thoughts that had consumed her throughout the two lonely months she had spent in her marriage. Week after week, as one month had led to another, all she’d had were doubts and fears to keep her company. And they’d eaten away at her. A rejection so familiar.

  She was so tired of feeling alone.

  Even if in her deepest, darkest dreams she had ever considered returning to his side, there was no way she could inflict the kind of marriage they had on a child. Not after her own childhood. A child was someone to be protected—not someone to be manipulated or used as a political pawn.

  But for just a second the image of a child with her fair skin and Odir’s deep dark eyes flashed in her mind and took hold of her heart.

  * * *

  Furious at the thought of his wife evading him the moment he made his
announcement, Odir extracted himself from the financially generous crowd.

  Where was she? Why was his heart in his mouth and his pulse racing with something that might have been described as fear, had he been any other man? Had he any other blood than Farrehed warrior ancestry coursing through his veins?

  He caught Malik’s eye. He pointed in the direction of the balcony.

  The moment his eyes rested on Eloise’s slim shoulders, flashing through the night like a beacon, he felt his pulse finally slow and he took his first breath. He drank in the sight of her, hair and skirts swirling around her thin frame.

  When he had first caught sight of her in the stables, two years before, he had thought her slender. He had thought her beautiful. When his father had unknowingly re-introduced her to him later that day he’d been surprised. His father thought this slip of a girl could be his wife? He’d doubted at the time that she’d last even a month in the Farrehed heat.

  Perhaps, had he paid attention to her surprising survival skills back then, he might have been better prepared for his wife.

  Though looking at her now, he thought Eloise seemed lost. There was no other way to describe it. And just like that his conscience poked and prodded. There was a part of him that cursed the past—cursed all the steps that had brought them here. That had made him form those words around a ridiculous lie that would bind Eloise to him in a way her acceptance of his offer would not.

  Malik appeared at his side.

  ‘Are you sure this is what you want?’ his old friend asked again. As if he too realised the precipice they stood on.

  No. Everything in him wanted to reject the path he had set in motion just five minutes earlier. But he didn’t have a choice. He only had nine hours until the press conference, and if she wasn’t by his side when it happened then fate would not be kind. He’d needed to force the issue and he’d done just that.

  ‘See to it that we are not disturbed.’

  Malik bowed, and retreated behind the glass door.