by Jane Porter
Dal had not been a good replacement for his brother. He was hapless—the Fifth Earl’s description—and overly intellectual, so his father had been forced to shape Dal into a proper heir, even if it broke both of them.
And it had nearly broken both of them.
“From the time I was eleven, I understood my sole life mission was to marry and have children. Not just an heir and a spare, but numerous spares in the event something awful happened.” He lifted his head, his gaze finding Poppy’s. “Because awful things did happen. Cars crashed and mothers died and older brothers die in hospitals during surgery.”
“Heirs and spares,” he added mockingly, bitingly, “were not children to be loved, but insurance policies. Annoying but essential.”
Wives were not to be cherished, either. They were brood mares, and income. The Grants of Langston had filled their coffers for the past hundred and fifty years by marrying foreign heiresses: Greek, American, German and in the case of Randall’s mother, Arab. The wife didn’t have to be beautiful, or even accomplished. According to the Fifth Earl of Langston, Randall’s wife needed to be healthy—to bear those heirs—and wealthy. Her dowry was the most important thing she brought to the marriage.
Randall had been shocked and disgusted as a boy, but the years of lectures and discipline had numbed him to all but duty. Duty was the only thing that mattered, because once he fulfilled his duty, he would be free, no longer haunted by the fact that it was Andrew who should have been the Sixth Earl, not he.
“Who I am in Mehkar has no bearing on who I am in England, nor does it change my duty. My duty is to marry and continue the Grant family. It’s my sole responsibility. I’ve known since my mother and brother’s funeral that I have no other reason for being alive.”
“That is probably the vilest thing I have ever heard you say.”
He shrugged. “I will fulfill the promise made to my father, not to save the land or pocket the income, but because I am determined to get this monkey off my back.”
“It’s not a monkey, it’s a curse!”
“I won’t let it be a curse in the future. I’m a different man than my father and I’ll make different choices.” He hesitated. “You have no idea how different I want the future to be, and with you, it will be a new future. With you, I can move on.”
“I hear about what you need, but what about what I need? Or do women not matter in your world? Are we just things...property and possessions?”
“You want security in life, and I’m offering it to you.”
“You’re not offering security. You’re taking my freedom and the opportunities before me.”
“I can take you places, show you the world.”
“I don’t want the world. I want a comfortable little house and a garden where I can plant my flowers.”
“And in that house there will be a couch, and a telly and a husband that will kiss and cuddle you.”
“Yes.”
“You have not spent the past four years working for me to sit with some fat, balding bloke who only wants to watch football—”
“He’s not going to be fat, or balding, and he’s most definitely not going to be obsessed with football.” Her chin jerked up. “He will be obsessed with me.”
“Right.”
“I’m serious.”
“It will never happen.”
“Why not?”
“Because you’re going to marry me, and be my wife, and we’re going to have the life you wanted...the life we wanted...the life where you insisted we have more!”
“Marrying you would not be more. Marrying you would be less.”
“Coward!”
“Your idea of marriage makes my skin crawl.”
“Liar.”
“Listen to me. Listen, Randall Michael Talal Grant, Earl of Langston, Sheikh of Mehkar, I have no desire to be your countess, or your princess. I fancied you, yes. I had a crush on you, yes. But I never once wanted to trade places with Sophie because I knew then what I still know now. You will never love anyone but yourself. You can’t. You don’t know how.”
CHAPTER NINE
SHE HEARD THE helicopter early, just after dawn. Poppy left her bed to stumble to the window arriving just in time to see the black helicopter with the gold emblem rise from the gardens, lifting straight up.
She saw the pilot, and then she spotted Dal in the backseat.
She felt a shaft of pain. Where was he going? And why was he leaving her here?
She struggled to breathe as the helicopter flew away, her chest unnaturally tight.
It had been an awful night. She hadn’t been able to sleep, not after the terrible fight with Dal in the pool.
She’d said hurtful things to him, and she’d regretted them immediately. She’d spent much of the night lying awake, wanting to go to him and apologize, but pride and self-preservation kept her in her bed.
If she went to him, she’d apologize and then possibly kiss him, and if she kissed him, then she’d want him to touch her, and hold her and then it would be all over.
He’d win. And she couldn’t let him win. This wasn’t a business deal. This wasn’t a financial transaction. This was about her life and her future. It was about all the values she held dear: love, and hope and faith.
Love, hope, faith and family.
He’d give her the children but he couldn’t give her the other things she craved.
And so she’d forced herself to stay in her bed, aware that Dal was upset, but it wasn’t her problem. She cared about him—oh, so very much—but she couldn’t allow him to just ride roughshod all over her.
But oh, last night...
She tipped her head to the glass and closed her eyes. His proposal had been so incredibly uncomfortable. And her furious refusal, that was even more uncomfortable.
So where had he gone today? What was he thinking? What was he doing?
Poppy dressed and went to her living room and rang for coffee. It was Izba who came to the door, not Imma or Hayek.
“Where did Talal go?” Poppy asked her.
“Gila.”
“Gila,” Poppy repeated numbly. “Did he say how long he’d be gone?”
The old woman’s face creased. “Three days. Maybe four. He said there is a big tournament in the city. Polo, I think he said.” She tipped her head, expression curious. “You don’t like polo, Miss Poppy?”
Poppy felt a lump fill her throat. “No,” she answered huskily. “Not as much as some women I know.”
So he’d gone to Gila. Gone to Gila to see Florrie.
Poppy felt ill, so ill that she stripped off her clothes and climbed back into bed.
* * *
She heard the helicopter late on the third night after he’d gone. Poppy glanced at the small clock next to her bed. Nearly midnight.
Relief filled her. Relief followed by pain.
He’d left her three days ago and he hadn’t said goodbye. He hadn’t emailed her, either, even though she’d checked her inbox obsessively.
But now he was back home.
And then she realized what she’d thought. Home.
She turned on her side, pulling the cover up over her shoulder as if she could tuck herself in. But even beneath the covers she was cold. And scared. Had he proposed to Florrie? Or God help her, had he married Florrie while he was there?
She tried to make herself fall back asleep but she couldn’t. She lay in bed, heart pounding, stomach knotting, so anxious. So heartsick.
A half hour passed, and then another. It was close to one in the morning now but she was wide awake and close to tears.
Unable to endure another moment of misery, she left her bed and pulled on a pale green cotton robe and headed for Dal’s suite one floor above hers.
She knocked on the door. There was no answer. She gently turned the ha
ndle and it opened. She entered the living room, crossing soundlessly the long narrow living room to his bedroom. The door there was open and she stepped inside his bedroom, her gaze going to his bed. It was empty, the bed made. A lamp was burning on a corner table and the sliding glass door was open.
“Dal?” she whispered.
She saw a shadow move on the balcony and then he appeared in the doorway.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
“I couldn’t sleep. I was worried about you.”
“As you can see I’m fine.”
She reached for the sash on her robe, giving it an anxious tug. “How was Gila?”
“Good.”
“What did you do there?”
“I saw a lot of family. I think I forgot just how big the family is.”
“Were you able to spend time with your grandfather?”
“Yes.”
“Did you attend the polo match?”
“I went for a little while.”
He just went for part of the match? What else did he do, then? And did he see Florrie? Did he take her out on a date? Did he kiss—?
Poppy stopped herself there, not wanting to imagine all the possibilities. Not even wanting to know if there had been a date. Too much could happen, and the details would just make her feel half-mad.
“You were gone for three days,” she said, hearing the hurt and accusation in her voice but it was too late to take the words back.
He shrugged. “I had things to take care of. Arrangements to make.”
For his wedding.
He hadn’t said the words, but she was sure of it. Pain exploded inside her chest, and she balled her hands, her nails digging into her fists. “Is there anything I can help with?”
“No, you’re doing what I needed you to do. You’ve given me five strong résumés. Someone from HR in the London office will call the five, interview and then rank them for me, and then hire the one they think is the strongest.”
As her eyes adjusted to the night, she could see he was leaning on the frame of the glass door, his shoulder at an angle, muscular arms crossed over his bare chest. He was wearing dark, loose pajama bottoms. He had such a big, hard, gorgeous body and his mind was brilliant—sharp, swift, incisive. She’d loved working with him, and learning from him and hearing his ideas. He was bold and brave, conscientious and fair. His new secretary was going to be very lucky to have him as a boss. “Sounds as if my job is nearly done.”
“Indeed. We will probably have someone hired by the end of this week.”
She swallowed around the lump in her throat. “It’s all coming to an end so fast now.”
“It seems everything is working out.”
“Does that include your search for a new bride?”
“Yes.”
“You must be relieved.”
“I’ll be relieved when the wedding is over.”
“Do you have a date set?”
“I don’t want to leave it to the last moment.”
“You have nine days until your birthday.”
“Yes, so probably three or four days from now.” His big shoulders shifted. “Something like that.”
So soon.
“That’s wonderful,” she said even as she found herself wishing she hadn’t come here, to his room. She should have waited until morning to ask about his trip. She could have waited to hear this news.
She hated his news. It broke her heart. “Was it good to speak to your grandfather?”
“Yes. Just seeing him again has made the trip here worthwhile.”
“I’m glad.” She swallowed again, fighting the prickle and sting of tears in the backs of her eyes. “Did you tell your grandfather about your plans to marry?”
“Yes.”
“What did he say?”
“He said that he respected me for fulfilling the promise I made my father, and hoped that my future wife will bring honor to the family and the people of Mehkar.”
“Have you introduced her to him yet?”
“No, and I won’t. Not before the ceremony. This is my choice, not his, and I’m not looking for his approval.”
She was silent a moment, trying to imagine Dal with his grandfather, the king. “What is he like? Your grandfather?”
“Perceptive. Powerful. Quiet. Dignified.”
“Easy to talk to?”
He laughed softly. “He wasn’t at first, but by the time I left, it was better. He has aged. He has worries.” He straightened and entered the room. “I suppose we all do.”
She watched him cross the floor and take a seat on the side of his bed. “What are you worrying about?”
“My worries are mostly behind me. I’ve done what I needed to do. Now I can breathe easier.” He looked at her. “I’m just sorry you lost sleep over me. That must have been truly aggravating.”
“Don’t be angry with me.”
“I’m not. I’m not angry with you, or anyone. I think for the first time in years, I’m finally at peace.”
She wanted to ask him why. She wanted to know if Florrie was wearing his engagement ring. She wanted to know so many things but knew she didn’t have the right to ask anymore. She’d essentially found her replacement. She wouldn’t be working for him soon. He’d be married to Florrie—
“I hated you leaving the way you did,” she whispered. “And then you didn’t even email me once.”
“I was busy.”
“You were punishing me.”
“If there is to be no future together, we need to create distance. I left to give us distance, and allow us both to take a step back.”
“Is that why you’re at peace?”
“I’m at peace because I know, no matter what happens in the next week, I have the answers I need.” He reached up to drag a hand through his thick hair, ruffling it. “In Gila, my grandfather and I talked quite a lot about my father. My grandfather had offered to bring my mother home from England more than once, wanting to rescue her from her difficult marriage. She refused. She believed my father needed her, and that it wouldn’t be fair to take the children away from him, and so she stayed.”
“Your poor mother.”
“That is what I always thought, but my grandfather said my mother loved him. Apparently, she was the only one who could manage him.” He smiled grimly. “Rather like you with me.”
“You’re not a monster.”
“He didn’t want to be, either.”
“Don’t compare yourself to him! You’re not your father. He had struggles you don’t have. His mood swings, and mania, that was his illness. It’s not yours.”
“Emotions make me uncomfortable.”
“Because of him.”
“His emotions were out of control, so I trained myself never to lose control.”
All of a sudden she understood. “You’re not him, Dal. You’re not ever going to be him. And you didn’t inherit the illness, either.”
“But my children could.”
She felt another sharp stab of pain. My God. She’d never thought of that, or imagined that he’d harbor secret fears that his children could. “Or not,” she said quietly, evenly, finally seeing what she’d never seen before.
“I spent my twenties waiting for the disease to strike. I kept waiting for signs or symptoms...highs, lows, anger, despair. But I felt nothing. All those years, and I felt absolutely nothing. I was numb. Even at my father’s funeral. And I thought that was good.”
“Being numb can’t feel that good.”
“But at least I had dignity.”
“Is that what you call shutting everyone out?”
“It’s how I survived. I can’t apologize for being me. It’s the only way I knew how to get through the grief, and the pressure and the unbearable responsibility.”
“
You have had tremendous pressure,” she said. “But you’re not alone. You have people who care for you. Deeply.”
For a long, agonizing moment there was only silence. Poppy’s heart pounded. She felt as if she’d been running a very long, hard race.
His lashes slowly lifted and his light gaze skewered her. “No games,” he said quietly.
“No games,” she agreed breathlessly.
“Tell me why you came to me tonight. I want the truth.”
She couldn’t look away from his burning gaze, couldn’t think of anything but him, and wanting him, and needing him and needing to be there for him.
“Don’t marry Florrie,” she whispered.
And still he said nothing, just looked at her with his intense, penetrating gaze, the one that had always made her feel as if he could see straight through her.
“I don’t know if it’s too late,” she added, breathing in short, shallow, painful gulps of air. “But I want you to have options, and I should be an option. I shouldn’t have taken myself off your list. If anyone believes in you, it’s me.”
“You weren’t going to marry without love.”
Her eyes burned and the almost overwhelming emotion in her chest put a lump in her throat. “But I’m not marrying without love. We both know I have always loved you.”
CHAPTER TEN
POPPY HAD FINISHED dressing an hour ago and was now waiting for Dal to appear. Her gown was quite simply the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, high necked with a thick gold collar and then gold starburst embellishments and embroidery down the bodice. The long, wide sleeves reminded her of a royal cape, and the soft silk and chiffon dress was fitted through the hips, the skirt straight and sleek, making her feel like a queen. There was more of the exquisite gold starbursts down the front of each sleeve.
Her hair had been pinned up with gold strands twisted in the loose curls. Her hair glittered, and heavy gold diamond earrings swung from her ears.
