by Romancing the Crown Series (13-in-1 bundle) (v1. 0) (lit)
She knew her attitude bewildered her sister, Samira, who was far more enthusiastic than Nadia. Samira should marry Butrus, Nadia thought, knowing it wasn't possible. There was already a man in Samira's life. Her eyes sparkled whenever Nadia brought up the question, but so far Samira was remarkably closemouthed about the details.
"There is something else," Sheik Ahmed went on, recapturing her attention.
"Yes, Father?"
"England has sent a new emissary to lead their trade delegation to Tamir. He presents his credentials to me tomorrow. Following the formal proceedings, I have arranged a gathering to welcome the delegation. Since many of the delegates will be accompanied by their wives, I should like you to act as hostess on this occasion. Butrus will be there."
A huge lump rose in her throat. "The emissary's name?"
"Gage Weston. He is the godson of the British ambassador, and his credentials are of the highest. Have you heard of him?"
She had done far worse, but she couldn't very well say so to her father. She struggled to find her voice. "Wouldn't Mother be a more suitable hostess?"
The sheik looked irritated with her for stating the obvious.
"Naturally, but Alima has decided to spend another few days in Montebello with Rashid and Julia and our grandson."
Nadia thought fast. She couldn't simply attend the party as Princess Nadia and expect the Englishman not to react. When he did, Butrus would want to know how they'd met, and her cover would be blown.
No longer would she be able go out as Tahani without anyone being the wiser. Nadia should have known the scheme couldn't go on indefinitely, but she was surprised at how keenly she felt the prospective loss.
How would the orphans feel when she was no longer their benefactor? Little Sammy already had to deal with losing his real parents in the fire that had also destroyed his family's farm. He clung to Nadia—his Addie —as to a lifeline. How could she let him think she had abandoned him? Her heart constricted at the thought of being cut off from him and all the other children. Visiting them in her official capacity would be a poor substitute, she knew.
"Samira would make a better hostess. You know I'm likely to say or do something to offend someone," she said on a note of desperation.
Ahmed gave her a knowing look. "Perhaps you should consider this additional practice. As Butrus's wife, you will be his hostess, so you may as well accustom yourself to the role."
"Very well, Father," she said on a note of resignation, and got up to leave.
Her father's voice stayed her a moment longer. "You may be cheered to hear that Gage Weston asked the British ambassador to request an introduction. Evidently Mr. Weston purchased one of your paintings and wishes to meet the artist in person."
Alarm coiled through her. "Surely you don't approve of such a request."
The sheik smiled. "Your reticence is commendable, but your talent is God-given and entitled to be celebrated."
What a time for her father to decide to be conciliatory, Nadia thought in frustration. Her dislike for Gage Weston grew. "Butrus may object to my having a male admirer," she said.
"An admirer of your work," the sheik corrected. "Butrus wisely knows the difference." He added, "You tell me you wish to be useful, yet when I seek to involve you in state affairs, you're still unhappy."
"Making small talk and ensuring everyone's glass remains full hardly qualifies as state affairs," she said bitterly. "Any competent servant can do that."
"But a servant cannot smooth the way between nations with a smile. Or listen to what is and is not being said, and share his or her thoughts with me afterward."
She was forced to smile. "You make hostessing sound like undercover work."
He nodded. "Diplomacy involves more than overt negotiation. The social route may be indirect, but it is often the oil that lubricates relations between countries."
She knew he was trying to make her feel better about her role and gave a wan smile. Her father couldn't know that her reluctance wasn't to acting as his hostess, at least not this time, but to the prospect of facing Gage Weston again.
His image sprang to her mind much more vividly than she expected. He was taller than she was by a head, with green eyes that looked as if they could see all the way to her soul. Warren had said that Gage was in superb physical condition. Thinking of the muscles rippling under her touch and the energy that had enveloped her as she'd helped him out of the car, she could hardly argue. But what was he like as a man? Could she prevail on him to keep her secret? What would he expect in return?
She wasn't melodramatic enough to think she had saved his life. The accident had been a minor one, and her assistance inconsiderable. But as a diplomat he would want her family's favor. Surely that alone would be enough to buy his silence?
At the same time, she couldn't subdue her fear that Gage Weston was not a man to be bought so easily.
Chapter 3
Samira Kamal bounced into her sister's bedroom and stopped short. "Nadia, what on earth are you wearing that for?"
"Father wants me to act as hostess at tonight's party. I decided to look the part," Nadia told her sister with a calmness she was far from feeling. The prospect of confronting Gage Weston again weighed on her mind and had influenced her choice of dress for the occasion.
Samira looked nonplussed. "But isn't national dress a bit over the top, especially for you?"
Nadia's hands stilled on the veil she was adjusting. "What do you mean, especially for me?"
Samira hesitated. "You must admit you're the most adventurous member of the family, even a bit reckless at times."
Nadia pulled in a steadying breath. "In what way?"
Samira looked flustered. "Going out on your own for hours at a time on those painting expeditions. Father may believe you're indulging in your hobby, but I'm sure there's more to it. I've been dying to ask, do you have a lover?"
Nadia almost laughed. Trust her younger sister to suspect such a thing. "No, I don't have a lover. I'm an engaged woman. I was going to ask you the same thing."
She had turned the question on Samira as much to deflect her sister's attention as learn if it was true. Now she was intrigued to see color flood Samira's cheeks. "What if I do?"
"You...you do?"
Samira wrung her hands. "You wretch, Nadia. You didn't know, did you."
"I do now. Is he anyone I know?"
Samira shook her head, her lovely black hair flowing around her shoulders in shimmering waves—the way their father would like to see her older sister's, Nadia thought ruefully. No such luck. Hair like Samira's took lots of work to keep looking so fabulous, and Nadia hated wasting time on such pursuits.
"He isn't from Tamir," Samira confessed. "That's why I've been keeping my feelings to myself."
"You think father may not approve?"
"I know he won't. He wants me to marry a Tamir man of noble birth."
"Like Butrus Dabir," Nadia said.
"Butrus is a good catch. Handsome, personable. Maybe a little cold at times, but he's a man. They're all the same."
Not Gage Weston. The thought sprang to Nadia's mind with disturbing certainty. She had seen his reaction to meeting little Sammy. Butrus would have kept his distance, afraid of catching something. But Gage had stepped forward without hesitation and set out to win the little boy's trust. Sammy had responded just as warmly. No, Gage couldn't be described as cold.
"You've gone away from me," Samira said. "Tell me what's really going on with you."
In fairness Nadia couldn't involve her sister in her affairs and risk getting her into trouble with their father. "Nothing's going on," she replied. "What's wrong with wearing national dress if I feel like it?"
"Nothing, if you don't mind looking like an escapee from a harem. Aren't you the one who says we're living in a new millennium and should modernize accordingly?"
Nadia turned to the mirror, inspecting her outfit critically. White trousers ballooned around her legs, the fullness caught at each ankl
e by gold embroidery. Her narrow waist was cinched with a gold circlet. Above it she wore a gossamer-thin blouse of pale-green silk, threaded with gold, the billowing sleeves captured at the wrists by more embroidery. Beneath the translucent blouse, she wore a modest shift of midnight blue. The costume had been passed down to her by her grandmother, and Samira was right; it was rarely worn outside tourist venues or on the most ceremonial occasions and could hardly be called modern.
"Tradition has its place," she murmured, turning to check the back. She frowned. "I don't really look as if I belong in a harem, do I?"
"Actually, no," Samira said. "You look amazing. I wish I were as tall as you and could wear anything I wanted to—although you still haven't told me what you're up to."
"What makes you think I'm up to anything?"
"I know you too well. The last time father conscripted you to act as his hostess, you wore a low-cut, western evening gown to annoy him. That's it, isn't it? You're hoping to deter him from imposing on you again."
Relieved that her sister had arrived at a satisfactory explanation for her choice of dress, Nadia nodded. She had really chosen the costume for the diaphanous veil, the only way she could think to hide her features when she met Gage Weston. Her choice, fueled by desperation, was bound to cause comment, as it had done with Samira. Few women in Tamir wore the veil nowadays. Those who did usually let it hang to one side of the face rather than fastening it across their features as Nadia intended to do.
She slipped the veil into place across the lower half of her face, amazed at how mysterious and feminine she suddenly looked. Her eyes, highlighted with kohl, seemed huge and intriguing. She looked downright seductive, she thought in amazement.
She had never thought of herself as especially feminine, and she didn't approve of using womanly wiles to get her own way. She preferred the direct approach, much to her father's horror. But dressed like this, veiled and perfumed with her favorite jasmine scent, she not only looked as if she could seduce a man, she felt as if she could.
Tempted to tear the veil from her face before she got any more crazy ideas, she kept her hands at her sides. This wasn't for her, but for the children at the orphanage. The thought of them waiting in vain for her to return lent her the strength to move toward the door. "I'd better go. Duty calls."
"Have fun," Samira said to her sister's departing back.
Fun? thought Nadia derisively. She would rather be boiled in oil. Making polite conversation with the wives of the trade delegates was hardly her idea of a stimulating evening. Her father would be shocked if she followed her inclinations and conversed with the men, because they would be talking about the really interesting matters, like international trade and diplomacy.
She wondered what Sheik Ahmed would think if he knew how keenly she followed her country's affairs, resulting in her being as well-informed as any of his advisers. He would probably remind her that she would have little need of such interests once she was married, when children and domesticity would be sufficient to occupy her mind.
Children she didn't mind. Obviously, or she wouldn't be so anxious to help the orphans. There were times when she could hardly bear to be around the younger ones because her longing for a child was so overwhelming. The rest of the package was what alarmed her. Being restricted to domestic concerns terrified her. Why couldn't she marry, have children andbe involved in world affairs?
She knew she was focusing on these matters to avoid her real worry—Gage Weston's reaction when they were introduced. Perhaps he would be like the men of her own country, greeting her politely while glancing around for someone more interesting to talk to.
Somehow she knew he wouldn't be.
First she had to deal with her father's reaction. In deference to his guests, Sheik Ahmed was dressed in an impeccably tailored business suit, the only mark of his rank, his flowing headdress fastened by a coiled gold 'iqual. The other Tamir men wore similar attire, but minus the 'iqual, which was worn only by men of royal blood.
Nadia breathed a sigh of relief when she noticed a couple of other women guests wearing traditional dress, although they hadn't veiled their faces.
Butrus Dabir, who regarded himself as a man of the world, had dispensed with the headdress. In a western-style business suit, she had to concede that he looked impressive, more like a sheik himself than an attorney. Of course, he would be a sheik once they were married. Her father would confer titles and land on Butrus, as befitted the ruler's son-in-law. Not that he was penniless now. Coming from a noble family, Butrus was wealthy in his own right. Married to a princess, he would be one of the most powerful men in Tamir.
As she made her entrance, she saw an expression of thunder settle on the sheik's features. He said a few curt words to Butrus, who immediately came and took her arm. "What do you think you're doing?"
"Acting as hostess at my father's request," she said smoothly, struggling to keep the tremor out of her voice. "I thought you'd appreciate my effort."
"If I knew this get-up was a genuine attempt at womanly modesty, I might."
"How do you know it isn't?"
His eyes narrowed with suspicion. "You're telling me that your status as my bride-to-be has persuaded you to moderate your wilfulness?"
She nodded, casting her gaze down, glad that Butrus couldn't see the twitch of her mouth behind her veil. "Father told me yesterday that you have set our wedding date. Preparing myself seemed like a good idea."
Butrus looked pleased. "Very well. I shall accept your gesture in good faith and look forward to seeing more of this new Nadia." He leaned closer. "I should tell you that I find the veil extremely provocative."
A shudder rippled through her. In the mirror she had seen for herself the effect the veil created. Butrus's reaction confirmed it. She could only hope that Gage Weston wasn't similarly intrigued. That was the last thing she needed.
She hadn't been able to stop herself from scanning the assembly for signs of him. Tamir was a country of tall imposing men, but Gage was even more prepossessing. A man among men, he might be described as. She quickly recognized the British ambassador, Sir Brian Theodore, and his beautiful wife, Lady Lillian. Nadia's father had said that Sir Brian was Gage's godfather, but he wasn't with them.
Butrus introduced her to the wife of a trade delegate and returned to the sheik's side. Nadia concentrated on conversing politely, containing herself with an effort her father would have found commendable, if unusual.
Without removing her veil, she couldn't eat or drink anything, and her throat began to burn as the others around her enjoyed refreshments. She distracted herself by listening to the music being played by the palace quartet from a low dais at one end of the courtyard.
Explaining the significance of her costume to the curious western women for the umpteenth time was starting to become tiresome—when she spotted him.
Gage stood at the top of the sandstone steps leading to the courtyard where the reception was being held, his green eyes taking in everything.
Amazing how twenty-four hours could distort a memory, she thought, feeling her limbs go weak. She had convinced herself that he couldn't possibly be as compelling as she had first imagined.
He was more!
The authority in his pose took her breath away. He was only a leader of a trade delegation, not even an ambassador, yet he carried himself as if he was accustomed to giving orders, not taking them.
She ducked her head, feeling conspicuous. Wearing the costume had been a mad idea from the start, but changing was hardly an option now.
She could swear she felt a burning sensation as his gaze settled on her. Tilting her head slightly to monitor him through her lashes, she felt her gaze collide with his and almost gasped in shock. He knew, she thought, seeing his expression change swiftly from cool indifference to a searing and blatantly sensuous assessment.
Somehow, she couldn't imagine how, he already knew who she was under the veil, and his challenging look was a gauntlet thrown down. He probably t
hought because he knew her secret, he could stare at her as he wished, without fear of retribution from her father or fiance.
Guilty conscience was leading her to imagine his predatory focus on her, she told herself. As a foreigner, he was probably curious about her attire, that was all. But she hadn't imagined what she saw in his gaze. She had only to remember how Gordon used to look at her to be sure that a man only looked at a woman that way when he desired her.
Defiance surged through her. If she kept her head, whatever advantage Gage thought he had over her would be useless. Her word as a princess was worth more than his as a minor foreign diplomat.
Over the head of the woman chattering to her about how much hotter it was in Tamir then back home in wherever, Nadia saw Gage break his stride in her direction and veer to the sheik's side. She waited for her father to greet him politely, then dismiss him in favor of more important guests, but to her dismay, the sheik seemed to welcome Gage's company. Merciful stars, he wasn't reporting her to her father, was he?
Her heart pumped as the sheik turned his head in her direction. He was smiling. Surely he wouldn't smile if Gage had just told him that his daughter made a habit of eluding her bodyguard to behave in ways the sheik would regard as unbefitting a princess.
Her breath caught as the sheik moved toward her, Gage at his side. Her mind raced. She would deny everything. No, she wouldn't. She would confess to her father before Gage could betray her. Then she would hold her head high and face whatever music her unconventional behavior had invited.
The sea of dignitaries parted for the sheik and his companion. By the time they reached her, Nadia's veil fluttered with the effort of controlling her breathing. "Father, I need to tell you..."
The sheik gestured her to silence. "In time, my daughter. I wish to present the emissary from England, Mr. Gage Weston. Mr. Weston, Her Highness Princess Nadia Kamal."
Gage executed a skillful bow that managed to mock her at the same time. "Your Highness."
Her dry throat made her voice husky. "Welcome to Tamir, Mr. Weston."
"Mr. Weston has expressed an interest in our customs, in particular the dress you have chosen to wear in his honor," the sheik continued.
