But that was all now a distant memory; the hot passion which had flared between them now mocked her, because Hassan had told her that sex was no longer on the agenda.
Her hands had trembled when he’d dropped that particular bombshell. ‘You’re saying that you no longer find me attractive?’
He had shaken his head, still not quite believing that he had opened up to her. Still dazed by the powerful and very basic sex which had followed, which had left him feeling … what? As if she’d laid him bare on every level. As if she could see right into his soul. ‘I’m saying that your pregnancy is getting too advanced,’ he responded. ‘And I don’t think sex is a good idea.’
Ella had turned away to hide her distress. And so the pleasure she’d found in his arms became nothing but a taunting series of memories. The nights were nothing but long, lonely hours to be endured. Her enormous bed allowed them both to lie there without touching, and the longer this went on, the more impossible it became to return to what they’d had before.
Ella would hold her breath as she felt the mattress dip beneath Hassan’s weight, and perhaps if she hadn’t been so pregnant, she might have attempted some form of seduction. As it was, even sitting up was a big, lumbering effort. She didn’t even want to think of how clumsy it would look if she tried to launch herself at him. Anyway, such plans were pretty pointless since Hassan would fall asleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow, while she was left staring at the moon shadows flickering over the ceiling.
One morning she awoke to find him leaning over her, his dark face creased with concern, and for one crazy moment, she thought he was going to kiss her. Her lips parted as eagerly as a young chick on the nest, but his face became shuttered as he drew back from her.
‘You look exhausted,’ he observed quietly. ‘Can’t you sleep?’
‘No.’ She waited for him to ask him why and wondered if she dared tell him the reason. Because I miss you. I miss you touching me. Kissing me. Making love to me. Because I’m scared of the future … and I’m only just beginning to realise the heartache which lies ahead if we’re living these separate lives. But she wasn’t going to beg. Or whine. She hadn’t quite sunk to that. She kept her voice light. ‘Nobody ever died from lack of sleep.’
‘No, but it isn’t fair to you or the baby to see you looking so exhausted,’ he said harshly. ‘I will move back into my own rooms and sleep there from now on.’
Her eyes beseeched him to reconsider even if her pride stopped her from asking him outright, but he was true to his word. It didn’t take long for one of his valets to move his few possessions out of her suite, and after that night, Ella slept alone.
As the days passed, so her loneliness increased. With her sickness firmly in the past and without the diversion of long and erotic nights with Hassan, Ella’s life in the palace seemed empty and pointless. Only continuing with her husband’s portrait, into which she poured all her thwarted passion and despair, helped fill the long, waiting days.
But that was her only distraction. The constant heat and lack of seasonal change were having a disorientating effect on her. She felt like someone who had awoken from a long sleep and found themselves in an unknown place. The flowers in the garden looked fake; the sky seemed too blue to be real. The beautiful, gilded palace began to feel like a glittering cage.
Hard to believe that it was early December and, back home, everyone would be gearing up to Christmas. She thought about the glittering lights which twinkled along Regent Street and the supermarkets which would be stuffed to the gills with chocolate. She thought about those tacky paper chains her father used to insist on, because no matter what his faults were, he absolutely loved Christmas and had passed on that love to his children.
And crazily, she began to miss her family. All her family. Her mother might be a walk-over where her father was concerned, but she had always been there when you needed her. The email correspondence they’d been sharing suddenly seemed woefully inadequate, especially the last one which had expressed a wistful desire to ‘see my little girl looking pregnant.’
She even missed her sisters. She hadn’t had a chance to talk to Allegra about her engagement. And while Izzy might be erratic at times, she was filled with an energy and enthusiasm which Ella missed.
Now that all the Jacksons knew she was pregnant, would there really be any shame in admitting defeat and going home and accepting help from her family instead of from Hassan? Because his help came with a price tag which was beginning to seem way too high. She didn’t have to be some sort of passive wimp who just took whatever type of behaviour the sheikh doled out to her.
Her troubled thoughts wouldn’t leave her and eventually it dawned on her that she wanted to go home. And that she would have to tell Hassan. She would emphasise that her trip out here hadn’t been wasted because at least it had enabled them to get to know each other and to establish a degree of civility. And she wouldn’t be unreasonable over access either. In fact, she would make sure that he had as much of it as he liked. Because she would never allow a man who had been neglected by his mother to be kept at a distance by his son or daughter.
Once she had psyched herself up enough, she sat down to breakfast, her manner curiously calm as she took her place opposite her husband.
She went through the ritual of drizzling honey onto her bowl of yoghurt. She could sense him watching her, so suddenly she put her spoon down and looked up to meet the dark fire of his eyes.
‘You’re still not sleeping?’ he questioned before she could say a word. ‘Even though you now have the bed to yourself?’
‘No.’ She shook her head. ‘It’s getting much too uncomfortable to sleep.’
‘Is there anything I can do?’ he questioned.
For a moment she was tempted to say yes. To tell him to come back to her bed and get close to her. And despite her determination not to, she allowed herself a brief glimpse of how it could have been. She imagined a scenario where joys and problems could have been discussed, and shared. And then she thought about what it was: an empty relationship with a man who was cold and unloving towards her. Who had told her emphatically that he couldn’t love. What woman in her right mind would settle for something like that?
‘Yes.’ She hesitated, clasping her fingers together just in case they started trembling. ‘Actually, there is.’
Something in the tone of her voice made his eyes narrow. ‘And what might that be, Ella?’
There was a pause. ‘I want to go home.’
Hassan nodded as a terrible tearing sense of inevitability twisted his gut. ‘Home?’ he questioned.
‘Yes, home. I want to see my family.’
‘But I thought your family drove you mad?’
‘And they do—frequently!’ Her gaze was very steady as she looked at him. ‘But at least they feel stuff. At least their hearts are in the right place, even if they often get it wrong!’
Her implication was crystal clear and suddenly Hassan was forced to accept what he would have once considered impossible. That, for all their faults, at least the Jacksons had the courage to face up to their own emotions. Their lives might be chaotic at times, but they didn’t run away and hide from their feelings. And yet didn’t he despise that kind of messy emotion? Surely that wasn’t a brief pang of envy he was experiencing? His mouth hardened. ‘And you miss them?’
‘I do.’ She nodded, steeling her heart. ‘I feel like a shadow here, Hassan. As if I’m invisible. I want to fly home so that I can see a few friendly and familiar faces and eat some mince pies and listen to c-c-carols….’
To her horror, she realised that tears had sprung to her eyes and when Hassan made to move towards her she waved him away. ‘D-don’t!’ she stumbled, knowing that if he touched her she would be lost. ‘Please don’t. You’ve made it very clear you don’t want me near you, so please don’t let a few tears tempt you from your chosen path. My life has telescoped down to this beautiful place which now feels like a prison, though I’m starting
to wonder if that’s how you wanted it to be all along.’
Hassan sucked in a breath. He felt as if he had wandered into a maze of his own making, where darkness had suddenly fallen. He had pushed her away in order to protect himself. Pushed her and pushed her until she had decided that she could take no more. Now she wanted out, and he had no one to blame but himself. He looked at her pale face, at the swollen curve of her belly, and was overcome with a terrible wave of regret.
‘But you’re nearly thirty-six weeks pregnant,’ he pointed out.
‘So?’
‘So the airlines won’t allow you to fly.’
‘You’ve got your own plane, Hassan, so I can’t see that will be a problem.’
In silence, he got up from the table and walked over to the window, his mind teeming with conflicting thoughts. What if he asked her to stay, what then? What did she really want from him? he wondered. Deep in his heart he knew. She wanted the impossible! She wanted the man he could never be, the close and loving partner all women were programmed to want.
He turned away from the window to see her looking at him, her blue eyes wary, her arms folded defensively across her breasts. And suddenly he realised that this was the one area of his life where he had consistently shown a complete lack of courage. Was he so afraid of reliving the pain of his childhood that he wouldn’t take any risks for a chance of happiness? Couldn’t he at least try to be what she wanted?
‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said slowly. ‘I have been guilty of neglecting you. But if it’s any consolation, I thought I was doing it for the best.’
‘For the best for who? For you? Or for me?’ she shot back. ‘And meanwhile, you mooch around being all king-like and solitary, while I’ve been cooped up inside this wretched palace for weeks!’
‘I realise that.’ He drew a breath, unused to this newfound role of mediator in his own marriage. ‘Which is why I wondered if you’d like to go on a trip?’
‘That’s what I’m proposing, Hassan—a trip back home to England.’
‘No, not that.’ He shook his head. ‘My brother has a traditional Bedouin tent situated on the edge of the Serhetabat Desert. It’s not far from here, although it feels like a different world. We could go and stay there for a couple of nights.’ His black eyes narrowed. ‘It would give you a break. Give you a complete change of scenery. Wouldn’t you like that, Ella?’
Despite all that had happened between them, Ella felt tempted. Surely two nights in a Bedouin tent meant that they’d connect again—and wasn’t that something she still wanted even though her aching heart told her that she was crazy to want it? She wondered what his offer represented. Whether it was his way of saying that he understood her frustrations and wanted to make some amends. Or whether it was simply a sweetener to get her to do what he wanted and stay in Kashamak.
‘I don’t know,’ she prevaricated.
Her reluctance didn’t surprise him and neither did the fierce light which sparked from her blue eyes. Hassan realised that he admired her defiance and her determination to stand up to him. All the things which he’d once claimed not to like in a woman, he found amazingly attractive in Ella. And yet didn’t nature ensure that what attracted also repelled? Didn’t what drew him to her also drive him away, with a feeling which was the closest he’d known to fear?
‘It is a very beautiful place,’ he said steadily. ‘Which you really ought to see for yourself. The desert sky when it’s washed in moonlight is a sight not to be missed.’
‘And afterwards, Hassan? What then?’
He felt an aching dryness in his throat as he met the question in her eyes and knew he couldn’t offer her empty promises. He could take this first step and see where it led, but he wasn’t in the habit of dishing out false hope. ‘If you decide that you’re missing England so much, then of course you must go back. I won’t stop you, and I will support you and our child in whatever way I can.’
Her heart pounding, Ella stared at him. He was offering her freedom, and never had an offer seemed like such a poisoned chalice. ‘And you wouldn’t mind?’
He shrugged. ‘Naturally, it would be easier to keep you and the baby here,’ he said heavily. ‘But I don’t intend to force you to stay. Ultimately, it has to be your decision.’
Ella shook her head in frustration. With his burnished skin and magnificent body, he might look like every woman’s fantasy come to life, but inside he was frozen. Frozen. It was like dealing with some sort of robot, one who was conditioned to move but never to feel! He doesn’t care whether you go or stay! Nothing has changed in all the weeks you’ve been here.
The voice inside her head mocked her hesitation and yet something inside her made her want this trip. Some illogical little hope which refused to die, despite all the odds which were stacked up against it.
‘Then let’s go,’ she said as she stared into his black eyes. ‘Maybe seeing the desert sky washed with moonlight is exactly what I need.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THEY left the next morning in a four-wheel drive which Hassan drove himself, the powerful car eating up the miles of straight, desert roads. Ella was determined to make the most of what might be her one and only desert trip, but her excitement was tempered by the niggling backache she’d developed during the night and which seemed to be preventing her from getting comfortable.
She felt edgy. Wondering why was she was going to the bother of putting herself through all this—the newlywed queen being shown the desert by her sheikh king—when it was nothing but a sham. Hassan had probably only offered to take her in order to placate her. To keep the little lady quiet. Restlessly, she wriggled in her seat.
Hassan shot her a glance as he saw her tug impatiently at the seat belt which was straining over her swollen belly. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m absolutely fine,’ she said. ‘So will you please keep your eyes off me and look at the road instead?’
She had been in an irritable mood all morning, he acknowledged, but he did as she asked, silence falling as they drove along until he saw a familiar marking on the horizon.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Straight ahead and a little to the left. Can you see it?’
Ella screwed up her eyes to see a small blot on the stark landscape. As they grew closer, she could see that it was a tent, but nothing like as glamorous as she’d been expecting. Apart from its dense, black colour, it just seemed like a much bigger version of the tents you saw at music festivals.
‘Does it stand empty all the time?’ she asked.
‘This one does. Kamal uses it only infrequently. I sent some servants here earlier to make it habitable for us, but they will have returned to the palace by now.’
He stopped the car in a spray of sand and went round to the passenger door. The pure, clean air filled his lungs as he inhaled deeply and he looked up into the deep cobalt of the sky before helping his wife down. It had been a long time since he’d been in the desert for the purpose of pleasure, rather than war, and inevitably he felt the fizz of exhilaration. Stealing a glance at Ella’s face, he helped her down from the car. Maybe not quite pleasure, he amended wryly—at least, not for her. Endurance might be a more accurate description, judging by her expression.
‘Welcome,’ he said. ‘To a genuine Bedouin tent. For the weary traveller, the sight of one of these is like stumbling across an oasis.’
Ella dredged up a smile from somewhere. She was feeling very weary herself, and it was much hotter out here than she’d imagined. But she recognised that Hassan was trying hard to please her, so shouldn’t she just try to enjoy the experience? Fanning her hand across her face, she made her way over to the entrance of the tent, but as she pulled back the flap and stepped inside the surprisingly cool interior, she sucked in a breath of amazement.
Lit by intricate metal lamps, the canopied ceiling was hung with rich fabrics of scarlet and bronze, all shot with shimmering gold. Rose and turquoise wall hangings glimmered with a soft intensity, and on the woven rugs stood low sof
as, cushions and bronze tables. The air was scented with something spicy and evocative and for a moment Ella’s niggling backache was forgotten.
‘Oh, wow,’ she said softly, because it was exactly like stepping into an illustration from the Arabian Nights. ‘It’s beautiful.’
But Hassan’s attention wasn’t on the decor. He was momentarily transfixed by the look on his wife’s face. By the parting of her rose-petal lips and the widening of her ice-blue eyes. She was beautiful, he thought suddenly. Her face bare of makeup and her body swollen with his child, he thought he’d never seen anyone look quite so lovely in his life. And she wants to leave you. She wants to leave you, and you have no one to blame but yourself.
‘Shall we sit down?’ he questioned unsteadily. ‘And I’ll make you some of the tea for which the Bedouin are famous.’
A wave of dizziness swept over her as Ella nodded, cumbersomely lowering herself onto one of the cushions. ‘If you like,’ she said.
He set about boiling water and measuring out herbs and sugar before adding them to the heavy pot in which the tea was made. But he turned round when he heard the ragged little sigh she made and saw her eyes momentarily close.
‘Are you okay?’
Her lids flew open again. ‘I would be if you’d just stop fussing!’ She sounded as if she was spoiling for a fight but Hassan didn’t react. She’s just emotional, he told himself. And she has every right to be. He carried over a tray bearing tiny cups and the steaming tea.
‘What’s that funny smell?’ she questioned suspiciously.
‘It’s probably the habak and marmaraya. They’re the desert herbs which gives the tea its distinct flavour. The habak tastes a little like mint.’
Ella swallowed. ‘I think I’m going to be sick.’
‘It isn’t that bad.’
But his attempt at humour was forgotten as Ella suddenly realised that something momentous was happening to her.
The Sheikh’s Heir Page 13
