by The Sheikh
“Want to bet?” she asked, knowing the words were as futile as her attempt to twist free of the guards.
“Of course. I have no fear of wagering with you.” He smiled again. “What will you give me when I win?”
She lunged for him and only got a sharp pain in her arm for her reward. Murat chuckled as he walked away.
“When I get my hands on him,” she said. “I swear I’ll…” She pressed her lips together. On second thought, threatening the prince while still in the presence of several burly guards wasn’t exactly smart.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked when the guards continued to just stand here, holding her in place.
The one by the door touched an earpiece, then nodded.
“What? Getting instructions from the crown prince himself?” she asked. “Couldn’t he have told you while he was still in the room?”
Apparently not, she realized as the guards started moving. The two holding on to her kept their grips firm enough that she didn’t want to risk pulling away. She had a feeling she was already going to be plenty bruised by her experience.
The group of guards, with her in the center, walked down the main corridor, then stopped at a bank of elevators. The one in communication with Murat pushed the down button. When the car arrived, it was a tight fit, but they all made it inside. Daphne noticed how none of the men stood too close to her. In fact, except for the hold on her arms, they were pretty much ignoring her.
She tried to remember the layout of the palace so she could figure out where they were going. Down wasn’t her idea of a happy thought. Were there still dungeons in the palace? She wouldn’t put it past Murat to lock her up.
But when they stepped out of the elevator and headed along a more narrow corridor, Daphne suddenly realized their destination. It was much worse than any dungeon.
“You’re not taking me there,” she said, wiggling and twisting to escape.
The guard on her left tightened his grip on her arm. “Ma’am, we don’t want to hurt you.”
The implication being they would if necessary.
I’ll get him for this, she thought as she stopped fighting. One way or another, Murat would pay.
They turned a corner, and Daphne saw the famous gold double doors. They stood nearly ten feet tall and were heavily embossed with a scene of several young women frolicking at an oasis.
One of the guards stepped forward and opened the door on the left. The rest marched her inside.
When the men released her, she thought briefly about making a dash for freedom but knew she would be caught and returned here. So she accepted her fate with dignity and a vow that she would find her way out as soon as she could.
The guards left. She heard the heavy clang as the doors closed behind them and the thunk of the gold cross bar being locked into place. Low conversation from the hallway told her that someone would be left on duty to watch over her.
“This is just like you, Murat,” she said as she placed her hands on her hips.
“You might be an imperial, piggish prince, but I can stand it. I can stand anything to keep you from marrying Brittany.”
Daphne looked for something to throw, but the thick, cream-colored walls were completely bare. The only decoration was the brightly colored tile floor.
She moved through the arched entryway, into the large open living area. Dozens of chairs and sofas filled the vast space. The doorway to the left led to the baths, the one on the right led to the sleeping rooms. She recognized this part of the palace from her explorations ten years before. Recognized and fumed because of it.
Dammit all, if Murat hadn’t locked her in the harem.
Murat stalked toward the business wing of the palace. Fury quickened his steps.
After all this time Daphne Snowden had dared to return to Bahania, only to once again disrupt his world.
Had she come modestly, begging his apology for her unforgivable acts? Of course not. He swore silently. The woman had stared him in the eye, speaking as if they were equals. She had defied him.
Murat swept past the guards outside his father’s business suite and stepped into the inner office.
“She is here,” he announced as he came to a stop in front of the large, carved desk.
The king raised his eyebrows. “You do not sound happy. Has your fiancée displeased you already?”
“She is not my fiancée.”
His father sighed, then stood and walked around the desk. “Murat, I know you have reservations about this engagement. You complain that the girl is too young and inexperienced, that she can never be happy here, but once again I ask you to give her a chance.”
Murat stared at his father. Anger bubbled inside of him, although he was careful to keep it from showing. He’d spent a lifetime not reacting to anything, and that practice served him well now.
“You misunderstand me, Father,” he said in a low voice. “Brittany Snowden is not here in the palace. She is flying back to America even as we speak.”
The king frowned. “Then who is here?”
“Daphne.”
“Your former—”
Murat cut him off with a quick, “Yes.”
One of the many advantages of being the crown prince was the ability to assert his will on others. Ten years ago, when his former fiancée had left without so much as a note, he’d forbidden any to speak her name. All had obeyed except his father, who did not need to pay attention to the will of the crown prince.
“She attempts to defy me,” Murat said as he walked to the window and leaned against the sill. “She stood there and told me she would not permit me to marry her niece.” He laughed harshly. “As if her desires matter at all to me. I am Crown Prince Murat of Bahania. I determine my fate. No one, especially not a mere woman, dares to instruct me.”
His father nodded. “I see. So you complain that Daphne wants to prevent you from marrying someone whom you did not want to marry in the first place.”
“That is not the point,” Murat told him as he folded his arms across his chest.
“There is a principle at stake. The woman did not respect my position ten years ago and nothing has changed.”
“I can see how that would be difficult,” the king said. “Where is she now?”
Murat glanced down as one of his father’s cats stood on the sofa, stretched, then curled back up and closed its eyes.
“I have offered her a place to stay while this is sorted out,” he said.
“I’m surprised Daphne would want to remain in the palace. She has delivered her message.”
Murat stared at his father. “I did not give her a choice. I had the guards deliver her to the harem.”
Very little startled the king, so Murat enjoyed seeing his father’s mouth drop open with surprise.
“The harem?” the older man repeated.
Murat shrugged. “I had to detain her. Although she has defied me and spoken with disrespect, I was not willing to lock her in the dungeons. The harem is pleasant enough and will hold her until I decide I wish to let her go.”
Although that section of the palace hadn’t been used for its intended purpose for more than sixty years, the rooms themselves were maintained in their original splendor. Daphne would be surrounded by every luxury, except that of her freedom.
“It is her own fault,” he added. “She had no right to interfere and keep her niece from me. Even though I was never interested in Brittany and only agreed to meet with her to please you, Daphne was wrong to try to foil me.”
“I understand completely,” his father said. “What do you intend to do with her now?”
Murat hadn’t done anything but react. He had no plan where she was concerned.
“I do not know,” he admitted.
“Will you order the plane to return Brittany to Bahania?”
“No. I know you wanted me to consider her, but in truth, Father, I could not be less interested.” While Murat accepted that he had to marry and produce heirs, he could not
imagine spending the rest of his life with a foolish young wife.
“Perhaps I will keep Daphne for a few days,” Murat said. “To teach her a lesson.”
“In the harem?” his father asked.
“Yes.” He smiled. “She will be most displeased.”
She would argue and fume and call him names. She would continue to defy him.
Despite all that had gone on before—what she had done and what he had yet to forgive—he found himself looking forward to the encounter.
Daphne discovered her luggage in one of the largest bedrooms in the harem. The sleeping quarters consisted of several private rooms, reserved for those in favor with the king, and large dormitory-like rooms with ten or twelve beautiful beds lined up against the thick walls.
She doubted there was any furniture newer than a hundred years old. Handmade rugs covered the tiled floors in the sleeping rooms, while carved and gilded pieces of furniture added to the decor.
She ignored the suitcases and instead walked close to the walls. No one could have come in through the main door to deliver her luggage—she would have seen.
Which meant there was a secret passage and door. The getting in didn’t interest her as much as the getting out.
When a careful exploration of the rough walls didn’t reveal any hidden doorway, she moved to the hall. It had to be somewhere. She felt around furniture and
baseboards, paying particular attention to the inner walls. Still she found nothing.
“I’m sure I’ll have plenty of time to keeping checking,” she said aloud as she paused in front of a French door that led to a massive walled garden.
Daphne stepped out into the late-afternoon sun and breathed in the scent of the lush plant life. There were trees and shrubs, tiny flowers and huge birds of paradise. A narrow path led through the garden, while stone benches offered a place to sit and reflect. Fluttering movement caught her attention, and she glanced up in time to see two parrots fly across the open area.
“Their loud cries cover the sound of women’s voices.”
Daphne spun toward the speaker and saw Murat standing behind her. He still wore his suit and his imperious expression. She hated that he was the most handsome man she’d ever met and that, instead of being furious, she actually felt a little tingle of pleasure at seeing him.
Betrayed by her hormones, she thought in disgust. While leaving him ten years ago had been completely sensible, it had taken her far too long to stop loving him. Even the pain of knowing he hadn’t cared enough to come after her hadn’t made the recovery any shorter.
“Many of the parrots here are quite old,” he continued. “But there is a single breeding pair that has given us a new generation.”
“You no longer have women in the harem. Why do you keep the parrots?”
He shrugged. “Sometimes there is difficulty in letting go of the old ways. But you are not interested in our traditions. You wish to berate me and tell me what I can and cannot do.” He nodded. “You may begin now if you wish.”
Suspicious of his motives, she studied him. But his dark eyes and chiseled features gave nothing away. Still, that didn’t stop her from wanting to know what was going to happen.
“What are you going to do about Brittany?” she asked.
“Nothing.”
Like she believed that. “Are you ordering the jet to turn around?”
“No. Despite what you think of me, I will not force my bride to present herself.
She will be here in time.”
Daphne glared at him. “No, she won’t. Brittany isn’t going to marry you.”
He dismissed her with a flick of his hand. “The gardens have grown since you were last here. Do you remember? You were quite enchanted with the idea of the harem and disappointed that we no longer used it for its original purpose.”
“I was not,” she protested. “I think it’s terrible that women were kept locked up for the sole purpose of offering sexual pleasure for the king.”
He smiled. “So you say now. But I distinctly recall how you found the idea exciting. You asked endless questions.”
Daphne felt heat on her cheeks. Okay, maybe she had been a little interested in the workings of the harem. Ten years ago she’d been all of twenty and a virtual innocent in the ways of the world. Everything about the palace had intrigued her. Especially Murat.
“I’m over it now,” she said. “How long do you intend to keep me here?”
“I have not yet decided.”
“My family will come to my rescue. You must know they have substantial political power.”
He didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by the threat.
“What I know,” he said, “is that their ambitions have not changed. They still wish for a Snowden female to marry royalty.”
She couldn’t argue that. First her parents had pushed her at Murat, and now her own sister pushed Brittany.
“I’m not like them,” she said.
“How true.” He glanced at his watch. “Dinner is at seven. Please dress appropriately.”
She laughed. “And if I don’t want to have dinner with you?”
He raised one eyebrow. “The choice has never been yours, Daphne. When will you finally learn that? Besides, you do want to dine with me. You have many questions. I see them in your eyes.”
With that he turned and left.
“Annoying man,” she muttered when she was alone again. Worse, he was right. She had questions—lots of them. And a burning desire to deal with the unfinished business between them.
As for the man himself…time had changed him, but it had not erased her interest in the only man she had ever loved.
Chapter 3
Daphne stood in front of her open suitcase and stared down at the contents.
While a part of her wanted to ignore Murat’s demand that she “dress appropriately” for their dinner, another part of her liked the idea of looking so fabulous that she would leave him speechless. It was a battle between principles and beauty and she already knew which would win.
After sorting through the contents of her luggage, she withdrew a simple sleeveless dress and carried it into the bathroom. She would let it hang in the steam while she showered. She plugged in the electric curlers she’d already unpacked, then pinned up her hair and stepped into the shower.
Fifteen minutes later she emerged all cleaned and buffed and smoothed. The bath towels provided were big enough to carpet an entire room. An array of cosmetics and skin-care products filled the cabinets by the huge mirror and vanity.
Everywhere she looked she saw marble, gold, carved wood or beveled glass. How many women had stood in front of this mirror and prepared to meet a member of the royal family? What kind of stories had these walls witnessed? How much laughter? How many tears? Under other circumstances she could enjoy her stay in this historical part of the palace.
“Who am I kidding?” she murmured as she unpinned her hair and brushed it out.
“I’m enjoying it now.”
She’d always loved Bahania and the palace. Murat had been the problem.
He hadn’t been that way in the beginning. He’d been charming and intriguing and exactly the kind of man she’d always wanted to meet. As she reached for the first hot curler, she remembered that party she’d attended in Spain where they had first met.
Traveling through Europe the summer between her sophomore and junior year of college had meant doing her best to avoid all her parents’ upper-class and political friends. But in Barcelona, Daphne had finally caved to her mother’s insistence that she accept an invitation to a cocktail party for some ambassador or prime minister or something. She’d been bored and ready to leave after ten minutes. But then, on a stone balcony with a perfect view of the sunset, she’d met a man.
He’d been tall, handsome and he’d made her laugh when he’d confessed that he needed her help—that he was hiding from the far-too-amorous youngest daughter of their host.
“When she comes upstairs
looking for me, I’ll hide under the table and you will send her away,” he said. “Will you do that for me?”
He stared at her with eyes as dark as midnight. At that second her stomach had flipped over, her cheeks had flushed and she would have followed him to the ends of the earth.
He’d spent the entire evening with her, escorting her to dinner and then dancing with her under the stars. They’d talked of books and movies, of childhood fantasies and grown-up dreams. And when he’d walked her back to her hotel and kissed her, she’d known that she was in danger of falling for him.
He hadn’t told her who he was until their third date. At first she’d been nervous—after all, even she had never met a prince—but then she realized that for once being a Snowden was a good thing. She’d been raised to be the wife of a president, or even a prince.
“Come back with me,” he’d pleaded when he had to return to Bahania. “Come see my country, meet my people. Let them discover how delightful you are, as I have.”
It wasn’t a declaration of love—she saw that now. But at twenty, it had been enough. She’d abandoned the rest of her tour and had flown with him to Bahania, where she’d stayed at the fabled Pink Palace and had fallen deeply in love with both Murat and every part of his world.
Daphne finished applying her makeup, then unwrapped the towel and stepped into her lingerie. Next she took out the curlers and carefully finger-combed her hair before bending over and spraying the underside. She flipped her hair back and applied more hairspray before finally stepping into her dress.
The silk skimmed over her body to fall just above her knees. She stepped into high-heeled sandals, then stared at her reflection.
Daphne knew she looked tired. No doubt her mother could find several items to criticize. But what would Murat think? How was the woman different from the girl? Ten years ago she’d loved him with a devotion that had bordered on mindlessness. The only thing that could have forced her to leave was the one thing that had—the realization that he didn’t love her back.
“Don’t go there,” she told herself as she turned away from the mirror and made her way out of the bathroom.
