Susan Mallery - The Sheikh & the Bride Who Said No

by The Sheikh

  “Of all the arrogant, terrible, hard-hearted men on the planet. To think I missed him.” Talk about stupid.

  “Never again,” she vowed. “Never ever again will I think one pleasant or kind thought about—”

  The door to the suite opened and Murat walked in. She stood and glared at him.

  “Don’t even try to talk to me. I’m furious.”

  Murat closed the door and walked toward her. “I just spoke with my father.”

  “Unless you’re going to tell me he’s agreed to us getting a divorce, I’m not interested.”

  He unfastened his cloak and draped it across a chair. “He took me to task for annoying you.”

  “Really? Well, he’s a very smart man.”

  Murat ignored her comment. “He was most disappointed we were not getting along better, especially in light of all his effort to bring us back together.”

  “I…” She blinked. “What?”

  He motioned to the sofa. She sank down next to the cat she’d been petting and waited while Murat sat across from her.

  “He told me that he has been waiting a long time for me to pick a bride. When I seemed reluctant, despite the various women in my life, he decided there must be some reason from my past. He made a study of my previous relationships and kept coming back to you and our broken engagement.”

  “That’s right,” she said. “Broken and not fixed.”

  “When he discovered you were unmarried, as well, he decided to bring us back together to see what happened.”

  “That’s not possible.” She refused to believe it. “I wasn’t brought here for you. I came because of Brittany…”

  She felt her mouth drop open and quickly pressed her lips together. Sensible Brittany who, out of the blue, suddenly decided to marry a man she’d never met and move half a world away.

  “She was in on it,” she breathed.

  “Apparently. No one else in your family knew. My father found out that the two of you were close and contacted her. Together they hatched this plan.”

  “No.” Daphne shook her head. “She would never do that to me. She’s not that good a liar.”

  “Apparently she is.” He motioned to the phone. “Feel free to check with her.”

  “I will.” She picked up the receiver and punched in the number for her sister’s house. When the maid answered, Daphne asked for Brittany.

  “Hey, Aunt Daphne, how’s it going? College starts in ten days and I’m so excited. Mom’s still annoyed with you, but she’s getting over it. She thinks I should start dating the governor’s son. He’s okay, I guess, but not really my type. What’s up with you?”

  Despite Murat’s revelation and the possibility that Brittany had been a part of some plan, Daphne couldn’t help smiling as she listened to her niece’s monologue.

  “I’m good,” she said. “I’ve missed you.”

  “I’ve missed you, too. Think I could come over there for winter break? We could go shopping and ride a camel. It would be fun. Plus I’d love to finally meet Murat.”

  “I’ll bet you would. Sure. You can come here. But first I need to ask you something. Did the King of Bahania get in touch with you a couple of months ago?”

  Brittany sucked in a breath. “What?”

  “Did he want you to pretend to be willing to marry Murat to lure me back to Bahania? Brittany, I want the truth. This is very important.”

  The teenager sighed. “Maybe. Okay, sort of. Yes. He called and we talked. He was really nice. Not at all like I imagined a king would be. He said that the reason you hadn’t fallen in love with any other guy was that you still loved Murat but you wouldn’t admit it to anyone. Not even to yourself. At first I told him he was crazy, but then I thought about it for a while and I decided he might be right.”

  “Oh, God.”

  “So I said I would marry Murat so that you’d get all worried and stuff. Which you did. I felt bad on the plane. I was acting so shallow, but it was important.

  And then you went to see Murat and I came home.”

  “Did anyone else know?”

  “Are you kidding? Mom would never have agreed. I sort of felt bad about how excited she got over me marrying a prince and all. But, sheesh, how could she take it seriously? He’s so old.”

  “Practically in his dotage.”

  “But it worked out great. Right?” Brittany sounded slightly unsure of herself.

  “I mean you married him and everything. You’re happy, Aunt Daphne, aren’t you? I’d never hurt you for anything. You know that, right?”

  “Of course I know that. I love you, Brittany. You’ll always be my favorite niece.”

  Brittany laughed. “I’m still your only niece, but I know what you mean. How did you find out?”

  “The king told Murat.”

  “Was he furious?”

  “He was unamused.”

  “But you’re okay.”

  Daphne thought about the young woman she’d loved for eighteen years. Whatever Brittany had done, she’d acted out of love and concern.

  “I’m completely fine. I love you.”

  “I love you, too. Let’s talk soon.”

  “Absolutely. Bye.”

  Daphne hung up the phone and looked at her husband. “It’s true. Brittany was a part of it from the beginning. She pretended to be interested in marrying you to get me on the plane.”

  He leaned back in the chair and closed his eyes. “And I played right into my father’s hands by losing my temper and locking you in the harem.”

  Not to mention marrying her against her will, but she didn’t say that.

  “I’m pretty mad,” Daphne admitted. “But I also feel kind of stupid. I can’t believe those two were able to trick us like that.”

  Murat looked sheepish. “It does not say much about our powers of reasoning. I kept telling my father I was not interested in a teenage bride, but he insisted she be brought over for my inspection.”

  “I got all maternal and demanding,” she said. “I was terrified Brittany was throwing away her life.” She glanced at him. “Not that life as your wife is so terrible, but it wasn’t right for her.”

  “Believe me, I did not want her, either.”

  Daphne felt as if she’d shown up for a big party only to find out the celebration had been the previous night. She felt both awkward and let down.

  “So, um, now what?” she asked.

  He straightened. “I should not have yelled at you before,” he said, “when I found you in the garden. As I told you, I thought you had moved out of our rooms.”

  Had Crown Prince Murat of Bahania just apologized? “I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to give that impression. I just wanted to work with my clay.”

  “As you should. I enjoy the things you create.” He smiled. “Even when they mock me.”

  Something tightened her heart. She felt happy and nervous at the same time. She cleared her throat.

  “I didn’t really want to leave. Before. Our trip into the desert. All this is so confusing and I reacted to that and what happened with Aisha. I don’t always know what I’m feeling. Then we were fighting, and you said I could go and I said I wanted to and then I was here.”

  He stood and crossed to the sofa, where he sat next to her. He took both her hands in his.

  “I missed you, Daphne. So much so that the tribal elders came to offer me advice.”

  She liked him touching her, but even more than that, she liked the sincerity in his gaze and that he’d missed her.

  “What did they say?”

  “One suggested I beat you. I sent him away.”

  “Thank you. I wouldn’t respond well to a beating.”

  “I am many things, but I am not a bully.”

  “I know.” He would never use his position of strength to take advantage of someone physically.

  “One thought I should take a mistress.”

  Her stomach clenched. The sharp pain made her gasp. “What did you decide?”

 
He pulled one hand free and touched her cheek. “I want no other woman. Even if I chose not to be bound by my vows, I would still be true.”

  The pain eased.

  “Finally, the oldest of the elders told me you were like a flower and that I should tend you in your garden.”

  She frowned. “What does that mean?”

  “I was hoping you could tell me.”

  “I haven’t a clue.”

  He stared deeply into her eyes as he slid his hand from her cheek to her mouth.

  He brushed his fingers against her lips. “Stay with me.”

  She didn’t know if he meant that night or for always. Her heart told her to give in, that in time Murat would learn to yield, while her head reminded her that to stay based on an expected change in behavior was foolish.

  Could she accept Murat as he was? Could she be with him knowing he would overrule her at will and never let her be an equal in their relationship? It wouldn’t take much for her to fall in love with him again, but would he return those feelings? Could a man who thought of her as a mere woman ever give his heart?

  “Stay,” he repeated, then saved her from answering by kissing her.

  She surrendered to his touch, still not sure how far to hold her heart out of reach.

  “You can’t be serious,” Daphne said over dinner, several days later.

  “It will never happen. The Americans are not ready to elect a woman president.”

  “But if they did…”

  Murat shrugged. “You expect me to meet with a woman as an equal?”

  “Of course. Didn’t your father meet with Prime Minister Margaret Thatcher?”

  “Perhaps. I am too young to recall.” He cut into his meat. “You seem agitated.”

  “I’m trying to figure out what I should throw at you.”

  He raised his eyebrows. “Such threats of violence over a simple discussion. You see why women are not good in politics. There is too much emotion.”

  She narrowed her gaze, just as she caught the twitch at the corner of his mouth.

  “You’re toying with me,” she said, both relieved and determined to get him back.

  “Perhaps.”

  “I should have known. You would meet with a woman president.”

  “Of course, but I doubt it will happen during my lifetime. Perhaps our son will have to deal with the situation.”

  She was about to say that any son of hers would respect women and their rights, only to stop herself at the last minute. Perhaps that wasn’t the best conversational tack to take. Not when the truce between them was so fragile.

  It had been three days since Murat had returned from the desert. Three days in which she’d slept in his bed, made love with him and toyed with the idea of simply accepting her marriage as permanent.

  Her feelings grew, and she knew that the point of no return was at hand. If she fell in love with him, she wouldn’t want to go, regardless of their past.

  “You grow quiet,” he said, setting down his knife and fork. “Are you troubled about some matter?”

  “No.”

  Troubled didn’t begin to describe her emotions.

  “At the risk of starting another battle between us,” he said. “It has been nearly three weeks since the first time we made love. You have not started your period.”

  “I know. I’m late.”

  She watched him carefully, but his expression didn’t change. She wondered if he was crowing on the inside.

  “Do you think you are pregnant?”

  She wasn’t sure. “I don’t feel any different, but I don’t know if I should. I could get a pregnancy test and take it if you would like.”

  “What would you prefer to do?”

  “Wait a few more days. Sometimes stress upsets my cycle.”

  She’d certainly had her share of that in the past month or so.

  She expected him to insist that she find out that very evening. Instead he nodded. “As you wish.”

  She couldn’t help smiling. “Are you unwell?”

  “No. Why do you ask?”

  “You never give in on anything.”

  He sighed. “I am doing my best to nurture the flower in my garden. Do you feel nurtured?”

  She held in a laugh. He was trying hard. “Nearly every minute of every day.”

  “Ah. Now you mock me again.” He carefully put his napkin on the table and rose.

  “I think my flower needs a good pruning.”

  He had an evil gleam in his eye. Daphne stood and started to back away.

  “Murat, no.”

  “You do not know what I have in mind.”

  “I can tell it’s going to be bad. Now stop this. Think of your delicate flower.

  You have to be nice.”

  He made a noise low in his throat and started toward her. She shrieked and ducked away. In a matter of seconds he caught her.

  In truth, she didn’t mind being dragged against him. Even as he pressed his mouth to hers, he caught her up in his arms and carried her into their bedroom.

  “What about dinner?” she asked when he set her on her feet next to their bed and reached for the zipper at the back of her dress.

  “I am hungry for other things.”

  Murat worked through the messages left for him by his assistant. On the one hand he appreciated his new and warm relationship with Daphne. On the other, he found his workdays long and dull when compared with the nights he spent in her company. While his ministers spoke of the oil reserves and the state of the currency-exchange market, he thought of her body pressing against his and the way she cried out his name when he pleasured her.

  Things were as they should be, he thought contentedly. She had made her peace with her situation. Now they would grow together as husband and wife. There would be many children and a long and happy life together.

  His assistant knocked on the door.

  “Come in,” Murat called.

  Fouad entered with several folders. “The king wishes to change your lunch meeting to this afternoon. It seems he is to dine with Princess Calah.”

  Murat smiled at the thought of his father having lunch with the charming toddler. “That is excellent. Have the kitchen send up a second meal to my suite.

  I will dine with my wife.”

  “Very good, sir.” Fouad set the folders on the desk. “I have had a call from our media office. Princess Daphne turned down an interview request from an American women’s magazine. They were surprised, as the publication is known for honest reporting. They were interested in making a connection with her, sir, not doing an exposé.”

  “Perhaps she is not aware that such interviews are welcome. I will mention it to her.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Fouad completed his business and left. Forty minutes later Murat walked into his suite to find the table set for two.

  “This is a surprise,” Daphne said as she walked into the living room, then crossed the tile floor to kiss him. “A very pleasant one.”

  “My father and I were to have lunch, but he chose instead to dine with a very attractive young woman. So I took the opportunity to spend some time with you.”

  Daphne led him to the table. “Calah?” she asked.

  “Of course.”

  “He loves that little girl.”

  Murat’s gaze dropped to Daphne’s flat stomach. Did his child grow there? So far she had not gotten her period, nor had she offered to take a pregnancy test. He had decided to let her make the decision. If she was with child, he would soon know.

  They sat across from each other and spoke about their morning. As she served them each salad, he mentioned the interview with the American magazine.

  “You are welcome to speak with them,” he said. “I will not forbid it.”

  “My flower heart trembles at your generosity,” she said in a teasing voice.

  He pretended to scowl. “I can see I have been too lenient with you.”

  “Not to worry, Murat. If I had wanted to giv
e the interview I would have. But I wasn’t interested.”

  “Why not?”

  Instead of answering, she mentioned that Billie and Cleo were planning a day trip to the City of Thieves and that she wanted to join them.

  “Of course Billie wants to fly us there herself, and the king has said that would not be allowed. She’s too far along in her pregnancy.”

  He watched her as she spoke, noting a slight shadow in her eyes.

  “Daphne, why did you refuse the interview?”

  “It’s not important.”

  Which meant that it was. “I will not rest until you tell me.”

  She set down her fork. “If you must know, I didn’t know what to say. This was for a big bridal issue they’re doing in a few months. They’re collecting romantic stories from different couples and they wanted to talk about how we met and fell in love. I didn’t think it was a good idea to tell them the truth. That you locked me in the harem then married me against my will while I was unconscious. Rather than having to make up something, I declined the interview.”

  She continued speaking, changing the subject to the upcoming trip to the City of Thieves, but he could not hear her. The impact of what she had said—a bald statement of a truth he knew well—seemed to render him immobile.

  For the first time he understood what she had been trying to tell him all along.

  That he had held her captive, like a common criminal. Of course the quarters were luxurious and she had not been mistreated in the least, but he had locked her away. Then, knowing she wanted nothing to do with him, he had taken advantage of a medical condition to force her into marriage.

  Had he given her the choice, she would have refused him. She would have left.

  She was not with him because she wanted to be.

  The truth sliced through him like a knife. He had always known that she complained about his treatment, but he had told himself it was all simply the meaningless chatter of a woman with too much time on her hands. He had not considered she had cause for her complaints. Had she been a stranger and appeared with her petition while he had been in the desert, he would have freed her from her marriage and locked away the man in question.