by Maggie Cox
* * *
On her return from doing the school run with Sami, Patricia Carrick took off her raincoat and, as was her habit, meticulously hung it on the coat stand. Then she went into the living room to find Darcy.
She wasn’t at all surprised to find that her daughter had vacated the sofa, where she’d spent the past couple of nights, but was more than a little annoyed that she had done so. She was supposed to be resting that ankle. But even as a child Darcy hadn’t taken to being told what to do, even if it had been for her benefit. In truth, the only person whose advice she had ever really listened to was her father...
Having heard the front door slam shut, Darcy called out, ‘I’m in the kitchen, Mum.’
In Patricia’s absence she’d washed and dressed and, using her walking cane, had carefully limped into the kitchen to put the kettle on.
‘Cup of tea?’ she offered.
Standing in the doorway, her mother folded her arms and shook her head in disapproval. ‘Do you really think it’s a good idea to be pouring out a kettle of hot water in your condition?’
‘I’ve made English Breakfast. I know it’s your favourite.’
‘Never mind that—did you hear what I said?’
Leaning against the worktop, the younger woman sighed and pushed back the golden tresses that were still spread about her shoulders because she hadn’t tied it back yet.
‘Yes, I did. You’re worried about me pouring hot water from the kettle when I’m on my own having had an accident. For goodness’ sake, I’m not a child. I know I have to be careful. If I was on my own and didn’t have you around to help I’d have to manage.’
‘Which brings me to the next thing I want to talk to you about... I want you to tell me the truth about your relationship with the Sheikh. That bank you used to work for in the city...didn’t the owners come from a little-known country in the Middle East?’
Feeling discomfited that her mother should mention that right now, Darcy attempted a non-committal shrug. But, having never revealed the identity of her son’s father in case of possibly compromising him, she now feared the older woman was fast closing in on the truth.
‘What’s that got to do with anything?’
‘There’s something that went on between the two of you in the past, isn’t there? I could sense it as soon as I met him. Why on earth would someone as important as he is bring my daughter home from the hospital if he didn’t have some kind of vested interest?’
‘I worked for him once...that’s all.’
‘Give me some credit, love.’ Her mother crossed the floor to draw Darcy’s hand into hers. ‘Do you think I’m too old to remember what sexual chemistry is like? The air fairly crackles when the two of you are together.’
She was cornered as surely as a fox in a trap...
Chewing down on her lip, Darcy knew she could no longer hide the truth. Even though she’d been even more driven to find Zafir and tell him about Sami when she’d learned he was engaged, she’d lived with the secret for so long without telling anybody that it was going to be hard on her to give up her anonymity. She had never sought fame or fortune, and now it seemed she was going to achieve both...
Last night Zafir had sworn that he was going to marry her, also that they were going to return to his country so he could proclaim Sami his son and heir. An ordinary, simple life would no longer be hers.
There would be no more having to make ends meet on just her own money and her mother’s small wage, no more struggling to pay the bills. Whilst some might say that was a good thing, she wondered how she could possibly make a marriage work with someone who’d let her down as devastatingly as Zafir had done. Not only that, but with someone who had abandoned her without even giving her a chance to air her side of the story.
‘Presumably you have told him that Sami is his son?’
‘Yes... I’ve told him.’
‘So what does he aim to do about it? I imagine that because he is who he is, his code of honour will be strong...that he will want to do what’s right for you and his son?’
Turning away, Darcy reached for the canary-yellow teapot she’d left on the worktop and began to fill two matching mugs. She knew her mother was impatient for her answer but she deliberately didn’t hurry to give it.
‘Can you put the mugs on a tray and carry it into the living room for me?’
Patricia, her still slim figure attired smartly in a fitted navy skirt and an unfussy white blouse, was exasperated. ‘Answer my question... What does the Sheikh intend to do about it?’
Unable to disguise her uncertainty, Darcy sucked in a breath and said quietly, ‘He told me that he intends to marry me and make Sami his heir.’
‘I knew he was an honourable man the moment I set eyes on him. Now, let’s go and have that cup of tea, shall we?’
* * *
Much later on that night—in fact in the early hours of the morning—Zafir let the telephone receiver clatter noisily back onto its rest and scraped his hands wearily through his hair.
Making his way into the kitchen, he poured another drink from the coffee pot that his housekeeper always made sure to keep replenished, and uncharacteristically added a couple of sugars. He was in dire need of a caffeine and sugar hit after his testing exchange with Farrida.
As he had guessed, she hadn’t taken the news of his cancelling their engagement quietly. She’d expressed the gamut of emotions—from noisy tears and pleas for him to see sense to accusations of him being hypnotised by this woman, who must clearly be holding him to ransom because she’d borne his child.
In the end Zafir had had to exert his authority and tell her once and for all that their engagement was at an end and that he fully intended to marry his child’s mother. That Farrida should learn to accept the fact and that her stepping down from their arrangement would be amply compensated. She would retain her lauded reputation as one of the country’s most beautiful and accomplished women and be free to marry another distinguished man of her choice.
A short while after finishing his call, the relief he felt at jumping that particularly testing hurdle was off the scale. It meant that he was now entirely free to marry Darcy without anything standing in his way—because more and more it was dawning on him that she was the one woman in the world he’d always known he was meant to be with.
* * *
Sitting in the lobby of one of London’s most exclusive hotels, Zafir looked every inch a royal prince. Attired in his traditional dark robes and long leather boots, with his unbound ebony hair gleaming whenever it caught the light, he cut an impressive figure.
Whilst he didn’t particularly want to announce his status to all and sundry, he saw no reason to hide it. And yet his nature was complex. His father had always said he was a contradiction. One minute he enjoyed the preferential treatment accorded to him by his status, and the next he almost wanted to deny it and disappear into the shadows.
Now, waiting for Rashid to arrive with Darcy, he couldn’t help but feel on tenterhooks. When he’d told her that he intended for them to marry and then officially announce Sami as his heir she had seemed anything but pleased. That disturbed him. Could she not see at the very least that there were untold benefits for her in becoming his wife? For one thing she wouldn’t have to struggle any more, and both she and their son would be supported, cherished and adored by his people for the rest of their lives, not wanting for anything.
But there was one fear in this rosy vision of their future together that Zafir could not easily dissipate. And that was that Darcy would never find it in her heart to forgive him for choosing to believe his brother over her...
‘Ms Carrick is here, Your Highness.’
Suddenly Rashid was there in front of him, his eye-catching companion supported by her walking aids beside him.
‘Darcy,’ he acknowledged, not hesitating to touch his lips to the side of her cheek. The feeling of her smooth skin and the bewitching imprint of her lovely perfume would stay with him long after s
he’d gone from him, he mused. ‘It is good to see you.’
‘You too,’ she murmured.
Addressing his guard, Zafir questioned, ‘You had a good journey, I trust?’
‘Yes, Your Highness. We did not have any problems.’
‘Good.’
As Zafir glanced around him he wasn’t surprised to note that many of the hotel’s visitors and residents gathered in the glamorous lobby were keenly observing their little group. And they were mostly paying attention to Darcy, he saw. Not that he could blame them. Her glorious sunny hair was caught up on top of her head in a very feminine topknot, her make-up was classy and understated, and she was wearing a long jacquard patterned dress with a cinched waistband and a black velvet coat open at the front.
Her beauty was beyond stunning. Was it any wonder he was so proud and pleased at the mere sight of her?
Making a quick scan of her flushed features, he immediately checked to see if she wouldn’t be better off in the wheelchair. Knowing how stubborn she could be, he didn’t want her to risk making her injury worse by insisting on standing when she needn’t.
‘How are you feeling today?’
‘Much better after a decent night’s sleep, I’m pleased to say.’
‘You are still occupying the downstairs sofa?’
Colouring, she glanced briefly across her shoulder. In case anyone was listening, Zafir thought.
‘I hope to change that arrangement tonight and go back to my bed.’
‘You think you can manage the stairs?’
‘I won’t always have you around to carry me, so I had better get used to trying to manage... Your Highness.’
She had responded giving him a look that told him she’d crawl if she had to, rather than accept any more help from him. Whilst he was amused, he was also irritated that she seemed not to remember his assertion last night, when he’d unequivocally told her that he intended to marry her.
‘Anyway...we need to get on with our business. I’ve arranged for us to have some coffee in my suite so we might talk in private. Rashid, you may accompany us and do the usual checks.’
‘Of course, Highness.’
Gesturing that Darcy should precede him, Zafir waited until she was ready and confidently in control of her crutches, then led her towards the elevator.
CHAPTER SEVEN
OF COURSE DARCY had experienced the sensation of having butterflies in the tummy before, but never butterflies that felt as if they were drunk. But that was just what it felt like as she travelled up to the topmost floor in the elevator with Zafir and his bodyguard.
Their meeting was going to take place in his private suite, he told her. It was a facility he used when he worked late at the bank or needed a private meeting. It would be the first time they’d been properly alone together since contact had been renewed. Naturally she was concerned about how things would go. As far as his desire for marriage went, would he insist on a wedding? Or would he be more reasonable and agree to some kind of compromise? Whilst she didn’t doubt that he would be a good father, she was far from certain that he would make an equally good husband...
‘Here we are.’
Her striking companion’s enigmatic gaze surveyed her thoughtfully as, in keeping with royal protocol, he waited for Rashid to open the door to the suite. He gave her no clue as to what he might be thinking.
The bodyguard went in first to make a quick and efficient reconnaissance. It was another reminder of Zafir’s importance that his security was paramount. But when the inspection was over he clearly didn’t expect his guard to linger. Instead Zafir instructed him to go and get some lunch and said that he would contact him when they were ready to leave.
‘Thank you, Your Highness.’ Rashid included Darcy in a respectful, yet cordial little bow and once again she sensed herself warming to the man.
‘Darcy?’
With a flourish, Zafir indicated that she should go in before him, and he waited patiently as she complied. The wildly fluttering butterflies in her belly didn’t grow any calmer as they entered the suite’s sumptuous high-ceilinged sitting room. There were three other doors leading off the area, she saw, and she assumed these must lead to the bedroom and bathroom and perhaps a study? And, if this first room was any indication, presumably they would all reflect the same high level of comfort and good taste.
Furnished with gold-coloured sofas, matching armchairs, stunning framed art that had to be the real thing, and a beautiful Murano glass chandelier, the sitting room was exquisite. On the polished cedarwood surface of an elegant chiffonier was positioned an elegant crystal vase filled with an abundance of scented cream roses. Their perfume all but drenched the air.
Silently acknowledging the congeniality of her surroundings, Darcy consciously steadied her breath to take it all in. Yet what dominated her thoughts above everything else was the fact that she was here alone with Zafir.
Owning to feeling nervous, she distracted herself by glancing at the view outside the windows. The soundproof glass rendered the noise of the busy traffic muted and agreeable, and through it she glimpsed the endless green lawns of Hyde Park and the waters of the Serpentine, glinting in the afternoon sunshine. It was clear to her that the guests who occupied the hotel were from a highly privileged world of money and class. Such a view was not open to everyone.
The luxurious ambience inside and out was second to none—this exquisite accommodation was accessed predominantly by the rich and famous. It was already plain that no stone had been left unturned in providing everything a guest might want. And that included a dedicated staff, ready and willing to do their bidding at the drop of a hat.
It was a taste of the elite lifestyle she was contemplating marrying into, Darcy realised, and for a dizzying moment her anxiety increased. How would she adapt to such privileged circumstances if she became Zafir’s wife?
Financially, the past few years had been unquestionably hard, and she often didn’t sleep at night because she was worrying about how she was going to meet her bills. To have that worry taken away in practically one fell swoop was tantamount to a genie suddenly appearing and granting her her most longed-for wish.
Yet she already knew that having money didn’t solve everything. For instance it couldn’t ease the devastating emotion that followed the death of a loved one...or the catastrophic end of a relationship with a lover who had become your sun, moon and stars...both of which she’d experienced personally.
One thing was eminently clear—some proper time for reflection was needed before she made any firm decisions.
Moving away from her companion with the help of her walking aids, she gingerly made her way over to an armchair. Deliberately avoiding the inviting gold-coloured sofas, because the sinful sumptuousness they presented looked as if it might swallow her whole if she sat in one, Darcy got comfortable in the single chair.
There was always a chance that Zafir might decide to join her if she chose the sofa. Right then such a possibility should be avoided at all costs, she decided, because every time he came near her it was like being drugged or put under a spell. The dangerous attraction she’d once had for him had not, it seemed, diminished. In fact it was just as raw and magnetic as it had ever been...
‘I’ve arranged for us to have some coffee and sandwiches,’ he announced. ‘They should be here soon. Ah...’
There was a sudden knock at the door just as he was speaking, and when he opened it an immaculately attired butler entered carrying a silver tray. At Zafir’s behest he proceeded to lay out the tray’s contents elegantly on the room’s pristine Burr wood coffee table, and in doing so turned the action into a near art form.
Cordially thanked and tipped, he discreetly left.
Dropping down onto a sofa, her companion remarked, ‘I know I suggested lunch, but I’ve changed my mind. I’ve decided we should go out for dinner tonight instead. I also think we might take Sami with us.’
Coming out of the blue like that, the suggestion took her aback,
and Darcy had immediate reservations. Stroking her hand across her knee under the warm jacquard dress, she replied, ‘That wouldn’t be a good idea. He’s got school tomorrow, and he’ll be cranky and tired if he stays up late.’
His lips pursed for a moment, and she saw a muscle flinch at the side of his carved bronzed cheekbone. She didn’t suppose he was denied anything very often.
‘What can I do but bow to your greater experience as a parent?’ he remarked stiffly. ‘But, just the same, I won’t always be so willing to exclude our son from our engagements. He will have to get accustomed to a whole new way of life when we get to Zachariah, and you will soon learn that we do not keep the same hours as you do here. We often eat late.’
‘If that’s the case, what about his schooling?’
He stared at her as though the question was inconsequential. ‘He will, of course, be privately tutored.’
‘I take it by that comment you’ve already assumed we’re going back with you?’
There was a flash of gilded flame in his eyes. ‘I am fast growing tired of your stubborn resistance. It was my honest intention to be more amenable to your desires, Darcy, but I find I am running out of patience. Once and for all—we are going to be married and we will return home to my country as soon as possible. My plan is that we will spend three months of the year there and divide the rest of our time between London and the States...taking time out in which to have our vacations. Now, let’s have some coffee—after which I have some papers for you to sign. Then we will get down to discussing arrangements.’
‘What are the papers?’
‘One of them is your agreement to marry me. The other is documentation concerning your personal details. You have brought your passport and birth certificate for verification, as I asked?’
Shifting a little in her seat, Darcy’s first instinct was to counter this statement with a stubborn reply that would let him know she still had her doubts about the matter, but something told her it wouldn’t make any difference...not when he had already firmly decided on what was going to happen.
