‘Oh.’ She’d dressed with a sense of reverence, careful not to break any of the delicate fabric that made up the ceremonial gown. White with gold, just as Sariq often wore, it was heavier than it looked courtesy of the yellow diamonds that were stitched into the neckline and waist. It glittered from every angle. At her throat, she wore a single yellow diamond, easily the size of a milk-bottle cap, and on top of her head, a tiara.
Her hands were covered by white satin gloves that came to her elbows. ‘They’re hot,’ she’d murmured to Zahrah, when she’d pulled them on. ‘Perhaps I’ll give gloves a miss.’
‘You must wear them. It’s protocol.’
‘Gloves?’
She’d made a noise of agreement. ‘No one is allowed to touch your hand but the Sheikh.’
Daisy’s brows had lifted.
‘You’re not serious?’
‘It’s tradition.’
‘So I’m meant to wear gloves my whole life?’
‘Well...’ Zahrah had smiled kindly ‘...I think we can relax the traditions behind closed doors, just as much as you’d like to. But when on state business, it will be expected that you do this.’
Daisy had compressed her lips, biting back an observation about the silliness of such a requirement. Haleth was an ancient and proud country. There were many habits and rituals that were new to her, but that didn’t mean she could stand in judgement of them.
The guests swirled beneath them, an array of fabulous colour and finery. Twenty minutes later, Daisy looked to Zahrah. ‘This is becoming rude.’
Zahrah frowned. ‘Madam?’
‘Keeping all these people waiting. Where on earth is he?’
‘The message I received just referred to urgent business, I’m sorry.’
‘I hate the idea of going down there on my own, but surely that’s preferable to ignoring the guests?’
Zahrah’s alarm was obvious. ‘You can’t. Not for your first function. His Highness would never approve.’
Daisy’s interest was piqued. ‘Oh, wouldn’t he?’ The idea of flaunting his authority was wildly tempting and she couldn’t really say why.
‘Of what would I not approve?’
Daisy whirled around, her eyes catching those of her husband immediately. He wore another spectacular robe, this one emphasising the strength and virility of his frame, the darkness of his complexion. On the balcony, he was the man she’d met in New York, but like this, he was an untouchable ruler. There was something unusually forbidding in his appearance, a tightness in his frame that had her brows drawing together.
Zahrah bowed low at his entrance and before she could straighten, Sariq had dismissed her. ‘Leave us. Allow no one to enter.’
‘Yes, sir.’
Alone, Daisy gave her husband the full force of her attention. ‘Where have you been? People have been here an hour. I’ve been here an hour.’
He wasn’t accustomed to being questioned by anyone, but somehow he’d become so used to that with Daisy that it no longer surprised him. He shouldn’t have come here straight from the prison. It would have been far wiser to give his temper time to cool down, but the plans that he’d discovered on the would-be assassins had chilled him to the core. Seeing Daisy now, knowing he was the reason her life had potentially been in danger, filled him with a deep and immovable anger.
‘An urgent matter called me away. Are you ready?’ His voice was curt. He couldn’t help it, though he knew he must. Daisy didn’t deserve to feel the brunt of his anger. Even though the threat had been contained—his expert security teams had done just what they were supposed to and perceived a threat before it could come to the fore—the knowledge of what these men had planned sent a shiver down his spine.
‘Sure.’ Her smile was brave, but he detected her hesitation beneath it. Something pulled at his gut—guilt—a desire to absolve her from this life, to set her free from all of this. But even as he thought that, there was an answering certainty that he never would. That he couldn’t. She was the mother of his child and her place was here with him. If this evening’s arrests had taught him anything it was that her position as the mother to the heir of the RKH put her at grave risk. He intended to do what he could to protect her from that.
But at the doors that led to the wide, sweeping marble stairs that created the entrance to the room, she stopped. ‘Wait.’
‘What is it?’
When he angled his face to look at her, he saw that she was pale and alarm filled him. ‘You’re well?’
‘I’m fine. I’m fine. I’m just...’ She lifted a hand to her throat, pressing her gloved fingers to the enormous jewel there. ‘You said they’d never accept me. A divorced American. Why do you think tonight will be any different?’
Her anxiety was palpable, and of his making. And yet, he’d been speaking the truth. ‘You’re my wife now. It is different.’
‘But it’s not. You were talking about why you couldn’t marry me, about what was expected of you. No one wants me to be here with you.’ She curved a hand over her stomach and his eyes dropped, following the gesture. Something moved inside him then because, without his notice, her stomach had become rounded. Not hugely, but enough. His child was growing inside her. Something locked into place within him, making words difficult to form for a moment.
‘No one wants me to be pregnant with your child.’
The threat was contained. There was no danger to Daisy in this crowd. And yet he put a hand on her forearm and turned her to face him. ‘Would you rather avoid tonight?’
Her eyes lifted to his, surprise in their depths, but it was squashed by defiance. ‘No.’ She looked towards the crowds once more. ‘This ball has been organised in my honour, like you said. The least I can do is turn up, right?’
Admiration shifted through him. ‘We won’t stay long.’
Daisy was surprised when she realised she was enjoying herself. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected. Hostility? Open dislike? And there had been some people who’d regarded her with obvious scepticism and misgiving, though she was shepherded away from those people by an attentive Sariq, who hadn’t left her side all evening. For the most part, though, the crowd had been welcoming and generous. Most of the women she’d spoken to had conversed in English in deference to her. Sariq had translated for people who spoke only the native language.
Yes, she was enjoying herself but, after an hour of making small talk with strangers, her energy was flagging.
As if he could read her thoughts, Sariq leaned towards her, whispering in her ear so his warm breath filled her soul. ‘There is a dance, and then we can leave.’
‘A dance?’ Of its own accord, her heart began to move faster, beating against her bones as though it were trying to rattle free.
‘Just one.’ His smile was alarming, because it reminded her so strongly of the way he’d been in New York. Seeing him like this surrounded by his people, she was in awe of not only his charisma, but also his strength and intellect. In every conversation, he was able to demonstrate a complete understanding of matters that affected his people. Whether it was irrigating agricultural areas to the north or challenges facing the country’s education system, he was informed, nimble and considered. She listened to him and saw how easy it had been for him to work his way into her being.
It hadn’t purely been a physical connection between them. While she found him attractive, it was so much more than that. And suddenly, out of nowhere, she was struck by a desire to be alone with Sariq, to have the full force of his attention on her as it had been in New York, and briefly on the balcony that evening several weeks ago.
‘Ready?’
She bit down on her lip and nodded slowly, her heart slowing down to a gentle thud. ‘Okay.’
‘Don’t look so afraid,’ he murmured in her ear, so only she could hear. ‘We have a deal, remember? This is just for show.’
Her
heart turned over in her chest and she pulled back, so she could look in his eyes. Just for show.
This marriage was the last thing he wanted. She needed to remember that. While it was inevitable that they’d get to know one another, she’d be a fool to hope for more.
To hope for more?
Her insides squirmed. What was she thinking? She was the one who’d sworn off marriage. She’d promised herself she’d never again be stupid enough to get so caught up in a fantasy that she lost who she was. No one deserved that, least of all this man, who’d insinuated she was good enough to take to his bed as a mistress but not good enough to marry. The man who’d told her, point blank, that he’d never love his wife. That, for him, sex and intimacy were two separate considerations.
She straightened her spine, thrilled to have remembered such pertinent facts before his body enfolded hers, drawing her close to him. And as if by some silent cue, the music paused and another piece began to play, slow and lilting. With the stars shining overhead, the dance floor cleared so it was only Sariq and Daisy, their bodies moving as if one.
‘You dance well.’
She wasn’t sure she could take the compliment. He led, she followed—it was effortless and easy. They matched one another’s movements as though they’d been designed to do just that. But they were silent and, after a few moments, that began to pull at her nerves.
‘This is such an incredible courtyard.’ For now, from this vantage point, she could see that the dance floor was surrounded on three sides of the palace. On the fourth, the view opened up to a manicured garden in the foreground and, beyond it, the desert. The wildness of the outlook, juxtaposed with the grandeur of this ancient building, created a striking effect.
‘It was one of the first parts of the palace. In the eleventh century, these walls were erected. This courtyard was, then, the court, where the Emir presided over official matters.’
‘Really?’
He made a sound of agreement. ‘Over there—’ he gestured with his hand, so she followed the gesture ‘—you can see the relics of the throne.’
And indeed, she could. It was made of marble, only a leg remained, but it was cordoned off, as though it were an object of great value. ‘The walls provided defence—from enemies and sandstorms that are rife in this region.’
She looked around the courtyard with renewed interest, making a mental note to come back and study it in more detail in daylight.
‘Where is your court now?’
‘I have an office,’ he responded with a smile that was lightly teasing. Her belly flopped. ‘Here, at the palace, and one in the city. There are state rooms for conducting the rukbar.’
‘What’s the rukbar?’ She repeated the foreign-sounding word, imitating his accent.
‘Very good.’
His approval warmed her.
‘Literally translated, it means “relief”. It is a day each month when the palace doors are thrown open and anyone, regardless of their wealth and stature, may come to the palace.’
‘What for?’
‘To eat and be seen.’ His smile deepened, and a kaleidoscope of butterflies launched itself through her belly. ‘The tradition began in my great-grandfather’s day, when poverty and famine were crippling in this country. The palace provided a banquet for any who could make it, and, more than this, he sat in and listened to people’s needs from dawn until nightfall, helping where he could.’
Daisy had slowed down without realising it. Sariq shifted, moving her with him. ‘You still do this?’
He dipped his head in silent agreement.
‘How do you help people?’
‘It varies. Sometimes it’s a question of a child not being able to get into school, in which case Malik has the education secretary look into matters. Other times, it’s a family where the father has died and the mother cannot work, in which case we grant a stipend to help support her.’ He lifted his shoulders in a gesture of nonchalance but there was an expression in his face that robbed Daisy of breath. ‘In Haleth, you would never have struggled as you have.’
Daisy’s feet stopped obeying her altogether. She was moving purely under Sariq’s guidance. ‘No?’
‘No.’ He lifted a hand, brushing his fingertips across her cheek as though he couldn’t help himself. ‘Here in Haleth, you would have come to me and I would have had Max held for questioning before he could “lose” your money.’
‘Just like that?’
‘Just like that.’
Her smile was lopsided. ‘So you’re the knight in shining armour for every distressed person in Haleth?’
‘It’s not possible to help everyone. We have social security agencies in place but the rukbar provides a catch-all. An additional layer for the people.’ He paused. ‘The RKH is a phenomenally wealthy country. Distributing wealth wisely is one of the purviews of my role, and I intend to see the resources of this country benefit the people of the land.’
She felt the strength of his convictions and understood. She knew what his position meant to him. Admiration shifted inside her, and it brought with it a dark sense of foreboding. She didn’t want to admire him; she didn’t want to like him. But dancing beneath the stars in the arms of the man she’d married, Daisy felt as though a spell were being cast, and there was no antidote to it.
Sariq didn’t believe in fate. He didn’t believe in destiny. But dancing with his wife in the ancient courtyard, beneath a blanket of stars, he knew one thing: there was perfection in how they fitted together. Not only in the physical sense, but, more than that, in the way they thought.
He liked speaking with her. He liked hearing her thoughts, her answers. She fascinated him and intrigued him, and it was easy to see how he could become addicted to that.
‘I’d like to see it.’
He didn’t follow.
‘The rukbar.’
Hearing her use his ancient language was an aphrodisiac. He kept moving, careful not to display the effect she had on him, even as his body was stirring to the beat of an ancient drum.
‘It convenes in one week. I will advise Malik you shall join me.’
‘Really?’
Her happiness stitched something in his gut. He nodded once. ‘But I should warn you, Daisy, it can be harrowing. Some of the people who attend have nothing. Their stories are distressing.’
Her lips twisted in a way that made him want to drop his head and capture them with his own. He might have, to hell with the complications of that, if they hadn’t been surrounded by hundreds of dignitaries.
‘I can cope.’ There was steel in her words, and he wondered at the cause of it. There was so much about her he didn’t know, and yet he felt that on some level he understood every cell of her being. That wasn’t enough though. The gaps in his knowledge of her seemed insupportable all of a sudden. There was an urgency shifting through him.
‘Has anyone told you about the tawhaj tower?’
She frowned. ‘No?’
He moved his fingers by a matter of degrees, stroking them lightly over the flesh at her back. He felt her body tremble in response. Desire kicked up a notch.
‘No.’ Her voice was soft, husky. ‘What is it?’
‘Look.’ He stopped dancing so he could gesture behind her. She shifted her gaze, her neck swanlike as she followed the direction he’d indicated. ‘Do you see it?’ He couldn’t stop looking at her. He had to get a hold of this. They were being watched and the seduction they were enjoying was palpable. Surely everyone would be aware of the heat that was moving between them.
‘No?’
‘There.’ It was an excuse to move closer. His arm brushed her nipples as he pointed more clearly and he felt her response. It was imperative that he remove them from this environment. He no longer wished to be surrounded by a hoard of onlookers. He needed his wife all to himself.
‘Oh! Yes
, I think so?’
It was, indeed, difficult to make out the tower in the moonlight. The spindly structure, forged from marble and stone many hundreds of years ago, was slender and elegant.
‘Would you like to see it?’
She shifted to face him just as the music slowed to a stop. Her eyes held his and it was as though a question was moving from him to her, silent and unspoken, but heard nonetheless. ‘Yes, Sariq. I would.’
CHAPTER ELEVEN
HIS HAND IN the small of her back was addictive. They didn’t speak as they moved through the ancient corridors of this palace. Floors of marble, walls of stone, tapestries, flowers, gold, jewels. It all passed in a blur. All Daisy was conscious of was the man beside her. His nearness, his touch, his warmth, his strength. She could feel his breathing as though it were her own.
It took several minutes for the noise of the party to fade from earshot completely and then there was silence, save for the sound of their footfalls and the pervasive throb of anticipation.
‘In the thirteenth century, Haleth was made up of three separate kingdoms. War was frequent and bloody. The tower was built, initially, as a lookout. It is the highest point of palace land, and has a vantage point that, on a clear day, extends to the sea. It gave the Emir’s forces the ability to detect a likely skirmish from a great distance.’ He guided her through a pair of enormous timber doors, each carefully carved with scenes she would like to come back and study, another time.
‘It meant that most of the approaches to the palace took place during sandstorms, when visibility was poor.’
She shivered. ‘Such violence.’
‘Yes.’ He looked down at her, something unreadable in his expression. There was a tightening to his features that spoke of words unsaid.
‘What is it?’
‘Nothing.’ He shook his head, as if to clear the thought. ‘Here.’
They approached another set of doors. These were gold, and guarded on either side by two members of the RKH military, dressed as the guards in the embassy had been.
The Secret Kept From The King (Mills & Boon Modern) Page 13
