Sheikh's Mail-Order Bride

by Marguerite Kaye

  ‘Anything. Everything. We did have a huge library once, at Montgomery House, but Papa sold all the books. Some of them were very valuable. So now the library is home to a collection of cobwebs.’

  ‘Meticulously catalogued by you, no doubt. Montgomery House is your family home?’

  ‘In Surrey. It’s been in the family for hundreds of years, and will hopefully remain so for hundreds more, if my father makes good on his promise.’ Which would, Constance knew, be a small miracle. He had indeed promised, but Papa seemed to think promises made to a wife and daughter were not like real promises. Kadar was giving her look Number Two. The Mind Reader. She didn’t want him to ask her about this depressing subject, and besides, she was far more interested in him. ‘Do you have a library?’

  He hesitated, but then to her relief, he nodded. ‘A very substantial one. I have a weakness for books, and have had ample opportunity to collect many rare editions in the course of my travels. The bulk of them have not yet even been unpacked.’

  ‘Did they travel far, then?’

  ‘Is that your way of asking me where I have been since leaving Murimon?’

  ‘Yes,’ Constance agreed, grinning back and pushing her hair away from her face.

  ‘I made my home in Naples, though I have spent time in England...’

  ‘Oxford, you said.’

  ‘Yes, but most of my time was spent in London. Madrid, Lisbon and Paris I have also spent a great deal of time in. I have visited most of the great cities of Europe.’

  ‘Visiting libraries?’ Constance hazarded.

  ‘Mostly consulting with governments,’ Kadar said, smiling faintly. ‘I am one of the very few men who understand both the ancient and modern traditions and customs of Arabia and the east, and those which govern the west.’

  ‘I’m afraid I don’t quite understand. Are you a lawyer?’

  Kadar shook his head. ‘No, but I advise those who make the laws. Governments. Diplomats. Large trading companies like the East India. When they want to expand their trade or their influence from west to east, then they ask me how to do so without getting into a war or, as they tend to put it, a little local difficulty.’

  ‘Goodness,’ Constance said, eyeing him with renewed respect. ‘That explains a lot. The first time I saw you, in the Royal Saloon, I thought that you had an air about you, you know, that you were the kind of person who was used to having everyone listen to them, hang on their every word. I thought it was because you were a prince, but then you said you hadn’t been a prince for very long, and I wondered—but now I know. And I’ve done it again, haven’t I?’

  ‘It is fascinating.’

  ‘That is a polite way of saying baffling. Or perhaps simply terrifying.’

  ‘I believe I told you I always choose my words carefully?’

  Constance laughed. ‘I must try to take a leaf from your book.’

  ‘No, don’t.’ Kadar smiled. ‘I like you just as you are.’

  That smile. It made her catch her breath. It made her hot. It really did feel as if her bones might be melting. Constance dragged her eyes away. ‘It sounds like fascinating work.’

  The smile disappeared from his face. ‘It was, but that is in the past now. Murimon requires all of my time and energy. I have plans, ambitious plans to change it from a simple seafaring kingdom to a seat of learning. I want to bring the world to our kingdom, and to bring our kingdom into the world of the nineteenth century.’

  ‘That sounds very ambitious. What do your people think of these proposed changes?’

  ‘I haven’t shared my ideas with anyone yet. I want to—to perfect my vision first before ushering in a new era.’

  Constance frowned. ‘A new era. You used that phrase in relation to your brother’s marriage. It implies that he too had change in mind.’

  ‘The year of mourning for his wife had elapsed. A new princess and an heir were his only priorities.’

  ‘Did you know her well, Kadar—his first wife?’

  ‘Why do you ask that?’

  Constance flinched, for the words emerged like the crack of a whip. ‘You said that you left seven years ago, and your brother was married on his coronation day seven years ago, so you must have been acquainted with her. I simply wondered what she was like.’

  ‘Yes. I knew her.’ Kadar picked up his boots and began to pull them on. ‘If we don’t leave soon, the tide will cut us off.’

  * * *

  The morning was more advanced than he realised. As they rode back, Kadar had to repress the urge to let loose his tight hold on the reins, to fly cross the sands in a wild gallop that would take all his strength to control. And would stop him from thinking. But Constance was tired, so he held to a trot. She sat straight in the saddle, but he could see it was an effort. He had to remind himself that she was still recovering from her ordeal. She seemed so full of energy, so full of life, it was easy to forget.

  He had talked too much. He had talked of things that he never talked of, and as a result his head was full of other things that he never thought of. If he was not careful, those memories would stir up all that suffering he had worked so hard to eliminate. He would not allow that. Never again would he be a hostage to his emotions. Never again would he expose himself to such heartache. Seven years since it happened. Not once in seven years had he allowed anyone to breach his defences.

  Until now. What was it that made Constance different? It was not his desire for her. He did not confide in her as a preliminary to any sort of lovemaking, for that was not possible. Why then? Because she had a way of seeing past his carefully considered words, his cautiously constructed sentences, to the feelings he hadn’t even known lay behind them. She had a way of looking at him as if she could read his innermost emotions, and it threw him off-kilter.

  It was all of that, but it was something else too. It was her. Constance. Kadar glanced over at her, and was forced to smile. Her hair was a delightful tangle of curls, streaked copper and burnished red by the heat of the sun, which had turned her face, her hands, her feet a lovely golden colour. The clothes suited her too, flowing loosely around her, giving him tantalizing glimpses of the curves beneath. She was so unlike the Lady Constance Montgomery he had first imagined. He found the way she launched into speech, strewing the contents of her mind before him like rose petals, utterly captivating—that word again—and completely disconcerting. He had never known anyone so candid, and yet he got the impression that she was far more accustomed to keeping those thoughts to herself.

  He liked her. Odd thing to say, but he did. He liked talking to her, and he liked making her laugh, and he found her interesting. So wildly romantic when it came to her precious stars, and yet so prosaic when it came to her marriage.

  Just like him.

  He had not always been so. There had been a time when his passion had been earthbound. His stomach lurched. There were some things that even Constance would never be able to get him to talk about.

  Chapter Five

  His chief adviser was, to Kadar’s irritation, waiting for him at the stables, pacing the straw-strewn cobblestones. His intimidating presence was preventing the various grooms and stable hands from getting on with their duties, for Abdul-Majid was a traditionalist, a man who believed that all subordinates must bow solemnly and maintain their deferential stance while in his presence. Despite the Chief Adviser’s unquestionable loyalty and his many years of diligent service to the kingdom, every time Kadar looked at the man, his hackles rose. Abdul-Majid had been unable to disguise his satisfaction when Kadar announced his intention to depart Murimon seven years ago. The man was no fool. Abdul-Majid knew, without a shadow of a doubt, exactly why Kadar had felt compelled to leave. And had been mightily relieved when he had done so.

  ‘Good morning, Chief Adviser. Your eagerness to get on with business does you credit.’
Kadar dismounted, wincing inwardly at the faint trace of animosity in his tone.

  If Abdul-Majid noticed it, he gave no indication. ‘I thought perhaps you had forgotten our meeting, Highness,’ he replied, making the low bow he insisted upon, no matter how many times Kadar had asked him to forgo such formality.

  ‘You are already acquainted with Lady Constance,’ Kadar said in English, ‘but I do not believe you have met my newly-appointed court astronomer.’

  Abdul-Majid looked around him with a puzzled look.

  ‘They are one and the same,’ Kadar said. ‘An inspired choice if I may say so.’

  ‘As Prince, it is your prerogative to say anything you wish, sire.’ Another formal bow was made. ‘The Court Astronomer is a most welcome addition to the court,’ Abdul-Majid said stiffly.

  Constance made a curtsy. ‘Thank you, it is an honour and a privilege. I did not realise you spoke English, sir.’ She waited, but Abdul-Majid made no reply, and Constance, sensing her presence was unwelcome, bid them both good morning.

  ‘It is a pity that no ship can be found to remove the Englishwoman from our shores with alacrity,’ Abdul-Majid said, folding his hands into the voluminous sleeves of his tunic. ‘Your bride must be the foremost woman in the palace. She will not like to have her nose put out of joint by a foreign woman who makes horoscopes and pretty patterns of the night sky.’

  ‘Lady Constance will be making detailed and accurate star charts, and she will be gone long before my wedding.’

  ‘How so, when there is no ship bound for India for at least two months?’

  ‘We have a coronation to organise first, Abdul-Majid. Let us wait until that is over before we start discussing wedding plans.’

  ‘Highness, that is precisely what I wish to discuss with you.’

  ‘Then we will discuss the matter in private,’ Kadar snapped, summoning his groom. ‘Let us leave these good fellows to tend to the horses while we engage in horse-trading of a different kind.’ He wanted to bathe and to change out of his riding clothes, but the thought of Abdul-Majid waiting and anxiously pacing made him determined to conclude their business sooner rather than later, and so he led the way straight to his private dining salon.

  The room had been favoured for confidential meetings by many princes of Murimon, since it contained no windows, being lit through the glass of a domed cupola. All four walls were covered from floor to ceiling in heavily glazed tiles whose garish colours and macabre design Kadar had always found unconducive to digestion, but which meant the walls themselves were too thick for conversation to penetrate any of the neighbouring chambers.

  An elaborate breakfast was set out on the long marble table, where a small mountain of carved fruit formed the centre piece, surrounded by a selection of sweet and savoury pastries, three sherbets, a stack of freshly baked flatbreads, cheeses, honey, olives and a large dish of tomatoes sprinkled with mint. There was enough food on the groaning table to feed twenty men, far less two, but his predecessors’ insistence on abundance in all things was clearly deeply ingrained in palace life. The only thing which prevented Kadar from putting a stop to this wasteful excess was the knowledge that the copious leftovers were taken home by his kitchen staff to feed their families.

  Abdul-Majid made an elaborate show of dismissing the servants and securing the doors. Kadar washed his hands, then helped himself to his favourite dish of hunayua, a porridge made of ground dates, butter and semolina flavoured with cardamom, while his adviser took a frugal plate of flatbread and tomatoes.

  ‘As I mentioned, Highness, the mourning period for your much-lamented brother is now officially over.’

  ‘I am aware. You wish to discuss the formalities of my coronation. Proceed.’ Kadar finished his porridge and ate a slice of partridge which had been marinated in pomegranate molasses before being grilled on an open fire. It was delicious and he ate with relish, ravenous after his morning exercise, listening with half an ear as his adviser outlined the interminable protocols, rituals and formalities which had to be observed.

  ‘I might add, Highness,’ his adviser concluded, ‘that this woman—your new court astronomer—her presence here is... The timing is most unfortunate and will need to be handled sensitively lest we upset the court’s traditionalist sensibilities.’

  Did he mean the court or was he actually referring to his own ingrained conservatism? Was he making some subtle comment on the events of the past? Or were the memories that Constance had stirred up skewing Kadar’s own perspective? Which brought him back to the point of the discussion. ‘You will treat our court astronomer with all the deference and respect you would give were she a man. I require you to set an example to the council, the court and the people. Do I make myself clear?’

  ‘Highness. Very clear.’

  ‘Was there anything else relating to the coronation you wish to discuss?’

  ‘Only one, Sire. Your council wish me to propose that we combine the coronation ceremony with your wedding.’

  ‘Categorically no!’ The forceful negative was uttered instinctively before Kadar could even consider the question.

  ‘Highness, the people have been most eager to welcome a new royal princess to Murimon, and with it the promise of a new chapter in the history of this most august royal family.’ Abdul-Majid continued nervously. ‘The council believe that by combining the two ceremonies as your most revered brother did, the reminder of the past, the continuity...’

  ‘Out of the question!’ Kadar eyed the man across the table incredulously. ‘You cannot seriously imagine that I would wish to be reminded of that day, any more than you?’

  Abdul-Majid blanched. ‘The eventual outcome was not what any of us hoped for,’ he said, ‘but now is not a time to dwell on the past, Highness.’

  But the past was all Kadar could dwell on when dealing with this man who had placed power and politics above the happiness of his own flesh and blood. Had the outcome, as he referred to it, been different, then they would not be sitting here now. But they were, and Abdul-Majid was right about one thing. It was time to move on.

  ‘What you suggest is impossible,’ Kadar said in more measured tones, ‘and it is not what I agreed with the Princess of Nessarah’s father. The marriage will take place after the coronation.’ A good deal after, if he had his way. ‘I require time to grow accustomed to my new role as prince. Time for the people to grow accustomed to me.’ Time to reconcile myself to this marriage. ‘Time to consider my plans for Murimon.’

  ‘Plans, Highness?’

  ‘The time has come for Murimon to enter the modern world. Though I hesitate to sound critical of my brother, he was hardly the most forward-thinking of rulers.’

  Kadar managed a very small smile, but Abdul-Majid simply tugged at his beard. The man would resist the turning of the tide, if he could. With a sigh of exasperation aimed mostly at himself, Kadar got to his feet. His hair was full of salt and his clothes smelt of horse and Abdul-Majid looked as sick as one. ‘The Nessarah dowry is a very substantial sum of money. We must invest it wisely. When they are complete I will reveal my plans to the council. I will expect your full support when I do so.’

  Without waiting for another beard-tugging reply, Kadar left in search of his bath.

  * * *

  Bathed and changed into a beautiful silk robe with a wide skirt, tied at the waist with a broad sash rather like a dressing gown, Constance gazed out of the window at the fountain playing in her courtyard, trying to compose a letter to her mother in her head.

  Dearest Mama,

  No doubt you will be greatly surprised to receive this letter in my hand, given that you will most likely have heard by now of my demise.

  No, that wouldn’t do at all. Would her mother see the letter bearing her daughter’s distinctive hand and think it had been sent before her supposed death? What if she was then too upset even
to break the seal? The letter could lie unopened for weeks or months, and Mama would not know the glad tidings it contained. Perhaps she should ask Kadar to write a covering note explaining the situation, something which Mama would read first. Or perhaps she should ask the Consul General in Egypt to write first on her behalf, have her re-birth announced through the same official channels as her death, leaving Constance to tell her mother all about Murimon.

  Dearest Mama,

  Now that you are aware that I survived the shipwreck, I want to reassure you that I am in good health and am being very well cared for in the palace of an Arabian prince.

  Absolutely not! Mama would imagine her daughter forming one of a small army of concubines. That wasn’t right. A bevy of concubines? A cavalcade of concubines? No, no, it was a harem, of course. Constance chuckled. She could not imagine that Kadar would have a harem. It was very, very easy to imagine that Kadar would know what to do in a harem, though.

  Unlike her! Today was the first time she had been kissed properly. The memory of it made her shiver. Such a brief touch of his lips to hers, did it count as a real kiss? It had certainly been enough to make her want more. She closed her eyes, trying to imagine what more might be like. The pressure of his lips firmer, more insistent. The touch of his tongue? Another delightful shiver. And those long fingers of his running down her back or—yes—cupping her breast. Without any stays, with only this fine layer of silk between them, her nipples would harden at his touch. The tingle would spread, making her hot, her body ache for more. He would trail his fingers down her stomach, releasing more tingles, butterflies, heat. And then further down...

  Constance’s eyes flew open. It was broad daylight. What on earth was she thinking! She leaned against the glass windowpane to cool her burning cheeks, and it immediately steamed up. Retying the sash of her robe, she took herself out to the courtyard and splashed water from the fountain over her face. It dripped down from her hair, onto her chest. She half-expected it to sizzle.

  ‘I suppose that is one way of indulging this—this lust without compromising my reputation,’ she muttered, sitting down on the edge of the fountain. ‘My thoughts, impure or otherwise, are my own for the time being, as is my body.’