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‘You think not?’ The smile he gave did not meet his eyes. ‘You’d be surprised what I can do if I set my mind to it—but I’m hoping that we can come to some kind of amicable agreement. These are the only terms I am offering and I’d advise you to accept them. Because you’re not really in any position to object. Your brother will disown you if you don’t and I doubt whether you have a clue how to look after yourself. Not in a strange city without your servants and bodyguards to accede to your every whim. You cannot subject a baby to a life like that and I won’t allow you to, because this is my baby too. You will marry me, Leila, because there is no alternative.’
CHAPTER SIX (#ulink_eb1b384d-1ca8-57d1-9a38-2636acf9ffb0)
LEILA STARED INTO the full-length mirror at someone who looked just like her. Who moved just like her. A woman who was startlingly familiar yet who seemed like a total stranger.
She was eight weeks pregnant by a man who didn’t love her and today was her wedding day.
She glanced around the luxury hotel room to which she would never return. Her suitcases had already been collected by Gabe’s driver and taken to his riverside apartment, which was to be her new home after she became his wife. She thought about the bare rooms and the minimalist decor which awaited her. She thought about the harsh, clear light which flooded in from the river. As if such a soulless place as that could ever be described as home!
He had asked her to be his bride, yet he had made her feel as if she was an unwanted piece of baggage he had been forced to carry. She had eventually—and reluctantly—agreed with him that marriage seemed to be the only sensible solution, when his phone had begun to ring. And he had answered it! He had left her sitting there as if she’d been invisible while he had conducted a long and boring business call right in front of her. It had not been a good omen—or an encouraging sign about the way he treated women.
Inside she had been seething, but what could she do? She could hardly storm out onto the unknown streets of London—or rush back to the safety of Qurhah, where nobody would want a princess who had brought shame onto her family name. She had felt trapped—and her heart had sunk like a heavy stone which had been dropped into a river. Was she destined to feel trapped for the rest of her days, no matter where in the world she lived?
Her reflected image stared back at her and she regarded it almost objectively. Her bridal dress of cobalt-blue was sleek and concealing and the hotel hairdresser had woven crimson roses into her black hair. She had refused to wear white on principle. It hadn’t seemed appropriate in the circumstances. Much too romantic a gesture for such an occasion as this—because what was romantic about an expectant bride being taken reluctantly by a man who had no desire to be married to her?
Yet didn’t some stupid part of her wish that it could all be different? Didn’t she wish she were floating along on a happy pink cloud, the way brides were supposed to do? Maybe all those books and films she’d devoured during her lonely life at the palace had left their mark on her after all. She had no illusions about men or marriage, but that didn’t stop her from wanting the dream—like some teenager who still believed that anything was possible.
But at least this was to be a quiet wedding. And a quick wedding—which had presented more of a problem.
The three-week wait required by English law had not been practical for a couple in their situation. As a desert princess, she could not live with Gabe and she had no desire to spend weeks in limbo at the Granchester Hotel, no matter how luxurious her suite there. Short of flying to Vegas, the only alternative was to get married in the Qurhahian Embassy in London—for which she needed her brother’s permission. And she hadn’t wanted to ask him, because she hadn’t wanted to tell him why she needed to marry the Englishman in such a rush.
Yet she’d known she was going to have to break the news to Murat some time, hadn’t she? She’d known she was going to have to tell him she was having Gabe’s baby—so how could he refuse to grant her use of the embassy? She knew—and he knew—that the niece or nephew of the Sultan could not be born outside wedlock.
It had been the most difficult conversation of her life—not helped by the fact that it had been conducted by telephone. Her nervous stammering had been halted by Gabe taking the phone from her and quietly telling the Sultan that he intended to marry her. She wasn’t sure what Murat actually said in response because Gabe had just stood there and listened to what sounded like an angry tirade thundering down the line.
But the Englishman had stood his ground and, after calmly reasserting his determination to take her as his bride, had handed the phone back to Leila.
Beneath Gabe’s grey gaze, she had explained to Murat that while she would prefer to do this with his blessing, she was perfectly prepared to do it without. Such a wait would, of course, mean living with a man who was not her husband.
The Sultan had sounded shocked—as much by her attitude as by her words—for she was aware that few people ever openly defied him. But unexpectedly, his voice had softened and for a moment he had sounded just like the Murat she’d thought no longer existed. The one she’d seen all those years ago, after their mother had died. When for once he had let down his guard and Leila had sobbed in his arms until there were no tears left to cry. And afterwards she’d noticed his own damp cheeks and seen the grief which had ravaged his dark face.
That was the only time in her life she had seen her brother showing emotion until now, when he asked her a question which came out of nowhere.
‘And do you love him, Leila?’ he had asked her quietly. ‘This man Gabe Steel.’
Leila had closed her eyes and walked to the far end of the room, knowing that a lie was the only acceptable answer. A lie would make Murat leave them alone. A lie would confer an odd kind of blessing on this strange marriage.
‘Yes,’ she had answered in a low voice, glad that Gabe was not within earshot. ‘Yes, I love him.’
And that had been that. Blessing conferred. They were given permission to use the embassy although Murat told her he would not be attending the nuptials himself.
In fact, the ceremony was to have only two witnesses—Sara and her husband, Suleiman, who had also known Leila since she had been a child. A relatively informal lunch following the ceremony was to be their only celebration. Time had been too tight to arrange anything else, although Gabe told her that a bigger party for his colleagues and friends could be arranged later, if she was so inclined.
Was she? She didn’t know any of his colleagues or friends. She knew hardly anything about him—and in truth he seemed to want it to stay that way. It was as if the man she was marrying was an undiscovered country—one which she had suddenly found herself inhabiting without use of a compass. She was used to men who told women little—or nothing—but this was different. She was having his baby, for heaven’s sake—and surely that gave her some sort of right to know.
On the eve of their wedding, they had been eating an early dinner in the Granchester’s award-winning rooftop restaurant when she’d plucked up enough courage to ask him a few questions.
‘You haven’t mentioned your parents, Gabe.’
His expression had been as cold as snow. ‘That’s because they’re dead. I’m an orphan, Leila—just like you.’
The cool finality in his tone had been intimidating but she wasn’t going to give up that easily. She had put down her glass of fizzy water and looked him squarely in the eyes.
‘What about brother or sisters?’
‘Sadly, there’s none. Just me.’ The smile which had followed this statement had been mocking. ‘Tell me, did you bring your camera to England with you?’
The change of subject had been so abrupt that Leila had blinked at him in confusion. ‘No. I left Qurhah in such a hurry that my camera was the last thing on my mind.’
‘Pity. I thought it might have given you something to do.’
‘I’m going to buy myself a new one,’ she said defensively.
‘Good.’
It was only afterwards that she realised he had very effectively managed to halt her line in questioning, with the adroitness of a man who was a master of concealment.
But now was not the moment to dwell on all the things which were missing from their relationship, because Sara had arrived to accompany her to the embassy for the wedding and Leila knew she must push her troubled thoughts aside. She must pin a bright smile to her lips and be prepared to play the part expected of her. Because if Sara guessed at her deep misgivings about the marriage, then mightn’t she try to talk her out of it?
They embraced warmly and Sara’s smile was soft as she pulled away and studied her. ‘You look utterly exquisite, Leila,’ she said. ‘I hope Gabe knows what a lucky man he is.’
Somehow, Leila produced an answering smile. Lucky? She knew Sara had guessed the truth—that she was newly pregnant with Gabe’s baby. But Sara wasn’t aware that the thought of having a baby didn’t scare her nearly as much as the fact that she was marrying a man who seemed determined to remain a stranger to her. She thought of his shuttered manner. The way he had batted back her questions as if she had no right to ask them. How could she possibly cope with living with such a man?
Yet as she made a final adjustment to her flowered headdress she felt a little stab of determination. Couldn’t she break through the emotional barriers which Gabe Steel had erected around his heart? She had come this far—too far—to be dismissed as if what she wanted didn’t matter. Because it did matter. She mattered. And no matter how impossible it seemed, she knew what was top of her wish-list. She wanted Gabe to be close to her and their baby. She’d had enough of families who lived their lives in separate little boxes—she’d done that all her life. Sometimes what you wanted didn’t just happen—you had to reach out and grab it for yourself. And grab it she would.
‘Let’s hope he does,’ she said with a smile as she picked up her bouquet.
But her new-found determination couldn’t quite dampen down her flutter of nerves as the car took her and Sara to Grosvenor Square, where Gabe was standing on the steps waiting for her.
She thought how formidably gorgeous he looked as he came forward to greet her. Toweringly tall in a charcoal suit which contrasted with the dark gold of his hair, he seemed all power and strength. She told herself she wouldn’t have been human if her body hadn’t begun to tremble with excitement in response to him.
But he was only standing there because he had no choice.
Because she was carrying his baby.
That was all.
‘Hello, Leila,’ he said.
Her apprehension diminished a little as she saw the momentary darkening of his quicksilver eyes. ‘Hello, Gabe,’ she answered.
‘You look...incredible.’
The compliment took her off-guard and so did the way he said it. Her fingers fluttered upwards to check the positioning of the crimson flowers in her hair. ‘Do I?’
Gabe read the uncertainty in her eyes and knew that he could blot it out with a kiss. But he didn’t want to kiss her. Not now and not in public. Not with all these damned embassy officials hovering around, giving him those narrow-eyed looks of suspicion, as they’d been doing ever since he’d arrived. He wondered if they resented their beautiful princess marrying a man from outside their own culture. Or whether they guessed this was a marriage born of necessity, rather than of love.
Love.
He hoped his exquisite bride wasn’t entertaining any fantasies about love—and maybe he needed to spell that out for her. To start as he meant to go on. With the truth. To tell her that he was incapable of love. That he had ice for a heart and a dark hole for a soul. That he broke women’s hearts without meaning to.
His mouth hardened.
Would he break hers, too?
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_05f4ea65-3745-52a9-b1d8-abd55c237dd3)
THE MARRIAGE CEREMONY was conducted in both Qurhahian and English, and Gabe reflected more than once that the royal connection might have intimidated many men. But he was not easily intimidated and essentially it was the same as any other wedding he’d ever been to. He and Leila obediently repeated words which had been written by someone else. He slid a gleaming ring onto her finger and they signed a register, although his new wife’s signature was embellished with a royal crest stamped into a deep blob of scarlet wax.
She put the pen down and rose gracefully from the seat, but as he took her hand in his he could feel her trembling and he found his fingers tightening around hers to give her an encouraging squeeze.
‘You are now man and wife,’ said the official, his robed figure outlined against the indigo and golden hues of the Qurhahian flag.
Sara and Suleiman smilingly offered their congratulations as soft sounds of Qurhahian Takht music began to play. Servants appeared as if by clockwork, bearing trays of the national drink—a bittersweet combination of pomegranate juice mixed with zest of lime. After this they were all led into a formal dining room, where a wedding breakfast awaited them, served on a table festooned with crimson roses and golden goblets studded with rubies.
Leila found herself feeling disorientated as she sat down opposite Suleiman and began to pick at the familiar Qurhahian food which was presented to her. The enormity of all that had happened to her should have been enough to occupy her thoughts during the meal. But all she could think about was the powerful presence of her new husband and to wonder what kind of future lay ahead.
Who was Gabe Steel? she wondered as she stabbed at a sliver of mango with her fork. She listened to him talking to Sara about the world of advertising and then slipping effortlessly into a conversation about oil prices with Suleiman. He was playing his part perfectly, she thought. Nobody would ever have guessed that this was a man who had effectively been shotgunned into marriage.
He must have sensed her watching him, for he suddenly reached out his hand and laid it on top of hers, and Leila couldn’t prevent an involuntary shiver of pleasure in response. It had been weeks since he’d touched her, and she revelled in the feeling of his warm flesh against hers—but the gesture felt more dutiful than meaningful. She couldn’t stop noticing the way Suleiman and Sara were with each other. The way they hung off the other’s every word and finished each other’s sentences. She felt a tug of wistfulness in her heart. Their marriage was so obviously a love-match and it seemed to mock the emptiness of the relationship she shared with Gabe.
She turned to find his cool grey gaze on hers.
‘Enjoying yourself?’ he said.
She wondered what he would say if she told him the truth. That she felt blindsided with bewilderment about the future and fearful of being married to a man who gave nothing away.
But Leila was a princess who had been taught never to show her feelings in public. She could play her part as well as he was playing his. She could make her reply just as non-committal as the cool question he’d asked.
‘It’s been a very interesting day,’ she conceded.
Unexpectedly, he gave a low laugh—as if her unemotional response had pleased him. He bent his lips to her ear. ‘I think we might leave soon, don’t you?’
‘I think that might be acceptable,’ she said, swallowing in an effort to shift the sudden dryness in her throat.
‘I think so too,’ he agreed. ‘So let’s say goodbye to our guests and go.’
The unmistakeable intent which edged his words made Leila’s heart race with excitement. But hot on that flare of anticipation came apprehension, because the sex they’d shared that afternoon in Qurhah now seemed like a distant dream.
What would it be like to make love with him again after everything that had happened? What if this time it was a disappointment—what then? Because she suspected that a man as experienced as Gabe would not tolerate a wife who didn’t excite him. Wasn’t that why men in the desert kept harems—to ensure that their sexual appetites were always gratified? Wasn’t it said in Qurhah that no one woman could ever satisfy a man?
Her heart was pounding erratically as he led her outside to his waiting car. Leila slid inside and the quicksilver gleam of his eyes was brighter than her new platinum wedding ring as he joined her on the back seat. Suddenly, she imagined what her life might have been like if Gabe had refused to marry her, as he could so easily have done. She imagined her brother’s fury and her country’s sense of shame and she felt a stab of gratitude towards the Englishman with the hard body and the dark golden hair.
‘Thank you,’ she said quietly.
‘For what?’
‘Oh, you know.’ She kept her voice light. ‘For saving me from a life of certain ruin—that sort of thing.’
He gave a short laugh. ‘I did it because I had to. No other reason. Don’t start thinking of me as some benign saviour with nothing but noble intentions in his heart. Because that man does not exist. I’m a cold-hearted bastard, Leila—or so your sex have been telling me all my adult life. And since that is unlikely to change, it’s better that I put you straight right from the start. The truth might hurt, but sometimes it’s a kinder pain than telling lies. Do you understand?’
‘Sure,’ said Leila, her voice studiedly cool as her fingers dug into the wedding bouquet which she would have liked to squash against his cold and impassive face. Couldn’t the truth have waited for another day? Couldn’t he have allowed her one day of fantasy before the harshness of reality hit them? But men only did that kind of mushy stuff in films. Never in real life.
‘But understand something else,’ he added softly. ‘That my lack of emotion does not affect my desire for you. I have thought of nothing else but you and although I badly want to kiss you, you’ll have to wait a little while longer. Because while I’m fairly confident the press haven’t got hold of this story, I can’t guarantee that the paparazzi aren’t lying in wait outside my apartment. And we don’t want them picturing you getting out of the car looking completely ravaged, do we, my beautiful blue-eyed princess?’
‘We certainly don’t,’ said Leila, still reeling from his cold character assessment—followed by those contrasting heated words of desire.
But there were no paparazzi outside the apartment—just the porter who’d been sitting behind the desk the first time she’d been here and who now smiled as they walked into the foyer.
‘Congratulations, Mr Steel,’ the man said, with the tone of someone who realised that normal deference could be relaxed on such a day. ‘Aren’t you going to carry the lady over the threshold?’
Gabe gave a ghost of a smile as he stared down into Leila’s eyes. ‘My wife doesn’t like heights,’ he said. ‘Do you, darling?’
‘Oh, I absolutely loathe them,’ she said without a flicker of reaction.
But irrationally, she felt a stab of disappointment as they rode upstairs in the elevator. Despite what he’d said in the car, it wouldn’t have hurt him to play the part of adoring groom in front of the porter, would it? They said that men fantasised about sex—well, didn’t he realise that women did the same thing about weddings, no matter how foolish that might be?
‘Why are you frowning?’ he questioned as the door of his apartment swung silently shut behind them.
‘You wouldn’t understand.’
Tilting her chin with his finger, he put her eyes on a collision course with his. ‘Try me.’
She tried all right. She tried to ignore the sizzle of her skin as he touched her, but it was impossible. Even that featherlight brush of his finger on her chin was distracting. Everything about him was distracting. Yet his grey eyes were curious—as if he was genuinely interested in her reasons. And wasn’t that as good a start as any to this bizarre marriage?
So start by telling him what it is you want. He has just advocated the use of truth, so tell him. Tell him the truth. She held his gaze. ‘If you must know, I quite liked the idea of being carried over the threshold.’
Dark eyebrows arched. ‘I thought you might find it hypocritical under the circumstances.’
‘Maybe it is.’ She shrugged. ‘It’s just that I’ve never been carried anywhere before—well, presumably I was, as a baby. But not as an adult and never by a man. And this might be the only stab at it I get.’
‘Oh, I see,’ he said. He took the bouquet from her hand and placed it on a nearby table. ‘Would carrying you to bed compensate for my shocking omission as a bridegroom?’
She met the glitter of his eyes and excitement began to whisper over her skin. He was flirting with her, she realised. And maybe she ought to flirt right back. ‘I don’t know,’ she said doubtfully. ‘We could try it out and see.’
He gave a flicker of a smile as he bent and slid one arm under her knees, picking her up with an ease which didn’t surprise her. Leila might have been tall for a woman but Gabe made her feel tiny. He made her feel all soft and yearning. He made her feel things she had no right to feel. Her arms fastened themselves around his neck as he carried her along a long, curving corridor into his bedroom.
She’d only been in here once before to unpack her clothes and find a home for her shoes. But then, as now—she had been slightly overwhelmed by the essential masculinity of the room. A vast bed was the centrepiece—and everything else seemed to be concealed. Wardrobes and drawers were tucked away out of sight, and she could see why. Any kind of clutter would have detracted from the floor-to-ceiling windows which commanded such a spectacular view over the river.
She tried to imagine bringing a baby into this stark environment and felt curiously exposed as he set her down on her gleaming wedding shoes.
‘Won’t we...be seen?’ she questioned, her gaze darting over his shoulder as he began to unfasten her dress.
‘The windows are made specially so that people can’t see in from the outside,’ he murmured. ‘Like car windows. So there’s no need to worry.’
But Leila had plenty to worry about. The first time they’d done this, there had been no time to think. This time around and she’d done nothing but think. How many women had stood where she had stood? Women who were far more experienced than she was. Who would have known where to touch him and how to please him.
His fingers had loosened some of the fastenings, and the dress slid down to her waist, leaving her torso bare. She felt exposed. And vulnerable. He bent his head to kiss her shoulder, but she couldn’t help stiffening as he traced the tip of his tongue along the arrowing bone.
