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Conquering His Virgin Queen
Pippa Roscoe
Six months ago their marriage ended…He has twelve hours to claim his wife back!Odir Farouk is about to become King—but to take his throne he needs his errant wife by his side! Odir once denied his hunger for Eloise, refusing to compromise power for passion, and his rejection drove her away. Now Odir has until news of his succession breaks to win back his Queen…and pleasure will be his most powerful weapon!
Six months ago, their marriage ended...
He has twelve hours to claim her back!
Odir Farouk is about to become king—but to take his throne, he needs his errant wife by his side! Odir denied his hunger for Eloise, refusing to compromise power for passion. His rejection drove her away. Now Odir has until news of his succession breaks to win back his queen...and pleasure will be his most powerful weapon!
PIPPA ROSCOE lives in Norfolk, near her family, and makes daily promises to herself that this is the day she’ll leave the computer and take a long walk in the countryside. She can’t remember a time when she wasn’t dreaming about handsome heroes and innocent heroines. Totally her mother’s fault, of course—she gave Pippa her first romance to read at the age of seven! She is inconceivably happy that she gets to share those daydreams with all of you. Follow her on Twitter @PippaRoscoe (http://twitter.com/@PippaRoscoe).
Conquering His Virgin Queen
is Pippa Roscoe’s debut title
Look out for more books from this exciting new author!
Coming soon
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk).
Conquering His Virgin Queen
Pippa Roscoe
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-07198-7
CONQUERING HIS VIRGIN QUEEN
© 2018 Pippa Roscoe
Published in Great Britain 2018
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
To my mother and sister,
who show me each and every day what a true heroine is.
And to Stella,
who told me the kindest lie, giving me the courage to submit the first (terrible!) draft of this story.
I can’t thank you enough.
Contents
Cover (#u7d094337-c586-5551-b464-3b099d46cf22)
Back Cover Text (#uf0636c2f-1517-5c5b-859a-a6e436ec106e)
About the Author (#u2b973145-bc2f-5eae-aa94-17c0c5f23576)
Booklist (#u392179b9-1c1e-5c01-80ca-b78f077cd753)
Title Page (#u7c02c6df-042f-54c4-9161-da5445885446)
Copyright (#u84ab5bd9-bf1f-5c61-99c4-78c1a452da2a)
Dedication (#ubb26c499-c750-58fa-b2bb-451ee86414eb)
CHAPTER ONE (#ua2e9ea38-7d42-5f6d-885c-7698acc44200)
CHAPTER TWO (#u9d061314-ede5-5d22-8dcc-04488f076ecb)
CHAPTER THREE (#u4aecf05f-d651-5895-bc50-5aae0860f1bc)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
EPILOGUE (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE (#uc52c01d3-b313-5bac-9873-44a39aec172c)
August 1st, 20.00-21.00, Heron Tower
TO SAY THAT Odir Farouk Al Arkrin, twelfth generation Farrehed warrior, eldest son of Sheikh Abbas and leading world business figure, was having a bad day would be a dramatic understatement. The Prince pulled the loops of his English-style bowtie together, shaking off the feeling of a noose closing around his neck, and bit back a curse. A curse that damned the wife he had not seen for six months.
But his past feelings about her didn’t matter. Her recent absence didn’t matter.
Within an hour she would return to him.
And he’d get what he needed—what his country needed.
Odir pulled the edges of the black silk fabric tight, firmly fixing the tie in place. Stepping back, he checked his image in the full-length mirror. The sun, setting over the London skyline, caught in the reflection of the mirror and briefly stung his eyes before dipping behind his broad shoulders. He tugged at the cuffs of the tailor-made tux that was equally as uncomfortable as his royal robes. Each were trappings, a costume for the role that he was required to play. And tonight, in one of England’s most renowned and expensive hotels, he’d play the role of a lifetime.
Behind him stood Malik, his personal bodyguard and a man he’d known since they had both run about the Farrehed palace in little more than nappies. A man who nearly six months before had betrayed him in the most shocking way. Frustration rose up within him, and this time Odir just couldn’t hold back.
‘Wipe the look of guilt from your face or leave. I can’t have you making people curious. Not now.’
Malik opened his mouth to speak, but Odir cut him off.
‘And if you don’t have the good sense to stop apologising then I will send you back to Farrehed and you can spend the rest of your life guarding my father’s sister. And, trust me, that is a promise, not a threat. She eats more than a camel and lives like a tortoise. You will die of boredom before your time, and that would be a waste.’
Malik didn’t even twitch. It was the first time Odir had made a joke in what felt like months, and not only had it fallen flat, but a burst of shame cut through him. Now wasn’t the time for jokes.
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’ Malik asked.
Perhaps it was only because Malik was standing behind him that he dared to ask that question. But Odir reluctantly acknowledged that it echoed his own struggling mind.
‘Want? No. Am I sure? Yes. It must be done.’
There was a knock on the door and his personal advisor poked his head through the opening, clearly aware of what kind of mood his Prince was in and not daring to enter further into the dark aura that had surrounded Odir since that morning.
‘Has the press conference been arranged?’ Odir tossed over his shoulder, meeting his aide’s curious glance in the mirror.
‘Yes, My—’
‘Don’t. Don’t call me that. Not yet.’
‘Of course, Sir. Yes, the press have been called for eight o’clock tomorrow morning at the embassy. Sir...?’
‘Yes?’
‘We can still cancel the event tonight.’
‘This yearly event has been upheld through two skirmishes, one war, one financial depression and a royal wedding—and that’s just in the last thirty years. It’s taken months of planning and even if it hadn’t we cannot cancel. To do so would be seen as a sign of weakness. And that—right now—is untenable.’
His assistant nodded, but didn’t leave, instead hovering on the threshold as if he knew there was something more.
‘The invitation...it went out this morning? She received it?’
Another nod.
Once Odir’s security team had discovered the fake name his wife was using on her equally fake passport, it hadn’t taken them more than thirty minutes to track down her whereabouts. From there it had been easy for his consulate in Switzerland to deliver the invitation to her address. An address he’d never visited nor known about until ten hours ago.
‘You can go,’ he said, and his assistant disappeared back through the door.
Odir returned his focus to the mirror, and although a part of him wanted to close his eyes against the white printout lying on the small side table beside his bed, he forced them to remain open. Forced his gaze to scan the blurry photocopy of a passport with a face he recognised bearing a name he didn’t. The document had become the physical manifestation of his wife’s deceit and he resisted the urge to ball it up and throw it aside.
But that wasn’t what had sent a ripple of discord through his body. It was the black and white picture of the woman he had married and vowed before God to honour above all else. And he had, he thought with an arrow of anger. But she hadn’t.
After six months of seemingly fruitless investigations trying to track down his errant wife, the fact that Malik had seen sense—only in the direst of circumstances—to reveal the name on her fake passport had briefly made Odir wonder whether Eloise had put Malik under some kind of wicked spell too. But he’d discarded the thought as quickly as it had come. Malik would never have touched his wife. Only one other had, and no matter how angry, how furious he was, he couldn’t and wouldn’t harm a hair on that body.
Another glance at the black and white photocopy, lying on the depressingly thin file of information his security team had dug up on her, creased and limp already from heavy fingers and angry hands, spiked his frustration once again.
His wife had always been beautiful. A beauty that had once threatened to undo him. But that wasn’t what he was looking for. Odir wanted to know if she had been blushing with shame when that photograph was taken. But the soft white planes of her face set against the grey shadow of her hair told him nothing.
Odir ruthlessly forced away the frustration welling in his chest. He didn’t have time to give in to such base things. He never had.
Tonight he had but one goal.
‘You have confirmation of her arrival?’ he threw at Malik.
‘She landed at Gatwick five hours ago.’
A curl of tension loosened its grip on him. Everything was falling into place.
‘She was followed to a hotel in London where she spent two hours, made a few phone calls,’ Malik continued. ‘She left in a cab and should arrive here in twenty minutes.’
Odir wondered why Eloise hadn’t fled to her family’s posting in Kuwait. He knew that she didn’t get on with her father. There had always been a strange, unsettling and silent bond between the young woman who had followed her ambassador father to Farrehed after finishing her university studies. A father who hadn’t noticed his daughter had been missing for six months. Hell, he hadn’t even noticed for three whole days.
But his lack of knowledge about her family was just another sign that he should have known more about the woman he’d bound himself to. He’d believed his father when he’d said their marriage would be good for his country. Would cement much-needed ties between their desert kingdom and Britain. And, although Odir had been brought up to expect an arranged marriage, what he’d found when he’d met Eloise two years ago had given him hope. Hope that he’d have a chance at finding something true—something more. Instead he’d been blinded by lust and what he now considered an award-worthy performance.
Not that it mattered at all. For his wife was going to return to his side no matter what he had to do to ensure it. She had no choice, he had no choice, and nothing angered him more than having his hand forced.
‘Take your men and meet her in Reception.’
* * *
‘Could you pull up around the corner?’
The last thing Eloise wanted was for the Princess of Farrehed to be seen getting out of a local cab right outside the Heron Tower, where her husband’s glamorous charity event was being held.
She hadn’t seen the tower since it had been built, and the tall glass structure, reaching into the night sky, struck her as an appropriate symbol to represent the power of the husband she hadn’t seen in half a year.
A finger of fear trailed its icy tip down the length of her spine and she straightened her shoulders to try and dislodge its hold. Eloise didn’t need to know how Odir had found her. In reality, she was actually a little surprised that Malik hadn’t told him earlier.
