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Sheikh, Children's Doctor...Husband
Meredith Webber
Sheikh,
Children’s
Doctor…
Husband
Meredith Webber
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u90790941-600c-5c70-aa7b-364cfa7d1270)
Title Page (#ud04f71a8-1b4d-55c5-a280-91e16ed228ba)
About the Author (#uf78d2e67-cbae-5855-88d0-162905670adc)
Chapter One (#ub37e7be2-2961-52c1-ba2a-ad90b03fe4a7)
Chapter Two (#uf5158381-12e0-552c-9246-bad76a9caa7f)
Chapter Three (#u5b957c0b-a0f0-5fd1-a52d-f75a06daba8b)
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)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
MEREDITH WEBBER says of herself, ‘Some ten years ago, I read an article which suggested that Mills and Boon were looking for new Medical ™ Romance authors. I had one of those “I can do that” moments, and gave it a try. What began as a challenge has become an obsession—though I do temper the “butt on seat” career of writing with dirty but healthy outdoor pursuits, fossicking through the Australian Outback in search of gold or opals. Having had some success in all of these endeavours, I now consider I’ve found the perfect lifestyle.’
CHAPTER ONE
HE’D send for her!
No, he’d go himself.
Shouldn’t there be someone else to handle things like this? Monarchs of their country shouldn’t have to check out women who’d intruded themselves into the royal family.
His father certainly hadn’t checked out Clarice.
Perhaps if he had, things would have been different …
His Supreme Highness Sheikh Azzam Ghalid bin Sadiq, newly anointed ruler of Al Janeen, groaned and buried his head in his hands as the random thoughts whirled around inside his head.
As if his father could have done anything to prevent his twin brother’s marriage. Bahir had fallen in love with Clarice the moment he’d laid eyes on her, not noticing that Azzam had already lost his heart to the beautiful woman. But it was the way Clarice had transferred her attention from him to Bahir that had staggered Azzam, and her behaviour since, the pain she’d caused his brother, had left Azzam with a deep distrust of women.
That is a ridiculous bias, the sensible part of his brain told him. You’re judging all such women by one example—totally unacceptable!
Yet deep inside he knew the hurt had never really healed—Clarice’s betrayal had cut deep, leading to him shunning most female company over the last few years and seeking solace in his work.
Which didn’t solve the problem of the stranger in their midst!
He’d see her himself. He’d handle it.
He left his office, his mind churning as he entered the wide colonnade surrounding the courtyard gardens, striding towards his mother’s favourite sitting area.
Striding—but reluctantly.
He’d met his mother off the plane on her return to Al Janeen, but in the cluster of chattering women disembarking with his mother he hadn’t noticed a stranger among them.
Had she deliberately hidden herself among the other women?
He tried to ignore the alarm bells ringing in his head but the parallels with Clarice’s arrival in his country were just too strong to be ignored. Back then, it had been him, not his mother, Clarice had accompanied, him she’d fussed over on the flight, convincing him he’d need a massage therapist once the cast was off the leg he’d broken in a skiing accident.
Not that he’d needed much persuasion. He’d been attracted to the golden beauty from the first moment he’d set eyes on her, fallen in love with her within days, only to find that once she’d met Bahir and realised he was the heir, Azzam had been dropped like a smouldering coal.
Azzam couldn’t say for certain his sister-in-law was responsible for his brother’s death, although he knew her continual and extravagant demands had weighed his brother down. Then there was the talk of fights and arguments that was surfacing among the staff—one story in particular of a loud and bitter altercation before Bahir had driven off in his car that fatal day …
It could all be rumour-mongering, but Azzam had to admit that recently Bahir had been patently unhappy, though he, Azzam, had been too busy with his own interests—with his passion for the new children’s hospital—to seek too closely into the cause.
The pain this knowledge caused outweighed all other—to have failed his brother, his twin, his other half! Although, could he have done anything? Interfered in his brother’s marriage?
Azzam knew he had to stop groaning. Groaning achieved nothing. In fact, it was weak and wimpish—he was behaving like a fool!
He had to pull himself together and behave like the ruler of the country.
He had to check out this woman, for a start. His mother was particularly vulnerable at the moment, and he didn’t want anyone taking advantage of her then upsetting her further by letting her down. That, too, had happened in the past …
Straightening his shoulders, he strode on towards the shaded area where his mother sat each afternoon with her friends and female relations.
What was she doing here?
How had she let herself be persuaded to fly off at a moment’s notice to some foreign country?
What about her jobs?
The hospital had assured her, when Alex had phoned them, that they would always have her back. Doctors willing to work nights in emergency rooms were always welcome. But how long would the clinic keep her second job open? She’d thought maybe they’d pay her while she was away, as technically Samarah was their patient, but that idea had been slapped down, the manager telling her if she took time off to accompany Samarah back to her home, it would be without pay.
Pay she desperately needed. But when Samarah had wanted her help, she hadn’t had the heart to refuse.
Alex pondered the situation for the hundredth time as she lay back on the silk-quilted bed. No answers were forthcoming so she looked around the sumptuous surroundings, trying to take it all in so she’d remember this part of the dream in which she found herself.
She was in a room with dark red walls, hung with what looked like very fine carpets—tapestries perhaps—woven into fascinating patterns with jewel colours of emerald, ruby and sapphire, and the shadows on the silk coverlet on which she lay were formed by fretwork across open windows, what looked like marble carved into patterns as intricate as those in the carpets on the wall. More carpets were layered on the floor, so when she stepped off the bed her feet sank into softness. Above her, silk sheets like those on which she lay were draped from a central point in the ceiling so she had the impression of being in an extremely luxurious tent.
Her journey had taken on the aspects of a magic-carpet ride to a fabled world, for here and there around the rooms were huge brass urns like the ones in Ali Baba’s story, and strange-looking lamps Aladdin would have recognised!
It’s an adventure, she told herself.
Enjoy it.
Work will wait.
Oh, how she longed to believe that—to relax and enjoy the thrill of the new—to see something of the world beyond this room, the wide, empty desert, the rising red dunes, the colour and scents of the markets and the noisy delight of the camel auctions Samarah had spoken of with such vivid words and obvious love.
Impossible, of course, Alex knew that much! The reason she worked two jobs wouldn’t wait—not for long. Bad enough that her brother had cheated his bosses, but how could he have been so stupid as to get involved with dodgy money-lenders? With people who would have no qualms about threatening his wife and vulnerable daughter?
Alex sighed, then turned her attention to practical matters, like getting out of this country she was yet to see.
Apparently Samarah had a niece who was a doctor. As soon as she returned from overseas, Alex would be free to leave. Samarah’s son, the king, was also a doctor, but Samarah was adamant it was not his highness’s job to look after her.
In the meantime?
For a start, she should get up off the bed, find her way outside, possibly dropping breadcrumbs on the way so she could find her way back, and have a look around. Arriving in the dark of very early morning, she’d gained nothing more than the impression of an enormous building, more like a walled town than a house. She’d been led along dimly lit corridors, past shadowy rooms, then seen Samarah settled into bed, sat with her a while until she slept easily, then slept herself. Now daylight was nearly done and she’d seen nothing—
‘Please, you will come.’
The young woman who’d been fussing over Alex since she’d woken up halfway through the afternoon was hovering in the doorway.
‘Samarah? She’s sick again?’
Alex shot off the bed as she asked the question, looked around for her shoes then remembered she’d left them in the doorway the previous night. She brushed back the stray hairs that had escaped her plait, and followed her guide.
‘Samarah is there but it is the prince who wishes to see you.’
‘The prince?’
‘His new Highness.’
It was all too confusing, so Alex kept walking, trusting that a conversation with this august personage would sort out a lot of things, not least of which was when she could return home.
Her carer led her out of the building, into a covered colonnade that joined all the houses around a beautiful central courtyard, with fancifully shaped trees, and massed roses in full bloom and fountains playing tinkling music, the cascading water catching the sunlight in a shimmer of such brilliance Alex felt her breath catch in her throat.
What a beautiful, magical place …
‘Come, come,’ the woman urged, slipping on her sandals and motioning for Alex to do the same, but although Alex responded, she did so automatically, her mind still lost in the delight of her surroundings.
That all this lush beauty should be hidden behind the high walls she’d glimpsed last night!
They walked around the colonnade, passing another dwelling, eventually reaching the end of the rectangular courtyard. In front of her, Alex could see carpets spread, with fat cushions and a low settee placed on them. Samarah was there, and some of the women who had been in Australia with her, their low-voiced chatter reaching out to Alex, making her feel less apprehensive about this meeting with the ‘new highness’.
But as she drew near, the women moved away, drifting lightly down into the courtyard, Samarah among them, so only a man in a white robe remained on the plush red velvet settee on the vivid carpets.
Azzam looked at the pale, tired woman who appeared in front of him. Not a golden blonde, more a silver ghost, slim and insubstantial, the shadows beneath her grey eyes the only colour in her face.
Was it the strain he read on her neat features—a strain he knew was visible in his own face—that made him pause before he spoke? Or did he have some fundamental weakness—some predilection for blondes—that clouded his judgement?
That suspicion, though he instantly denied it, strengthened his will.
‘I am Azzam,’ he said, standing up and holding out his hand. ‘My mother tells me you have been good to her and I wish to thank you.’
‘Alexandra Conroy,’ she replied, her voice soft but firm, her handshake equally solid. ‘And I’ve done no more for your mother than any doctor would have done. Adult onset asthma is not only very distressing for the patient, it can be extremely serious.’
She paused and the grey eyes, made paler by their frame of dark lashes, studied his face for a moment before she added, ‘But of course you’d know that. You’re the doctor, your brother was the lawyer.’
Another pause and he saw her chest rise as she drew in a deep breath.
‘I am sorry for your loss. It is hard to lose a sibling, doubly hard, I would imagine, to lose a twin.’
The simple, quietly spoken words pierced his soul, the pain of losing Bahir so acute that for a moment he couldn’t speak.
Had it been the wrong thing to say? Alex wondered. She found the man’s silence discomforting, but more distracting was the glimpse she’d had of his eyes—a startling green, gleaming out of his olive-skinned face like emeralds set in old parchment.
‘Please, sit,’ he eventually said, his voice cooler than the evening air, making Alex certain she’d breached some kind of protocol in mentioning his brother’s death. She eyed the cushions, then the settee, which had taken on the appearance of a throne as she’d approached. But he waved his hand towards it, so she sat, then regretted it when he remained standing, putting her at an immediate disadvantage.
‘My mother’s asthma? It came on suddenly?’
If a discussion of his mother’s health was all he wanted of her, why was she feeling uneasy?
Because there’s an undertone in his voice that sounded like—surely not suspicion …
She was imagining things.
Yet the sense that this man was judging her in some way persisted, making her feel uncomfortable, so her reply was strained-hurried.
‘I work for a clinic that does—I suppose you’d say house calls—to hotels on the tourist strip of the Gold Coast. About four weeks ago, the clinic had a call from the hotel where your mother was staying. I was on duty and I found her breathless and fatigued, and very upset, which wasn’t so surprising as it was her first such attack.’
‘You treated her?’
An obvious question, yet again she heard some underlying emotion in it.
Putting her silly fancies down to tiredness, not to mention an inbuilt distrust of men as handsome as this one, she explained as concisely as she could.
‘I started with an inhalation of salbutamol, then a corticosteroid injection. Her breathing became easier almost immediately, but I put her on oxygen anyway, and stayed with her. The next day, when she was rested, I talked to her about preventative measures she could take to prevent another attack. I explained about having a management plan for the condition.’
