скачать книгу бесплатно
‘Safiyah?’
She blinked and looked into that dark gaze. Once those eyes had glowed warm and she’d read affection there. Now they gave nothing away. The coldness emanating from him chilled her to the core.
‘You want to marry me?’ Finally she managed to control her vocal cords. The words emerged husky but even.
‘Want…?’ Forehead crinkling, he tilted his head as if musing on the idea. But the eyes pinioning hers held nothing like desire or pleasure. His expression was calculating.
That was what gave Safiyah the strength to sit up, spine stiff, eyebrows raised, as if his answer was only of mild interest. As if his patent lack of interest in her as a potential wife, a woman and a lover, didn’t hurt.
She would not let him guess the terrible pain his indifference stirred. Everything inside her shrivelled. Bizarre that, even after his rejection years before, part of her had obstinately clung to the idea that he’d cared.
‘You’re right. No sensible man would want to marry a woman who ran out on him like a thief in the night.’
She gaped at the way he’d twisted the past. How dared he? Hearing the devastating news of her sister’s attempted suicide, of course Safiyah and her father had gone to her immediately. Her father had made their apologies for the sudden departure, referring to a family emergency. Safiyah had assumed she’d have a chance to explain to Karim personally later.
Except he’d refused to take her calls. He’d led her on to believe he cared, then dumped her, and now he was pretending she’d been the one at fault!
‘Now, look here! I—’
‘Not that it matters now. The past is dead, not worth discussing.’ He sliced the air with a decisive chopping motion, his expression cold. ‘As for wanting marriage now… Perhaps need is a better word.’ He opened those wide shoulders and spread his hands in a fatalistic gesture.
‘I can’t see your logic.’
Safiyah’s voice was clipped, that of a woman ostensibly in control. She wouldn’t demean herself by rehashing the past. He was right. It was over. She should count herself lucky she’d discovered Karim’s true nature when she had. He hadn’t been the paragon she’d believed.
‘There’s no reason for us to marry.’
‘You don’t think so?’ He shook his head. ‘I disagree. Despite what your law says, even the most optimistic supporter couldn’t expect me to take the throne of Assara without a ripple. I’m a foreigner, an unknown quantity. You’ve said yourself that there are political undercurrents and rivalry in the country’s ruling elite. To overcome those an incoming ruler would need to show a strong link to Assara and to the throne.’
He paused, watching her reaction. Now, with a sinking heart, Safiyah understood where he was going. And it made a horrible sort of sense.
‘What better way of showing my respect for Assara and cultivating a sense of continuity than to marry the current Queen?’
Except said Queen would do just about anything to avoid another marriage. Particularly marriage to this man. Call it pride, call it self-preservation, but she’d be mad to agree.
‘I disagree. With the Council’s backing a newcomer, especially one with your qualities and experience, would be able to establish himself.’ He was far, far better than the other alternatives.
Karim steepled his fingertips beneath his chin as if considering. But his response came so quickly she knew he’d immediately discounted her words.
‘Besides, if I married you…’
Was it her imagination or did his voice slow on the words?
‘Your son wouldn’t be disinherited. That would satisfy any elements concerned at him being replaced by a foreigner. It would ensure the long-term continuity of the current dynasty.’
Safiyah sat in stunned silence, thinking through the implications of his words. ‘You mean Tarek would be your heir? You’d adopt him?’ The idea stunned her.
Emotion flickered across Karim’s unreadable expression. ‘I’m not a man who’d happily rip away someone’s birthright, no matter what the constitution allows.’
There was something in his tone of voice, a peculiar resonance, that piqued her curiosity. Safiyah sensed there was more to his words than there seemed. But what?
She was on the verge of probing, till she read his body language. His hard-set jaw and flared nostrils revealed a man holding in strong emotion. Now wasn’t the time to pursue this—not if she wanted him to take the throne.
Which was why she didn’t instantly refuse. She needed time to persuade him.
‘Are you saying if I agree to marry you…’ she paused, fighting to keep her voice even ‘…you’d take the crown?’
His gaze sharpened. She felt it like an abrasive scrape across her flesh. The grooves bracketing those firm lips deepened, as if hinting at a smile, yet there was no softening in that austere, powerful face.
‘I’m saying that if you agree to marry me I’ll consider changing my mind about accepting the sheikhdom.’
Well, that put her in her place. Safiyah felt the air whoosh from her lungs, her chest crumpling with the force of that outward breath. Even if she agreed to marriage, it might not be enough to persuade him.
She’d never thought herself a particularly proud woman, but she hated that Karim had the power, still, to deflate her. To make her feel she was of no consequence. That incensed her.
For years she’d fought to maintain her self-respect and sense of worth, married to a man who adhered to the traditional view that a wife was merely an extension of her husband’s will. Particularly a wife who’d been exalted by marrying a royal sheikh.
Fury surged at Karim’s off-hand attitude. How dared he on the one hand ask her to marry him and on the other make it clear that even such a sacrifice on her part might not be enough to sway him?
Not that he’d asked her to marry him. He’d put it out there like some clause in a business contract.
Safiyah felt hot blood creep up her throat and into her cheeks. She wanted to let rip. To tell him he was an arrogant jerk, despite his royal blood. Her marriage had taught her that royals were no more perfect than anyone else. If anything, their ability to command not only great wealth, but the obedience of everyone around them, could amplify their character flaws.
But she didn’t have the luxury of plain speaking. This wasn’t about her. It was about Tarek’s future, his safety. As well as the future of their country.
‘What do you say, Safiyah? Is your country’s wellbeing enough to tempt you into marriage again?’ He sat back, relaxed in his chair, as if he didn’t care one way or the other.
‘There’s something else.’
She’d hoped to persuade Karim without telling him of her fears, knowing he might well dismiss them since she had no proof. But what proof could she have till it was too late? The idea curdled her stomach.
‘Another important reason for you to accept the throne. Hassan Shakroun—’
Karim cut her off. ‘No more! I’ve already heard everything I need from the official envoy.’
As if she, the Queen of Assara, had no insight to offer! Perhaps he believed as Abbas had—that women weren’t suited for politics. Or perhaps he was simply impatient that she hadn’t leapt at the chance to marry him.
Safiyah was convinced Tarek would be in danger if Shakroun took the throne. She’d never liked the man, but the things she’d learned recently made her blood freeze at the idea of him in the palace. He wouldn’t leave a potential rival sheikh with royal blood alive, even if that rival was a mere toddler.
Her throat closed, making her voice husky. ‘But you must listen—’
‘No.’
Karim didn’t raise his voice, but that decisive tone stopped her.
‘No more arguments. I don’t have to listen to anything. You came to me, not the other way around.’
His words stilled her instinctive protest.
‘I’m not inclined to accept the throne, but I’ll consider it more thoroughly if you’re willing to marry.’
Safiyah drew a deep breath, frantically searching for a semblance of calm. She couldn’t believe the direction this conversation had taken. What had begun simply had become a nightmare.
She was about to ignore his warning and spill out her fears, but the stern lines of his expression stopped her. Karim didn’t look like Abbas, but she recognised the pugnacious attitude of a man who’d made up his mind. Not just any man, but one raised to expect unquestioning obedience.
She’d learned with her husband that defiance of his pronouncements, even in the most trivial, unintended way, only made him less likely to listen. Safiyah couldn’t afford to have Karim reject the crown.
Carefully she chose her words. ‘I need time to consider too.’
Karim raised one supercilious eyebrow, obviously questioning the fact that she hadn’t instantly leapt at the chance to marry him.
Except the thought of being tied in marriage to any man, especially Karim, sent a flurry of nervous dread through her.
‘You need time?’
His tone made it clear he thought it inexplicable. He was right. Any other woman, she was sure, would jump at the chance to marry him.
‘It seems we both do.’ She held his gaze, refusing to look away. She might be reeling with shock inside, but she refused to betray the fact.
‘Very well. We’ll meet tomorrow at nine. A lot rides on your answer, Safiyah.’
CHAPTER THREE (#u7fa3491a-ff67-5a8f-a31e-020c0e68a435)
‘I LIKE IT,’ Ashraf said over the phone. ‘Accepting the Assaran crown is a perfect solution.’
Karim frowned at his brother’s words as he wiped the sweat from his torso. The morning’s visits had left him unsettled, and he’d sought to find calm through a workout in the gym, only to be interrupted by Ashraf’s call.
‘Solution? I don’t see that there’s a problem to be solved from your perspective—and especially not from mine.’
Yet, if not a problem, Karim sensed there was something. He and Ashraf had spoken at the weekend. It was unlike his brother to call again so soon. Unless something important had arisen. They didn’t live in each other’s pockets, but there was a genuine bond between them, all the more remarkable given the fact they’d been kept apart as much as possible by their father.
The old man had been prejudiced against Ashraf, believing him to be another man’s son. He’d neglected the younger boy, fixing all his focus and energy on the elder. Not because he’d cared for Karim—the old tartar had been incapable of love—but because, as the eldest, he was the one to be moulded into a future sheikh.
If it hadn’t been so personally painful Karim would have laughed when the truth had been revealed, that the Sheikh had picked the wrong heir. That Ashraf was the true son and Karim the bastard.
‘I’ve no need of a throne, Ashraf. You know that.’
There was a growl in his voice. A morning besieged—first by the envoy from the Assaran Royal Council, and then by the only woman he’d ever seriously thought of marrying—had impaired his mood. The idea that Safiyah believed he still cared enough about her to be coaxed into doing her bidding set his teeth on edge. It would take more than an hour in the gym to ease the anger cramping his belly.
Karim stared through the huge windows, streaming with rain, towards the mountains, now shrouded in cloud. He usually found peace in a long ride. But he had no horses here. And even if he had, he wouldn’t have subjected any poor beast to a hard ride in this weather just to shift his bad mood.
‘Of course you don’t need a throne.’ Ashraf’s tone was matter-of-fact. ‘You’ve taken to being an independent businessman like a duck to water. Not to mention having the freedom to enjoy lovers without raising expectations that you’re looking for a royal life partner.’
Karim’s frown deepened. Did his brother miss his old life? Ashraf and Tori had been blissfully wrapped up in each other when he’d seen them last, but… ‘What’s wrong? Are you pining for your days as a carefree bachelor?’
Ashraf’s laugh reassured him. ‘Not a bit. I’ve never been happier.’ He paused, his voice dropping to a more serious note. ‘Except I’d rather you were here more often.’
It was a familiar argument, but Karim was adamant about not returning to Za’daq long-term. His brother was a fine leader, yet there were still a few powerful men who chafed at the idea of being ruled by a younger son.
His brother sighed at the other end of the line. ‘Sorry. I promised myself I wouldn’t mention it.’
‘Why don’t you just get to the point?’
The point being the outlandish suggestion that he, Karim, should take the Assaran throne. Interestingly, the proposal hadn’t been news to Ashraf. Nor did he think it outlandish.
‘You rang to persuade me. Why?’
‘Pure self-interest.’ Ashraf’s answer came instantly. ‘Life will be much easier and better for our country if there’s a stable government in Assara.’
Karim didn’t dispute his logic. The two countries shared a border, and what affected one ended up affecting the other.
‘If Shakroun becomes Sheikh there’ll be stability.’ Karim didn’t like the man, but that was irrelevant. ‘He’s strong and he’ll hang on to power.’
‘That’s what I’m afraid of,’ his brother murmured.
‘What?’ Surely Ashraf wouldn’t advocate civil unrest.
‘You’ve been away a long time. Certain things have come to light that put a different slant on Shakroun and his activities.’
‘I haven’t heard anything.’
Despite removing himself from the Middle East, Karim followed press reports from the region. He’d told himself more than once that his interest in matters he’d left behind was a mistake, but though he’d cut so many ties he couldn’t conquer his innate interest. He’d been bred to it, after all, had spent a lifetime living and breathing regional politics.
‘We’re not talking about anything known publicly. But a number of investigations are bearing fruit. Remember that people-smuggling ring that worked out of both countries?’
‘How could I forget?’
Za’daq was a peaceable country, but years before the borderland between the two nations had been lawless, controlled by a ruthless criminal called Qadri. Qadri had unofficially run the region through violence and intimidation. One of his most profitable ventures had been people-smuggling from Za’daq into Assara and then to more distant markets. Tori, before she’d become Ashraf’s wife, had been kidnapped for the trade, and Qadri had attempted to execute Ashraf himself.
‘We don’t have enough quite yet to prove it in a court of law, but we know Qadri’s partner in the flesh trade was Hassan Shakroun.’
‘I see…’ The surprising thing was that Karim wasn’t surprised. Not that he’d guessed Shakroun was a criminal. He’d just thought him deeply unpleasant and far too fixated on his own prestige and power. ‘How sure are you?’
‘I’m sure. The evidence is clear. But it will take time till the police are ready to press charges. Since Qadri’s death Shakroun has taken over some of his criminal enterprises. They’re trying to get an iron-clad case against him on a number of fronts. It’s tough getting evidence, because Shakroun gets others to do his dirty work and witnesses are thin on the ground. A couple of people who stirred up trouble for him met with unfortunate “accidents”.’
Karim felt an icy prickle across his rapidly cooling flesh. He grabbed a sweatshirt and pulled it one-handed over his head, then shoved his arms through the sleeves.
‘That’s one of the reasons the Council is searching for someone else to become Sheikh.’
Now it made so much more sense. Did Safiyah know?
Immediately he dragged his thoughts back. Safiyah wasn’t the issue. He refused to be swayed by her. Yet the thought of her with her small child in the Assaran palace and Shakroun moving in made his stomach curdle.
‘It’s also why they’re eager for an outsider,’ Ashraf added. ‘If they choose from within the country Shakroun is the obvious choice. He’s from an influential family, and on the face of it would make a better leader than the other contenders. But with you they’d get someone they know and respect, who has a track record of ruling during those years when our father was ill.’
Karim let the words wash over him, ignoring Ashraf’s reference to the man who’d raised him as his father. His thoughts were already moving on.
‘How many know about this?’
