some of her bravado left her. Tiredly, she lifted up her hands and buried her face in them as the warm darkness enveloped her like a welcoming cloak.
‘Leila?’ His voice was suddenly soft. ‘Are you crying?’
‘No, I am not!’ she said fiercely, but she kept her face hidden all the same.
‘Then look at me,’ he commanded.
Rebellion flared inside her. She didn’t want to look at him because, although there were no tears, she was afraid of what he might be able to read in her eyes. She didn’t want to expose her sense of deflation and defeat. The liberated woman she’d yearned to be seemed to have slipped away into the shadows and was nowhere to be seen. And she had no one to blame but herself. She had gone to a known playboy’s bedroom and let him kiss her. Why had she thought that having sex with a total stranger was somehow empowering?
‘I have a solution,’ he said.
His words broke into her thoughts. She lowered her hands but her head remained bent—as if she had found something uniquely fascinating to look at on the dark denim of her jeans. ‘You have a magic wand with the power to turn back time, do you?’
‘Unfortunately, I’m clean out of magic wands, so it looks like I’ll just have to marry you instead.’
At this, her head jerked up, her gaze meeting his in disbelief. ‘What?’
‘You heard. And you’re clever enough to realise it’s the only option. I have no choice, other than to make you my wife—because I can see it would be intolerably cruel to let a woman like you face this on your own.’ His eyes glittered like ice. ‘Because you are not on your own. I share equal responsibility for what has happened, although you are a princess while I am...’
His face grew taut and Leila saw the sudden flare of pain which had darkened his grey eyes.
‘You’re what?’ she prompted breathlessly.
For a moment he said nothing. A sudden darkness passed over his face, but just as quickly it was gone. The billionaire tycoon was back in control.
‘It doesn’t matter. For obvious reasons, this child cannot be born illegitimate. You will not need to hide your head in shame, Leila. I didn’t ever want to be a husband.’ His cool eyes flashed silver. ‘Or a father. But as you say—fate seems to have decided otherwise. And I will accept that fate. We will be married as soon as possible.’
It should have been the dream solution but to Leila it felt like no such thing. She didn’t want to marry a man who looked as if he were destined for a trip to the gallows, or to live with the realisation that she had trapped him into a life he didn’t want. She couldn’t imagine ever bonding with this icy stranger.
‘I won’t do it,’ she said stubbornly. ‘I won’t tie myself to a man who doesn’t want me. And you can’t make me marry you.’
‘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
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.
