times did a person’s self-esteem have to be stamped into the ground before they were forced to admit defeat and walk away?
‘We should take you into the house so that we can make some arrangements for your care,’ Dr Eden added, his grey eyes flicking towards his impressive employer for confirmation.
The first man to help her reacted first, quickly assuming what must be his esteemed position as the Sheikh’s chief security guard. ‘I will go and get a stretcher, Your Highness.’
‘That won’t be necessary, Rashid,’ Zafir flashed, his icy gaze irritably scanning Darcy as she sat hunched on the new-mown lawn, massaging her ankle. ‘I will carry Miss Carrick over to the house myself.’
Her immediate declaration of indignation at being treated like some extraneous piece of baggage died on her lips. In her more forgiving moments, when she’d flirted with the unlikely idea of somehow meeting up with Zafir again and having a frank conversation with him about what had really happened back then, it hadn’t been like this. No, never like this... The warm, funny, erudite man she’d once worked for and fallen in love with was a very different person from the cold, embittered stranger she was faced with now.
Biting her lip, she murmured, ‘I think I’d rather crawl.’
She didn’t know if he’d heard her, but to add insult to injury he easily dropped down to lift her into his arms.
‘I hope you don’t have an accomplice in this little escapade of yours? If you do, no doubt he is long gone. Perhaps he found out that you were not so bewitching after all, and sensibly took the opportunity to flee when he had the chance?’
Swallowing down her hurt that he so naturally assumed she’d been with another man and up to no good, Darcy schooled herself to stay silent instead of reacting. But her senses were awash with pain, and a regret that thundered like a raging river in her blood.
Could he not see beyond his own prejudiced beliefs and realise the truth? Clearly not...
Without further preamble, he swept her up and marched towards the house, with the effete doctor in front and Rashid following behind—no doubt his gaze diligently sweeping the area in case anything else untoward threatened. She didn’t dwell on that for long, because now her senses had to contend with the unexpected intimacy of being pressed firmly against the Arabian’s chest, knowing that he took no pleasure in the sensation and that all he must feel for her was contempt.
* * *
Zafir’s heart was beating double time as he carried Darcy over to the sumptuous couch in the drawing room. In his wildest dreams he’d never thought to have the opportunity to hold her again like this. When he’d banished her from his sight over four years ago he’d sworn he wouldn’t even think of her. But something had told him even then that he was lying. The beautiful face that he’d always likened to his vision of an angel was etched on his heart, whether he wanted it to be or not.
As he helped lower her gently onto the sofa’s plumped-up cushions it was no easy task, when her bewitching perfume kept infiltrating his senses and he noted that her extraordinary blue eyes still had the ability to dazzle him more than ever.
But he would be a fool if he forgot for even an instant that this woman had cruelly betrayed him. If their relationship had progressed he would have given her everything—not least his undying love and devotion—but she had thoughtlessly ruined it all by fooling around behind his back and making a play for his own brother.
Her behaviour was beyond belief. Pretending devotion was clearly just a game to her. With her angelic face and no doubt practised feminine wiles, likely she could twist any man who took her fancy round her little finger and have her way. His brother Xavier had warned him more than once what she was capable of—although Zafir knew his notoriously charming sibling was apt to bend the truth from time to time.
But blood was thicker than water, he told himself and how could he not believe what he’d seen with his very own eyes?
In the aftermath of that shocking incident Xavier had wasted no time in giving him further details of what Darcy was really like, saying he’d seen the way she operated at the bank the family owned long before Zafir had appeared to run the head office in London.
The cruel scene he’d witnessed had brought an end to all his hopes. He’d found Darcy in a heated embrace with Xavier.
Her features had radiated her shock and dismay when he’d suddenly surprised them by coming into the room, and immediately she’d denied any wrongdoing. Instead she’d insisted that she’d been trying to get away from Xavier, not willingly embracing him! That in truth Zafir’s brother had been harassing her—had been doing so for months. It was he who should be penalised, not her...
‘Tell the housekeeper to get a drink for my unexpected visitor.’ After addressing Rashid, Zafir turned back immediately, to keep Darcy in his sight—although under the circumstances it would take nothing less than a miracle for her to be able to run away. ‘What is your preference, Miss Carrick? Tea or coffee?’
The glance he gave her was neither friendly nor particularly polite. He wasn’t going to grant the woman any dispensation—that was for sure. Aside from her previous misdemeanours, she had now made an unbelievable attempt to break into his house.
‘Neither.’
It was hard not to be moved by the look of anxiety he saw reflected in the blonde’s vivid blue eyes and, strangely, it bothered Zafir more than it should have. Was she honestly not concerned that he might call the police and prosecute her for trespass? There was no reason why he shouldn’t, he told himself. No matter what had gone on between them in the past, he certainly didn’t owe her any allegiance.
‘I—I just want to know what you intend to do about all this,’ she said nervously.
‘Forgive me for interrupting, Your Highness,’ Dr Eden interjected firmly as he came and stood by the sofa where Darcy was lying. ‘But, whatever you decide to do, I’d advise that we get Miss Carrick to the hospital first, so that her injury can be X-rayed.’
Coming out of the stupor he’d fallen into while gazing at Darcy, Zafir nodded abruptly. Retrieving his mobile phone from the inside pocket of the Arabian khandoura he wore, he accessed the number of one of London’s most exclusive private hospitals to which he had a direct line. Glancing back at his visitor as he requested an ambulance, he had a sudden notion that she might be going into shock. She was definitely looking a little flushed, and her eyelids had fluttered closed as though she barely had the strength to keep them open.
‘Dr Eden.’ He authoritatively addressed the medic. ‘I must ask you to take Miss Carrick’s temperature. It is my opinion that she looks more than a little unwell.’
‘Do not be too concerned, Your Highness,’ the doctor reassured him. ‘It is quite a natural reaction for a person to feel faint after an accident, but I will gladly do as you ask.’
‘Good.’
A short time later, satisfied with the doctor’s assurance that Darcy’s rise in temperature was not significant enough to be worried about, Zafir waited impatiently for the ambulance to arrive. In turn, their patient had become particularly quiet. She was clearly lost in a mysterious landscape of her own.
He had no idea what she might be thinking. Once upon a time he wouldn’t have had to speculate. He had been as intimately attuned to her thoughts and feelings as any man in love could
