such a marriage is, while unusual, very traditional,’ Djalia’s most senior judge told him, as if that might constitute good news. ‘Naturally, however, everyone expects a more formal ceremony to follow.’
‘I will be honest with you, Emir,’ Azrael murmured, drawing himself up to his full imposing height. ‘I declared that Miss Carlisle was my wife to protect her reputation and, if asked, I intended to say that I had married her in London at the Djalian Embassy last year, which would have been impossible to disprove.’
‘Now you need say no such thing or indeed make any explanations whatsoever,’ Emir Abdi told him cheerfully. ‘By ancient law, you are now a married man and the young lady is your legal wife. May I wish you both every happiness, Your Majesty—’
‘Are you telling me that I would have to get a divorce to regain my freedom?’ Azrael pressed in disbelief.
‘But you are not thinking of divorce,’ Butrus broke in to state in haste.
‘Hashem made divorce a dirty word within the royal family,’ the professor agreed with a censorious frown. ‘He had as many brides as that English King in the Tudor times...what was his name?’
‘Henry VIII. Our King will not be emulating him,’ Butrus asserted confidently.
‘An instant divorce would be seen as questionable and it would be unpopular,’ the professor opined warily. ‘People would be very disappointed, but of course if in time you—’
‘There will not be an instant divorce,’ Azrael swore with determination, registering that his options were few and getting fewer with every word the older man voiced. ‘Thank you very much for your advice, Emir, and let us please do whatever it takes to get the law of marriage by declaration off the statute books. We must be seen to move with the times.’
Azrael reeled away from that meeting with his usual cool fracturing fast. He was married, legally married, and there was nothing he could do about it because, even if he was desperate enough to admit that he had lied in the first place, the public declaration of marriage he had made would still stand. He breathed in deep and slow, striving for calm.
‘That was...enlightening,’ he conceded quietly, for want of any better word. ‘I must discuss the situation with...with my wife.’
His wife. It changed everything. His wife.
‘Prince Firuz is eager for you to call him,’ his assistant informed him. ‘I expect news of your marriage has reached Quarein.’
‘That is one phone call that can wait,’ Azrael declared without hesitation.
AZRAEL WANTED A shower and a change of clothes and he headed straight for his bedroom, it not having occurred to him that the staff would have lodged Molly in the same room. He crossed the threshold at the same time as she erupted out of the bathroom accompanied by a cloud of billowing steam. He came to a very sudden halt and stared, for with her spectacular curves enhanced by turquoise silk panties and a matching lace bra, her pink bath-warmed skin gleaming through every tiny aperture of the lingerie, Molly was a vision of stupendous sexiness.
‘What are you doing in here?’ Molly gasped, racing to the bed to snatch up the dress she had left there and hold it up against her to provide cover.
‘This is my room,’ Azrael admitted, wishing she would lower the dress a little to give him another riveting glimpse of the full creamy mounds of her breasts cradled in that low-cut bra. The hardening at his groin was unavoidable. ‘I did not realise you were in here.’
‘Why was I put in your room?’ Molly enquired with a frown, retreating at speed back into the bathroom to get dressed. ‘Be out in a minute!’ she called, yanking the dress down over her head and forcing her arms into it.
‘This is the only bedroom with a private bathroom,’ Azrael told her truthfully.
Very much ruffled and still clawing her wet hair out from below the dress, Molly emerged again, acknowledging that it was fortunate that she was not particularly vain because Azrael kept on seeing her at her worst. ‘Oh...right—’
‘We’ll talk after I change. You could wait for me in the room next door. I have ordered coffee for us,’ he told her as he rifled through a chest of drawers to pull out items of clothing.
Still in her bare feet and very flushed, Molly left the room and padded along the corridor to a spacious room that contained antique armchairs. A servant arrived with a tray and a plate of tiny sugary delicacies. Molly munched through one while she waited for Azrael and wondered how soon she would be travelling home. What was he planning to do about the passport problem? Contact the British Embassy on her behalf? But then they would naturally want to know how she had contrived to travel to Djalia without a passport. Azrael would not want to be forced into an explanation on that issue. Why was everything so difficult? she thought ruefully.
Azrael sent all the staff back to their quarters before he left the bedroom. Sheathed in jeans and a white linen shirt, he joined Molly.
‘Coffee?’ she asked politely, intending to play hostess and then looking up and fully taking him in and almost gasping at his sheer impact. Azrael was always gorgeous, no matter what he wore. In fitted jeans and a shirt that delineated every line of his lean, powerful body, with his long black hair feathering damply back from his brow, he was breathtakingly handsome.
‘Thank you. I can look after myself,’ Azrael asserted, pouring a cup of black coffee and heaping several spoonsful of sugar into it.
‘You use a lot of sugar,’ Molly could not resist remarking.
‘Yes. I like it.’ The flash of perfect white teeth gleaming in his half-smile made a lecture on dental health seem redundant. ‘We have a problem that we must discuss. I want you to take a deep breath if you feel like shouting and listen. Do you think you could do that?’
‘I’m not sure,’ Molly parried a tinge weakly, still reeling as she was from that utterly alluring smile of his.
‘But you can try,’ Azrael pointed out with emphasis. ‘Because shouting will get us nowhere in our current predicament.’
Her smooth brow indented. ‘What predicament?’
‘First, I will admit that this is all my fault,’ Azrael intoned gravely. ‘I said something on impulse which turned out to be a very bad idea but my intentions were good.’
Molly nodded, wondering what on earth he was talking about.
‘When we walked out of the cave I made an announcement. I was unable to be honest about why you were staying with me at the desert fortress as that would have meant exposing Tahir,’ he explained. ‘I knew that there would be speculation that you were my mistress—’
‘Your mistress?’ Molly stressed in lively astonishment. ‘Are you serious?’
‘What else would I be doing hidden away at the fortress with a secret female guest?’ Azrael fielded drily.
Molly clashed with glittering dark golden eyes and her face suddenly burned hot as fire, forcing her to trail her gaze away again and focus on the ornate coffee pot. Was the
