her limbs responded to the sumptuous comfort of her surroundings.
But she was no longer seduced by such things. Time, and experience, had taught her that it was people and not possessions that ultimately governed one’s life, that no inanimate object, no matter how extravagant, could compensate for disillusionment.
‘You have been working in New York,’ Rachid said now, half turning towards her on the cushioned seat, and Abby made a gesture of acknowledgement.
‘I thought you didn’t know where I was?’ she countered, and he expelled his breath on a sound of impatience.
‘Since your return to London, I have learned everything about you,’ he retorted. ‘Daley is not as secretive about his employees as you would obviously like. With the better half of a bottle of Scotch malt beneath his belt, he had few inhibitions.’
Abby pursed her lips. ‘You mean—you pumped Brad?’
Rachid shook his head. ‘Not me, personally, no. But I do have some friends.’
Abby felt a surge of indignation. ‘You mean you have influence with people!’ she asserted coldly. ‘You use people, Rachid.’ Her lips curled. ‘You always did.’
Rachid’s expression was hidden from her, but she sensed his heated reaction to the insult. Wives of Middle Eastern princes did not answer back, that much she had learned in her years in Abarein. At least, they hadn’t, until she came on the scene. But she had been stupid enough to imagine she had been different, that she and Rachid had had a deeper relationship than those foolish acolytes who only hovered on the brink of their husband’s notice.
‘This conversation is getting us nowhere,’ he said at last. ‘I have been very patient, Abby, but now my patience is wearing thin. I want you back. I want you to return with me—to Xanthia.’
Abby choked. ‘You’re not serious!’
‘But I am,’ he assured her, in that calm, implacable tone. ‘You are my wife, Abby, and as such you belong in my house. I do not intend that this situation should continue any longer. I need a wife—I need you. I expect you to adhere to my wishes.’
Abby felt a rising sense of incredulity that threatened to explode in hysterical laughter. He couldn’t be serious, but he was! He actually expected her to give up the new life she had made for herself and return with him to Abarein, to the palace at Xanthia, which he shared with his father and the rest of his family.
Abby pushed forward on the seat and reached for the handle of the door. ‘I think you’re right,’ she said, momentarily surprising him by what he thought was her submission. ‘This conversation is getting us nowhere. If you’ll ask your driver to stop here, I can take a bus—’
Rachid’s utterance was not polite, and she turned startled eyes in his direction. ‘You are not getting out of this car until I have the answer I seek,’ he told her grimly, ‘and I suggest you give the matter careful consideration before creating circumstances you will find hard to redeem.’
Abby gasped. ‘You said you were not abducting me!’ she burst out tremulously. ‘And now you say—’
‘For God’s sake, you are my wife, Abby!’ he overrode her harshly. ‘How can I abduct my wife? You belong to me!’
‘I belong to no one,’ she retorted, her breathing quickening again. ‘Rachid, you have no right—’
‘I have every right. By the laws of your country and mine—’
‘Laws!’ Abby cast an anxious look through the windows of the limousine. ‘Rachid, marriage is not governed by laws! It’s governed by needs—by emotions! And most of all, by trust.’
Rachid leant towards her. ‘I trust you.’
‘But I don’t trust you!’ she averred unsteadily. ‘Rachid, can’t you see you’re wasting your time? Our—our marriage is over, as surely as if we had untied the knot ourselves.’
‘I will not accept that.’
‘You’ll have to. I’m not coming back to you, Rachid. I—I don’t love you.’
‘I love you.’
‘Do you?’ Abby’s mouth quivered. ‘I’m afraid your ideas of love and mine are sadly different.’
Rachid’s hand was suddenly hard upon her knee. ‘Listen to me, Abby. I need you—’
‘You need a woman,’ Abby corrected tautly. ‘Only a woman. Any woman—’
‘No!’
‘Yes.’ She tried to dislodge those hard fingers which were digging into the bone. ‘You only think you want me because I left you. When I was there…’
‘Yes? When you were there? Did I not treat you as the much-loved wife of my father’s eldest son?’
Abby bent her head. ‘You treated me—honorably, yes. But you know as well as I do, that—that isn’t enough.’ She shook her head. ‘Rachid, you know you must have an heir. And we both know that you’re not to blame for not producing one.’
‘Abby!’
His tone was impassioned now, and she knew she had lit some flame of remembrance inside him. It was hard for him, she knew that, but where there was no fidelity there was no trust, and she would not—she could not—share him with his mistresses.
‘Abby,’ he went on now, ‘I know my father spoke with you—’
‘You do?’ She stiffened.
‘Yes.’ He uttered a harsh oath. ‘Sweet mother of the Prophet, do you think I did not turn heaven and earth to find out why you had left without telling me?’
‘You knew why I’d left,’ she reminded him, as memories fanned the fires of her resentment. ‘Your father’s words were no news to me. You’d made the position quite clear enough.’
‘Abby, listen to me…’
‘No, you listen to me.’ She succeeded in thrusting his long fingers aside and moved as far away from him as she could. ‘When I married you, I was an innocent, I realise that now. I believed—I really believed you loved me—’
‘I did. I do!’
She shook her head. ‘I know that it was partly my fault. I know you were disappointed when we didn’t have a child—’
‘Abby!’
‘—but these things happen, even in the best of families. There was nothing I could do.’
‘I know that.’
‘You should have divorced me then,’ she went on in a low monotone. ‘You should have set us both free. At least I would have been spared the humiliation of—of—and you could have married the—the wife your father chose for you.’
‘Abby, I did not want the wife my father chose for me. I wanted you!’
‘Not
