wasn’t a question. Indeed his tone was so neutral that Emily couldn’t tell if he was pleased that she knew, or that he disapproved of his mother and sister sharing that family secret.
“I’ve promised not to tell anyone,” she said calmly. “And they’ve assured me that the lack of a bride to help plan the ceremony won’t impact the organizing of the event, since they’ll make the necessary decisions that your fiancée, if you had one, would normally make.”
He raised an eyebrow, his eyes unreadable as his mouth quirked in a half smile. “Really,” he murmured. “That’s efficient.”
Unsure what he meant and unable to tell from his expression whether he was pleased or unhappy with their arrangements, Emily was relieved when Jenna glanced at her watch and broke in.
“Drat. I was due at the stable office ten minutes ago.” She pushed back her chair and stood, rounding the table to drop a kiss on her mother’s cheek. “I’ll see you two there after you’ve made your calls, Emily.”
And with a quick wave and a cheeky grin, she was gone.
“I think that’s our cue to head for the media room,” Lazhar said to Emily.
“Please keep the notebook and pen, Emily,” Caroline said as Emily was about to remove the pages with her notes. “You’ll be making lots more notes today, I’m sure.”
“Thank you.” Emily rose and left the room, Lazhar right beside her. Neither of them mentioned last night’s kiss, and Emily decided to chalk it up to the combination of champagne and wine they’d both drank.
She refused to let him shake her composure, regardless of the fact that she was more aware of him than ever.
Chapter Six
Emily had forgotten about the time difference between Daniz and San Francisco, and when she dialed her office number, the answering machine picked up. She left a message telling Jane that she’d call back that evening, which equaled morning in California’s time zone, and followed Lazhar outside.
They left the palace and took a shortcut through a lush garden, exiting through a wrought-iron gate that let them out into a wide, paved lane. Farther down the lane to their left were the stable buildings. Directly across from them stretched a paddock where horses grazed and sprinklers turned lazily under the hot sun, creating small rainbows as they watered the already lush green grass.
Lazhar crossed the lane to the paddock fence and whistled. The dozen or more horses grazing within the enclosure looked up, ears pricking with interest. On the far side of the pasture, a white mare whinnied and trotted toward them, a longlegged filly at her side.
“How beautiful,” Emily murmured, so riveted by the horse that she was barely aware she spoke aloud. Head up, small ears pricked forward, her tail a banner held high, the mare’s fluid gait was pure poetry. Beside her, the little white filly shadowed each movement her mother made as if attached to her by an invisible cord.
The mare slowed to a walk as she approached the fence, coming closer until she could bump her nose against Lazhar’s chest. He laughed and took a lump of sugar out of his pocket, holding it on the flat of his palm. The mare daintily lipped the cube from his hand, her strong teeth crunching the little square.
“This is Sheba,” Lazhar told Emily, straightening the white forelock between the horse’s intelligent brown eyes before stroking his palm down her nose. “And her baby, Elizabeth.”
“Elizabeth?” Surprised, Emily looked at the purebred Arabian baby. The little filly’s widespaced dark eyes, dish face, beautiful conformation, and delicate-boned long legs made her a miniature copy of her mother.
“Jenna named her—Elizabeth was born the day after my sister watched the BBC production of Pride and Prejudice for the first time.”
“So she’s named after a Jane Austen heroine?” Emily laughed. Lazhar looked pained but resigned.
“Her long registered name includes Shalimar, which is what I’d hoped to use as her common name. But after Jenna began calling her Elizabeth, everyone else followed suit, and now she answers to that name only.” He sighed and shook his head. “A royal Danizian filly answering to an English name. Where’s the sense in that?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I kind of like it.” Emily stretched her arm over the top rail of the white wooden fence and waggled her fingers invitingly. “Come here, pretty baby. Hello, Elizabeth.”
The inquisitive filly pricked her ears, clearly listening as Emily crooned. Tentatively she stretched her neck toward the fence, her nose not quite touching Emily’s fingertips, and blew a gust of warm air against her palm. Then she jumped back to race off, jolting to a stop several feet away before spinning to run back to her mother. The little horse stopped on the far side of the mare and peered around her mama’s chest at the humans.
Charmed, Emily laughed aloud. “She’s darling.”
“She’s pretty cute,” he agreed with a half grin.
“Will she stay here when she grows up?” Emily asked, looking around at the idyllic pastoral setting. It seemed the perfect place for a horse.
“Yes.” Lazhar gave the mare one last pat and stepped back from the fence. “We’re a breeding farm, so many of the fillies and colts born here are sold away from the stables, but Elizabeth won’t be. Her mother belongs to me, not to the palace, and I bred her to a stallion owned by the king of Saudi Arabia. She has impeccable bloodlines and she’ll live her life out here at the farm where hopefully she’ll give birth to many colts and fillies as valuable as she.”
“And just as cute?” Emily asked, turning to look over her shoulder for one last glimpse of the little filly. Sheba stood at the fence, watching Lazhar walk away, but Elizabeth was already caught up in other things, nosing at a leaf on the ground.
“Probably every bit as cute.”
They reached the stables; the doors stood open and they turned down the wide corridor that ran from one end of the huge barn to the other. Box stalls lined both sides of the alleyway and horses shifted in the occupied stalls, coming to peer out over the top of the gates to watch Lazhar and Emily go by.
Lazhar greeted them by name, stopping to introduce Emily to the individual mares and tell her a little about them.
“Back in San Francisco, when I researched you and your family on the Internet,” Emily said as they strolled on after he’d fed a mare a sugar cube from what seemed to be an inexhaustible supply. “I read an article that said the palace stables are world-famous and that your family has been breeding Arabian horses for generations.”
“That’s true,” Lazhar confirmed as they walked out of the shaded alleyway between the stalls, redolent with the scent of hay, saddle leather and horses. The cobbled courtyard beyond was surrounded by stone buildings and the narrow alleys between them led to grassy pastures. They passed grooms leading mares, Arabians with proud small heads and dainty ears, lush tails that nearly brushed the ground behind their back heels, and glossy coats. Several of them were heavily pregnant, their bellies round with foals. “The son of the first king of Daniz married a Saudi princess and part of her dowry was a stallion and mare from her father’s herd. That pair was the beginning of the Daniz Stud.”
“You
