‘But if I didn’t know what I was doing, if I didn’t realise, surely it can be annulled?’
Zayed gestured to the rumpled bed. ‘Considering what we have just done? The entire camp knows what has transpired here tonight. Our marriage has been consummated. Most thoroughly.’
Olivia’s cheeks went pink and she looked away. Zayed felt a stab of pity for her. He’d taken her innocence. She’d given it willingly enough, but still. It was a hard burden for a woman to bear, especially in this culture. And, he realised, she was not acting as if she expected to benefit from it. Surely she should be insisting he honour his vows rather than suggesting he seek an annulment? Unless she was playing a long game.
‘Are you promised to someone else?’ he asked, and she looked up in surprise.
‘Promised?’ She let out a short laugh. ‘No. There’s no one like that. There never has been. Obviously.’ She looked away. ‘You could set me aside, of course,’ she said in a low voice. ‘A divorce. It’s done often enough by men of power.’
And would bring her even more shame. Zayed shook his head. ‘I am a man of honour.’ Besides, he could not instigate a divorce without first knowing where he stood with Sultan Hassan.
‘Are you?’ Olivia challenged him shakily. ‘Because a man of honour would not, it seems to me, abduct a woman and then take her virtue.’
Again he felt this guilt, along with a cleaner, stronger anger. ‘I thought,’ Zayed bit out, ‘you were my bride.’
‘And I suppose you think that makes it acceptable? I would say even less so, then.’
‘I was intending to consummate a marriage that has been planned for nearly twenty years,’ Zayed snapped. ‘I admit, taking Princess Halina from her palace bedroom might seem like a drastic action, but I assure you, it was necessary.’
‘Necessary? Why?’
He didn’t really want to go into all the reasons behind the politics, not now when he was still reeling, his mind spinning, seeking answers when he feared there were none. He was married, and he’d made sure it was done in a way that was legal, binding and permanent. The trouble was, he’d married the wrong woman.
How could he have been so stupid? So rash? The events of the evening blurred in his mind; he’d been fuelled by both determination and desperation, needing to get it done, and quickly. So he had.
In one abrupt movement Zayed strode to the table and poured himself a healthy measure of arak. From behind him Olivia laughed softly.
‘That’s what got us into this trouble in the first place.’
‘What do you mean?’ He tossed it down in one burning swallow and then turned around. ‘Are you saying you wouldn’t have slept with me if you hadn’t been drunk?’ Another reason to be appalled by his own behaviour.
‘I wasn’t drunk.’ Olivia glanced down. ‘But my inhibitions were loosened, I suppose.’
Zayed thought of the way she’d arched and writhed beneath him, drawing him into her body, begging him to continue. Yes, they certainly had been loosened. And so had his. For a little while he’d lost sight of himself, and all he needed to achieve, when he’d been in Olivia’s arms. When he’d felt the sweet purity of her response. It had pierced him like an arrow, it had shattered his defences, but thankfully he’d been quick to build them back up again.
And now he needed to think. He poured himself another measure of arak and sat down to drink it slowly, his mind starting to click into gear. ‘Why were you in Princess Halina’s bedroom, as a matter of interest?’
Olivia looked at him warily, as if suspecting a trap. Perhaps there was one. He had to know if she was hiding something. Had she known of the plot—had she positioned herself to be taken? Perhaps she’d been acting on Halina’s behalf; Zayed had heard that his bride was less than enthused about their nuptials. Or maybe Olivia had seen a chance to better her seemingly small prospects and become Queen. The truth was, he knew nothing about her, and he had every reason to suspect her motives and actions. What gently reared woman fell into bed with a stranger without even asking his name or telling him her own? And not a just a stranger but a man who had kidnapped her, for heaven’s sake. Olivia’s actions bordered on incredible in the truest sense of the word.
‘I was putting her clothes away,’ she said after a pause.
‘You said you were a governess, not a maid.’
Olivia shrugged, her robe sliding off her shoulder. ‘Lina and I were friends in school. That’s how I got the position. I was in her sitting room, talking with her after she’d returned from dinner, and tidying up as I did it. Nothing unusual, really.’
‘Where was Halina?’
‘Sitting on the sofa. She was in the next room when you came in through the window. I could hear her humming.’ Olivia shook her head slowly, her eyes wide. ‘This all feels so completely surreal.’
And yet, unfortunately for both of them, it wasn’t. He hadn’t even seen Halina. In truth, he’d only had eyes for Olivia. Even through the blur of binoculars he’d been arrested by her slender form, her movements of efficient grace. And yet...
‘You look like her.’
Olivia frowned. ‘You think I look like her? No.’ She shook her head. ‘Not really. A pale shadow, perhaps.’
A pale shadow? It was a revealing choice of words. ‘You have the same colouring,’ he continued. ‘Dark hair...’
‘Halina is much prettier than I am,’ Olivia insisted. ‘Her hair is darker and wavier and...’ She paused, biting her lip, and Zayed raised his eyebrows, curious now.
‘And?’
‘Her figure is...curvier.’ Olivia flushed. ‘Everyone thinks she is very beautiful.’ The implication seemed to be that they thought Olivia was not. Yet Zayed had enjoyed her curves, slight as they were, and her hair—a deep, rich brown—was dark enough for him. Although, now that he was studying her properly, not blinded by the wilful determination he’d felt earlier, he saw that Olivia was right. She resembled Halina only to a small degree. Her colouring was lighter, more European, and she was a bit taller as well as slenderer. Even he could see that, having only glimpsed Halina in blurry photos. So why hadn’t he realised it earlier? Because he’d been too focused. Too desperate.
‘You don’t speak Arabic,’ he recalled slowly. ‘And your name sounds English. Where were you raised?’
‘All over the world. My father was British, a diplomat. We moved every few years to a new posting and then I went to boarding school with Halina in England. My mother was Spanish.’
Was. ‘You are an orphan?’
Olivia nodded. ‘My mother died when I was small, my father five years ago when I was seventeen. Since I was a friend of Halina’s, Sultan Hassan took me under his protection. It was very kind of him.’ Zayed nodded slowly. Hassan had presumably taken Olivia on as a paid employee. It wasn’t quite the same, yet Olivia seemed grateful.
He took a sip of arak, needing
