the emotionless response. ‘My father ordered what was to happen and instructed Adnan to come and fetch you. He also had the photo of the man he’d put in charge of this sent to you so that you knew who was coming. At least those were the original arrangements—but then everything changed.’
‘Changed?’
It felt as if her blood was weakening, the strength seeping out of her so that she almost imagined there would be a damp pool collecting on the floor at her feet. Adnan was the name of the man Sheikh Al Khalifa had said he would send. The man who was to see her safe to Rhastaan. And she needed her safety to be guaranteed.
Not everyone was as pleased about this prospective marriage as her father. Sheikh Ankhara, whose lands bordered Rhastaan, and who had always wanted the throne for his own daughter, had made no secret of the fact that he would sabotage it if he could. It was because of a possible threat from him that Sheikh Al Khalifa—my father, Karim had said—had taken charge, organising a trusted man to escort her to Nabil.
But now Karim was saying that he had changed those arrangements. Did that mean that something had gone wrong?
‘Do you want to sit down?’
Her feelings must have shown in her face. Perhaps the blood had drained from there too.
‘Here.’
He had crossed to the sink, snatching up a glass and filling it with water from the tap.
‘Take this...’
He pushed it into her hand then closed his own hand around hers as her shockingly nerveless fingers refused to grasp it, coming dangerously close to letting it drop and smash on the tiles.
‘Drink it.’ It was a command as he lifted the glass to her lips.
She managed a little sip, struggling to swallow even the small amount of water. He was so shockingly close. If she breathed in she could inhale the scent of his skin, the faint tang of some aromatic aftershave. His hands were warm on hers, sending pulses of reaction over her skin, and if she looked up into his dark eyes she could see herself reflected in their depths, a tiny, pale-faced thing with huge eyes that gave away too much. She didn’t like how the image made her feel diminished in a way that was as powerful as her awareness of the force and strength of the long body so close to hers, creating a pounding turmoil inside her head.
‘Your—did you say your father?’
A sharp, curt nod of that dark head was his only response. He was still holding the glass of water to her lips, not pushing it at her, but making it plain that he believed she needed more. It was a toss-up between easing the painful tightness of her throat or risking making herself sick as she struggled to swallow.
She managed another sip then pushed the glass away. The brief slick of her tongue over her lips did little to ease the way she was feeling. Particularly not when she saw that darkly intent gaze drop to follow the small movement and she actually saw the kick of his pulse at the base of his throat. Was it possible that he was feeling something of the same heated reaction as the one that had seared through her at his touch?
‘And who, precisely, is your father?’
‘You know his name—you talked of him just now.’
‘I talked of Sheikh Al Khalifa, but he can’t...’ Another nod, as sharp and hard as the first, cut her off in mid-sentence and she had to shake her head violently, sending her dark hair flying as she tried to deny what he was saying. ‘No—he can’t... Prove it!’
A faint shrug of those broad shoulders dismissed her challenge but all the same he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a wallet and flipped it open, holding it up in front of her.
‘My name is Karim Al Khalifa,’ he said slowly and carefully, as if explaining to a difficult and not very bright child. ‘Shamil Al Khalifa is my father—he is also the man whose envoy you were expecting. Isn’t he?’ he demanded when she could only stare at the driving licence, the bank cards in blank silence.
‘But if he—’ Clemmie shook her head slowly, unable to take it all in. ‘Why would he send you—his son...?’
Because if this Karim was the Sheikh’s son then that meant he must be a prince in his own right, as rich and powerful—possibly more so—as Nabil, who was the reason for this situation in the first place.
‘I was expecting a member of his security team. Someone who would make sure that I travelled safely to Rhastaan and...’
‘And met up with your prospective groom,’ Karim finished for her, making it clear that he really did know all about the situation; that he was well aware of what was going on.
‘Things made it—imperative—that the arrangement we’d put in place could not go ahead as we planned. Plans had to be changed at the last moment.’
‘But why?’
‘Because it was necessary.’
And that was all the explanation she was going to get, Clemmie was forced to acknowledge as Karim pushed himself upright, straightening his long back and flexing his broad shoulders. He strode to the sink, tossed what was left of the water into it and placed the glass on the draining board. The air around Clemmie suddenly felt uncomfortably cold without the warm strength of his body so close to hers.
‘And those plans mean that we don’t have any time to waste.’ He flung the words over his shoulder, not even troubling to turn and face her as he spoke. ‘I hope you’ve packed as instructed, because we have to leave now.’
‘Now?’ That brought her to her feet in a rush. As instructed. Who did he think he was?
‘No way. That’s not happening.’
‘Oh, but I assure you that it is.’
She’d planned on arguing against this. Or, at the very least, she’d hoped to discuss it with the man who was due to arrive at her cottage. Her birthday was still nine days away. Less than a month, but that made all the difference.
‘The contract that was drawn up between my family and the rulers of Rhastaan only comes into effect on December third. The day I turn twenty-three.’
‘That day will come soon enough. We’ll be in Rhastaan by the time you come of age.’
So he did know everything about her. Was it supposed to reassure, to let her know that he really was in control of the situation? Because reassure was the last thing it did. She had known that one day someone would come for her. It had been decided, signed and sealed thirteen years before, when the son of the Sheikh of Rhastaan was five, and she not quite ten. They had been betrothed, contracted to each other, to be married when Nabil reached adulthood. She had had some years of freedom, time to complete a university course, while their parents waited for her prospective husband to become old enough to wed and to hold the throne of his own kingdom. And now that time was up.
But not yet. Please, not yet.
Clemmie had thought that she would be able to argue with the man who had been sent. That she could at least pull rank just a little, insist on having a day or two’s grace before she had to leave. The man she had thought was coming to collect her—an older man, a family man, she had hoped—might be someone she could appeal to. Someone
