believe I will speak to the man, first thing in the morning.”
“Whatever you say, beloved,” crooned Alima.
Chapter 5
Cade dropped his toiletry kit into his carry-on bag, added a half-empty pack of cheroots and the zippable daily planner in which he kept his business notes and appointments, then straightened for one last look around. Not that he was afraid he’d overlooked something; rather, his gaze was one of wonderment, reflecting his frame of mind. He was still having a hard time accepting what had happened to him. He tried to remember whether he’d ever suffered such a demoralizing tail-between-the-legs disaster before in his life. He couldn’t.
Ah, the car, he thought when he heard the discreet knock on his door. He called, “Be right there,” and grabbed up his big suitcase and moved it over beside the door. A little early, he thought, glancing at his watch, but so much the better. He’d have time to grab a bite of breakfast at the airport before his flight. He sure as hell wasn’t about to eat anything here at the palace, or for that matter, impose on the Kamal family’s hospitality in any way, for one minute longer than absolutely necessary. He’d seen enough of these royals to last him a lifetime. With the exception of Elena, of course. Though he sure wouldn’t care to run into her, right now, either. He couldn’t even begin to think how he was going to explain this to her.
He zipped up his overnighter, picked it up and placed it beside its bigger twin, then opened the door. The man who stood there, waiting at patient and respectful attention, wasn’t wearing the white-and-gold uniform of the household servants, but a western-style suit, dark gray with an immaculate white shirt and blue-and-gray striped tie. He looked familiar—dark, swarthy, probably handsome, in an austere, arrogant sort of way. Undoubtedly Cade had been introduced to the man during the course of the weekend, which meant he was a member of the royal family or somebody high on the bureaucratic totem pole.
Probably a lawyer, Cade thought cynically. For the defense, he wondered, or the prosecution?
“The sheik wishes to speak with you,” the man said, in clipped English. “If you will come with me, please.”
What now? Maybe he’s changed his mind about having me executed, Cade thought sourly as he gave his room one last look and with a fatalistic shrug, pulled the door shut behind him.
His escort didn’t say another word as he led the way along the corridor, following virtually the same path by which the sheik had made his dramatic departure the night before. Cade made a conscious effort to relax, and tried not to think about the confrontation to come. Instead he made a point of noticing the arched passageways, the apparently ancient tiles beneath his feet and mosaics on the walls, and the lamps which, set into niches along the walls, added to the medieval look of it all. He half expected to see armored guards with swords and crossed pikestaffs barring entry through the massive carved double doors at the end of the hallway.
Instead, his escort merely knocked twice, paused, then pushed the doors open and gestured for Cade to enter ahead of him. Cade gave the man a nod and a sardonic, “Thank you,” which went unacknowledged.
The sheik’s office was huge, but was saved from seeming cavernous by the warm opulence of mahogany, leather and Persian carpets. Arched windows along one side of the room looked out on the sea; on the other, Sheik Ahmed waited behind a long mahogany desk. He wore an ordinary business suit this morning, but that didn’t make him seem any the less imposing. He still looked positively biblical, Cade thought. Moses in a suit and tie.
The sheik had risen at Cade’s approach. Now he nodded at the escort and said, “Thank you, Butrus. You may leave us.”
As the man muttered and made his exit, the name came to Cade. Butrus Dabir. The sheik’s most trusted advisor, and according to Elena, one with designs on his daughter, Nadia.
“Thank you for coming, Mr. Gallagher. Please sit down.” The sheik indicated one of several leather chairs in front of the desk, waited until Cade was seated, then returned to his own chair. Like a genial host, Cade thought, except without the smile. In fact, he seemed almost…in anyone else Cade would have sworn he was….No way around it. The reigning monarch of Tamir gave every indication of being embarrassed.
Sheik Ahmed picked up a pen and put it down. He leaned back in his chair and scowled at the pen with lowered eyebrows. At last, following an introductory rumbling sound, he spoke.
“Mr. Gallagher, I have asked you here so that I may offer you an apology. It seems that, in the heat of the, uh, moment last night, I have made a too-hasty judgment. I believe I accused you of being a man without honor, whereas it seems that you behaved with more honor than most men would have under the same…ahem…the circumstances. I hope that you will forgive my behavior, and that of my daughter.” And with that, half rising, the sheik leaned across his desk to offer his hand to Cade.
Who was momentarily speechless, with his mouth hanging open like a schoolboy caught red-handed at mischief. Whatever he might have expected, it sure as hell wasn’t this. Finally, though, there was only one thing to do, and that was shake the sheik’s hand and say thank you. So he did it.
He was settling back in his chair, feeling dazed as a poleaxed steer, when the sheik gave another rumble and continued. “Regarding your proposal of marriage to my daughter…” There was a pause while the sheik stared intently at Cade, eyes glittering from beneath lowered eyebrows. Much against his will, Cade’s heart began to beat faster. “Mr. Gallagher, I am fully aware of the circumstances under which it was made, and I—that is to say, your gallant attempt to salvage my daughter’s honor is not unappreciated.” There was another pause. Again the sheik’s eyes pinioned Cade with the intent stare of a hawk zeroing in on a cornered gopher.
Cade’s mind was racing. What was going on here? The old sheik had an agenda, that was clear enough. What wasn’t clear at all was exactly how Cade was supposed to fit into it. Okay, he’d been cleared of dishonoring the princess, apologies had been made, he’d been let off the hook. On the other hand, his banishment hadn’t been lifted, not in so many words. He had a very strong feeling that if he said thank you now, shook hands and left this room, he’d be taking that early flight home, no hard feelings, but no business deal, either.
What was it the old fox wanted from him? He’d made his feelings on the marriage issue plain enough. So, what?
His heart was pounding, his mind in chaos. However, only his narrowed eyes betrayed the turmoil he was feeling as he calmly said, “Sir, I assure you—I didn’t propose marriage to your daughter merely to save her reputation. My desire to marry Leila was—is—sincere.”
God, what had he just said? Marry Leila? He felt a bright stab of panic before he remembered that he was safe. Her royal papa was never going to go for it anyway.
At the moment, though, the way the old sheik was staring at him was making him decidedly uneasy. Still intent as a hawk about to pounce, but now—there it was again, that odd little shift of embarrassment.
“Hmm, yes…I see.” Sheik Ahmed tapped his fingers on the desktop. “Mr. Gallagher, you must understand that in our culture, such an alliance would be impossible…”
“I understand,” Cade murmured, gravely nodding.
“Unless—” the sheik pounced “—you were to convert.”
Cade’s heart leaped into overdrive. “Convert?”
“To our ways, our culture.” The sheik spread
