Jacqui Rose - DISHONOUR

Published by AVON

A division of HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First Published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2013

Copyright © Jacqui Rose 2013

Cover Design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2019

Cover photographs Jill Hyland / Arcangel Images (woman), Shutterstock.com(background)

Jacqui Rose asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780007503599

Ebook Edition © August 2013 ISBN: 9780007503605

Version: 2019-09-27

For my mum, Patricia ‘O’ Neill,

because I know it’ll make her smile.

‘Everyone has the right to life, liberty and security of the person.’

Universal Declaration of Human Rights, Article 3

Contents

Cover

Title Page JACQUI ROSE Dishonour

Copyright Copyright Published by AVON A division of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street London SE1 9GF www.harpercollins.co.uk First Published in Great Britain by HarperCollins Publishers 2013 Copyright © Jacqui Rose 2013 Cover Design © HarperCollins Publishers Ltd 2019 Cover photographs Jill Hyland / Arcangel Images (woman), Shutterstock.com (background) Jacqui Rose asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins. Source ISBN: 9780007503599 Ebook Edition © August 2013 ISBN: 9780007503605 Version: 2019-09-27

Dedication Dedication For my mum, Patricia ‘O’ Neill, because I know it’ll make her smile.

Epigraph ‘Everyone has the right to life, liberty and security of the person.’ Universal Declaration of Human Rights, Article 3

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Chapter 33

Chapter 34

Chapter 35

Chapter 36

Chapter 37

Chapter 38

Chapter 39

Chapter 40

Chapter 41

Chapter 42

Chapter 43

Acknowledgements

Keep Reading …

About the Author

Also by Jacqui Rose

About the Publisher

‘ IZZAT ’

URDU FOR HONOUR

Laila Khan opened her mouth to scream but the sound of the sharp slap across her face shocked her into silence. A tiny red mark appeared on her cheek, turning quickly into an angry raised welt as her uncle leaned into her face, spitting with rage. ‘You will do what I say, child. The time has come.’ Wide-eyed with fear, Laila stared at her uncle.

The aromatic smells from the palak chicken and rice on the plate in front of her began to overwhelm her senses. Her body jerked as a wave of nausea hit her. Hurriedly she jumped up from her chair, but her path was blocked by the imposing figure of her angry relative. Unable to stop herself, Laila deposited the contents of her stomach all over her uncle’s brand-new shoes.

Horrified, Mahmood Khan looked down at his feet before throwing Laila back down on the chair. Gripping hold of her hair, he snarled, hatred shining from his eyes. ‘I have been patient with you. Treated you like my own daughter. I allowed you to go to the funeral of your Aunt today, but now my patience has come to an end.’

Trembling, Laila felt a scratch on the palm of her hand and realised she was still clutching onto the reason for her nausea. It was a photograph. Loosening her grip, Laila allowed herself to look at it once more. It was a picture of a man. A man she’d never seen before yet her uncle had just informed her that in less than a week, she was to become his wife.

Tariq Khan sat across from his sister at the dinner table, noticing how her eyes were red, blotchy and swollen. Reminding him of a bullfrog he’d seen last year in Pakistan.

He’d come in later than the others from the funeral and had been greeted by screaming. When he’d gone to investigate, he’d seen Laila kneeling on the floor at their uncle’s feet, begging and pleading with him not to force her to marry.

Tariq had watched as their uncle had called his sister names. A whore. A slut. Accusing her of being nothing short of a disgrace. Spitting at her in disgust, putrid yellow phlegm sliding down Laila’s face. She’d then turned to him. Pulling at his trouser leg and looking up with her big almond-shaped eyes. Begging him to do something to help. But what could he do? How could he have helped her? He’d been powerless. So, unable to see the pain in Laila’s eyes, he’d turned his face away from her, leaving her begging on the floor.

She knew what their uncle was like. Didn’t she understand everything would be easier for her if she didn’t put up such a fight? Couldn’t she see she was making it harder for herself? She knew she had a duty. A duty to their uncle. A duty to their family.

What did she think her uncle was going to let her do? Had she really thought her uncle would let her run around like the other girls in her class? She was sixteen, almost seventeen. Old enough their uncle had told her, too old nearly.

Gravely, his uncle had told him word had got back that Laila had been cosying up with some English boy at school. ‘Flaunting herself, making a fool out of our family name.’

He’d tried to persuade his uncle that no dramatic course of action was needed but his uncle had just stared at him with hostility. ‘She has brought this on herself. You cannot feel sorry for her Tariq, you cannot show weakness. This sort of behaviour has to be stopped. To be punished. We have our family name to think of. Your family name.’