Marguerite Kaye - Sheikh's Mail-Order Bride

Must? He did not like the implications of that word, but it was not his place to consider them. She was no child; she looked to be at least twenty-four or twenty-five, and she clearly knew her own mind. ‘I am afraid you don’t quite grasp the implications of what I have told you, Lady Constance,’ Kadar said. ‘When Captain Cobb reaches Bombay, this man to whom you are betrothed will be informed of your death. The missive which I have sent to the Consul General in Cairo will at some point in the near future result in your parents also being informed of your demise. I am very sorry to be so blunt, but you did say...’

‘I did, I said I wanted the unvarnished truth.’ Lady Constance winced. ‘I did not expect it to be quite so brutal, but in essence it changes nothing, save that it makes it even more important that I complete my journey as soon as possible. I do not wish Mr Edgbaston to acquire another bride to take my place.’

Kadar nodded slowly. ‘Very well, then I will have the matter investigated, but I should warn you that as things stand, the next ship heading east to Bombay is not expected in our port for at least two months.’

‘Two months!’ Lady Constance blanched. ‘Which means I would not arrive in Bombay for another three months. And in the meantime, Mr Edgbaston will continue under the illusion that I am dead.’

‘The alternative is to return to your family in England. Under the circumstances, the traumatic ordeal you have endured, no reasonable person could condemn you for wishing to do so.’

‘Unfortunately, my father is not a reasonable person, and would be more than likely to condemn me,’ she retorted. Her cheeks flamed. ‘I beg your pardon, I should not have said—but there can be no question of my going back to England. I should not have given voice to my doubts. I should not even have allowed them into my head. I beg you to ignore them. I am honour-bound to marry Mr Edgbaston, Your Highness. My father received, in advance, a rather substantial dowry in return for my—my promise to wed, you see.’ She summoned up a smile. ‘In effect, I am bought and paid for.’

‘You are not a piece of cargo, Lady Constance.’

‘Oh, but that is exactly what I am, Your Highness.’ Her fingers strayed to her wound. ‘Damaged goods at that, currently lost in transit.’

There was just a trace of bitterness in her tone. She obviously knew perfectly well that she was being used and abused, but was determined not to be diminished by the fact, or to show her hurt. Was this how his affianced bride felt? No, he must not allow his mind to travel down that path. The contract had been agreed. As it had been for Lady Constance and her East India merchant.

Kadar smiled faintly as the legal implications of this struck him. ‘You know, as things stand at present, your situation is a rather interesting conundrum. Since in your own words you have been—er—bought and paid for, from your father’s point of view, the contract has been fulfilled.’

‘Which is why I cannot return to England, and am duty-bound to marry Mr Edgbaston.’

Which meant, presumably, that her father had already spent his ill-gotten gains. ‘On the contrary,’ Kadar said through slightly gritted teeth. ‘Mr Edgbaston cannot marry a woman who has drowned. According to the English law of contract and the customs and conventions which govern international trade, loss which results from force majeure, in other words the storm which sank the Kent, frees both parties from either liability or obligation.’

Her smile was slow to come as she began to comprehend the meaning of his words, but it was worth waiting for. Her big brown eyes gleamed with humour. Her lips had a wicked curve to them. It lit up her face, that smile, quite transforming her hitherto serious expression, revealing a very different woman. Carefree. Captivating. Yes, that was the word. Under other circumstances, untrammelled by the burden she carried, she would be quite captivating. Kadar was certain, though he had absolutely no grounds to be so, that the faceless merchant she was to marry would not see this side of her. He wanted to set her free, which was impossible. He also wanted her. Which was unusual. And equally impossible.

‘So, provided I remain technically dead, the contract is void?’

Had he been staring at her? Kadar gave himself a little shake. ‘Precisely. At this moment in time your life is quite literally shipwrecked, cast adrift from both the past and the future. You can make of yourself anything you will.’

‘I could be reborn.’ Lady Constance sighed. Her smile faded. ‘It is an attractive conceit, but without the means to survive, I’m afraid I must remain in my current incarnation.’ She smothered a yawn. ‘I am so sorry, it has been a very long day.’

The journey she had just made under Abdul-Majid’s escort, the trauma she had so recently endured, was clearly taking its toll. Her skin was pale, the raw pink wound on her forehead angry in contrast. ‘You have been through a difficult ordeal,’ Kadar said. ‘We must not act precipitously. I will consider your situation carefully overnight. We will discuss it further tomorrow, when you are rested. In the meantime, you will be my honoured guest here at the palace.’

‘I don’t want to inconvenience you any further than I already have.’

‘Your company has been a very pleasant distraction, I assure you.’

He had spoken without thinking, but it was the truth. Her fingers had strayed again to her scar. Now he acted without thinking, reaching over to catch her hand. ‘You should think of it as a badge of honour,’ Kadar said. ‘Proof of your will to survive. You are a remarkable woman.’

A faint flush coloured her cheeks. Her tongue flicked over her bottom lip. ‘Am I?’

He pushed her hair back from her forehead, his fingers feathering over the thin line of her wound. He felt her shiver at his touch, and realised, to his embarrassment that he was becoming aroused. ‘Remarkable.’

‘You have been much more understanding than I deserve.’

‘You deserve a great deal more than you expect.’ The neck of her tunic gaped, giving him an inadvertent glimpse of the generous swell of her breast, stirring his blood. Kadar turned his eyes resolutely away. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I will have a suite of rooms prepared for you.’

Chapter Three

As Kadar reined his horse in from a final breakneck gallop along the scimitar-like crescent of beach, the sun was well on the rise. The pure-bred Arabian stallion, flanks heaving and glistening with sweat, cooled his fetlocks in the shallow waters of the sea as Kadar watched the sky turn from pale grey, to pale pink, and then to gold, the colours reflected in the turquoise hue of the sea like a vast glittering mirror. He felt invigorated. His skin tingled with dried salt and sweat, his thigh muscles felt pleasantly tired, and his mind was as sharp as the air here on this, his favourite part of the coast.

His early morning ride was one of the very few things Kadar had not sacrificed since Butrus’s death had led to him assume power. This precious hour was often the only one he was granted in the space of a whole day to be alone, to gather his thoughts and to brace himself for the challenges of the day to come. But today, as he stared out at the sea, watching a little line of fishing dhows in the distance emerging from the port like ducklings paddling upriver, he was not thinking about his duties, he was thinking about Lady Constance Montgomery.

Almost from the moment she walked into the Royal Saloon, clad in that peasant tunic, with her wild hair, and those big hazelnut-brown eyes, he had been drawn to her. When he returned to the Royal Saloon last night he had found her asleep on the cushions, curled up like a little mouse, her hands tucked under her cheek. Her hair tumbled in waves over her shoulder. The softness of her flesh when he lifted her made his groin ache with desire. Her body was so pliant. The curve of her breast, the roundness of her rear, that sweetly female scent of her as he carried her to her quarters and laid her down on the bed. What man would not be aroused?