Sharon Kendrick - A Whisper of Disgrace

Kulal’s eyes narrowed. ‘Why not?’

‘Why do you think?’ exploded Hazail. ‘Because word has got back to her about your exploits, that’s why! You seem to forget that modern princesses are different to the way they used to be. They are no longer prepared to turn a blind eye to behaviour which they find intolerable. And you have hardly been the soul of discretion on this occasion, Kulal. A discreet liaison is one thing, but openly spending the night with a complete stranger is something else.’

Kulal’s mouth hardened because it had been the loud and drunken Rosa who had made it into such a spectacle. If she hadn’t been so damned predatory, this might never have happened. He glowered at his golden goblet and slammed it down on the table. ‘I will write to Ayesha, wishing her all the very best for her future happiness,’ he said. ‘And we will forget that this unfortunate incident ever happened.’

But Hazail was shaking his head. ‘That’s the trouble—we can’t just forget it. If only it were that simple.’

Kulal frowned. ‘You’re not making any sense.’

The king leaned back in his chair. ‘You do realise the identity of the woman you spent the night with?’

‘Of course I do.’ Kulal felt a beat of frustration harden his groin, his erection conveniently concealed by the silk robes he always wore when in Zahrastan. And although it felt like an exquisite form of torture, he allowed a picture of her luscious curves and dark hair to form in his mind. ‘Her name is Rosa.’

‘Her name is Rosa Corretti!’

Kulal’s expression remained unchanged, for he did not care to admit that the brunette’s surname was news to him. ‘Mmm. That’s right. Corretti. She’s Italian,’ he said, as if imparting some important nugget of information.

‘No, she is not Italian,’ said Hazail. ‘She’s Sicilian. And not only is she Sicilian, but she comes from one of the most powerful families on the island.’

‘So?’

‘So her brothers are probably going to come after you. In fact, the whole damned family is probably going to come after you after you compromised her reputation by spending the night with her.’

Kulal shrugged. ‘Then let them come,’ he said carelessly. ‘For I am afraid of no man!’

‘Your courage has never been in question, but you don’t seem to realise the gravity of the situation, Kulal.’ Hazail bit his lip with the closest thing to anxiety Kulal had ever seen. ‘The influence of the Corretti family extends all over the world and they do not take the virtue of their womenfolk lightly. I’m not joking—this could be political and economic dynamite for our country if it were to erupt into some kind of international scandal.’

There was silence for a moment as Kulal mulled over his brother’s words. Were this Corretti family such a big deal, then? He remembered everything he had heard and read about the Sicilian culture. That the men were proud and the women were pure. His lips twisted scornfully. Except that Rosa Corretti was the least pure woman he’d met in a long time!

‘Do you think they might respond to bribery?’ he mused. ‘Shares in one of our oil refineries might buy their silence.’

Hazail shook his head. ‘This is one situation where I suspect that bribery will not work—for there are very few ways to appease a Sicilian family when their honour is involved.’

For a moment, Kulal was silent as he considered the options which lay open to him and forced himself to acknowledge that there were remarkably few. He thought about Rosa Corretti and her soft pink lips. He thought about her magnificent breasts and waterfall of dark hair and he felt a corresponding pang of pure and frustrated lust. Surely there was something he could do to remedy a potentially explosive situation?

And then an idea began to form in his mind, an idea so simple that he was surprised it had taken him so long to come up with it.

‘I suppose I will have to marry her,’ he said.

Hazail stared at him. ‘Marry her?’

Kulal shrugged. ‘Why not? A short-term marriage would suit both parties very well. It would rescue her “honour,” silence any overprotective brothers and it might work in our favour. Think about it, Hazail. We sell the story as some kind of love match and Princess Ayesha will be seen as magnanimous for agreeing to cancel her wedding to me. And just think how the press will seize on it!’ He gave a mocking smile. ‘The Arabian version of Romeo and Juliet!’

The king’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’

‘Entirely serious.’ Kulal smiled as he allowed his body to anticipate the pleasure of reuniting with his little Sicilian firecracker. ‘I shall go to Rosa Corretti and ask for her hand in marriage.’

There was a pause as the king looked at him. ‘This is remarkably good of you, Kulal,’ he said quietly.

‘Ah, but I am not doing it to be “good,”’ Kulal corrected silkily. ‘I am doing it because I can see no feasible alternative. Look on it as an act of supreme patriotism, if you will. Let’s just say I’m doing it for the sake of my country.’

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