Jane Porter - Midnight at the Oasis - His Majesty's Mistake

“But that’s just going to make things worse, Makin. She’s going to expect you to provide for the baby—”

“I will.”

“No, you won’t. It’s my baby and I’m responsible. Not you.”

His strong jaw firmed in protest, and she didn’t think he’d ever looked quite so powerful and primitive and male.

“And so what do you want me to do, Emmeline? Just leave you here with them? Allow your parents to ride roughshod over you?”

“I can manage them.”

“Just like you did in the salon?”

Heat rushed to her cheeks and she jerked her chin up. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Have you lost your mind? That was horrendous. A bloodbath. If it had been your father speaking I probably would have punched him.”

“Makin!”

“I’m serious.”

“I appreciate your support, I do, but telling them you’re the baby’s father isn’t the way. We have to go tell them the truth before it’s too late.” Her voice broke and a tendril of pale hair slipped from her chignon to tumble against her cheek. “And please understand that while I appreciate you speaking up for me, it’s time I stood on my own two feet—”

“So what do you want me to do?” he interrupted. “Stand by and do nothing? Allow your mother to attack you? Destroy you?”

Her heart suddenly ached. Hot tears filled her eyes. “Sticks and stones, Makin, remember?”

He held her gaze for an endless span of time. “But the rhyme has it wrong. Words can hurt. They were crushing you.”

For a second she couldn’t breathe: her chest on fire, her heart in pain. “She doesn’t really mean it,” she whispered. “It sounds worse than it is. Mother just has a temper.”

“She crossed the line, Emmeline. She said too much.”

“She did. But she’ll calm down and feel bad later. She eventually always apologizes.’”

“That doesn’t make it right.”

Her shoulders twisted. “I know. But this is how it’s always been and I’m not going to change her now.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

“Go back to Kadar. Focus on your conference. It’s an important conference for you.”

“But you’re important, too.”

Her lips twisted wryly. “Not as important as all those dignitaries gathered at Kasbah Raha.”

His light eyes searched hers. “I won’t let them hurt you anymore, Emmeline.”

“They won’t. The worst is over.”

His jaw flexed, a muscle popping, tightening near his ear. “You’re sure of that?”

She suppressed all thought but freeing him. This wasn’t his mess, or his mistake, and she couldn’t let her life take over his. “Yes.” She held out her hand to him. “And I hope we can part as friends.”

His hand slowly enveloped hers, his gaze holding hers captive. “Friends,” he repeated slowly.

She nodded, forcing a smile to her lips to hide her sudden rush of emotion. She would miss him. She’d grown to like him. Probably far more than she should. “Can we stay in touch? Maybe we could drop each other a line now and then?”

“That sounds like a plan.”

AFTER Makin left, Emmeline stayed in her room and even took dinner there, unable to face anyone.

She wished Makin had stayed.

Not because she needed him to fight her fights, but because he was good company. Interesting company. And he made her feel interesting, too.

She liked that he listened to her when she talked, liked how his eyes rested on her mouth, his brow furrowed intently. No one had ever talked to her as much as Makin had. No one had ever cared so much, either.

She fell asleep missing him, and woke up thinking of him and was grateful when her father sent for her during her morning coffee, if only to get her mind off Makin.

Emmeline’s hands shook as she finished buttoning her navy silk blouse. She’d paired it with a long skirt the same color and added a wide, dark chocolate crocodile belt at her waist that matched her high heels. It was a mature, elegant, subdued look, perfect for the morning after yesterday’s histrionics.

She slipped a necklace of Murano glass beads around her neck, the beads a swirl of gold, bronze and blue, and wondered if her mother would be waiting in the library or if this was to be just a father-daughter talk. One of those unbearably tense conversations her father had with her, where he talked and talked, and she listened and listened?

Regardless, she had to go. Dressed, with her hair drawn back into a smooth ponytail, and just mascara on her lashes, she left her room for the library, each step making her stomach churn.

Makin must be back in Kadar now, surrounded by his beloved desert and his important work. She felt an ache in her chest, near her heart.

Emmeline knocked firmly on the library door and waited for King William to permit her to enter. When he did, she found him seated at his enormous desk searching for an item in the center drawer.

“I had no idea,” he said, frowning into his open drawer as she crossed the room to stand before his desk. “I wish you had spoken up.”

She folded her hands in front of her, her own brow furrowing; she wasn’t at all sure what he was referring to but she knew better than to interrupt.

“It would have helped if you’d explained, might have made the scene in the salon less uncomfortable.” He looked up at her now, blue gaze reproving. “It was damn uncomfortable. Especially with Al-Koury there.”

She sucked in a breath, hating the butterflies she got every time Makin’s name was mentioned. “Yes, Father.”

“But at the same time, I understand why you didn’t say anything. I understand that Al-Koury wanted to speak to me first, and I appreciate the courtesy. I’m glad he’s a gentleman and wanted to ask for your hand properly—”

“What?”

“Although to be quite honest,” he continued, “Al-Koury should have come on his own, asked for your hand, before traveling with you. It is irregular, what with you being engaged to Zale Patek. A bit presumptuous. Put me in the hot seat, especially with your mother. But you’re both human. Things happen.”

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