The Sheikh's Bought Wife

She tried to put it out of her mind as she met with the glittering Washington crowd she guessed must frequent these kinds of parties. Her mouth was aching from smiling and she was hopeful she’d produced a convincing performance as the monarch’s consort but soon she began to long to escape from the chatter and the crowd. On her way back from the restroom, she took the opportunity to grab a moment’s respite by relaxing behind the privacy of a marble pillar when she was startled by the sound of a vaguely familiar English voice behind her.

‘Jane?’

It was strange, hearing someone use her first name when she was quickly getting used to people referring to her by one of her royal titles. She turned round to see a tall, geeky-looking man in dark-rimmed glasses standing there—a slightly amused smile on his lips.

She screwed up her eyes as a long-ago memory stirred. ‘Hello,’ she said, half questioningly.

‘You don’t remember me?’

And suddenly she did. It was David Travers, who’d studied at the School of Oriental and Asian Studies with her and shared her passion for the east. He’d been a ‘geek’ just like her, though Jane had reflected at the time that male geeks were much more popular than their female equivalent. Similarly ambitious, the two of them had spent long hours together, burning the midnight oil in the library, before they’d lost contact after leaving university.

‘Of course I remember you,’ she said, her smile widening. ‘It’s just a bit weird seeing you here—a blast from my past, when everything is mainly about my husband.’

‘Not nearly as weird as it is for me seeing the super academic Jane Smith looking like, well...like a queen!’

She smiled. ‘How lovely to see you again, David. What are you doing these days?’

He returned her smile as he walked over to join her. ‘I’m here in an official capacity. I work in Washington. I joined the Foreign Office after college and thought I’d done rather well for myself, but I must say that you’ve exceeded all expectations. A sheikha, no less.’ His eyes narrowed. ‘How are you, Jane?’

Only someone who had known you when you had nothing could have asked such a candid question and for a moment Jane couldn’t think quite how to answer. Could he read the uncertainty in her eyes? Could she bluster enough to convince him she was happy?

‘I’m fine,’ she said breathlessly, even though she didn’t feel it. Because how could she tell him the way she really felt—uncertain about her future and her growing feelings for the man she’d married? Feelings which were going to end up hurting her if she allowed them to. She forced a smile—the same cool, queen-like smile she’d been giving all evening. ‘Absolutely fine.’

‘Well, you look amazing—I hardly recognised you at first,’ David said quietly. ‘Though if you’ll forgive me for saying so—a little pale.’ He hesitated. ‘Look, would you like to go and stand outside on the balcony? I think it’s still warm enough—and the view is pretty amazing from there.’

* * *

From his vantage point on the opposite side of the ballroom, Zayed watched Jane slip outside with a man he didn’t know and was startled by the dark and inexplicable rush of jealousy which flooded through him. Inexplicable because he didn’t do jealousy. Just as he didn’t do baring his soul and talking about stuff from the past which was better left deep inside. But he had done all that, hadn’t he? Had allowed his wife to glimpse the man beneath the royal façade and was now bitterly regretting letting his tongue run away with him.

He could see her on the balcony, the wind making her hair shimmer as the stranger in glasses moved a little closer. Zayed turned his head and gave the merest elevation of his eyebrows—a gesture which was correctly interpreted by one of his staff, who came scurrying over, to inform him that the sophisticated-looking man in glasses was a diplomat at the British Embassy.

His aide spoke in rapid Kafalahian. ‘You wish me to remove him from the side of the Queen, Your Highness?’

‘No,’ said Zayed tersely. ‘I have no wish to cause any kind of scene. As it happens, I am growing a little weary. The Sheikha and I will retire before the night is much older.’

But a lifetime of protocol was hardwired into Zayed’s system and he forced himself to endure the rituals which were expected of him. Rituals so familiar he felt he could have performed them in his sleep. He’d been to hundreds of parties like this, though never with a new bride. Not that such a change in his marital status deterred the glamorous heiresses who made it clear they were more than eager to enjoy his body between the sheets. But Zayed had no appetite for brazen blondes with fake breasts and lustrous lips. His interest was not stirred by their predatory expressions or louche intentions. All he could focus on were the shadowy outlines of his virginal wife and the man with whom she stood talking on the balcony.

At last he could bear it no longer and he walked outside to see Jane’s hair being lifted from her cheeks by the light breeze and the sparkle of the Kafalahian Star rivalling the glittering stars overhead. And suddenly all his self-belief that he was not a jealous man was vanquished by the burst of sheer possessiveness he experienced as he saw her curvy body, outlined in the black dress. He could feel the wild thunder of his blood. Was that guilt he read on her face as she turned and saw him? he wondered grimly. Why else did she bite her lip and stop speaking as soon as he appeared?

‘Zayed!’ she said at last, fixing a bright smile to her lips. ‘I’d like to—’

‘We’re leaving, Jane.’

‘But—’

‘Now,’ he said, with silken emphasis, aware of the faint look of surprise on the face of her companion, but suddenly he didn’t care if he was breaking some damned protocol.

Zayed could hear her saying something to the man, but his blood was pounding so loudly in his temples that he couldn’t make out what it was. He said nothing as they bade goodnight to the Ambassador, nor as they mounted the sweeping staircase in silence, the fading strains of music from the ballroom the only sound he could hear, other than the loud thunder of his heart. But as soon as he’d dismissed the discreet posse of bodyguards who had followed them and shut the door of their suite, he turned to her, unable to dampen his outrage.

‘What do you think you were playing at?’ he demanded hotly. ‘Behaving in such an inappropriate way?’

But if he was expecting contrition, he was quickly disappointed because she rounded on him with nothing but anger spitting from her amber eyes.

‘I could say the same for you!’ she retorted. ‘I can’t believe you acted that way. Stomping up to me and dragging me away like some sort of caveman. You were so rude!’

‘Please don’t presume to lecture me on courtesy,’ he responded icily. ‘And let me ask you instead why you sneaked off to be alone with a man who is unknown to me?’

‘And whose fault is that? You didn’t exactly hang around so I could introduce you, did you?’