His Majesty's Mistake

“When did you speak with him?” she asked, her voice strangled.

“Last night. After you’d gone to rest. He came to see me.”

“He said he was going home,” she whispered.

“Maybe to his room. We gave him the Ducalle Suite. I personally thought we could have done better but your mother isn’t entirely happy about a sheikh for a son-in-law, but she’ll come round. She always does.”

“He’s still here?”

“Of course.”

She swallowed hard. “Father, there’s been a mistake.”

He closed the drawer hard. The entire desk rattled. “How so?”

“We’re not … we’re not … engaged.”

“Well, you weren’t. Not until Makin asked for your hand, and I’ve given him permission to marry you. I’m sure he’ll give you the ring today—”

“Father, he doesn’t love me. He barely likes me.”

His eyes rolled. “Certainly liked you enough to get you pregnant.”

“But Father—”

She was drowned out by the shrill ring of the telephone on his desk. It was a large antique phone and took up an entire corner of the table.

“I’ve said all I intended to say,” he said, raising his voice to be heard over the ring. “The sheikh will be asking for your hand this morning. He’ll put a ring on your finger and your mother should be calm soon. Now I must take this call—”

“He’s not the father. It’s not his child.”

“Emmeline, I can’t hear you over the phone. Please, go. I’ll see you tonight at seven. We’re meeting for drinks and then a celebratory dinner. See you then.”

In the hallway, Emmeline put her hands on her hips and took a deep breath and then another, trying to process everything her father had said.

Makin hadn’t gone home? He’d stayed and spoken with her father? He’d asked for her hand in marriage?

What was the sheikh thinking?

Wishing she’d had more than coffee and a roll for breakfast, Emmeline set off for the Ducalle Suite but Makin didn’t answer the door. She knocked a second time, harder.

A maid popped her head out of a room from across the hall. “Sheikh Al-Koury is downstairs, Your Highness. He’s having coffee on the terrace.”

Emmeline grimly thanked her and headed for the large terrace where she found Makin at a table outside enjoying breakfast in the morning sun.

“What have you done?” she demanded, voice shaking as she marched toward him. She’d missed him this morning and had wanted to see him, but not on these terms.

“Sorted things out,” he answered calmly, stirring a half teaspoon of sugar into his coffee. “Made things right.”

“No! You didn’t make things right, Makin. You made things worse.”

“How so?”

“My father is in the library rubbing his hands gleefully, anticipating getting his hands on some of your money, which won’t ever happen as we’re not getting married.”

“I told him we are.”

“Apparently you did. But you didn’t ask me—”

“I didn’t, no, not yet. But you need to be protected, and by marrying me, you will be protected—”

“How arrogant.”

“But true.”

“But I won’t marry you. I don’t want to marry you.”

“Why not?”

Her eyebrows arched. “You need reasons?”

“Yes.”

She shook her head, incredulous. “You’re arrogant, controlling, and you keep mistresses.”

“I’ve already ended my relationship with Madeline.”

“You’re mad!”

“Don’t be shortsighted. This is the best thing for the baby, and in your heart you know it.”

“It might be the best thing for the baby, but it’s not the best thing for me.”

“Why not?”

“I didn’t want this kind of marriage. If I’d wanted an arranged marriage I would have married Zale. But I didn’t. And I don’t need you and my father making bargains in his library.”

“You are being dramatic.”

“Maybe I am,” she choked, pulling out a chair across from him and sitting down heavily. “But you know we’re not suitable. You know we’re not compatible and you only asked for my hand because my mother was screaming.”

“She does have a loud voice.”

“See?” Emmeline was near tears. “You asked my father for my hand because you hate excessive emotion, and weren’t comfortable with the shouting and crying, and so, to keep from feeling powerless, you took control the only way you knew how.”