Surrender to the Sheikh

He smiled then as he heard the loving tremble in her voice. ‘Yes, I can, Rose. I have the agreement of my government to make you my bride just as soon as the wedding can be arranged.’

She longed to touch him, to run her fingertips with reverent wonder along the sculpted perfection of his face, but she was scared. ‘But why the change of heart?’

He shook his head. ‘No change of heart, my darling—that has remained constant since the first time I ever laid eyes on you. The difference is that my advisors have come to realise that a happy man makes a good ruler.’ The stark, beautiful truth shone like ebony fire from his eyes. ‘And I cannot ever be a happy man without you by my side. Come to me, Rose, come and kiss me, and make my world real once more.’

She didn’t need to be asked twice—she was across the room and in his arms, and as he buried his lips in the flaxen satin of her hair she discovered that he was shaking as much as he was.

‘Khalim,’ she said brokenly.

‘Sweet, sweet, beautiful Rose—my Rose, my only Rose,’ he murmured against its scented sweetness, and she raised her face to his in wonder as she read the look of love on his face.

He bent his head to kiss her, and an intense feeling of emotion threatened to rock the very foundations of his world.

They were breathless when the kiss ended, and Rose lifted her hand up, traced the sensual outline of his lips with her finger.

‘They don’t mind? They honestly don’t mind you taking a Western woman for your bride?’

His shrug was rueful. ‘The more traditional element of the court were distinctly unimpressed, but the hand of my father guided events—even beyond his death.’

‘I don’t understand.’

‘Do you remember he asked to meet you?’

‘Yes, of course I do!’

‘He had sensed my distraction since meeting you and wanted to know why. And when he met you, he understood perfectly.’ He paused. ‘Afterwards he commented on your similarity to my great-great-grandfather’s true love.’

‘Y-yes,’ she said slowly as she waited for the rest of the story to unfold.

‘And Malik was never the same man after she was sent away—’

‘Is that Malik the Magnificent?’ she asked tentatively.

Khalim narrowed his eyes. ‘How on earth did you know that, Rose?’

‘I read about it, of course—in the chapter about your ancestors.’

He smiled, thinking that she would make a wonderful Princess of Maraban! ‘His heart was not into ruling after that. He complied with convention and took a Marabanesh wife, but was left a bitter and empty shell of a man.’ His eyes met hers with a candid light. ‘My father did not want to see history repeating itself.’

‘History or destiny?’ she echoed softly, and her eyes lit up with a glorious sense of the inevitable. ‘Or maybe even predestination, as though all this was somehow supposed to happen all along.’

‘Predestination?’ His deep voice lingered thoughtfully on the word, and he nodded. ‘Yes. It exists. It’s what drives us all. It’s why I met you, Rose.’

The love from his eyes dazzled her, and she gazed up at him. ‘What on earth can I say to something as beautiful as that?’ she whispered.

He smiled. ‘Say nothing, sweet Rose. Just kiss me instead.’

EPILOGUE

THE late afternoon air was warm and scented as Rose and Khalim alighted from the smoky-windowed car and made their way towards their apartments—situated in the grandest part of the palace. And where once she had been taken to see Khalim’s father as he lay dying.

Rose was grateful to have met him, no matter that the visit had been brief. It pleased and warmed her to know that he had had the perception and the wisdom to override convention and to let their wedding take place.

And what a wedding!

The whole of Maraban had gone absolutely wild with excitement, happy that their leader should have found a woman to love at last, and proud of the pale, blonde beauty of his Rose.

Guy had been delighted to be best man, and Sabrina her maid of honour, and all of Rose’s family had been flown out to Maraban in some style. They had feasted and celebrated for three enchanting days, crushing lavender and rose petals beneath their feet as they danced, and at the very end of the celebrations Rose and Khalim had ridden through Dar-gar on their Akhal-Teke horses. Rose’s mount in a pure white—as white as the winter snows—and in such contrast to Khalim’s Purr-Mahl.