Monarch of the Sands

‘You can, of course, return to England,’ he said smoothly. ‘And my jet will take you there, but I’m afraid that we’ll have to go via Morocco.’

Suspiciously, she stared at him. ‘Morocco?’

‘Indeed,’ he said, with a shrug. ‘I have a friend named Raffaele de Ferretti—we go back a long way. I’ve arranged to spend the weekend with him in Marrakech and he’s expecting us. We will leave tonight.’

‘Do I have any choice?’

‘I’m afraid not.’

Zahid began to pick up the picnic hamper. He had planned to surprise her with a trip to the exotic north African city. But that had been when he’d thought their affair could continue without consequence. Before he’d been forced to acknowledge that something between them had changed …

But pride would not let him turn up without the woman he had told his Italian friend about on the phone last week. And surely she wouldn’t be able to resist him, when the two of them were sharing a luxury suite in a romantic riad?

The journey back to the palace was completed in silence and when they arrived Frankie went straight to her suite of rooms to pack. At least she wouldn’t have to wear any more of these stupid tunics with their matching narrow-legged trousers, she thought—until she sat down on the edge of the low divan and bit her lip.

She liked wearing those silky-soft tunics—whose very qualities of concealment meant that a woman could feel curiously liberated when she had them on. It made quite a change not to have to worry about whether your bottom looked big or whether you were showing too much cleavage, or sitting in a ladylike fashion.

She was still sitting there, gulping down the threat of tears, when a perplexed-looking Fayruz arrived to tell her that the car was waiting to take them to the airport and the servant turned to Frankie with a troubled face.

‘You are leaving Khayarzah?’ she questioned.

‘I’m afraid that I’ve got to go back to England, Fayruz.’

‘But …’

The girl’s words tailed off miserably but Frankie knew it was inappropriate to ask what was troubling her. She knew exactly what was troubling her, because she was experiencing similar feelings of misery herself. Fayruz didn’t want her to go—and Frankie herself didn’t want to go. But she had to. The dream she had always nurtured had come true and Zahid had told her that he loved her. And hot on the heels of that wonderful revelation had been her banishment from his kingdom. How on earth could she tell the young servant that without compromising the king and breaking down in floods of tears?

So she embraced Fayruz and said goodbye, promising to send her an English dictionary when she arrived home. And then, with one last look round, she went out to the car, where Zahid was seated in the front, in the passenger

seat.

He gave her only the most cursory of greetings and spoke to his driver all the way to the airport. And even though that didn’t surprise her, it didn’t stop her from hurting.

Even on the lavishly appointed Gulfstream jet, Zahid sat working at a table some distance away from her and Frankie wondered if he was going to ignore her the entire weekend. How was he going to introduce her to his Italian friend? Hello, this is Francesca—you’re very welcome to speak to her, but I’m afraid I won’t be doing the same.

The plane landed in the warm spiciness of the Moroccan night, where the indigo sky was peppered with bright stars. Immediately, they were whisked through passport control—but when Frankie raised her head after putting away her passport with trembling fingers, it was to see Zahid subjecting her to a narrow-eyed look.

‘You’ve never been to Morocco before, have you?’ he questioned.

She shook her head. ‘Never.’

Another wave of unwanted guilt washed over him at the sight of her pinched and unhappy face. Had he done that to her? Brought her out here to heal the pain of her broken engagement and then ended up hurting her much more? And himself, he realised. He was hurting with a pain he’d never experienced. ‘It’s a very beautiful city,’ he said heavily. ‘As you will discover for yourself in the morning.’

Frankie tried to concentrate on the loveliness of her surroundings and the pleasure of this brand-new experience as their car drove them through the walls of the ancient city.

The place where they were staying was stunning. It was situated right in the very heart of Marrakech and not far from the hustle and bustle of the lively market they called the Medina. Here, in their riad was a perfect blend of Middle Eastern opulence with every modern convenience you could ever want. There was a massage room and sauna—as well as a floodlit courtyard swimming pool, which glittered gold and turquoise in the moonlight.

And a sumptuous suite with an enormous, low bed.

She stood looking down at it as if it had been covered with a writhing nest of vipers and then Zahid turned to look at her.

‘We could have our first full night together,’ he said softly.

‘We could—but it isn’t going to happen.’

‘Francesca—’

‘I can’t,’ she said simply, because she was only just about holding it together as it was. Imagine if he kissed her—if she let him enter her body again after everything which had happened? ‘I’ll sleep on that divan over there.’