The Sheikh's Ransomed Bride

Belle swallowed, then circled her dry lips with her tongue. What was it about this man that those simple words could rock her off balance?

`Then surely it’s a matter of correcting their assumption.’ `That’s one alternative, of course.’

`But not one you want to follow.’ That much was obvious.

`You know a little of Q’aroum, Belle. You understand our blend of old traditions and new ways. As hereditary head of state, it’s vital that I’m seen to embody the strength my people expect. The strength for which my family is renowned. During this crisis it’s essential their trust is not shaken.’

He sat back and spread his palms wide.

`They’re romantic enough to accept the idea of me acting out of love. But anything else like handing over a national treasure to preserve the life of a stranger could be construed as weakness.’ His hands clenched into fists on his knees. Ànd any perception of weakness would play right into Selim’s hands. It would give him the opportunity he needs to build some level of support.

`That is the alternative, Belle. That is what I’m fighting to avoid.’

It all made a horrible sort of sense. She’d been in the country almost a month and knew he was right the Royal Sheikh was revered. His prestige reflected directly on the nation. And then there was what he’d left unsaid. That he hadn’t needed to save her.

Most countries, including her own, had a policy of not negotiating with terrorists. Which meant no ransom would have been paid. If it had been left in the hands of diplomats and policy makers she’d bet that she and Duncan would still be on that island. Not a thought she wanted to pursue.

Rafiq had broken with internationally accepted practice. He’d gone out on a limb, paid a king’s ransom and put his own reputation at stake. To save her.

Belle’s stomach plunged in freefall.

How could she refuse him?

Rafiq waited only until Belle had informed her family, then ordered the betrothal be announced next day. By midday crowds of well-wishers thronged the palace gates.

The announcement had been straightforward, though couched in the elegant terms favored by the royal chamberlain. But the betrothal itself had been anything but simple, Rafiq decided ruefully as he dressed in his ceremonial robes.

What a woman he had chosen! He smiled at the memory of her last night, determination glittering in her eyes as she refused him. She’d protested and argued well into the early hours of the morning, finding so many reasons why their wedding was unnecessary.

If she didn’t have such a passion for marine archaeology she’d have made a fine career as a lawyer, doggedly putting her case. But of course the marriage was necessary, and so, eventually, she’d agreed.

Mother man might have lashed out at her, his pride wounded at her initial rejection. But Rafiq saw beyond the surface. Saw it was the circumstances she railed against, not him.

Who wouldn’t fight against a fate that ordained immediate marriage to a virtual stranger? Hadn’t he, at the age of thirty-one, deliberately avoided marriage to any of the women who’d been so carefully brought forward for his approval over the years?

Belle was distressed at having her freedom curtailed. At having the decision taken out of her hands by necessity. Women wanted to be wooed and courted, to be made love to by a passionate man who promised them romance.

But Belle couldn’t conceal the way she felt about him, he thought with satisfaction. Her body’s responses mirrored his own desire for her: urgent, instant, undeniable. And in all the protests she’d made last night she hadn’t once mentioned physical incompatibility.

His lips curved again into a slow smile as he thought of claiming her as his bride. Anticipation hummed through him, a palpable force. Just the thought of her did that to him.

It would be his duty to ensure Belle found pleasure in this union    .

As much pleasure as he intended to take from it.

He adjusted his wide ceremonial sash, embroidered with the twin al Akhtar emblems of falcon and peacock, as he contemplated the woman who waited for him. There was a spring in his step when he strode from the room.

Belle stood statue still as the women clustered around her, chattering and adjusting her delicate silk robes with a tweak here and a stitch there. Surely it didn’t take so many to dress her? But she didn’t have the heart to spoil their pleasure.

It was clear that preparing the affianced bride of the Sheikh for her first public event was a great honor. And they were so genuinely happy for her, wishing her good fortune and pressing tiny personal gifts into her hands a vial of rose perfume, a carved trinket box inlaid with mother of pearl, a posy of flowers.