The Sheikh's Ransomed Bride

The massive space was crammed to standing room only, and she could see the throng spilling out into a huge antechamber. It was like watching a wave as the crowd bowed low before their prince.

And she felt the speculation in their eyes as they stared at her, whispering amongst themselves.

`Don’t worry, Belle. All you need to do is follow my lead.’ Rafiq sent her a smile that tripped her pulse. And then, suddenly, the chamberlain was in front of them, ushering forward the first of the people to be presented.

There were wealthy nobles in traditional clothes almost as gorgeous as her own gold embroidered azure silk. There were men in suits and women in elegant Western style dresses. And there were many more in less sumptuous clothes, obviously of more humble origins. All were welcome and all were treated attentively.

She didn’t have to do anything except smile and nod. When the well wishers spoke English, Rafiq encouraged her to speak for herself. But otherwise she was free to watch the interplay between the Sheikh and his people, and what she saw reassured her. There was genuine friendliness and respect on both sides. And no trace of anger or doubt in the faces of the people who came to see his promised bride.

She even became accustomed to receiving fulsome compliments, though she suspected Rafiq secretly enjoyed translating the more flamboyant ones for her. There was a glimmer of something that must be humour in his eyes as he watched her try not to blush.

Eventually he called a halt, telling the servants to direct the newcomers to the feast that had been prepared.

`Come,’ he said, standing up and taking her hand. `You need a break.’

Belle nodded, concentrating on appearing immune to his touch as he led her through an arched doorway and into a small sitting room that shimmered with gold and amber silks. A low table was set with platters of honey cakes and nuts, and dark purple grapes with the bloom of the vineyard still on them. Even better, the scent of fresh coffee wafted to her nostrils.

She breathed deep, suddenly realizing how stiff she felt. They’d been in the audience chamber for hours. She rolled her shoulders and sank onto a plumply cushioned couch.

`How much longer will people keep coming?’

Rafiq settled himself on a divan opposite her and reached for the elegant coffee pot. He poured the steaming liquid into a tiny cup.

`Today is just the beginning. They’ll keep arriving all week’

Àll week?’ She was exhausted after just a couple of hours.

He looked up, snaring her with his sea deep gaze that held so many secrets. Ùntil the day we are wed.’

CHAPTER SEVEN

ÒNE week till the wedding?’ The bright honey gold of her hair caught the light as she shook her head emphatically. `That’s impossible.’

Rafiq watched the hectic color flare in Belle’s cheeks, then fade.

She’d said the same when he’d informed her of his decision to marry. Impossible. Perversely, her disbelief had spurred his determination to proceed.

Didn’t she see there was no turning back now, whatever her doubts? There was too much at risk.

Ìt’s the tradition, Belle. We don’t believe in long betrothals here.’

And for the first time he could appreciate the reasons for that custom. Now he’d decided to take Belle as his wife, the anticipation, the knowledge that she’d soon be his, threatened to overcome his scruples. It was increasingly difficult to keep his distance, knowing that he’d soon have exclusive rights of possession. The need to observe public protocols, such as the open audiences with his people, was a blessing in disguise. It kept him from acting precipitately when he knew she needed time to adjust to so many changes.

`Well, it’s not tradition where I come from.’ Her lips thinned into a mulish line and her chin jutted.

How could a woman’s temper, her obstinacy, be so arousing?

He felt the heat build in his body as desire sparked. He wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss her till she didn’t have the energy left to argue.

Ì realize this is unfamiliar to you. That it’s not as you would have planned your wedding.’ A sharp pang of sensation stabbed deep in his chest at the idea of her back home in Australia, planning to marry some other man. Some man she’d convinced herself she loved. He thrust the idea away. `But it’s necessary that we preserve tradition. There should be no doubts that this wedding is genuine and in keeping with custom.’

Ànd I don’t have any say in it at all?’ Fire blazed from her azure eyes and Rafiq repressed a smile. Arguing with Belle was fast becoming one of his favorite pastimes. He looked forward to next week, when he could enjoy making up properly after a disagreement.