The Desert King's Blackmailed Bride

‘Do you need a nap?’ his bride asked him winsomely.

‘We will neither of us sleep if I join you in our bed, habibti,’ Rashad parried with highly amused dark eyes and a flashing smile of acknowledgement. ‘I’ll catch up on some work in my office until it’s time to get ready for the dinner.’

Screening a yawn and wondering why she was so very tired when she slept like a log most nights, Polly stripped in their bedroom. She pulled on a nightie rather than shock her maid, who seemed to think that sleeping in the nude was scandalous, and she slid into bed. Her sore breasts ached beneath the fabric and she put her hands over them, momentarily questioning why she was getting all the usual symptoms of her period arriving but nothing was actually happening.

She was wakened with a light snack and tea and warned that Hayat was waiting to see her. Hayat was in charge of her wardrobe and her itinerary. Reluctant to keep the other woman waiting, Polly ate and dressed in haste to join her. As she pulled on her jeans and teetered on one leg a wave of giddiness attacked her and she lurched and fell back against the bed. Her maid started forward in dismay while Polly waved her back and breathed in slow and deep, remaining where she was until the sensation ebbed. Maybe she should’ve eaten a little more after so much physical activity, she thought ruefully.

‘Nabila said you were unwell,’ Hayat commented, moving forward. ‘Should I call Dr Wasem?’

‘A spot of dizziness, nothing more,’ Polly dismissed, knowing that the smallest hint of illness was sufficient to send the whole household into a state of either panic or premature celebration on her behalf and, as she was well aware that it was simply ‘that time of the month’ when she never felt that great, she didn’t want to cause a fuss. Hayat had educated her about the Dharian attitude to her health and Rashad’s, admitting that concern on their behalf was easily awakened by rumour and speculation and generally overexcitable in nature. Rashad’s bout of tonsillitis the year before had had the leading newspaper questioning why their King had not been hospitalised and had accused the royal household of risking his health with an old-fashioned hands-off approach to medicine. Dr Wasem had been mortally offended.

‘You are sure you are feeling all right?’ Hayat prompted. ‘Your devoted husband would never forgive me if anything happened to you.’

‘I’m fine,’ Polly said, wondering why that word, ‘devoted’, had seemed to acquire a sarcastic edge on Hayat’s lips. ‘It’s just that time of the month, that’s all. I always feel a little run-down.’

The brunette gave her a tiny smile. ‘I am sorry your hopes have been disappointed…’

Polly bent her head and rolled her eyes. Hayat and the rest of the household might be eagerly awaiting the announcement that she was pregnant but neither Polly nor Rashad were concerned, both of them believing that at the very least actually conceiving would take several months. Moreover such close scrutiny on such a score was seriously embarrassing. ‘I’m not disappointed, Hayat. We’re only newly married.’

‘I watched my sister break her heart over her inability to conceive,’ Hayat told her. ‘It is very hard for a woman to be in that situation—’

‘But I’m not in that situation,’ Polly broke in, hoping to shut down the too personal conversation for, while she found Hayat very efficient, she maintained careful boundaries with her and never quite relaxed in her company. The brunette was unpopular with the other staff and Polly had taken heed of that warning to stay on her guard.

‘Soon enough, as time goes on, you will be,’ Hayat forecast with a look of exaggerated sympathy on her pretty face. ‘How could you not be concerned?’

Polly shrugged a stiff shoulder in dismissal of the topic. ‘You

wanted to see me?’ she prompted, keen to push the conversation in a less personal direction.

‘Oh, yes. I brought the royal jewellery for you to choose from,’ Hayat pointed out, indicating the large wooden box on the table. ‘But I left the amber set out for you because it will exactly match the dress you’re wearing.’

Polly studied the very ornate gold and amber collaret and suspected her neck might break under the sheer weight of it. ‘It looks very heavy—’

‘It’s a favourite of Rashad’s. The set first belonged to his mother,’ Hayat told her quietly.

Hayat was a fund of such information about Rashad and the royal family and Polly invariably took the brunette’s advice. Well, if Rashad liked it… she thought ruefully, although she was challenged to imagine him even noticing what she was wearing. He wasn’t that kind of man. He didn’t notice much in the way of feminine detail, having once tried to describe a dress she’d worn and he’d admired as ‘that blue drapey thing’.

When it came to more practical matters, however, Rashad was a roaring success, she thought fondly. She loved Rashad so much more than she had ever thought she could love any man and, while as yet he might not love her, he was definitely attached to her. In a crowded room, his attention continually sought her out. Her favourite British foods now magically made regular appearances at mealtimes. Flowers arrived for her every day. Furthermore, he had insisted that they should settle Ellie’s student loans, Polly thought with pleasure as she went into the bedroom to phone her sister in privacy.

‘Ellie is part of our family now,’ Rashad had pointed out. ‘In the same way as your other sister will be when we eventually find her.’

Rashad had hired a London investigation agency to search for her missing sister the very day after she told him about her existence. Indeed Rashad took on Polly’s deepest concerns as if they were his own and she loved that trait because for the first time ever she felt cared for and looked after without being made to feel like a burden or a nuisance. In the dark of the night she wakened to find him wrapped round her and, even though she got far too hot sleeping that close to him, she rejoiced in their closeness and kicked off the bedding instead of pushing him away.

‘Polly!’ Ellie exclaimed with satisfaction. ‘I’ve got news about Penelope.’

‘Oh, my goodness,’ Polly muttered in shock, dropping down on the edge of the bed.

‘Don’t get too excited,’ Ellie warned her. ‘We haven’t found our sibling yet but that investigation agency Rashad’s London lawyer suggested certainly seem to know what they’re doing—’

‘Money talks,’ Polly said wryly.

‘Don’t I just know it.’ Ellie sighed guiltily. ‘Here I am free of all my student debt thanks to the two of you. I can’t ever thank you enough for that. I’ve got all sorts of choices now that I didn’t have before—’

‘Penelope?’ Polly prompted, uncomfortable with her sister’s gratitude.

‘Well, for a start, our sister doesn’t go by that name. She is called Gemma Foster now. You’ll be getting the agency report as well,’ Ellie pointed out. ‘Gemma was adopted but her parents, the Fosters, died and that landed her back into the foster system. She’s twenty now and we just have to track her down.’

‘Right.’ Polly swallowed her disappointment that that was as far as the agency had got in their search for their sister and returned to an issue that was currently more on her mind. ‘Remember you said that it usually takes at least six months to conceive—’