The Sheikh Takes A Bride

AROUND CHI-TOWN

March: We Chicagoans all live vicariously through our own “royalty,” the Connelly family. And here comes a story to warm you up on a damp, blustery Chicago day….

Matriarch Emma Connelly has been keeping close tabs on what’s going on in her island homeland of Altaria. The former princess has been in touch with her son, King Daniel, who tells her that a certain sheikh has been spending all his time in Altaria searching for a bride. And, says Daniel, he seems to have set his sights on the Connelly cousin Princess Catherine.

Having just lost her father and grandfather, and having been bypassed for the throne, the princess could use some good fortune. But sources close to her say not even the swarthy, sexy, studly sheikh is a match for the royal known around the globe as the Ice Princess.

Since the American king has taken the throne, Altaria has been making news with its peaceful transfer of power. But with the sparks flying between the sheikh and the princess, we’re looking forward to fireworks….

Dear Reader,

Celebrate the rites of spring with six new passionate, powerful and provocative love stories from Silhouette Desire!

Reader favorite Anne Marie Winston’s Billionaire Bachelors: Stone, our March MAN OF THE MONTH, is a classic marriage-of-convenience story, in which an overpowering attraction threatens a platonic arrangement. And don’t miss the third title in Desire’s glamorous in-line continuity DYNASTIES: THE CONNELLYS, The Sheikh Takes a Bride by Caroline Cross, as sparks fly between a sexy-as-sin sheikh and a feisty princess.

In Wild About a Texan by Jan Hudson, the heroine falls for a playboy millionaire with a dark secret. Her Lone Star Protector by Peggy Moreland continues the TEXAS CATTLEMAN’S CLUB: THE LAST BACHELOR series, as an unlikely love blossoms between a florist and a jaded private eye.

A night of passion produces major complications for a doctor and the social worker now carrying his child in Dr. Destiny, the final title in Kristi Gold’s miniseries MARRYING AN M.D. And an ex-marine who discovers he’s heir to a royal throne must choose between his kingdom and the woman he loves in Kathryn Jensen’s The Secret Prince.

Kick back, relax and treat yourself to all six of these sexy new Desire romances!

Enjoy!

Joan Marlow Golan

Senior Editor, Silhouette Desire

Special thanks to Ann Leslie Tuttle for suggesting me for this story, Shannon Degen for patience above and beyond the call of duty and Joan Marlow Golan for believing in me.

Silhouette Books is lucky to have you, and so am I.

CAROLINE CROSS

always loved to read, but it wasn’t until she discovered romance that she felt compelled to write, fascinated by the chance to explore the positive power of love in people’s lives. She grew up in Yakima, Washington, the “Apple Capital of the World,” attended the University of Puget Sound and now lives outside Seattle, where she (tries to) work at home despite the chaos created by two telephone-addicted teenage daughters and a husband with a fondness for home-improvement projects. Pleased to have recently been #1 on a national bestseller list, she was thrilled to win the 1999 Romance Writers of America RITA Award for Best Short Contemporary Novel and to have been called “one of the best” writers of romance today by Romantic Times. Caroline believes in writing from the heart—and having a good brainstorming partner. She loves hearing from readers, and can be reached at P.O. Box 47375, Seattle, Washington 98146. Please include a SASE for reply.

MEET THE CONNELLYS

Meet the Connellys of Chicago—wealthy, powerful and rocked by scandal, betrayal…and passion!

Who’s Who in The Sheikh Takes a Bride

Princess Catherine Rosemere—This Connelly cousin doesn’t believe in happily-ever-after—not even in her storybook kingdom of Altaria. In this chapter of her life, the last thing she needs is a sexy sheikh storming her castle….

Sheikh Kaj al bin Russard—Nothing can keep him from taking what he wants—and he wants Catherine. In his life, in his kingdom, in his bed…but what about in his heart?

King Daniel—The eldest Connelly heir now rules the picturesque country of Altaria…. But does he control it?

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Epilogue

One

“You’re absolutely right, Kaj,” Joffrey Dunstan, Earl of Alston, said in his usual thoughtful way. “She’s even lovelier than I remembered.”

Glancing away from the slim, auburn-haired young woman who was the subject of his observation, the earl retreated a step from the balcony railing overlooking the grand ballroom of Altaria Palace. Though more than two hundred members of Europe’s elite milled down below in their most elegant evening wear, they might not have existed for all the attention he gave them.

Instead, with a bemused expression on his face, he turned to stare at his companion, who stood in a pocket of shadow, hidden from casual observance. “But marriage? You can’t be serious.”

Sheikh Kaj al bin Russard raised an ink-black eyebrow in question. “And why is that?”

“Because… That is…” Always the diplomat, Joffrey cleared his throat and tried again. “Surely you’re aware that Princess Catherine has a certain…reputation. And Sheikh Tarik’s will was quite specific—”

“That I marry a virgin of royal blood.” Kaj grimaced. “Have a little faith, cousin. I haven’t forgotten my father’s unfortunate directive. I’d simply remind you that for all Catherine’s reputedly wild ways, there’s a reason she’s known as the ice princess.”

“I suppose you have a point. Still…”

Kaj took one last look at the woman he intended to marry, his hooded gray gaze admiring her auburn hair and slim white shoulders before he turned his full attention to his favorite relative.

He was quite aware that, despite the fact their mothers were sisters, there was no physical resemblance between himself and Joffrey. His cousin was five-ten, with a slim build, blue eyes, cropped blond hair and a fair, exceedingly English face. In contrast, he was a trio of inches over six feet, with a distinct copper cast to his skin and ink-black hair long enough to necessitate pulling it back for formal affairs like tonight’s.

Yet for all their outward differences, he valued Joffrey’s opinion above all others.

It had, after all, been his cousin’s matter-of-fact friendship that had eased Kaj’s crushing homesickness for his homeland of Walburaq when he’d been sent away at age eight to attend English boarding school. Just as it had been Joffrey’s steadying presence and astute counsel that had allowed Kaj to get successfully through Ludgrove and Eton, where he’d stood out like a hawk among pigeons. In all the ways that mattered, Joffrey was the brother Kaj had never had.

The reminder softened the chiseled angles of his face. “If it will ease your mind, Joff, I’ve made certain inquiries. The princess may be a tease, but she’s no trollop. On the contrary. I have it on excellent authority that her virtue is very much intact. Her pleasure seems to come from keeping her admirers at arm’s length.”

Joffrey’s eyes widened in sudden comprehension. “You see her as a challenge!”

Kaj shrugged slightly, his broad shoulders lifting. “If I have to marry, I might at least enjoy the courtship, don’t you think?”

“No, I most certainly do not,” the other man retorted. “At least not to the exclusion of more important considerations.”

Kaj crossed his arms. “And those would be what, exactly?”

“Compatibility. Mutual respect and understanding. Similar values. And…and love.” A faint flush of embarrassed color tinted the earl’s cheeks at that last, but his gaze was steady as he plowed stubbornly on. “This isn’t a prize to be won, Kaj. This is your life, your future. Your happiness.”

“Do you think I don’t know that?” the sheikh inquired softly. “Trust me. I have no intention of making my parents’ mistakes.”

Joffrey looked instantly stricken, as well he should since he was one of the few people who understood the price Kaj had paid for Lady Helena Spenser’s and Sheikh Tarik al bin Russard’s disastrous marriage, bitter divorce and subsequent flurry of heated affairs. “Of course not. I didn’t mean to imply you did. It’s just that this hardly seems the answer.”

“And what is?” Kaj’s voice was studiously polite. “Given the need for my bride to be pristine, what are my choices? Should I marry one of those tremulous debutantes your mother keeps throwing into my path? Or should I make an offer for some Walburaqui chieftain’s daughter, a sheltered innocent who’ll build her whole life around me?” He sighed. “I don’t want that, Joff. I want a woman who’s pragmatic enough to see a union with me as a mutually beneficial partnership. Not some starry-eyed romantic who’ll fall desperately in love with me and expect me to fulfill her every wish and need.”

“Ah, yes, adoration can be so trying,” Joffrey murmured.

Kaj felt a lick of annoyance, only to have it vanish as his gaze locked with his cousin’s and he saw the affection and concern in the other man’s eyes. His sense of humor abruptly resurfaced. “More than you’ll ever know,” he said dryly.

For an instant Joffrey looked surprised, and then his own expression turned wry. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I doubt excess worship of you will be a problem with Princess Catherine,” he said, matching Kaj’s tone.

Kaj cocked his head in feigned interest. “Do tell.”

The earl shrugged. “It’s simply that the more I think about it, the more I understand your choice. Unlike every other female on the planet, the princess has never shown the slightest tendency to swoon when you walk into the room. And though she may indeed be a virgin—I bow to your superior sources—she doesn’t strike me as the kind of woman who’ll ever fall at your feet in girlish devotion. As a matter of fact—” he glanced down at the ballroom spread out below them “—you’ll probably be lucky to get a date.”

Kaj followed his gaze. He quickly noted that Altaria’s new king, Daniel Connelly, was about to kick off the dancing with his queen, Erin. Of more immediate interest to him, however, was the discovery that the group of young men vying for Princess Catherine’s attention had grown even larger than before. He felt an unexpected pinch of irritation as one would-be swain said something that made her laugh. Vowing to put an end to such familiarity—and soon—he nevertheless refused to rise to his cousin’s bait.

Catherine would be his. He’d given a great deal of thought to her selection, and one way or another he always got what he wanted. “I appreciate your concern, Joffrey, but I assure you I’ll do just fine.”

“Yes, of course.” The other man’s words were perfectly agreeable, but there was a note of skepticism in his voice that was distinctly annoying. “I merely hope you’re not counting on a quick courtship. Because from the look of things, it may take some time just to breach the crowd around her, much less win her heart.”

“Oh, I think not,” Kaj said firmly. “One month should do the trick.”

Joffrey turned to look at him, brows raised. “You’re having me on, right?”

“One month and I’ll have Catherine of Altaria in my bed, my ring on her finger. Guaranteed.”

Joffrey rocked back on his heels. “Really. Doesn’t that first part rather violate your father’s purity directive?”

Kaj rolled his eyes. “I think not. My intended is supposed to be chaste for me—not with me.”

“I suppose you have a point.”

“I suppose I do.”

“In that case… Care to chance a small wager as regards to your success—or lack thereof—in this venture?”

“By all means. Simply name your terms.”

“Well, I have always fancied Tezhari…”

Kaj nodded. His cousin had long coveted the exquisite Arabian brood mare. “Very well. As for me, I think the Renoir that graces your drawing room at Alston will make Catherine a lovely wedding present.”

Joffrey winced but didn’t back down. “It’s a deal, then. And may I say good luck. Because in my opinion, you’re going to need it.”

For the first time all evening, Kaj smiled, regarding the other man with cool confidence. “That’s very kind of you, Joff, but unnecessary. This hasn’t a thing to do with luck. It’s all about skill. Trust me.”

At that his cousin laughed. “Why do I suddenly feel as if I should pen the princess a note of condolence?”

The sheikh nonchalantly flicked a nonexistent speck from his impeccably tailored Armani tux. “I can’t imagine. But I do hope you’ll excuse me.” His gaze once more located Catherine down below, and he felt a distinct spark of anticipation. “I suddenly find I’m in the mood to dance.”

“Oh, by all means.” Joffrey stepped back, clearing the way with a flourish.

A twist of amusement curving his mouth, Kaj strolled away.

“Please, Highness.” The handsome young Frenchman at Catherine’s side gripped her hand and drew it toward his lips. “You are so very exquisite, with your Titian hair and your yeux emerauds. Take pity and say you’ll dance with me.”

Fighting an urge to roll her “emerald eyes,” Catherine told herself to be patient. After all, the ball, for which she’d done the bulk of the planning, was going well. Overhead the thousand tiny lights in the mammoth chandeliers twinkled like iridescent butterflies. The lilting strains of the orchestra were neither too loud nor too soft, and the scent of blooming flowers drifting through the score of French doors thrown open to the mild March night was refreshing rather than overpowering.

Add the men in their sleek black tuxedos, the women draped in silk and satin and a glittering array of jewels, and it was perfect, a storybook scene. Most important to Catherine, the guests of honor—her cousin Daniel and his wife, Erin, Altaria’s new king and queen—appeared to be enjoying themselves.

She watched for a moment as they danced, smiling at each other. There was such happiness in the looks they exchanged, such perfect understanding. Out of nowhere she felt an unexpected pang of envy.

What must it be like to share such closeness with another person? Catherine couldn’t imagine. She might be only twenty-four, but she’d long ago concluded that such intimacy wasn’t for her.

Her conviction had its roots far in the past, when her nouveau-riche mother had happily surrendered Catherine to the royal family, making it clear in the years since that she regarded her illegitimate daughter as a stepping-stone to high society, nothing more.

It had been further shaped by Catherine’s father, Prince Marc, who had always treated her like a unique trinket to be displayed when he wanted, then promptly forgotten once his need to impress others had passed.

Only her grandmother, Queen Lucinda, had ever truly cared for her. But that wonderful lady had passed away five years ago, and her loss had only underscored to Catherine how truly alone she was.

Oh, she had an abundance of suitors, but none of them had ever bothered to get to know the real her, the person beneath the public facade. They were too afraid of making a misstep and losing the chance to win her favor—and with it her money, her connections and, she supposed, her body.

Usually she didn’t care. But every once in a while she caught a glimpse of what her life might have been if she’d been born plain Catherine Rosemere, instead of Her Highness Catherine Elizabeth Augusta. And she would suddenly feel unutterably weary of fawning admirers, frivolous soirees and always feeling alone no matter how big the crowd that surrounded her.

Oh, poor, pitiful princess, said a mocking voice in her head. What a trial to be required to spend time in such a lovely setting, surrounded by the cream of high society. How unfair that you have to wear pretty clothes and listen to a few hours of lovely music and some meaningless chatter. What a tragedy that you’re minus your very own Prince Charming.

One hates to think how you’d stand up to a real problem, like being hungry or homeless. Or wait, how about this—you could be dead, like your father and grandfather, their lives snuffed out in an accident that now appears to have been no accident at all, but rather a deliberate act of murder.

Appalled at the direction her thoughts had taken her, Catherine cut them off. But she was too late to stop the anguish that shuddered through her. Or the guilt that came hard on its heels as she recalled the report by the Connelly family’s investigator concluding that the speedboat involved in the disaster had been sabotaged. A speedboat meant to be manned by her, not her father.

“S’il vous plaît, belle princesse.” The Frenchman stepped closer, demanding her attention. She looked up to find him gazing limpidly at her, looking for all the world like an oversize, tuxedo-clad flounder. “Do say yes to just one dance. Then I can die a happy man.” Practically quivering with anticipation, he pressed his wet mouth to the back of her hand.

The tight rein Catherine had on her emotions snapped. She snatched her hand away, just barely suppressing the urge to scrub it against the delicate chiffon of her midnight-blue dress. “I told you before, Michel, I’m not in the mood. What’s more, I’d appreciate it immensely if you’d hold off expiring for at least the next forty-eight hours. Your absence would throw a decided wrench into the seating arrangement for Monday night’s banquet.”

The young man blinked. Then, as her words sank in, his smile abruptly vanished. “But, of course,” he said, pouting in a way that made him look more fish-like than ever. “A thousand pardons, Highness.” Stiff-backed with affront, he turned on his heel and marched off.

Catherine felt a prick of remorse, but quickly dismissed it. After all, she’d been exceedingly polite to Michel the first three times she’d refused his requests to dance. She could hardly be held responsible that he refused to take no for an answer.

Sighing, she glanced at the miniature face of her diamond-encrusted watch. It was barely half past ten, which meant it would be at least another two hours before she could hope to make an unremarked-upon escape. She wondered a little desperately what she could do to make the time go faster.

She was saved from having to come up with an answer as a small murmur ran through the throng surrounding her. A second later everyone in front of her appeared to take a collective step back, clearing a path for the tall, ebony-haired man who strode toward her with a palpable air of leashed power.

Catherine tensed, the way she always did when she encountered Kaj al bin Russard. Although most of the women she knew found the enigmatic Walburaqui chieftain irresistible, she personally didn’t care for him. Granted, his chiseled features, heavily lashed gray eyes and beautifully accented English had a certain exotic charm, but there was simply something about him—an innate reserve, the assured, almost arrogant way he carried himself, his indisputable masculinity—that she found off-putting.

She watched as he cut a swath through the crowd like some Regency rake from a bygone age, her edginess increasing as she realized his gaze was locked on her face.

He came to a halt and swept her a slight bow. “Your Highness.”

She gathered her composure and inclined her head. “Sheikh.”

“I don’t believe I’ve had the chance to tell you in person how sorry I am for your loss.”

“Thank you,” she replied dutifully. “The flowers you sent were lovely.”

He made a dismissive gesture. “It was nothing.” He moved a fraction closer, making her intensely aware of how big he was. “Would you care to dance? The orchestra is about to play a waltz. Strauss’s Opus No. 354, if I’m not mistaken.”

Common sense urged her to simply say no and be done with it. But curiosity, always her curse, got the better of her. “How would you know that?”

“Because I requested it. I believe you once mentioned it was your favorite.”

“I see.” Ridiculously, she felt a stab of disappointment. In the past two months everything had changed: her father was gone; her position as court hostess was coming to an end; her entire future was uncertain. Now here was Kaj al bin Russard, apparently deciding to join her band of admirers. Though she hadn’t liked him before, he’d at least been unique. “How resourceful of you,” she said coolly. “Unfortunately, my favorite has changed.”

“Then this will give you a chance to tell me what has supplanted it.” Without warning he reached out and clasped her right wrist with his long fingers.

His touch gave her a jolt, and for a moment she felt anchored in place by the sheer unexpectedness of it. Then she instinctively tried to pull away, only to find that though he was careful not to hurt her, his grip was as unyielding as a steel manacle.

Her temper flared at the same time her stomach fluttered with unexpected excitement. “Let go of me,” she ordered tersely, mindful of the interested stares suddenly directed their way.

“Oh, I think not.” Matching her clipped tone, he stepped to her side, planted his hand in the small of her back and propelled her toward the dance floor. “It would be a shame to waste such enchanting music. Plus it just so happens—” he swung her around to face him, waited a beat as the orchestra launched into the waltz, then pulled her close and led off “—I’m curious to see how you’ll feel in my arms.”

Catherine couldn’t believe it. Speechless, she stared up at him. She was shocked at having her wishes ignored, shocked by his statement—and more shocked still by the startling discovery that his hand felt deliciously warm against her cool, bare back.

She shivered as his fingers slid lower, unable to stanch her reaction. Only the sight of the faint smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth saved her from making a complete fool of herself by whimpering or doing something else equally mortifying. “How dare you!” she managed instead, finally finding her voice.

“How dare I not, princess.” Never missing a beat, he guided her deeper into the phalanx of whirling dancers. “I could never forgive myself if I let the most beautiful woman in the room remain all alone during her former favorite waltz.”

His outrageous flattery, coupled with the realization that he’d noticed her solitary state, brought her chin up. “Is there some reason you’re toying with me?” she asked abruptly.

His gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered for an endless second. When he finally raised his eyes, they had a lazy, knowing quality that caused an unexpected clenching in the pit of her stomach. “You really must pay more attention. Toying is hardly my style.”

“Just what do you hope to gain from this?” She managed to keep her voice steady, but just barely.

“Surely it’s obvious. The pleasure of your company.”

“And you believe this is the best way to attain it?”

One black eyebrow rose in question. “Isn’t it?”