Scandals Of The Crown: The Life She Left Behind / The Price of Royal Duty / The Sheikh's Heir
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Angelina thought of Princess Carlotta, of the shame the press had put her through for having a child out of wedlock. Even now, years after the fact, it marked her. Marked her entire existence, and the existence of her son. “No.”
“Then do not play like Rahat is such an anomaly. We have traditions to uphold, certain expectations we must meet. You will become accustomed to it.”
“I’m not sure I can,” she said, her voice hardly achieving the volume of a whisper.
When he responded, his tone was surprisingly gentle. “What other option is there, Angelina?”
She could leave. She could go into hiding. Hope that he never found her. She could take her child away from his father; she could steal her child’s birthright. Deny it the chance to be royalty, the first born of a king.
Yes, she could do that. But it would be wrong. It would be selfish. If Taj were a bad man, if he were incapable of being a good father, of loving their child, then maybe it would be excusable. But the fact was, he was just as likely to be a good parent as she was.
The look on his face after dinner last night, when his eyes had fallen to his stomach, had nearly brought her to her knees. There had been tenderness there, a longing that had made her chest ache in response.
No, she could not take Taj’s child from him. She couldn’t take her baby from his father.
And that meant, no matter how much it sucked for her, she had to stick it out.
She met Taj’s eyes and her heart tripped and fell over itself. There were certain things that wouldn’t be a hardship. Being with Taj…it had been incredible. Unlike anything she’d ever experienced before.
He had been as amazing as she’d imagined. No, even more amazing.
But she was afraid of what he made her feel, too. Afraid of getting involved with him again. Afraid of loving him again.
He was arrogant and entitled, with strong and proud tendencies when he was angry. Loving him should take effort. Yet, she found it was a lot harder to stop herself from loving him. And that was just stupid.
“There is no other option,” she said.
“You knew that from the beginning.”
She nodded. “Yes. I did.” From the moment she’d seen the positive test, she’d known. It was either hide the truth from him forever, or embrace life as his queen. “But…where did these dresses come from?” If she really was going to be his wife she would take a stand here at least. She wasn’t wearing cast-off gowns from cast-off women.
His face hardened, for a moment he looked like he’d been carved from stone. “They have been here. Just as this room has been here. Awaiting its queen.”
“What?”
“They are yours. I had them prepared when you accepted my proposal.”
“And you…kept them?”
He tilted his chin upward, the gesture making him look haughty. Defiant. “I was to marry one day with or without you. Clothes are altered easily enough, why should I replace them.”
“Why indeed?” she struck back. “If the woman in question does not matter, if she’s only part and parcel to a business agreement then why does it matter what she might want? Who she is?”
“It matters,” he said, his voice rough.
She took a step back, her stomach curling in. “Oh. I…I…”
He appraised her for a moment, his dark eyes searching. “It will not be so bad to be my wife, will it?”
She didn’t know what to say. Words stuck in her throat. Words in denial and in agreement.
His expression hardened. “Well then, let us prepare to speak to the media.”
She had a feeling she’d done the wrong thing. But she could not find the words to placate him. Because they would be a lie.
It would be hard to be married to him. Hard to guard her heart against feelings she didn’t want but wasn’t certain she could deny.
“You were exquisite,” Taj said as he closed the limo door and encased them in the air-conditioning.
“I hardly spoke.” She felt horrible. Her head was pounding, and she was still shaking from having to sit there in front of so many people.
“And in Rahat, that will be considered a bonus.”
“Oh, I do hope you’re joking,” she said, treating him to her deadliest glare. In addition to the headache, she was hot, starving and in no mood to take garbage off anyone. Least of all Taj.
He shrugged, as if shaking off her anger. “I was. Sort of. But the way the more traditional citizens of my country think is not necessarily the way I think.”
“And how do you think, Sheikh Taj Ahmad, because I think I’m entitled to know that seeing as I’m about to leg-shackle myself to you for the rest of our lives.”
Something flashed in his dark eyes. Amusement mixed with something deeper. Deadlier. “A leg shackle doesn’t do anything for me fantasy-wise. Handcuffs, perhaps.”
“I am in no mood,” she said, keeping her sharp glare trained on him.
“My apologies,” he said, his voice stiff. “I expect a wife to meet my needs. To provide me with heirs.”
“What?” she asked, leaning forward in her seat. “Meet your needs? What does that mean?”
“I expect for her to share my bed, to accompany me to events, to have my children. That’s straightforward enough.”
“That’s…sexist enough,” she said.
“How? It has nothing to do with you being a woman, and everything to do with being the wife of a sheikh. I have particular duties as ruler, and you have particular duties as the spouse of a ruler.”
“So if I was sheikh…”
“You very likely wouldn’t be called sheikh.”
She let out an exasperated breath. “Fine. If I were sheikha,” she said, drawing out the syllables, “then you would be expected to fulfill my sexual needs and hang on my arm at events?”
“That sounds fair,” he said, a frown marring his features. “I take it you are not thrilled with my expectations?”
“Does it matter?” she asked, feeling panic start to rise in her breast. “Does any of it matter? I’m stuck. You have the power here. You and I both know that.”
“I am not a tyrant, neither am I a dictator. I get no pleasure from beating you into submission. What do you expect from a husband?”
Love. If there was love, so many other things could be forgiven. But without it…what was there? “I…I would like to be considered as a person, not an ornament. I don’t want my life to begin and end with my husband’s needs. I want him to consider mine. I want a husband who will love his children and take an interest in them.” A husband who loves me.
His brows were drawn together, his expression contemplative. “It is not how things are done.”
“What isn’t?”
“There are…certain things expected of the Sheikh of Rahat, things I learned as a child and…they did not include caring for children or…many of the other things you mentioned. My duty is to my people.”
“But if you can’t love the people in your household, how can you expect to care for those you rule?”
“Ruling requires distance and a firm hand.”
Something inside her deflated and sank down to her toes. “It’s the love that you have trouble with.”
“I did not learn it.”
The way he said it, so authoritative and so final, told her he never intended to try.
Chapter Seven
Angelina pulled her thin robe more tightly around herself and stepped out into the gardens, the cobblestones, cooled by the night air, felt good on her feet. Calming. Soothing.
She followed one of the paths that led into the center of the lavishly kept landscape, her thoughts turning over that afternoon’s conversation with Taj. Taj didn’t know how to love. He hadn’t learned how.
A shame since she loved him.
She was certain of that now. That she loved him. That she had loved for him for years, and that no matter how bad their first parting had been, the good memories would always be stronger.
“What brings you out here?”
Angelina whirled around to find the voice in the darkness and nearly ran into Taj. “What are you doing out here?”
“I asked first. Come now, I am sheikh and I am accustomed to being answered.” He said it with no irony. Nothing but the absolute certainty of a man who only knew how to get his way.
She shifted her weight to one leg and put her hand on her hip. “You’ll have to be disappointed then, sugar.”
He narrowed his eyes, clearly annoyed. Good. “Then I’ll settle for giving you my reasons. I couldn’t sleep.”
She shrugged. “Oh, funny. I could. That’s why I’m out here. You’re just seeing my astral projection. I’m sound asleep in the house.”
“You have such a mouth on you,” he said. “I am not complaining. I’ve benefitted hugely from your use of that mouth.”
It was her turn to be annoyed. “A gentleman wouldn’t bring such things up.”
“I’m not a gentleman,” he said, his tone rough.
“Ah…no of course not. You’re a sheikh.”
“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the fountain.
She crossed her arms and tilted her head. “Come on now, Taj, you should know me better than that.”
He kept his dark eyes trained on her, his face shadowed in the dim light of the garden. He moved to the edge of the fountain and sat down, then touched the place beside him. “Please, sit with me.”
The change was so abrupt, so unlike him, that it made her chest feel tight. It made her feel like maybe he did know her. Like he might at least try to be the right man for her, instead of just asking her to be the right woman for him.
She turned and sat down beside him, her hands in her lap. “What is it, Taj?”
“I might ask you the same question since you’re wandering the gardens at night.”
“And so are you.”
“I thought…” He frowned. “I was certain I heard you, but I know that isn’t possible. My rooms are on the other end of the palace. But…I was certain I did.” His brow was furrowed, his forehead lined with concentration.
His admission made her stomach tighten, made her chest feel full. “I’m all right, I just…”
“You aren’t,” he said, turning and cupping her cheek, his thumb sliding lightly over her cheekbone, the movement sending a shiver through her body.
“I will be,” she said, not sure if that was the truth or not. “Your family has ruled Rahat for…for generations, right?”
“A thousand years.”
“You believe in…in fate and destiny, I’ll bet.” She looked down at her hands, still folded in her lap.
“Yes.”
“So tell me, did I ever have a chance of escaping this?” She looked up, around the courtyard. “Or was I always meant to be Queen of Rahat, the mother of your heirs, no matter what? Is our fate written in stone or do we have…do we have any control?”
He frowned. “Angelina…” He looked away from her, appearing to change tactic. “We both had a choice that night in Santina. We chose to follow our desire.”
He touched her again, his fingers sifting through her hair. And she could feel the unsteadiness in his hand. “But did we have a choice in that?” she asked, her voice a whisper.
He slid his hand down to her face and she looked at him. She saw heat in his eyes, lust, but there was something deeper. A longing that went further than the need for physical satisfaction. She knew that longing. It went so deep, felt so essential, it was painful. She wondered if he truly felt it. For her, as she did for him.
“There is always a choice, Angel,” he said, leaning in, firm, hot lips touching hers, shocking in the cool night air. “What choice will you make now?”
“I…” Her lower lip trembled and she caught it between her teeth, the tremor working its way through her body. She released her lip. “I choose you,” she said.
His breath rushed from his body, a low growl behind it. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her to him. He kissed her and she nearly sighed with relief. It had been too long.
Everything. All of it had gone on far too long. Taj was the only man she’d ever loved. Being away from him had been like functioning with a piece of herself missing. She’d done it, she’d done what she had to do to try to be strong. But she would be lying if she didn’t admit to herself that being in his arms felt so much better than keeping her pride ever had.
And that was frightening.
“Wait,” she said, pulling away from him, her heart thundering. Pride would have a place here, and she would see it had a victory.
“What?” he asked, pressing his forehead against hers, his breath sporadic.
“How do you see me?”
“What does that mean, Angel?”
“What am I to you? Am I the woman you are chained to? Am I the woman who got away that you seized the chance to capture again? A salve for your wounded ego?” She put her hands on either side of his face. “What am I to you?”
He hesitated, and in that moment of hesitation, she saw the man she’d known first. The man who had romanced her in Texas, rather than the autocratic ruler. “You are…the woman who has haunted my dreams these past years. When I saw you at Alessandro’s engagement party I thought you were a mirage. I didn’t trust myself. I had seen you too many times before, only to get close and discover it wasn’t really you. You are my most hated delusion and my deepest desire.” The words sounded pulled from him, as though each one carried a heavy weight. A high price. “Does that answer your question?”
She felt a tear slide down her cheek and she brushed it away. “I…I imagined you never thought about me again after I left.”
He laughed, a short, bitter sound. “There was a time when I thought of little else.”
“That surprises me.”
“Why? Did you forget?”
She didn’t want to give him honesty, but there was no way around it. Not when his words were so naked and raw, so obviously true. “Of course I didn’t forget. I uprooted my whole life. I left my country. The money, the lifestyle I was used to having, to try to escape the situation I found myself in.”
“To escape me.”
“To escape marrying a man who saw me as nothing more than a possession. To escape a father who saw me as a bargaining chip. To find out who I was away from the manipulation of others. Don’t flatter yourself by making it so personal.”
He tightened his hold on her, his gaze intense. “You think it’s not?”
She shook her head.
“You are a liar,” he said, leaning in, his lips skimming her cheek. “I think the things you feel toward me are very personal.”
Why did he do this to her? Why did she have such a hard time resisting him? She didn’t even want to resist. She tilted her head and kissed him, her eyes closed tight. She pulled her head back, her breathing shallow.
“What am I to you, Angelina Carpenter?” he asked, tracing the line of her lips with his finger.
“You are—” she cleared her throat and tried to disguise the quiver in her voice “—you are a mystery to me, as is my attraction to you. That’s why I keep coming back to fate.”
For a moment, he looked stunned. Then in one fluid movement he picked her up from her position on the fountain and stood, striding across the courtyard. She looped her arms around his neck and held on.
“That’s a good enough answer for me,” he said, stopping in front of a divan that was shrouded in palms. He set her down on the velvet surface and pulled his shirt over his head, coming to sit down beside her. “Is it enough for you?”
She nodded, unsure she could make her voice work.
“Good,” he whispered, lowering his head and kissing her.
She slid her hands to his chest, reveled in the feeling of his muscles beneath her palms. He was everything she’d ever fantasized about. He was…Taj. And even though so much of what she wanted from him was going unmet, she knew that for now, for this moment, she would give everything.
One moment to lay herself bare, in a physical sense, to hold nothing back, before she retreated behind her emotional protection. She couldn’t love him for their whole marriage, not without his love. It would destroy her.
But she would do it right now. Unreservedly.
While his guard was down. While he was unprotected, too.
He pulled off her robe, then her flimsy top. The cold air hit her bare breasts and she gasped. Taj laughed and bent his head, drawing a tightened nipple into his mouth. She clutched his shoulders, his name on her lips, her body on fire with need for him. All of him.
She pushed her pants down her thighs and kicked them off while Taj worked to free himself of his own clothes. When his skin pressed against hers, she sighed in relief. How did he feel so essential? How did being with him make her feel like something that had been missing all her life was present in a profound way?
He lowered his head and kissed her neck as he settled between her thighs, sliding into her slowly. A short sigh of pleasure escaped her lips and he caught it with his, the kiss deep and sensual, working with his thrusts.
She kept her eyes open, locked with his as she rocked against him, driving them both higher until they reached the peak together. He held her against him, his heart thundering, his skin slicked with sweat.
She felt empowered by it. By the fact that she’d affected him. By the fact that she wasn’t in it alone. She’d wondered if it had all been in her head. For so long she’d wondered that. If she’d been the only one who’d felt anything. If he’d had to close his eyes and think of Rahat when he kissed her back in Texas.
But she knew now, knew it with even greater certainty than she had that night in Santina. She knew that while he might not love her, he desired her. That it was the kind of desire that went beyond simple lust and set out to drive a person crazy.
She knew, because she felt it, too. Because she recognized that what she felt lived in him, too.
She could hold on to that. She could forget about the love thing and pretend that lust was all that mattered. She closed her eyes tight and tried to cling to the lie.
Chapter Eight
“The wedding will take place in two weeks.” Taj walked into Angelina’s quarters and a hard slug of arousal hit him in the gut.
They’d stayed out in the garden until the sky had started turning pink at the horizon line, bleeding up into the inky blackness, washing it clean. He’d held her until he was certain they would be missed, and possibly discovered, naked on the divan, covered only in her robe.
Then he’d sent her back to her room, and he’d gone back to his. And his body had burned. He’d ended up in an ice cold shower, gritting his teeth as the water hit his skin like a thousand needles and his erection ached, finding absolutely no relief.
He’d ended up shivering and horny.
What was it about her? How was it she’d managed to burrow her way under his skin all those years ago? It was as though she lived in him. A strange thought. A foolish thought, and yet it seemed the only explanation for what he felt when he was around her.
Angelina looked at him, her lush lips shaped into a perfect O. “What? Why so soon?”
He looked pointedly at her stomach.
“Oh,” she said. “Well, I won’t start showing for a while. I mean, I knew you wanted to marry quickly but…two weeks? In the States I would have a hard time getting a wedding cake on two weeks’ notice!”
“You underestimate the power of money.”
“No. I don’t. Trust me. My family is practically made of money.”
“Then you underestimate the power of the sheikh of Rahat. I will have my staff see to the wedding feast. The ceremony will be held here at the palace. Small by royal standards but it cannot be helped.”
Her smooth brow crinkled as she drew her eyebrows together. “Oh, yes. It can’t be helped because I’m disgraced. Can’t have people thinking I’m pregnant, it would reflect badly on me. Not on you, of course, but then, isn’t that the way of it?”
Anger curled his stomach. Anger at whom…Angelina, his country and its traditions, or himself, he wasn’t sure. Possibly all three. “If you had married me three years ago you could have had the finest wedding imaginable,” he said through clenched teeth. “A parade through the city. A handmade wedding gown. Thousands of attendants ready to pay homage to the new queen.”
If she had married him three years ago he would have spared so many sleepless nights, so much longing.
At least he had her now. She would have to stay with him. She would be his wife and the mother of his child. She could not leave him now. That brought a slight sense of a relief, took away some of the pressure in his chest.
“Oh, yes, that’s what I need, Taj. A bigger wedding. That’s the problem. It simply won’t be grand enough if I’m not brought into the church on…on…camel back.” She stood, her pale cheeks flushing a dark rose. “How did you know that was the most essential thing to me? I should have married you three years ago, if not for the wedding, so my wardrobe would be more current.”
He stepped back, the heat in his stomach spreading now, a blaze of anger streaking along his veins. “Is that what you want? More gowns? I will give them to you. I can give you anything. Everything. I am Sheikh. I can provide you with things no other man can.”
“Oh, is that so,” she said, hands on her shapely hips. “Well, I believe that, sugar, I do. But there are men who could provide me with things you will never be able to give me.”
“I think not,” he said, striding forward and wrapping his arms around her, pulling her against him. Her eyes widened and he gentled his hold, his heart hammering. “I think not,” he said again, his voice softer.
He moved his thumb over her bottom lip and a shiver of desire racked his body. “The need I feel for you is as much a part of me as my blood,” he said. “And I am certain you feel the same.”
She pulled back. “That’s sex. So maybe we have good sex, and maybe we both want more of it. But sex isn’t everything.”
“You say that, but you are wrong. You have some…misconstrued idea that marriage is about love, I imagine. A modern concept that I have no patience for. Suitability, chemistry, that is what matters. Not some vague idea of a feeling that has no guarantee of existing let alone lasting. This,” he said, putting his hand on her chest, feeling her heart beating rapidly beneath his palm, “this is real. What I make you feel.”
“Go away, Taj.”
Dismissed. No one dismissed him. No one left him. And Angelina seemed to do both of those things freely.
“For now,” he said, taking a step back, ignoring the ugly twisting in his chest that was threatening to cut off his air supply. “But remember this, Angelina. You are pregnant with my heir, and you will be my wife. There is no running from this.”
He said it as much to remind him as her. She couldn’t leave him. Not now.
A good thing. Because if she did…he did not know how he would live with himself.
Chapter Nine
“She is getting sicker, Sheikh.” Hana, one of the maids trusted with Angelina’s care, stood before him, wringing her hands. “She is not keeping any food down. Not all day.”
“Do you think she needs a doctor?” he asked.
Hana shrugged. “The doctor has been. He says as long as she does not lose too much weight…he says her sickness is normal. Bad, but to be expected.”
Hana was one of the few on staff who was aware of the fact that Angelina was pregnant, but as she was attending her, Taj had felt it important.
“There is nothing that can be done?”
“She was given medication for motion sickness, which helps some women. Though she’s reluctant to take it. It makes her nervous.”
“Stubborn woman,” he said, running his fingers through his hair. “Is she asleep now?”
“Yes.”
“I will go to her. Keep everyone away from her end of the palace. I do not want her disturbed. Today, she is in my care.”
He stalked across the palace, his footsteps echoing on the marble floor, staff scurrying aside when they saw him coming.
His heart was pounding heavily by the time he reached the entrance to her quarters. He moved through her rooms, the elegant seating area, her sunroom, to her sleeping chamber. He paused at the door, a strange unease filling him.