He’d never for one second thought that marriage might be better than the life he’d had to let go. He’d put so much effort into seeing himself as someone who had missed out on the chance of happiness when he had lost Amira that when it had fallen at his feet he’d not recognised it.
And yet there was a cloud. Hannah welcomed him into her bed but he sensed a new restraint in her. She was holding back. On more than one occasion he had nearly demanded to know what the hell was the matter—but he’d stopped himself. What if she told him and he didn’t like the answer?
His quiet admission that he hadn’t been judging her made her throat ache with unshed tears.
‘I was dreading it,’ she admitted.
‘I know.’
‘It was strange sitting next to the man who once held my fate in his hands.’ Protocol dictated that she was seated next to the daunting Sheikh Malek. ‘He could have signed my death warrant.’
‘No!’
The explosive interjection made her pause and touch his hand. His fingers unclenched under the light pressure. ‘Tonight he was telling me about his rose collection. He invited me to a tour of his rose gardens.’
Kamel let out a silent whistle as he brought his hands up to rest on her shoulders. ‘You’re honoured. I haven’t made that invite yet. It’s the hottest ticket in town, I promise you.’
He bent his head and Hannah closed her eyes, but the anticipated kiss did not arrive on her waiting lips. With a disgruntled little frown between her feathery brows, she opened her eyes and saw him digging into the pocket of his jacket.
‘I almost forgot. This is yours, I believe.’
Her frown deepened as she shook her head and looked at the small fat brown envelope he held. ‘It’s not mine.’
He turned it over. ‘Well, it’s got your name on the front.’
Sliding her finger under the sealed flap, she split it open and angled a questioning look up at him, suspecting this was Kamel’s way of delivering a surprise. ‘There’s no celebrity chef hiding inside, is there?’
Kamel responded to the teasing with a lopsided grin. ‘The man’s ego wouldn’t fit into this room, let alone an envelope.’
Hannah turned the parcel around, feeling an odd reluctance suddenly to open it. ‘Where did it come from?’
‘Someone saw you drop it, handed it to someone who passed it on to me. I assumed it fell out of your bag.’
Her lips quirked into an amused smile. ‘My bag will just about hold a lipstick.’
Her explanation drew a puzzled look. ‘Then why carry it?’
‘Only a man would ask that question.’
‘What is it?’ he asked as she tipped the contents of the envelope onto the dressing table.
‘I’ve no idea,’ she admitted, staring as several photos clipped together fell out, then, after another shake, a card. ‘It says here that...’ She read the logo on top of the card and her brows lifted. ‘Private investigator!’
Kamel picked up the photos. He did not look beyond the one on the top. A muscle in his lean cheek clenched.
‘What’s wrong?’ she asked, struggling to read his shuttered expression.
‘See for yourself.’ He slid the clip off the bundle and fanned them out, playing-card style, on the surface in front of her.
Hannah accepted the invitation, and the nausea she had been feeling intermittently all evening resurfaced with a vengeance. There were two people in each grainy print and, even though they had clearly been taken using a telephoto lens and there was some graininess, there was no mistaking one at least of the faces...or the body.
Kamel’s mouth twisted in distaste.
‘I thought we had all of these.’
Of course, once images made their way onto the Internet they were there for ever, but the person who had taken these had been refreshingly pragmatic. The only thing he’d been interested in was money, not causing embarrassment.
‘You knew about these?’ She held a clenched fist to her pale lips.
‘These were taken long before we were married. You do know that, don’t you?’ He could have pointed out that the dress she was wearing—when she was wearing one—was the gold number that had been the trigger for their poolside tussle. But he shouldn’t have to.
He had not needed to ask Hannah if she had employed a private investigator; he knew she hadn’t. He recognised this for what it was—a rather obvious and malicious attempt at mischief-making, one that could only work in a marriage where there was a lack of trust that could be exploited.