‘I can’t believe that you’re prepared to marry a thief,’ Kirsten heard herself whisper with malicious intent, and she was shocked at herself.
Challenging dark golden eyes flared and met hers in a head-on collision. ‘Life is full of surprises.’
Her face flamed, for she had dimly expected him to backtrack on that issue. ‘I didn’t steal that pendant…I’m not a thief.’
Shahir said nothing. He watched her shred her roll and leave it untouched.
Kirsten knew that his silence was as good as a statement of his disbelief, and she had to swallow back a hotheaded further comment. Why was it that whenever she tried to score a point with him she ended up sounding wretchedly childish and provocative? She wanted to argue her innocence, but sensed that it would be a waste of what little energy she had left. Right now, his entire focus was on the child she carried.
He wanted to marry her so that the baby would be born within wedlock. She had to be fair to him. The level of his commitment towards their unborn child was impressive, and the speed with which he had accepted responsibility equally so, she acknowledged unhappily. Of course he didn’t care about her personally, but what else could she expect? He wasn’t even concerned by the reality that she had sworn undying hatred for him. Evidently he was able to rise above such petty personal feelings and concentrate solely on the baby’s needs. Shouldn’t she be capable of acting with equal unselfishness?
Unfortunately her private emotions did not feel petty. She had fallen madly in love with Shahir bin Harith al-Assad, and he had hurt her terribly. And she only had to look across the table and notice the spectacular bronze of his eyes to be afraid that she was on the brink of being really badly hurt all over again. But she felt horribly guilty for thinking about herself when his example made it clear that she ought only to be considering what was best for the baby.
‘So…will you marry me?’ Shahir asked again.
‘Yes.’ Shadowed green eyes screened, Kirsten shrugged her thin shoulders, as if to suggest that she really couldn’t care either way. But she doubted that he was taken in by her play of indifference. In the community in which she had been raised the moral rules were narrow and unforgiving, and to have a baby outside the bonds of matrimony could not feel like anything other than a source of shame to her. It was hugely important to her that her child should not suffer the stigma of illegitimacy, and that he or she should have both a father and a father’s name.
‘I promise that I will not give you cause to regret the decision. I’ll make immediate arrangements for our wedding.’ The merest hint of a smile tugging at the edges of his sculpted mouth, Shahir stretched a lean brown hand gracefully across the table to engulf hers.
Pale face tensing, Kirsten snaked her fingers hastily back from that threatened contact. ‘Let’s not be fake,’ she said defensively, pushing the soup plate aside after only one spoonful had passed her lips. ‘It’s not as though it’ll be a proper marriage. It’ll only be a pretend one, so that we can put on a respectable front.’
Once again Shahir exercised restraint and said nothing. It might have surprised her, but he was renowned as the diplomat of the royal family. Negotiation was an art at his clever fingertips, and one in which he had great skill. Yet around her he was conscious of being as tactless as an elephant running amok in hobnail boots.
He had yet to work out why all judgement and discretion should desert him with such disastrous effect in her radius, so he embraced silence instead.
CHAPTER SEVEN
‘I LOOK like a blob with matchstick arms and legs attached.’ Strained green eyes full of disappointment, Kirsten turned away from the reflection taunting her in the mirror. She stiffened as a tiny pain curled in her pelvis, but it faded so fast that she thought it nothing to worry about.
Jeanie planted her hands on her ample hips and dealt the younger woman a reproachful appraisal. ‘That’s a lovely dress, and you look bonny in it!’
‘But I’m huge…’ Feeling forlorn, and as unlike a bride as it was possible to feel, Kirsten bent down awkwardly to close her suitcase.
She knew she was being unreasonable. She was heavily pregnant, and not even the most cleverly designed outfit could be expected to conceal that reality. Her suit was cream and trimmed with a coffee fringe that was young and stylish, but it was still maternity wear. Just for the space of that morning she would have given virtually anything to look more like a bride than an expectant mother.
A week had passed since she had accepted Shahir’s proposal. In the space of that time she had surrendered her job and her bedsit in exchange for a gold credit card, which she had barely used, two bodyguards and a hotel suite. Squeak had taken to a life of luxury with extraordinary ease. Indeed, the little dog trotted about his newly spacious surroundings with a decided hint of cheerful pomposity, but Kirsten still felt as if she was playing a starring role in someone else’s drama.
Shahir had applied for a special licence to enable their wedding to take place quickly, and then he had immediately flown home to Dhemen in order to gain his father’s consent to the marriage. He had also insisted that she invite Jeanie down for the wedding. He had phoned her every single day too, she reminded herself dully. He was courteous and considerate and…impersonal. He’d asked her how she felt, but not how she thought,
and when she had tried to ask him how his father had reacted to his son and heir’s desire to marry a very pregnant foreigner, he had smoothly changed the subject. She didn’t blame him for doing so, for on reflection she decided that her question had been an incredibly stupid one. After all, there was no earthly way that King Hafiz of Dhemen could possibly be persuaded to look on her as an acceptable bride for his royal son and heir.
‘I have something to tell you that will cheer you up,’ Jeanie told her with a grin. ‘Would you like to guess what the hottest gossip at the castle was when I left yesterday?’
Kirsten shook her head.
‘Everyone reckons that Pamela Anstruther framed you as a thief because she realised that Prince Shahir had fallen madly in love with you!’
Kirsten screened her eyes to conceal her pain. On her wedding day of all days she was all too conscious of the fact that her bridegroom did not love her. At the same time, however, she was extremely relieved to hear that the castle staff had started to question and doubt her guilt.
‘Is that really what people think?’
‘What else could they think? Lady Posh spent two years throwing herself at the Prince, and it didn’t matter how short she wore her skirts—she never got to pull him! She must’ve been mad with rage and jealousy when she saw the love story of the century happening right under her nose. I mean, you are absolutely besotted with him, aren’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Kirsten mumbled tightly
‘Well, it does my heart good to know that all Lady Posh’s spite and scheming came to nothing in the end,’ Jeanie declared with strong satisfaction.
‘How did Morag Stevens react to the news that Shahir and I were getting married?’ Kirsten was keen to find out how the assistant housekeeper, whose damning evidence as a witness had convicted her, had behaved.