Rashid had had a great deal to cope with as well. His own parents had been killed in a plane crash, and his rightful inheritance had come much sooner than anyone had anticipated. As well as coping with his grief he had had to come to terms with governing a vast country. It had not been an easy transition as power was transferred to the handsome young Sheikh. Many had doubted he would be able to stamp his dominance onto the demanding land and Rashid had been determined to prove them wrong.
She remembered the thoughtful way he had considered her request to study law in America, consulting long and hard with her father before they had both given her their consent.
‘I admit that I found his blessing to leave both upsetting and confusing, but the reason for this soon became crystal-clear.’ She let out a painful, shuddering breath as she remembered the newspaper clippings. ‘The truth hurt,’ she told him quietly.
‘What truth?’ Brad questioned.
‘The truth about his lifestyle. How very foolish I was,’ she said with a bitter laugh. ‘I thought that as I was promised to him he would forsake all others. How naive could you get? I soon discovered that Rashid had been involved with super-models and actresses since he was a teenager. The news had been kept from me while I lived in Quador, but I found out soon enough once I moved away. Why, he even has a mistress at the moment—it is well documented enough. He shares another woman’s bed in Paris even while he summons me back for our wedding!’
‘Are you sure?’ asked Brad, in a horrified voice.
‘Perfectly sure. Her name is Chantal and she is his favourite. No doubt she will occupy a nearby hotel even during our honeymoon—such are the customs in Quador!’
He flinched. ‘So what the hell are you going to do, Jenna? Surely you aren’t going to allow yourself to tolerate a union like that?’
‘Oh, no,’ she said with quiet fervour, and allowed herself a small smile of determination. ‘I shall go back to Quador and convince Rashid that I am not the woman he wishes to marry.’
‘And how will you do that?’
The smile died on her lips. She must waste no more time, and neither must she involve Nadia or Brad in her decisions—for Rashid would not tolerate collusion. She shivered. The consequences for her sister would be unimaginable. ‘I’ll think of something,’ she said airily, and smiled as she stood up. ‘Don’t worry about me, Brad,’ she said.
‘But I do,’ he said, with a shrug.
She looked affectionately at the man her sister loved with such a passion. ‘Well, don’t,’ she remonstrated softly. ‘I do not intend to let him bully me into doing something to which I am morally opposed.’
He didn’t look convinced. ‘Sure,’ he said. And neither did he sound it.
Jenna tossed the golden-brown hair off her shoulders like a feisty young mare preparing for flight. ‘And now I’m going to book my flight and pay a visit to the stores.’
Rashid’s plane touched down in Paris and a darkened limousine was waiting to whisk him away to the luxurious apartment situated in the sixth arrondissement, the city’s most prestigious area.
As always, one discreet bodyguard preceded him while another hovered unseen to the rear. When they reached the door Rashid nodded his head and held his hand out for the leather case the other man carried.
‘You may leave me now,’ he instructed.
‘But Exalted One—’
‘Leave me!’ Rashid rasped. ‘I will make my presence known to you shortly.’
The bodyguard narrowed him a look which said that he objected to the Sheikh’s insistence, but he knew that such objection was pointless.
‘Yes, Excellency.’
Rashid rang the bell. He had his own key, but he knew that he could no longer use it.
The door opened and Chantal stood before him. She had been expecting him—his phone call earlier that day had been rapturously received, as was normal. Just for a moment his mouth tightened as he thought how Chantal would have responded to his proposal of marriage. With pleasure, and joy, and with hunger. And the contrast between the almost insulting uninterest which Jenna had displayed filled him once more with the slow burn of anger.
‘Chéri, your unexpected visit has brought me much pleasure,’ murmured Chantal, and like a vixen she moved towards him, all perfume and silk and shockingly provocative experience as she held her arms out.
But he took a step back and shook his head, and although she shrugged with disappointment she still followed him unquestioningly into the huge sitting room with its spectacular views over Paris.
He watched her for one last time. As a mistress she had been matchless. Utterly matchless. Her looks belied her forty-four years and her body was sleeker and more toned than that of a woman half her age. The raven hair gleamed and moved with the careless abandon which only the finest hairdresser could construct, and the deceptively simple green silk dress must have cost a king’s ransom. And what Chantal didn’t know about the art of lovemaking simply wasn’t worth knowing.
His mouth tightened again.
‘A drink, chéri?’ she murmured, and her voice dropped into husky entreaty. ‘Or shall I run you a bath?’
In the past he might have had both. Or neither. He might rip the expensive dress from her body and it would simply excite her, make her part her pale thighs eagerly for him.