‘But I’m freeing you from your promise.’
Tori felt his encircling hand tighten as she stumbled back, away from him, till finally she broke his hold.
‘You don’t want to marry me?’
In another time, another place, she’d have winced at the sound of her ragged voice. But it matched the way she felt. Off balance, as if someone had ripped that beautiful hand-woven rug from beneath her feet.
But the only ripping here was her heart. Her sad, foolish heart, which had opened itself up to Ashraf’s kindness, strength and caring.
‘I’m sorry.’ He held her gaze, his own unwavering. ‘It’s for the best. I was selfish to ask you to give up your life and home and live in Za’daq. I see that now.’
Tori wanted to protest that living with him in Za’daq was what she craved, but he continued.
‘As you wisely pointed out, Oliver will still have a family even if we live apart.’
Live apart.
Tori pressed her hand to the place below her ribs that felt hollow, as if an unseen hand had scraped out her insides. He didn’t even want her in his country!
Out of the miasma of shock and hurt, indignation rose. ‘That’s not good enough.’
‘Sorry?’
He’d obviously expected her simply to accept his decree. He wasn’t the enlightened man she’d thought. All those generations of absolute rulers had left their mark. She read surprise in the lift of his eyebrows and determination in those haughty features.
‘If you’re going to jilt a woman you need to do better.’
For a second—a millisecond—she saw something pass across that set face. Then it was gone. If anything he stood straighter, imposing and rigid, like the soldier she’d discovered he’d once been. Or an autocrat looking down on a lesser being.
Yet even in her distress Tori couldn’t believe that of Ashraf.
‘Of course. I apologise. Again.’
He paused, and if she hadn’t known better Tori would have said he was the one struggling for breath, not her.
‘I should have started by saying I’m sorry for changing my mind.’
Changing his mind? Tori stared, incredulous. He wanted her to believe he’d simplychanged his mind?
She shook her head, wrapping her arms around her middle to contain the empty feeling which threatened to spread and engulf her whole.
‘Still not good enough, Ashraf. I need to know why.’ A thought pierced her whirling brain. ‘Is it someone else? Have you found a better bride?’
Someone local who understood Za’daqi ways. Some glamorous princess.
‘Of course not!’ He actually looked insulted.
‘There’s no “of course” about it.’ Tori’s voice grew in strength as anger masked pain. ‘This morning,in my bed, you were happy with the arrangement. What changed?’
He winced and half turned away. Tori began to wonder if the caring, wonderful man she’d fallen in love with had been an illusion.
‘You’re right. You deserve to know.’ He paused, breathing deep. ‘The press, stirred by my opponents, have learned about Oliver. About us. The stories they’re printing...’ He spread his hands and grimaced. ‘They’re not to be borne. The filth they’re spouting will only continue and I can’t allow that. I have to stop it.’
‘I see.’
It was clear from Ashraf’s expression how important this was to him. Tori recalled his talk of past scandals, how he hadn’t been accepted by the political elite, how he’d had to strive to win support for his schemes.
Was his situation so precarious? It seemed so. And so was the crown he wanted to pass to Oliver. Tori wanted to tell him that it didn’t matter. That Oliver could make his way in the world without a royal title. But it did matter. This was Ashraf’s birthright. He’d worked all his life to prove himself. Since becoming Sheikh he’d worked longer and harder than his predecessors to improve the nation. Tori had had that from Azia, who was forever singing Ashraf’s praises.
This was his destiny. His purpose in life.
But that didn’t stop her searing anguish as she faced facts. The man she loved was rejecting her because when it came to the crunch he, and his people, believed she wasn’t good enough to stand at his side.