Society Weddings (2 page)

She had sent him dutiful letters from New York in which she portrayed a life which sounded almost dull due to overwork. And because of this he had been prepared to tolerate her short burst of freedom. As his wife she would be expected to dedicate her life to charitable works; this was surely not a bad way to begin?

And she was a highly intelligent woman… Far better to allow her a little leeway than to clip her wings completely.

He narrowed his eyes. ‘I think you know very well what for, Jenna,’ he snapped. ‘It is time for you to return to Quador and become my wife!’

The hand that held the phone trembled. ‘That’s hardly the most romantic proposal I’ve heard!’ But her laughter bordered
on the hysterical and she saw Brad, who was still listening in to the conversation, stiffen with disbelief and alarm.

‘If romance is what you seek from me, then better you should take the first plane home,’ he instructed silkily, and he felt the blood heat in his veins, for opposition was rare enough to excite him!

Romance? She doubted whether he would understand romance if it came up and kicked him in the teeth! Gritting her own teeth together, she forced herself to stay calm with a huge effort of will.

‘Rashid, you cannot still wish me to become your wife.’ A note of desperation had now crept into her voice.

The heat died as her opposition began to irritate him. A little offered resistance was a game he could play as well as the next man, but enough was enough! She should be breathing soft sighs of gratitude down the phone at him by now! Planning her trousseau in her head!

‘My
wishes
are not paramount,’ he emphasised coldly. ‘The agreement was made many moons ago, as well you know. But I will satisfy your every need as my wife, Jenna—of that you need have no doubts.’

She heard the raw, sexual boast which had deepened his voice and she shivered for all kinds of reasons—most of which she dared not even begin to analyse. Oh, yes, she knew exactly what he meant—and she
didn’t
have any doubts. His prowess in the bedroom was legendary.

But Jenna had learnt much during her time in America—not least that women expected equality in a relationship. And equality with Rashid would be nothing but a distant dream.

Women expected something more, too—and that something was called love. Hopeless. For not only did she doubt Rashid’s ability to give and receive love, she knew deep down that he would see such behaviour as a sign of weakness. Love made you vulnerable, and Rashid was the personification of invulnerability.

‘Rashid,’ she said, more weakly than she would have wished. ‘You cannot mean that.’

There was an icy silence. Then, ‘You may have the mis
taken idea that sustained resistance is provocative, but let me tell you, Jenna, that you are wrong. You will be mine and you will return to Quador immediately. Is that understood?’

She forced herself to accept the inevitable, knowing that it was pure folly to deny him at least the second part of his command. She would return to Quador and she would be forced to play a cunning game herself. Soon Rashid would no longer want to marry her, but he must appear to have taken the decision himself. She must just make sure that he did.

The steely voice was speaking again. ‘Still you hesitate,’ he observed dangerously. ‘Perhaps you wish for me to send someone to collect you?’

She blanched. Imagine one of Rashid’s aides coming here and discovering the cosy domestic relationship between Nadia and Brad!

‘No!’ she protested. ‘I’ll book myself on the first available flight.’

‘I will make sure that the first flight
is
available,’ he said smoothly. ‘A car will be awaiting you when you touch down in Quador, to bring you to the palace.’

And the connection was ended with a click.

J
ENNA
put the receiver down with a hand which continued to tremble and looked up to see that Brad was standing there, the narrowed look of question still in his eyes.

‘Jenna, what the hell is wrong?’

She stared at him. ‘You do realise who that was?’

Brad nodded. ‘Oh, yes,’ he said grimly. ‘I’ve heard enough stories from Nadia about his arrogant authority. I would have to be pretty dumb not to have guessed that it was Rashid. What the hell did he say to you? You look
awful.
’

It occurred to her that she was still standing wrapped in nothing but a towel, and a frisson of fear cooled her skin like ice-water being splashed on it.

What if Rashid sent one of his New York contacts to the apartment to make sure that she was obeying his command and preparing to leave? Someone could ring on the doorbell any second now, and wouldn’t the situation look frighteningly compromising? She shuddered as she imagined his reaction to a report that she was cavorting half-naked in front of another man.

‘Let me go and get dressed,’ she said urgently, ‘and then I’ll tell you everything.’

In her bedroom she quickly pulled on a pair of jeans and a crisp white shirt, and combed through her long, damp hair before studying her reflection in the mirror.

She needed to act, and to act quickly! Rashid would never marry a woman whom he did not find attractive, and she would have to do everything in her power to make sure that he didn’t. She would embrace the American side of her personality with a vengeance—and Rashid’s immovable conservatism should do the rest!

Nodding resolutely at her pale face and widened amber
eyes, she returned to the sitting room, where Brad had made a pot of coffee. She took a mug from him gratefully, wrapping her long fingers around its steaming warmth and hoping that a little of it might creep its way into her heart.

She sat down on the sofa.

‘So spill the beans,’ he said quietly.

Jenna sighed, knowing that she did not have to ask Brad to keep what she was about to tell him completely confidential; he more than anyone knew how to keep secrets. ‘He wants to marry me.’

Brad almost choked on his coffee. ‘Say that
again
?’ he demanded incredulously.

Jenna put the mug down and shook her head. ‘Maybe I phrased that badly. I don’t think he actually
wants
to marry me—it is just something he believes he must honour—an agreement which was made between our parents a long, long time ago.’

‘Jenna—I don’t have a clue what you’re saying!’

She supposed that it must sound positively barbaric to a modern professional American man—and in truth didn’t it sound more than a little barbaric to her? She sighed again, pushing a damp strand of hair from her cheek and fixing him with a candid look.

‘I’ll try to explain. Rashid’s late father and my father were great, great friends—and when I was still in my cradle they decided that, provided I fulfilled certain…’ She hesitated for a moment. ‘Certain
criteria
, then I would one day make the perfect wife for Rashid.’

‘And those criteria were what?’ he questioned astutely.

Faint colour crept into her cheeks. ‘Physically, I must be pleasing to Rashid’s eyes—’

‘Well, there couldn’t be any doubt about that, surely?’ he laughed.

False modesty would help no one. She shrugged. ‘I understand that in that particular condition I met his specifications,’ she answered slowly.

‘You make it sound like the guy is picking out decor for a house!’

‘Maybe it is a little like that,’ she admitted, but she felt a shiver of memory as she recalled their last chaperoned meeting when she had surprised a hot, fleeting look of hunger in Rashid’s enigmatic black eyes as he had greeted her. A look which had washed over her and made her skin tingle with awareness, even while the knowledge that Rashid desired her had filled her with fear and trepidation. ‘The Ruler’s needs must always be met. That is a given.’

‘What other criteria?’ asked Brad quietly.

Jenna bit her lip. ‘The obvious one, of course. That I must go to him unsullied—but I really don’t want to talk about that.’

Brad nodded. ‘Sure,’ he said understandingly. ‘So what is it that you aren’t telling me, Jenna? Surely the idea can’t be that abhorrent to you? I’ve seen pictures of the guy and he sure looks like he fits the bill of conforming to most women’s fantasy man!’

Jenna swallowed as unwilling images of his hard, lean body and cruel, dark face swam tantalisingly into her mind. ‘Oh, no one is disputing Rashid’s appeal,’ she said carefully. ‘Not even me. He is a most spectacular man. It’s just that America has changed me—or rather knowledge has changed what I thought I once wanted.’

Brad pulled a face. ‘You’ve lost me!’ he protested.

Time had deadened some of the pain of discovery, but not all of it, and it still hurt to say it. ‘When I first came to the States I had access to the free press for the first time in my life. I read newspapers with gossip columns—columns which documented Rashid’s lifestyle with disturbing clarity.’

Brad nodded. ‘I think I’m beginning to get the picture,’ he said slowly.

Jenna splayed her hands over her thighs and curled her fingernails so that they bit into her through the denim. ‘Rashid is almost twelve years older than I am,’ she said. ‘But when I was little he looked out for me—protected me.’

He had indulged her hero-worship of him. Taken her with him when he went falconing. And from the age of fourteen she had thought she would almost die with pleasure to see that formidable presence astride his night-dark stallion, subduing
the bird of prey as if he could communicate with it by instinct alone. And maybe he could, she thought bitterly. For wasn’t he a creature of prey himself?

Somewhere along the way she had acquired the rare ability to make him laugh, to gently tease him, and she had been the only person allowed to get away with what he would have regarded as insurrection in others. She had thought that the world began and ended with Rashid, and had grown to long for the wedding she knew must one day come.

‘So what happened to make you hate him?’ asked Brad.

Jenna lifted her head, surprised. ‘Hate him? I’m not sure that I hate him.’

‘You sound like you do—the way you talk about him.’

Did she? Wasn’t hate too powerful an emotion to describe her feelings for Rashid? Too closely and dangerously linked to the flipside of such an emotion—love itself? A love which would never be anything more than one-sided and, consequently, never enough for the woman she had become.

Because when she had turned eighteen their relationship had changed fundamentally. Had it been the onset of womanhood which had made the magnificent sheikh grow so wary and distant in her company? she wondered. The atmosphere between them had been brittle with some kind of unnamed tension. Their earlier ease in each other’s company had evaporated like the rare desert rains which sizzled beneath the intensity of the fierce Quador sun.

And she had missed that ease. Desperately. Without Rashid as her confidant she had felt as though she was in limbo—existing and not really living at all.

‘Rashid made no move to marry me when I came of age,’ she said slowly. ‘And my pride wouldn’t let me show my disappointment. I had no wish to stay in Quador, just waiting and waiting for some distant wedding, and so I told him that I wished to learn something of my late mother’s country, that I wanted to study in America. It had always been her dearest wish that I should know something of her homeland.’

Rashid had had a great deal to cope with as well. His own parents had been killed in a plane crash, and his rightful in
heritance 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 re
sponded 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.

But no more.

He shook his head. ‘My car is waiting.’

‘So?’

‘Chantal, there is something that I must tell you—’

She stilled, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as something in the tone of his voice must have warned her, and he realised that she was woman of the world enough to know that the news he had come to bring to her today would not be to her liking.

Defiantly, she reached for her cigarettes and lit one. ‘Then tell me,
chéri
—do not keep me in suspense!’

‘I’m getting married.’

She didn’t react, just blew the smoke out in one long, deep breath, the perfect arch of her eyebrows elevating only very slightly.

‘So I must offer my congratulations, must I?’ she questioned coolly.

He smiled. From the almost supercilious mask she wore it was impossible to guess at her true feelings. But then, she had never shown him her true feelings—and hadn’t that been one of qualities he had most admired about her? ‘Thank you.’

She drew deeply on the cigarette. ‘Who is she?’

‘Jenna.’

She nodded, and then the mask slipped and a calculating look sharpened her beautiful features. ‘The girl who is half-American? She lives in New York?’