It should have been the dream solution but to Leila it felt like no such thing. She didn’t want to marry a man who looked as if he were destined for a trip to the gallows, or to live with the realisation that she had trapped him into a life he didn’t want. She couldn’t imagine ever bonding with this icy stranger.
‘I won’t do it,’ she said stubbornly. ‘I won’t tie myself to a man who doesn’t want me. And you can’t make me marry you.’
‘You think not?’ The smile he gave did not meet his eyes. ‘You’d be surprised what I can do if I set my mind to it—but I’m hoping that we can come to some kind of amicable agreement. These are the only terms I am offering and I’d advise you to accept them. Because you’re not really in any position to object. Your brother will disown you if you don’t and I doubt whether you have a clue how to look after yourself. Not in a strange city without your servants and bodyguards to accede to your every whim. You cannot subject a baby to a life like that and I won’t allow you to, because this is my baby too. You will marry me, Leila, because there is no alternative.’
LEILA STARED INTO the full-length mirror at someone who looked just like her. Who moved just like her. A woman who was startlingly familiar yet who seemed like a total stranger.
She was eight weeks pregnant by a man who didn’t love her and today was her wedding day.
She glanced around the luxury hotel room to which she would never return. Her suitcases had already been collected by Gabe’s driver and taken to his riverside apartment, which was to be her new home after she became his wife. She thought about the bare rooms and the minimalist decor which awaited her. She thought about the harsh, clear light which flooded in from the river. As if such a soulless place as that could ever be described as home!
He had asked her to be his bride, yet he had made her feel as if she was an unwanted piece of baggage he had been forced to carry. She had eventually—and reluctantly—agreed with him that marriage seemed to be the only sensible solution, when his phone had begun to ring. And he had answered it! He had left her sitting there as if she’d been invisible while he had conducted a long and boring business call right in front of her. It had not been a good omen—or an encouraging sign about the way he treated women.
Inside she had been seething, but what could she do? She could hardly storm out onto the unknown streets of London—or rush back to the safety of Qurhah, where nobody would want a princess who had brought shame onto her family name. She had felt trapped—and her heart had sunk like a heavy stone which had been dropped into a river. Was she destined to feel trapped for the rest of her days, no matter where in the world she lived?
Her reflected image stared back at her and she regarded it almost objectively. Her bridal dress of cobalt-blue was sleek and concealing and the hotel hairdresser had woven crimson roses into her black hair. She had refused to wear white on principle. It hadn’t seemed appropriate in the circumstances. Much too romantic a gesture for such an occasion as this—because what was romantic about an expectant bride being taken reluctantly by a man who had no desire to be married to her?
Yet didn’t some stupid part of her wish that it could all be different? Didn’t she wish she were floating along on a happy pink cloud, the way brides were supposed to do? Maybe all those books and films she’d devoured during her lonely life at the palace had left their mark on her after all. She had no illusions about men or marriage, but that didn’t stop her from wanting the dream—like some teenager who still believed that anything was possible.
But at least this was to be a quiet wedding. And a quick wedding—which had presented more of a problem.
The three-week wait required by English law had not been practical for a couple in their situation. As a desert princess, she could not live with Gabe and she had no desire to spend weeks in limbo at the Granchester Hotel, no matter how luxurious her suite there. Short of flying to Vegas, the only alternative was to get married in the Qurhahian Embassy in London—for which she needed her brother’s permission. And she hadn’t wanted to ask him, because she hadn’t wanted to tell him why she needed to marry the Englishman in such a rush.
Yet she’d known she was going to have to break the news to Murat some time, hadn’t she? She’d known she was going to have to tell him she was having Gabe’s baby—so how could he refuse to grant her use of the embassy? She knew—and he knew—that the niece or nephew of the Sultan could not be born outside wedlock.
It had been the most difficult conversation of her life—not helped by the fact that it had been conducted by telephone. Her nervous stammering had been halted by Gabe taking the phone from her and quietly telling the Sultan that he intended to marry her. She wasn’t sure what Murat actually said in response because Gabe had just stood there and listened to what sounded like an angry tirade thundering down the line.
But the Englishman had stood his ground and, after calmly reasserting his determination to take her as his bride, had handed the phone back to Leila.
Beneath Gabe’s grey gaze, she had explained to Murat that while she would prefer to do this with his blessing, she was perfectly prepared to do it without. Such a wait would, of course, mean living with a man who was not her husband.
The Sultan had sounded shocked—as much by her attitude as by her words—for she was aware that few people ever openly defied him. But unexpectedly, his voice had softened and for a moment he had sounded just like the Murat she’d thought no longer existed. The one she’d seen all those years ago, after their mother had died. When for once he had let down his guard and Leila had sobbed in his arms until there were no tears left to cry. And afterwards she’d noticed his own damp cheeks and seen the grief which had ravaged his dark face.
That was the only time in her life she had seen her brother showing emotion until now, when he asked her a question which came out of nowhere.
‘And do you love him, Leila?’ he had asked her quietly. ‘This man Gabe Steel.’
Leila had closed her eyes and walked to the far end of the room, knowing that a lie was the only acceptable answer. A lie would make Murat leave them alone. A lie would confer an odd kind of blessing on this strange marriage.
‘Yes,’ she had answered in a low voice, glad that Gabe was not within earshot. ‘Yes, I love him.’
And that had been that. Blessing conferred. They were given permission to use the embassy although Murat told her he would not be attending the nuptials himself.
In fact, the ceremony was to have only two witnesses—Sara and her husband, Suleiman, who had also known Leila since she had been a child. A relatively informal lunch following the ceremony was to be their only celebration. Time had been too tight to arrange anything else, although Gabe told her that a bigger party for his colleagues and friends could be arranged later, if she was so inclined.
Was she? She didn’t know any of his colleagues or friends. She knew hardly anything about him—and in truth he seemed to want it to stay that way. It was as if the man she was marrying was an undiscovered country—one which she had suddenly found herself inhabiting without use of a compass. She was used to men who told women little—or nothing—but this was different. She was having his baby, for heaven’s sake—and surely that gave her some sort of right to know.
On the eve of their wedding, they had been eating an early dinner in the Granchester’s award-winning rooftop restaurant when she’d plucked up enough courage to ask him a few questions.
‘You haven’t mentioned your parents, Gabe.’
His expression had been as cold as snow. ‘That’s because they’re dead. I’m an orphan, Leila—just like you.’
The cool finality in his tone had been intimidating but she wasn’t going to give