What did Hassan want?
Not just a cosy chat. If he’d wanted that he could have knocked on the villa door any time and she’d have been happy to offer him a cup of tea and a chocolate digestive. It was the way they did it in Chelsea. Maybe they did things differently in Ras al Hajar.
Or maybe he had an entirely different agenda.
Think, Rose! Think! What possible reason could Hassan al Rashid have for kidnapping her? What reason did anyone have?
Ransom? Ridiculous.
Sex? There was a momentary wobble somewhere low in her abdomen at the thought, then she dismissed the idea as errant nonsense.
Could this be the playboy prince’s idea of a joke? After all, his cousin the Regent would be seriously ticked off by the kind of publicity this little escapade would generate, and rumour suggested there was no love lost between the two men. She could just imagine the headlines, the news bulletins…
Suddenly everything clicked into place. That had to be it. Headlines. This was no joke. Hassan wanted Ras al Hajar in the news. More than that, he wanted to embarrass Abdullah…
Quite suddenly, she lost her temper. Drat the story! Here she was, wrapped up like a parcel of washing, her bones rattling like stones in a cup, and all because Hassan thought it would be amusing to irritate his cousin with bad headlines and she happened to be a handy source of aggravation.
She felt aggrieved. Seriously aggrieved. She was a woman. Not film star material, maybe, but she had all the right bits in all the right places. Her hair… All right, she might have personal reservations about her hair, but there was no doubt that it was an unmissable shade of red. Her eyes might be plain old brown, but they did the job and came complete with the regulation set of lashes. Her nose… Oh, what the heck. She stopped the inventory and, digging her knees into whatever part of his anatomy happened to be in the way, she heaved herself up and back.
Surprise, or maybe pain, together with the serendipitous lurching of the Land Rover as it raced over the rough terrain, combined to loosen Hassan’s grip. She just had time to fling off the cloak before he recovered, caught her and pinned her against the floor. And, as she dragged great gulps of fresh air into her lungs, she was once again staring up into those dangerous grey eyes.
Her situation was not lost upon her. She was vulnerable and utterly at the mercy of a man she did not know, whose motives were less than clear. One of them had better say something. And quickly.
‘When you ask a girl to dinner, Your Highness, you really, really mean it, don’t you?’
‘DINNER?’ Hassan repeated.
Rose blew away an errant curl that was threatening to make her sneeze. ‘That was you, this morning? “Simon Partridge requests the pleasure…” Tell me, does Mr Partridge know that you’ve taken his name in vain?’
‘Ah.’
Ah? That was it? ‘Well?’ she demanded. ‘Is dinner off? I warn you, I don’t do well on bread and water. I’m going to need feeding—’
‘Dinner has been arranged, Miss Fenton, but I’m afraid you’ll have to accept Mr Partridge’s regrets. He’s at present out of the country and, in answer to your first question, no, he has no idea that I have used his name. He is, in fact, entirely blameless in this affair.’
The significance of that was not lost on her. Investigations would quickly establish that this was a carefully planned snatch, that someone had used a known friendship to ensure her presence at the races. But when the authorities checked out the telephone number on that invitation, she just knew that it would lead absolutely nowhere.
‘Well,’ she said, after a moment, ‘I hope he gives you a piece of his mind when he does find out.’
‘I think you can rely on that.’
Actually, Rose had been planning to give him a piece of her own mind, but Hassan’s voice did not encourage liberties and she thought that it might be wiser to leave it to Simon Partridge. Wherever he was. She hoped he wouldn’t be away long. The sneeze threatened again and, inspired, she changed tack. ‘You didn’t have to bundle me up like that, you know.’ She gave a little cough. ‘I’ve not been well.’
‘So I’ve been told.’ He didn’t sound totally convinced by her act, and she realised that playing for sympathy would get her nowhere. ‘You seem to be managing to have a good time, though. Personally, I wouldn’t have thought that a busy round of cocktail parties, receptions, public relations tours of the city were at all good for you—’
‘Oh, I see! You’re doing me a kindness. You’ve abducted me so that I shouldn’t over-exert myself.’
‘That is a point of view.’ Hassan’s eyes creased in a smile. It was not a reassuring smile, however. ‘I’m afraid my cousin has no thought but his own pleasure—’
‘And mine. He told me so himself.’ She had not been entirely convinced by that, either. Prince Abdullah seemed terribly keen that she should get a very positive image of the country. The curtained windows of the limousine that had taken her around the city at high speed had, she felt sure, hidden a multitude of sins.
She’d been planning to put on one of the all-enveloping black abbayahs worn by the local women and, heavily veiled to disguise her red hair, have a closer look around on her own. Not that she had proposed to involve Tim in her little outing. She strongly suspected he would disapprove.
‘And as for standing about in the night air at the race course,’ Hassan continued. ‘Most unwise. It’s almost certain to lead to a relapse.’
Except that until she’d spoken to him she hadn’t planned on going anywhere near the race course. She didn’t bother to mention it, though. She didn’t want him to know he’d had anything to do with her changing her mind. ‘Your concern is most touching.’
‘Your appreciation is noted. You are in Ras al Hajar for rest and relaxation and it will be my pleasure to see that you get it.’
His pleasure? She didn’t care for the sound of that. ‘Prince Hassan al Rashid, the perfect host,’ she responded sarcastically, easing her shoulder from the hard floor of the Land Rover in as pointed a manner as she could manage, considering that she was practically being sat on.
The gesture was wasted. All she got for her trouble was the slightest bow of his head as he acknowledged his name. ‘I do my best.’ He ignored her snort of disbelief. ‘You came to my country for pleasure, a holiday. A little romance, perhaps, if the book you were reading on the plane is anything to judge by?’
Oh, good grief! If he was into fulfilling holiday fantasies, she was in big trouble. She swallowed. ‘At least The Sheik had style.’
‘Style?’
‘A Land Rover is no substitute for a stallion.’ She realised she was letting her mouth run away with her. Nerves, no doubt. She might refuse to admit to fear but she was entitled to be a little nervous. ‘Black as night, with the temper of the devil,’ she prompted. ‘That’s the more usual mode of transport for desert abductees. I have to tell you that I feel short-changed.’
‘Do you?’ He sounded surprised by that. Who could blame him? ‘Regrettably our destination is too far for us to ride there doubled up on a horse.’ His eyes smiled, and this time there was no doubt about it; there was not a thing to be reassured about. ‘Especially when you’ve been unwell.’ Oh, very funny. ‘I will make a note for the future, however.’
‘Oh, please. Don’t trouble yourself.’ She attempted to sit up, but he did not move.
‘The ground is rough, I wouldn’t want you thrown about. You’ll be safer