But Hannah knew that feelings passed. All of them. And that eventually the intensity of what was happening to you faded with time. She’d told herself to be grateful that nobody at the Granchester had found out and her job was safe. She’d got away with it, scot-free. Or so she’d thought. She had worked for two more weeks at the Sardinian hotel before returning to London, just in time to discover that her period was late and to try to deny to herself why that might be. Until denial was no longer an option...
Hannah clicked onto the Zahristan website but, naturally, there was no handy link to the King’s email account. She found the number of the Embassy in London and tried ringing, in the hope of being able to convey a subtle message through one of the diplomats. But the phone system was automated and her dilemma didn’t fall into the category of someone visiting the country who was chasing up their visa. She supposed she could mail Kulal a letter and emblazon it with ‘private and confidential’—but there was no guaranteeing he would receive it unopened. The embassy might think it was from a crackpot and even if they didn’t, it meant that the Sheikh would discover he was going to be a father after his staff had found out. Hannah knew very little about royal protocol, but even she could recognise that would be a big mistake. A very big mistake.
She needed to tell him in person—but how?
There was a solution—to use the money she’d been squirrelling away since she’d first started work. The little sums of money which had grown, bit by bit, into a halfway decent sum which would one day become a deposit on a home of her own.
Could she break into it to buy herself an airline ticket to Zahristan?
Her heart began to pound. There was no other option—because how else was she going to get to see Kulal? But that money was sacrosanct and symbolic. She’d promised herself she would never touch it and now fear washed over her as she realised that once again she wasn’t playing safe. Because this wasn’t risk-averse Hannah. This was more of the same Hannah who had leapt into bed with the desert King, when deep down she’d known she shouldn’t. Her hand went down to cradle her belly because she knew she had little choice. She’d protected Tamsyn when they had been growing up—just as she would protect her baby now. She didn’t know how Kulal would respond, but that wasn’t her problem. She needed to give their child the best possible chance—and everything else was outside her control.
And surely he would have the decency to refund her air fare?
Which was how she ended up in a plane, crossing the Murjaan Sea and heading towards the Sheikh’s homeland.
She was fortunate that Zahristan had opened its borders a decade ago, after winning the war with neighbouring Quzabar, and fortunate that she had enough annual leave to book herself a last-minute break. She couldn’t decide if it was good fortune or fate that her visa-acquiring trip to the Zahristan Embassy had introduced her to a helpful woman called Elissa. Elissa had informed her that visitors were allowed access to the Sheikh’s palace every Tuesday and Thursday afternoon, and His Royal Highness was actively encouraging trips from foreign visitors. At this, Hannah’s heart had leapt—because surely she could engineer some kind of meeting if she gained access to Kulal’s home.
After consulting a weather map, she discovered that the temperature of her destination was roasting and so she used some more of her precious savings to buy some suitable clothes. Inexpensive clothes in natural fabrics in light colours which wouldn’t absorb the heat. Clothes which would disguise her tender breasts which were the only outward sign of her pregnancy. But most important of all—new clothes which meant she wouldn’t turn up at a fancy palace looking like a tramp.
The flight was long and her limbs felt cramped, because she hadn’t wanted to squander any of her precious money upgrading her seat. She tried distracting herself by reading what was supposed to be the definitive history of Zahristan, but the clunky paragraphs didn’t manage to hold her attention for long. For a long time, the book lay open on the same page as she wondered what would happen when she finally gained access to Kulal. Would she be thrown in some dark jail—forced to wait for the British consulate to come and bail her out and put her on the next flight to England, with a fierce lecture on compromising international diplomacy ringing in her ears?
But even if the worst happened and she didn’t get within a hundred yards of him, at least she would have tried.
Hannah stared out of the plane window—at the seemingly endless expanse of desert. As the aircraft began to descend, she could see the welcome green of palm trees and in the distance a gleam of water, surrounded by tents. And now they were approaching a city—with turrets and gleaming spires, just like in a fairy tale. There were flashes of blue and lots of gold. This must be Ashkhazar, which she’d just read about. A rich city with a troubled history. Hadn’t Kulal mentioned it briefly when she had run her fingertip over the raised scar which ran from nipple to groin and was the only blemish which marred his perfect body? But he hadn’t wanted to talk about what had caused it. The truth was he hadn’t wanted to talk about anything much, except how much he liked her breasts. Well, he was going to have to talk about his baby, whether he liked it or not.
And then her stomach gave a flip as the airport watchtower grew closer and she closed her eyes as the huge aircraft began to swoop towards the runway.
FROM BEHIND THE tinted windows of his heavily bullet-proofed car, Kulal watched the plane land and he felt a wave of anger as the passengers began to disembark.
He saw her immediately—instantly recognisable, and not just because she was the only woman travelling solo.
Did she really think she could sneak into his homeland without him getting wind of it?
Her head was uncovered, but at least her shoulders were not bare. She was wearing a pale dress which hung almost to her ankles. It was a modest dress, even by Zahristan standards, but it failed to disguise the generous curve of her breasts or the womanly swell of her buttocks, and Kulal’s jaw tightened. It would be easier all round if he simply had her brought to his car for the short drive to the city but that might amount to something resembling an official welcome and he would not countenance that. He watched as another black limousine edged onto the tarmac and one of his most trusted aides got out of the car.
Kulal spoke rapidly to his driver. ‘Wait until Najib gets her into the limousine,’ he bit out. ‘And then tail them.’
‘Yes, sire.’
He didn’t say another word during the journey which followed, his eyes fixed resolutely on the car in front of them as they drove at speed through the wide roads which led into the city. When the first limousine drew to a halt, he could see the look of consternation on Hannah’s face as she gazed up at the impressive gilded façade of the famous building and for a moment, he wondered if she might refuse to go inside and then what would they do? But Najib was a master at getting people to carry out his master’s wishes and within minutes, she was walking up the marble steps, while yet another aide carried her single suitcase.
He waited for several minutes before discreetly entering the building, two of his bodyguards tailing him like shadows. But as the elevator ascended, Kulal found his thoughts drifting back to another similar ride—when he had been obsessed by the rise and fall of Hannah’s magnificent breasts, covered in the delicate silk of the dress he had ordered for her to wear to the party. Had he been completely insane? Carried away by what he’d convinced himself was nothing but an altruistic action to give the little chambermaid a well-deserved treat, without bothering to examine the real motive of desire which was bubbling beneath the surface of his intentions? Probably. His mouth hardened into a grim mockery of a smile. Didn’t they say that men were architects of their own destruction?
The elevator doors opened and as he strode along the corridor he saw Najib standing sentry outside a door, his face inscrutable.
‘What