Gabby listened, fascinated as much by the passion, enthusiasm and pride for his country she could hear in his voice as the information.
‘In the south, where there is no shortage of rainfall, we have—’ He stopped abruptly and turned his head. ‘Are you actually interested?’
Gabby said the first thing that came into her head. Unfortunately it was the truth.
‘No, I just like the sound of your voice.’ Actually, like was far too tepid a term. ‘And of course,’ she continued, adopting a flippant attitude, ‘I’m going to be Queen of all I survey …’ Quick recovery, Gabby. Her mocking smile faded. ‘You do know it’s not going to happen, don’t you, Rafiq?’ she said quietly. ‘Have you even told your family that you’re ill?’
‘I will tell them at the appropriate time,’ he replied with deceptive calm. The problem was one that he knew he would have to face. But not yet.
His father was not young, and though he was not a physically demonstrative man Rafiq knew that his sons were his life. Once people knew he would be treated differently, and this was something he wanted to postpone for as long as possible.
‘They have a right to know,’ Gabby began earnestly. ‘And you shouldn’t be alone. You should have—’
Rafiq listened until he could bear no more. ‘Enough!’ He cut her dead with a jerky motion of his hand. ‘I hardly need a support network when I have you, do I?’
His sarcasm made her flush and look away—but not before Rafiq had seen the glitter of tears in her eyes.
He studied her delicate profile and felt glad there was no woman in his life who would weep tears for him and mourn. What man could contemplate the prospect of the woman he had held in his arms and made love to watching him fade away by slow degrees without horror?
‘Let me make it plain that I do not need your pity, your understanding, or your compassion. Is that clear?’
She swallowed and compressed her lips. ‘As crystal.’
His voice soft with menace, he leaned in towards her, his dark eyes burning into hers. ‘And if you have any ideas about telling anyone …’
‘I won’t blab.’
‘Good,’ he said, settling back in his seat as the car glided through the open palace gates.
CHAPTER TEN
‘WE ARE dining in the small family dining room.’
‘Cosy. Very cosy,’ she commented as he stood aside to let her precede him into the room. The ‘small family dining room’ was the size of a football pitch. The table set at one end, with gold candlesticks, heavy crystal and antique silver, was about thirty feet long, and they were walking on a mosaic floor that had to be centuries old.
Rafiq, upon whom her irony was wasted, saw her staring at the glowing mosaic and said casually, ‘Byzantine,’ before approaching the man sitting at the table with a newspaper propped in front of him.
Gabby looked curiously at the man she was meant to marry. It just so was not going to happen. He was around six feet tall and slim, and he wore his dark hair cropped short and spiky at the front. A black tee shirt under a silver-grey suit and scuffed trainers completed his ensemble.
The same individuality and lack of formality was evident in his greeting, as he clapped his elder brother on the back and regarded Gabby with open curiosity.
‘Hello, I’m Hakim. You must be Gabriella. I’ve heard a lot about you.’
Gabby’s eyes widened. ‘You have?’ She threw Rafiq a questioning glare before accepting the hand extended to her. Her fixed smile broadened when the young Prince held her eyes and raised it to his lips.
Gabby laughed, and realised that staying distant and cold was not going to be easy. ‘Sorry—you just remind me of someone I know.’
His smile flashed white in his handsome face. ‘Someone pretty marvelous—am I right?’
Gabby laughed again. ‘My brother—and he would be the first to agree with you.’ Her glance flickered between the two Princes. Rafiq scowled and Hakim winked. ‘Gosh, you’re not even a little bit alike, are you?’ she gasped, thinking that the younger brother might be all style over substance, but he was charming and refreshingly uncomplicated to someone struggling to cope with the exhausting complexity, contradictions and convolutions of Rafiq’s personality.
‘You see, Rafiq, some people appreciate me.’
The duration of the meal followed the same pattern of light-hearted banter—though there was a slight hiccough when, in the middle of dessert, Hakim asked her how the research for her thesis was going.
Gabby played for time. ‘Thesis?’
‘Gabriella has not yet had an opportunity to see first-hand the new initiative for the Bedouin children,’ Rafiq inserted, in response to her raised eyebrow glare.
‘Well, you’re in safe hands with Rafiq, Gabriella.’
Safe was not exactly the word that sprang to mind when she thought of Rafiq’s hands. She swallowed, thinking of them framing her face while he kissed her. Her eyes were drawn unwisely to the sensuous, sexy curve of his lips. Rafiq saw her looking and his eyes went hot when he felt her gaze. Her stomach went into a dipping dive.
‘Gabby,’ she said at last, her voice a little too breathy and her smile several thousand volts too bright. To her relief Hakim seemed oblivious to the charged undercurrents that she could feel like a crackle under her skin.
‘Gabby—I like that. Well, Gabby, the entire idea was Rafiq’s brainchild. As you can imagine, there was a lot of local opposition to combat—especially when he insisted that females have full access to the scheme. So, you’re in education, Gabby?’
‘I’m an infant school teacher.’
‘Really? You look nothing like any teacher I had. Does she, Rashid?’
His appeal to his brother was met with a blank stare. Just when the silence was getting awkward, Rafiq responded, ‘Gabriella is very well qualified.’
‘I’m sure she is. What I’m wondering is how you two met.’
‘By accident.’
‘A mutual friend.’
The two versions emerged simultaneously.
Gabby glared at Rafiq, who carried on eating—or actually not. She had already noted with some concern that all he did was push his food around the plate—a fact which seemed to have escaped the notice of his brother.
Hakim looked amused as he glanced from one to the other. ‘Obviously it was a fate thing.’
Gabby’s embarrassment increased when several more comments Hakim made through the meal revealed—to her at least—that he was obviously under the impression that she and Rafiq were an item.
Rafiq, whose contribution to social intercourse had shrunk to monosyllabic grunts by the end of the meal, seemed oblivious. And the gaps in conversation were ably filled by Hakim, who was happy to talk—especially about himself.
Having toyed with her dessert, and getting increasingly angry because she was concerned about Rafiq, Gabby excused herself and retired to her room. The man might be in terrible agony, and he was too stupid or stubborn to say a word. He’d just sat there looking noble and dignified because he didn’t know how to act any other way.
After pacing the room making unflattering observations about the Crown