Kitabı oxu: «An Arabian Marriage»

is one of Mills & Boon’s most popular and

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book, Bittersweet Passion, was published in 1987, she has gone from strength to strength and now has over ninety titles, which have sold more than thirty-five million copies, to her name.

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LYNNE GRAHAM was born in Northern Ireland and has been a keen Mills & Boon^® reader since her teens. She is very happily married, with an understanding husband who has learned to cook since she started to write! Her five children keep her on her toes. She has a very large dog, which knocks everything over, a very small terrier, which barks a lot, and two cats. When time allows, Lynne is a keen gardener.

An Arabian Marriage
Lynne Graham

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER ONE

‘IT IS a matter of family honour…’King Zafir’s voice was thin and weak but fierce longing burned in his gaze as he addressed his only surviving son. ‘You will bring your brother Adil’s son home to us and we will raise him to adulthood.’

Crown Prince Jaspar murmured tautly, ‘Father, with all due respect, the child has a mother—’

‘A harlot unfit to be called a mother!’ In a sudden explosion of anger, King Zafir raised himself from the pillows and thundered, ‘A shameless creature who danced until dawn while her child fought for his life in hospital! A greedy, grasping Jezebel…’ At that point a choking bout of serious coughing overcame the irate older man and he struggled in vain to catch his breath.

Instantly, the King’s medical team was rushed in to administer oxygen. Pale and taut, dark eyes intent, already stunned by the furious outburst that had brought on the attack, Jaspar watched the physicians go about their work and willed his parent to recover. ‘Please, Your Royal Highness,’ his father’s closest aide, Rashad, begged with tears in his strained eyes. ‘Please agree without further discussion.’

‘I had not realised that my father held Western women in such violent aversion.’

‘His Majesty does not. Have you not read the report on this woman?’

As he registered in relief that his father was responding to the treatment the worst of the tension holding Jaspar’s lean powerful frame taut ebbed and he breathed in deep. ‘I have not.’

‘I will bring the report to your office. Your Royal Highness.’ Rashad hurried off.

A thin hand beckoned from the great canopied bed. Jaspar strode forward and bent down to hear King Zafir’s last definitive words on the subject, uttered in a thready tone of deep piety that nonetheless held a rare note of pleading. ‘It is your Christian duty to rescue my grandson…’

As soon as the immediate emergency was over and his father had been made comfortable, Jaspar left the room. As he crossed the anteroom beyond, every person there dropped down on their knees and bent their heads. In receipt of that respectful acknowledgement of his recent rise in royal status, he clenched his strong jawline even harder. Reflecting on the recent death of his elder brother, Adil, who had been Crown Prince since birth, only made Jaspar feel worse than ever.

One day he would be King of Quamar but he had not been brought up to be King. In the instant that Adil had died, Jaspar’s life had changed for ever. He had loved his brother but had never been very close to him. Adil had, after all, been fifteen years older and cut from a different cloth. Indeed, Adil had often cheerfully called his younger brother a killjoy. But, almost inevitably, Adil’s excessive appetite for food and fat Cuban cigars had contributed to his early demise at the age of forty-five.

In the splendid office that was now his, Jaspar studied an oil painting of his jovial brother with brooding regret. Adil had also been an unrepentant womaniser.

‘I adore women. All of them…’Adil had once told Jaspar with his great beaming smile. ‘My wife, my ex-wives, my daughters included, but why should I settle for only one woman? If only we were Muslim, brother, I might have had four wives at a time and a harem of concubines. Do you never think of what life might have been like had our honoured ancestor, Kareem I, not founded us as a Christian dynasty?’

So, when Adil had not been carrying out his duties as Crown Prince, he had sailed his pleasure yacht, Beauteous Dreamer, round the Mediterranean with a string of beautiful fun-loving Western women aboard. Rumours of his eldest son’s discreet double life had occasionally caused King Zafir great disquiet but Adil had always been a most gifted dissembler and his women had always been willing to cover his tracks for him.

It seemed painfully ironic that the much-wanted son which Adil had failed to father with any of his three successive wives should have been born out of wedlock. Had that child been born within marriage, he would have been second in line to the throne but his illegitimacy barred him from what should have been his rightful place in life. Jaspar suppressed a heavy sigh. In his generation, the al-Husayn royal family had had little luck when it came to producing male heirs, although, having fathered several daughters, Adil had remained excusably optimistic that a son would eventually be born.

And just two years ago, a baby boy had been born to an English woman in London. During the hours that Adil had survived before the second heart attack had struck and proved fatal, he had confessed that shocking fact to their distraught father. Unsurprisingly, the news of that unknown grandson had become an obsession with the grieving older man but extensive confidential enquiries had been required even to track the woman down. In fear of a scandal that would reverberate all the way back to Quamar, Adil had gone to considerable lengths not only to disassociate himself from that birth, but also to conceal all evidence of the child’s existence.

It was a mess, an unholy mess, that he was being asked to sort out, Jaspar reflected bleakly as Rashad scurried in with much keen bowing and scraping to deliver a sealed file to his desk. His parent was too ill to be made to consider practicalities, but to bring Adil’s child back to Quamar, shorn of the supposedly unsuitable mother, would be very difficult, if not impossible.

‘His Majesty has made a most clever suggestion which would solve all the problems at once, Your Royal Highness,’ Rashad announced in a tone of excitement.

Jaspar regarded the older man in polite enquiry but with no great hope for Rashad was his father’s yes-man, guaranteed to always agree with and support his royal employer’s every spoken word.

‘We use our special forces and snatch the child…’ Jaspar drew in a very deep and necessary breath of restraint. Sometimes, his father astounded him. A feudal ruler from a young age, his exalted parent had never quite come to terms with the reality that a very different world lurked beyond Quamar’s borders.

‘There would be no need to negotiate with the foreign Jezebel and the boy would be whisked back to Quamar, renamed and raised as an orphan. Perhaps we could say that he is a distant cousin’s child,’ Rashad completed with immense enthusiasm.

Only the fond memory of Rashad playing with him when he was a child himself prevented Jaspar from venting his incredulous dismissal of such an outrageous suggestion. Rashad was not a clever man and he was out of his depth, his sole motivation being a desperate desire to tell his ailing royal employer what he most wanted to hear. As for his honoured parent and sovereign, Jaspar reflected in rueful exasperation, illness and grief had evidently temporarily deprived the head of the house of al-Husayn of his usual common sense and caution.

‘Please inform His Majesty that the situation will be resolved without the need for such a dramatic intervention,’ Jaspar stated drily.

‘His Majesty fears that he will die before he ever lays eyes on the child,’ Rashad lamented emotively.

Jaspar was well aware of that fact but also convinced that his father would soon recover his once excellent health if only he would stop fretting himself into pointless rages and thinking of dying. Casting open the file, he expected to see a photo of a leggy brunette of the type his late brother had appeared to find irresistible but there was no photo of either mother or child. So eager had the private detective been to report back on his success in locating the woman that he had wasted no time in gathering supporting evidence.

The child’s mother, Erica Sutton, had been christened Frederica, and her own mother had deserted her and her father within weeks of the birth of her twin sisters. At eighteen, Erica had left home with a neighbour’s husband in tow but that liaison had soon ended. Becoming a model but rarely working, she had then gone on to enjoy numerous affairs with wealthy married men.

When Erica had given birth to a child, nobody had had the slightest idea who had fathered him, but his mother’s newfound financial security had been marked by her purchase of a palatial apartment and the high-spending lifestyle of a party girl in constant search of amusement. As Jaspar read on, his lean, darkly handsome features grew steadily more grave. He was appalled by what he was learning and was no longer surprised by his father’s rage and concern. Taking the easy way out of an embarrassing predicament, Adil had left his infant son to the care of a cruelly irresponsible and selfish young woman, who appeared to have not the smallest maternal instinct.

Thrusting aside the file in disgust, Jaspar had not the slightest doubt that it was his duty to remove his nephew from such an unsuitable home. That a devoted nanny had evidently protected the child from the worst of his mother’s excesses was of little consolation, for a nanny was only an employee whose services might be dispensed with at any time. The little boy was at undeniable risk both emotionally and physically in his current environment, Jaspar conceded grimly.

His father had spoken wisely and Jaspar was ashamed that he had set such little store by the older man’s outraged condemnation of the child’s mother. The only solution was for his nephew to be brought out to Quamar. However, and Jaspar allowed himself a wry smile, he would achieve that feat without resorting to springing melodramatic manoeuvres with the army’s special forces and causing a diplomatic furore.

Frederica Sutton, known as Freddy since the age of eight and by her own choice, passed the letter from Switzerland over to the grey-haired older woman seated across the table from her. ‘What am I going to do now?’

Donning her spectacles and looking very much the retired schoolteacher that she indeed was, Ruth scanned the few lines with a frown. ‘Well, that’s that, then. You’ve exhausted every avenue—’

‘The only avenue.’ Freddy’s sole lead had been the Swiss bank account from which her late cousin, Erica, had received her generous income.

She had written to the financial institution concerned, explaining the circumstances in some detail. She had hoped that she might somehow establish even third-party contact with whoever had originally set up that payment system. Unfortunately, the cagey response she had received had made it painfully clear that the tenet of client confidentiality forbade any such sharing of information while adding that any more approaches from her or indeed anyone else would be a complete waste of time.

‘It’s hardly your fault that Ben’s father didn’t make provision for the reality that at some stage there might be a genuine need for further contact,’ Ruth Coulter mused ruefully. ‘Possibly he was making it clear that he wanted no more involvement under any circumstances…and who could have dreamt that a woman as young as Erica would die?’

At that reminder, Freddy’s aquamarine eyes clouded and she bent her blonde head until she had got her emotions back under control. Her cousin, Erica, had been only twenty-seven when she had met her death on the ski slopes in an accident that could have been avoided. But then Erica had died much as she had lived, Freddy conceded reluctantly, as though every day might be her last, running risk without thought and never, ever thinking of the future.

‘I know you miss Erica.’ The older woman gave Freddy’s hand a brief bracing squeeze. ‘But it’s been six weeks now and life has to go on, most particularly where Ben is concerned. I doubt if you will ever learn who his father is but in the long run that may even be for the best. Your cousin wasn’t very choosy about her male friends.’

‘She was trying to sort herself out,’ Freddy protested.

‘Was she?’ Ruth raised an unimpressed brow. ‘Of course, it’s wisest not to dwell on someone’s failings once they’ve gone. Naturally one prefers to remember the good things but one might be challenged in this particular case—’

‘Ruth…please!’Freddy was sincerely pained by that frank opinion. ‘Surely you remember what a dreadful childhood Erica had?’

‘I’m afraid I don’t have much faith in the fashionable excuses for downright immoral behaviour. Erica brought that poor child into this world only because it paid her to do so.’ Ruth grimaced, her distaste palpable. ‘She lived like a lottery winner on the child support she received from Ben’s father but took not the slightest interest in her own son—’

‘She put Ben to bed and read him a story for the first time shortly before she died. They were beginning to bond—’

‘No doubt you shamed and coaxed her into the effort. If Ben’s father had not been an extremely rich and evidently very scared married man willing to pay heavily for her discretion, Erica would have had that pregnancy terminated,’Ruth opined without hesitation. ‘She had no interest in children.’

Giving up on her attempt to soften Ruth’s attitude towards Ben’s late mother, Freddy got up and knelt down by the little boy playing on the rug. Ben had his little cars lined up. He was dive-bombing them with a toy aeroplane and all the accompanying noisy sound effects. Aware that her hostess was finding the racket something of an irritation, Freddy directed Ben’s interest to a puzzle instead and sat by his side until his attention was fully engaged. He was a very lovable child and she adored him as though he were her own. An affectionate and good-natured little boy with dark curls and enormous brown eyes, Ben had been a premature baby.

Freddy had actually been living with Erica by the time that her cousin had gone into labour. Ben had spent the first few weeks of his life confined to an incubator and Freddy had always blamed that unfortunate fact for her cousin’s distressing inability to bond with her baby. Over the months that had followed in her role as nanny to Ben, Freddy had tried everything to encourage that maternal bond to develop and had even taken advice from a psychologist on her cousin’s behalf. But nothing had worked. Erica had continued to demonstrate little more interest in Ben than she might have done in a strange child passing her by in the street.

‘As you can’t contact the father, you need to contact the authorities and notify them about the situation,’Ruth advised. ‘It’s unfortunate that Erica didn’t simplify matters by leaving a will but, naturally, once her solicitor has sorted out her estate, everything will go to Ben as well as that continuing income.’

‘Ben’s going to be a very rich little boy,’ Freddy muttered heavily. ‘I expect people will queue up to adopt him and social services are bound to look for a family that are already wealthy in their own right. What hope have I got against that kind of competition? I’m single, currently unemployed and I’m only twenty-four—’

‘You’re also that child’s only known relative and you’ve been with him since birth.’ But Ruth Coulter spoke as if neither fact that might support the adoption application that the younger woman was determined to make was a source of satisfaction to her. ‘I wish you’d never got involved, Freddy. I can’t approve of an unmarried woman of your age taking on such a burden—’

‘Ben’s not a burden.’Freddy’s chin took on a stubborn tilt.

‘You’ve had no life of your own since you got tangled up with Erica’s problems.’ The older woman’s disapproval was unconcealed. ‘She used you quite shamelessly to take care of her responsibilities—’

‘I was paid an excellent salary to look after Ben,’ Freddy reminded her defensively.

‘For weeks on end without a break? Day and night and weekends too?’Ruth enquired drily. ‘Your cousin took advantage of your good nature and it’s no wonder you’re now thinking of that little boy as though he was your son. For the past two years, he might as well have been!’

Studying Freddy’s now flushed and guilty face, Ruth compressed her lips. She had once lived next door to the Sutton family and she had known both Erica and Freddy as children. Children who had been forever joking about the foolish fact that they both had the exact same name—Frederica. Their fathers had been brothers and both had named their daughters in honour of a spinster great-aunt in the forlorn hope that they would eventually be enriched by that piece of flattery. As, at that time, the two families had lost touch with each other, the coincidence had not been discovered until years later. When Erica’s parents had been killed in a car accident, Freddy’s widowed father had taken in his niece and brought her up with his own daughter.

But who could ever have dreamt that that generous act could have ended up working to Freddy’s detriment? In Ruth’s opinion, even as a child Erica had been dishonest and precocious, essentially shallow in nature but capable of exercising great charm when it suited her to do so. Ruth had not been impressed by Erica’s highly coloured stories of her late parents’ cruelty towards her, but a lot of people had been impressed even though there had been no proof whatsoever to back up her claims. Within the space of six months, Freddy had been the less favoured child in her own home, for Freddy had never been one to push herself forward or flatter.

Having always been very fond of the younger woman, who had lost her own mother at an early age, Ruth had not been as sorry as she felt she should have been when Erica had run off with a neighbour’s husband. Ruth had hoped that without her cousin around to hog the limelight, Freddy would grow in confidence. After all, Freddy was a pretty girl but, having had her self-esteem punctured by Erica at a sensitive age, she regarded herself as plain. Ruth was fond of little Ben as well but she was a pragmatic thinker. She did not want to watch Freddy sacrifice her youth and her freedom just to raise Erica’s son. Conscious of Ruth’s concerned disapproval and discomfited, Freddy left rather earlier than usual and caught the tube back to her late cousin’s apartment. For an instant, entering the spacious hall which gave only a tiny taste of the opulence yet to come, Freddy felt spooked. At any minute she expected Erica to drawl from the drawing-room, ‘Is that you, Freddy darling? I have the most horrible hangover. My appetite will need tempting tonight…or do you think I ought to settle for a hair of the dog that bit me? Do you think sobering up was the mistake?’

Her eyes stung with tears afresh. She had known Erica’s faults, had often despaired over her cousin’s self-destructive habits, but had continued to love her like a sister. In the right mood, Erica had been tremendous fun to be around and if she had been around a lot less than Freddy had wished since Ben’s birth, who was to blame for that?

The Arab Prince whom Erica had insisted had fathered Ben? No, Freddy hadn’t believed that particular story, most especially not when Erica had got really carried away and had added that one day her child’s father would be a king! So she had never shared that colourful tale with Ruth. It was just possible, however, that Ben’s father had been a rich Arab tycoon, the old geezer with the yacht and the taste for floating floozies whom Erica had been equally indiscreet about mentioning. But a royal prince…no way!

‘It’s time for your bath,’she told Ben, leading him through to the bathroom off the nursery.

‘Boats!’Ben exclaimed with satisfaction, rushing to gather up the plastic collection of toys in the string bag hanging from a hook. ‘Me play boats.’

‘And then we’ll have supper.’

‘Love you…’ Ben wrapped two small arms tight round Freddy’s knees and hugged her with all his might.

Her eyes prickled like mad and she was furious with herself. She was going to lose Ben. Waiting in hope of a helpful response coming from that stuffy Swiss bank had been foolish. There was no point kidding herself or trying to avoid the next step of notifying the authorities so that they could make legal decisions on Ben’s behalf. But if only it hadn’t been for all that wretched money! However, just as swiftly, Freddy told herself off for resenting the existence of the funds that would enable Ben to have the very best of everything as he grew up. Why didn’t she just face it? There was no hope of her being allowed to retain custody of Ben.

She was tucking the little boy into his cot when the phone rang and startled her. Once when Erica had been in residence it had rung off the hook at all hours but as word of her cousin’s death had slowly spread the phone had grown steadily more silent.

Answering it, she murmured, ‘Yes?’

‘I wish to speak to Miss Frederica Sutton,’ stated a dark masculine voice with an unmistakable foreign accent.

‘I’m Miss Sutton, but which—?’ Miss Sutton are you asking for, she meant to add.

‘Please make yourself available at ten tomorrow morning for my visit. I wish to discuss Benedict’s future. I warn you that if any other party is present in the apartment prior to my arrival, the visit will not take place.’

‘I beg your p-pardon?’ Freddy stammered in her astonishment at those instructions, but even as she spoke the caller concluded the call.

Frowning, she began to put together what she had been told. Had she just spoken to Ben’s father? Who else would wish to discuss Ben’s future with her? But how had he found out that Erica had died? For goodness’ sake, he might even be in regular contact with some friend of Erica’s! Or possibly her letter to that Swiss bank had discreetly been passed on even though the institution had officially refused to help. Anyway, what did it matter?

By the sound of it, it very likely was Ben’s father who was coming to speak to her tomorrow. Who else would be so concerned that there should be nobody else present during their meeting? Who else would demand and require such discretion? Although if that arrogant-sounding character who shot out demands without hesitation was a ‘scared’ married man, she would not have liked to meet a confident one!

Freddy went to bed that evening in a state of growing anxiety as she tried to imagine what plans the man might have for his secret son. She tossed and turned and wondered whether she ought to wear her nanny uniform and parade her excellent credentials in childcare in the hope of making the best possible impression. But in the end she discarded that idea for she wanted to make known her own blood tie with Ben, slender though it was. And with a rich domineering male, there was too much of a risk that her uniform would encourage him to look on her as a mere employee who could have no possible opinion worth hearing.

So she would put on her only suit and be suitably humble while listening, rather than attempting to impose any of her own views. She lay frantically trying to plunder her brain for what little Erica had said about the man who had got her pregnant. ‘The kindest man I ever met.’ Had her cousin been talking about Ben’s father or the Argentinian millionaire who had followed him? Or had the Argentinian preceded Ben’s conception?

In the darkness, Freddy blushed for her cousin’s many affairs. Erica had been very lovely though, and no doubt it had been hard for her to choose one man, especially when they had nearly always seemed to have a wife in the background. Freddy winced, recalling the times when she had tried to preach moral restraint to Erica and Erica would give her a sad look that had just torn at Freddy’s heart and say, ‘All I want is someone who will really love me.’And then spoil the effect by adding, ‘So what if he belongs to some other woman? Do you think she’d think twice in my shoes? It’s a hard world out there!’

By nine the following morning, Freddy was ready for her visitor. The apartment shone because she had got up at six to ensure that not a sliver of dust lurked in any corner. Garbed in a navy suit, white blouse and flat court shoes and with her thick curly blonde hair scraped back into an old-fashioned bun, which she felt gave her a much-needed look of greater maturity, Freddy surveyed her reflection with a critical frown. Then, remembering the spectacles she had once worn for eye strain while studying, she went and dug them out and perched them on her nose. Yes, indeed, she thought with satisfaction, she could easily pass for a sensible young woman of thirty, not that she would lie if questioned, but most probably she would not be asked.

‘The kindest man I have ever met,’ she kept on repeating to herself to ease her nervous tension. If she could just get the opening, she had lots of arguments to make in her own favour. Ben’s father would not need to maintain such a hugely expensive apartment for their benefit, nor would her own living expenses with Ben run to a hundredth of Erica’s. If he would only agree to her becoming Ben’s legal guardian, she would save him an absolute fortune in all sorts of ways! Please, please, please, she prayed, fingers knotted together as she paced up and down.

And then it finally occurred to her to wonder how Ben’s father had been able to say that he would not show up if there was anyone else in the apartment. A shiver of belated dismay ran down Freddy’s taut spine. The only way he could have uttered that warning would have been in the knowledge that he was having the apartment watched in advance of his own arrival and that was a seriously scary thought! Aware that she had disliked the handful of Erica’s male friends whom she had actually met, Freddy suddenly felt quite sick with worry. Ben was adorable but his father could well be a creep or a criminal or both!

The bell buzzed. Sucking in a shaky breath, Freddy went to answer the door. As she stood back, three dark-skinned men dressed in suits and built like human tanks strode into the hall. Completely ignoring her, they proceeded to march into every room of the apartment, evidently checking out whether or not she and Ben were on their own. Surging like a frantic mother hen into the lounge where Ben lay asleep on a sofa, Freddy stood over him, muttering, ‘Please go away…please don’t wake him up…he’ll be scared…I’m scared!’

One of the men spoke into a mobile phone and the trio regrouped together out in the hall while still behaving as if she were invisible. Trembling like a leaf, Freddy folded her arms and listened to the lift arrive with a ping on the landing outside the still-open front door: it was that quiet. She heard footsteps, a low exchange of masculine voices and then a tall dark male appeared in the lounge doorway.

He did not look like the kindest man she was ever likely to meet, but she kept on staring like an idiot because he was so incredibly good-looking she was knocked for six. She did not know quite what expectations she had had, but certainly she had assumed he would be a much older man. Not a guy who looked as if he wrestled with sharks for fun before breakfast, ran a couple of marathons before lunch, ruled some vast business empire throughout the afternoon and finished off the day by taking some very lucky woman to bed and exhausting her. Caught up in dismay by that last far too intimate thought, Freddy reddened to the roots of her hair.

‘You are Miss Frederica Sutton?’ he demanded, scanning her with brilliant dark deepset eyes that set her heart racing as if she had just heard a fire alarm.

Freddy nodded in slow motion, her entrapped attention running over his luxuriant blue-black hair, his fabulous bone structure, the delicious hue of bronze to his complexion, his arrogant nose, his sinfully beautiful mouth. He was an absolute pin-up, he was totally fantastic, and Erica must have fallen madly in love with him. Just about any woman would, Freddy reflected dizzily, until she recalled that he was a married man and strove in shame to rise above all such inappropriate and personal reflections.

‘Speak,’ he commanded.

It really was a command too, Freddy noted, still searching for her lost vocal cords. He spoke like a male who took it for granted that instant obedience to his every wish would follow. ‘I’m Frederica Sutton, just like—’my late cousin, the mother of your child, she had been about to say.

‘If I wish to enter a conversation with you, I will inform you,’her visitor drawled, running bold and derisive eyes over her taut figure, his highly expressive mouth curling at the corners. ‘I am Jaspar al-Husayn, Crown Prince of Quamar, and I stand here in my brother’s place as next closest of kin and uncle to your son, Benedict.’

Freddy’s hearing and comprehension seized up and slowed to a snail’s pace the very instant he mentioned that he was a prince, a Crown Prince moreover. Erica had not been telling entertaining fibs? Ben’s father was a royal prince? Silenced by sincere shock at that revelation, Freddy stared, eyes wide and shaken behind her spectacle lenses. But had he not also said that he was Ben’s uncle and not his father?

‘Why have you presented yourself to me dressed in that peculiar way? Do you think to impress me with the belief that you are a good mother? Though it must pain me to be so frank, I am well aware of the life that you lead and equally aware that your ugly appearance can only be a pretence calculated to mislead.’

He did not know that Erica was dead, she registered in dismay. He believed that she was Erica, got up to be ugly, for some strange reason. Ugly. Freddy experienced both anger and pain at that label. No, she knew she wasn’t pretty, but it was not good news to hear that a plain suit, a dated hairstyle and a pair of spectacles were sufficient to make her worthy of that cruel word: ‘ugly’. He looked like a dark angel, talked like an ignorant, unfeeling louse and probably couldn’t pass a single mirror without falling in love with his gorgeous reflection! Was it his business that she was not Erica? All that nonsense about discretion and here she was being treated like dirt and he wasn’t even Ben’s father!

‘Your brother…’Freddy murmured icily while drawing her slender frame taut to reach her full quota of five feet four inches, her back ramrod straight. ‘I’m prepared to speak only to your brother, Ben’s father.’

‘Adil died of a heart attack last month.’

Freddy frowned at him, her mind struggling to compute the reality that Ben truly was an orphan, that not only his mother but also his father was dead. She swallowed hard, seriously troubled by that news. By some awful quirk of fate, Ben had been deprived of the only remaining individual who had had an indisputable right to make caring choices on his behalf.

‘It is I who will take charge of Benedict and remove him from your less-than-adequate care.’ And having made that utterly devastating announcement, Crown Prince Jaspar strolled over to gaze down with unfathomable dark eyes at the little boy still curled up asleep on the sofa. ‘He is very small for an al-Husayn male. We are a tall family,’ he remarked critically.

‘What do you mean when you say that you are planning to take charge of Ben?’ Freddy mumbled, her tummy suddenly behaving as though it were a boat in a storm-tossed sea.

Her imagination was already running riot. She didn’t like him and she didn’t trust him. What did he mean by that comment that Ben was small? Use your brain and think fast, Freddy urged herself. Her shockingly offensive visitor could only be implying that Ben might not, after all, have al-Husayn genes. In other words, he was suggesting that Erica might have lied about her son having been fathered by his brother!

And wasn’t it perfectly possible that Jaspar al-Husayn might be hoping that Ben would prove not to be a member of his family? Now that Ben’s father had passed away, where did Ben come into the scheme of things? Why would this Crown Prince want to take Ben from a woman he believed to be his mother? Yet in contrast, his brother, Adil, had gone to great trouble to keep his illegitimate son a secret and had pledged a great deal of money to the task of ensuring that the child he’d had no intention of acknowledging would have a financially secure future.

‘If you value your present lifestyle and income, don’t argue with me,’ Crown Prince Jaspar murmured, smooth as silk.

And in that moment Freddy decided that it would be far too risky to disabuse him of his assumption that she was Ben’s mother. Not yet anyway. How far could she trust a male who had an advance guard of pure-bred thugs? He might well be a most unsavoury character. Certainly he behaved like one with that threat he had just uttered without conscience, announcing that he had the power to set aside the arrangements that his more responsible brother had put in place. What kind of a man spoke like that when a child’s needs and security lay in the balance?

And Jaspar al-Husayn needn’t bother looking down that classic nose at her as if she were the dust beneath his royal feet. In fact, Freddy, who had a temper that was usually slow to rise, was just about fizzing with rage in her determination to protect Ben. Only if her concerns were put to rest would she dare to concede the dangerous truth that as Ben’s uncle he had far more rights than she could possibly have.

‘Can you offer me proof of your identity?’ Freddy enquired, unleashing the first volley of what she expected to be a long and bitter defensive battle.

The brilliant dark eyes flashed gold, lush black lashes narrowing over his piercing gaze. ‘I have no need to offer such credentials.’

That rich dark drawl carried a note of incredulity that he could not hide. Freddy straightened her shoulders. ‘I don’t know you from Adam. You could be anybody and I’m not prepared to discuss Ben’s future without evidence that you are who you say you are.’

‘I am not accustomed to being spoken to in such a discourteous manner,’ Crown Prince Jaspar countered in the most lethal tone.

A chill ran down Freddy’s rigid spine but she needed time, time to check him out and time to take advice. That it would mean for ever burning her own boats with this arrogant male was unavoidable, for Ben’s safety and well-being were of paramount importance.

‘Perhaps you could come back tomorrow evening about eight with appropriate references,’ Freddy countered unevenly, somewhat intimidated by the aura of sheer blazing disbelief that emanated from him. ‘I will then be happy to sit down and discuss in a polite and civilised way what path his future should follow.’

‘You have angered me. You will regret it.’Jaspar al-Husayn swore very softly.

Pale as death, Freddy watched him stride from the room and listened to the front door thud shut in his wake. He had given her such a scare that she could hardly breathe. Ben began to wake up, sleepily rubbing his eyes and whimpering a little the way he often did at such times. Freddy gathered him up in her arms and hugged him to her, her heart racing. An orphaned child born of such important lineage and likely to inherit a large amount of money was a very vulnerable child, she reflected fearfully. She needed to make an appointment with a solicitor and check out her legal position.

CHAPTER TWO

LATE afternoon of the following day, Jaspar studied the report from his security team on Erica Sutton’s activities since his visit to her apartment. That she had evidently rushed straight to a solicitor for advice came as no surprise to him.

Jaspar was satisfied that he had put Erica Sutton under considerable pressure, which had been precisely his intent. While his late brother had been gracing ceremonial occasions and cruising the Med with his party girls, Jaspar had been acquiring the brilliant business acumen with which he oversaw Quamar’s considerable investments abroad. Military school and the tough, fast-moving world of finance had honed Jaspar’s natural talents to a fine and ruthless edge. He knew how to negotiate. Once he knew his quarry’s weaknesses and the time was right, he moved in for the kill.

Subjecting Erica Sutton to the fear that she might lose all that she had gained by her son’s birth had been a deliberate ploy. Doubtless, she imagined that to continue enjoying her present lifestyle she had to retain custody of her son but that was not, in fact, the case. When she learned that she could give up his nephew without surrendering her financial security, Jaspar believed that she would rush to do so.

But he was intensely amused to read that Erica had apparently spent two hours in a beauty salon that very afternoon. So the real Erica Sutton was about to make herself known!

His crack about her unlovely appearance had evidently been more than flesh and blood could stand. Had she imagined when he’d set up that first meeting that he was someone who had power over her finances? Why else would she have gone to such ridiculous lengths to present him with that fake image? How could she have thought that he would be impressed by such a disguise? Adil, connoisseur that he had been, would not have looked twice at a woman with a hideous hairstyle, heavy spectacles and frumpy clothes.

But then, possibly, Erica Sutton was not the brightest spark on the block, Jaspar conceded lazily, recalling the reality that she had telephoned the Consulate of Quamar in an apparent effort to confirm his identity. So naive, so clumsy, he reflected, for naturally even the junior diplomat who had dealt with her call had refused to confirm or deny his presence in London on what was essentially a private trip. But then he was surprised that she had not simply recognised him from the many family photographs on his late brother’s yacht, Beauteous Dreamer.

Hopefully, he could wrap up the whole unfortunate business by the end of the day for he did not wish to strain his father’s non-existent patience. He already had nursery staff standing by to take charge of his nephew. Possibly the arrival of a grandson might distract his parent from the rather more personal goal which Adil’s death had sadly made a matter of much greater urgency… Jaspar’s own marriage.

At thirty years old, he was well aware that he was fortunate to still be single. But then his father had feared that Adil’s inability to settle with one woman had been the direct result of having been pressed into marriage while he’d still been too immature to have made that commitment. However, Adil’s death had changed the whole picture where Jaspar was concerned. That he marry and produce a son to safeguard the succession was now of great importance.

He would let his father choose his bride. Why not? For the past two years, the royal household had staged regular social events simply to ensure that he met a great number of young women. On a most discreet basis, innumerable bridal candidates had been served up for Jaspar’s perusal, the hope being that he would do what everybody wanted him to do and fall in love. But the knowledge that he was being targeted with every weapon in the feminine armoury had made him extremely critical. And the concept of love left Jaspar colder than Siberian ice. Adil had always been falling in love, but Jaspar had only loved once and the experience had been traumatic. Love was a weakness that Jaspar had no intention of falling victim to a second time.

The day before, Freddy had visited the first solicitor able to give her an immediate appointment. Having described Ben’s situation without naming names, she had requested an honest opinion of her position.

‘An uncle is a close relative and, in this particular case, the authorities would also take into account Ben’s inheritance as well as his background,’ the older man informed her.

Freddy tensed. ‘His…background?’

‘Naturally with his father having been of Arabic descent there are cultural aspects which would have to be respected in his upbringing.’

Not even having foreseen that likelihood, Freddy paled, but she pressed on regardless to finally reach the climax which she had intended all along. ‘But if I was to apply to have Ben made a ward of court…er…to protect him?’

‘Protect him?’ The solicitor frowned in visible surprise. ‘On what grounds? Have you cause to believe that Ben would be at some risk with his uncle?’

‘Well, not precisely, but…I didn’t like the man at all,’ Freddy proffered feelingly.

‘If necessary, social services would intervene to ensure the child’s well-being but, on the basis of what you’ve told me about the uncle, I don’t see why they should. I also don’t think you need to take quite so much responsibility onto your own shoulders,’ she was told.

Disconcerted by that quiet rebuke, Freddy left his office, dogged by the depressing suspicion that she had been charging at foolish windmills and refusing to accept the inevitable. Why had it not occurred to her that Ben’s cultural heritage would weigh heavily in the balance of what was judged best for him? Such an obvious point, yet she had not even recognised it and there was no way on earth that she alone could meet that need.

Arriving back at the apartment, she contacted the Consulate of Quamar to try to verify Jaspar al-Husayn’s identity. The man she spoke to was not helpful. However, the internet search she then did on Erica’s computer proved more fruitful for the royal family of Quamar had an official website. It contained a small respectful piece on the demise of the former Crown Prince, Adil, and a much lengthier bulletin on King Zafir’s precarious state of health. However, her own attention was immediately engaged by the picture of the present heir to the throne, Jaspar al-Husayn, looking impossibly handsome and grave and indisputably the same arrogant male who had visited her.

Totally disheartened by that final confirmation, Freddy went to bed that night and made herself face facts. Jaspar al-Husayn evidently knew enough about her late cousin’s lifestyle to have deemed her an unfit parent and could she truly blame him for that? Had she been unfairly biased against him? After all, it had been a considerable shock when Ben’s uncle had come out of nowhere to demand him and a hard, hurting blow in terms of her own fond hopes of keeping Erica’s child, Freddy acknowledged with scrupulous honesty. But it would be very wrong of her to allow selfish personal feelings to blind her to what would be best for Ben.

Ultimately, it seemed, Crown Prince Jaspar would gain custody of Ben and there was nothing she could do about that. However, if she continued, just in the short term, to let him believe that she was Ben’s mother, she could at least learn what his plans for Ben entailed and try to persuade him to make the break between herself and Ben a gentle one. Then she would have to come clean about only being Ben’s nanny and no doubt Crown Prince Jaspar would be absolutely furious with her on that score.

Even as she choked back a sob at the prospect of being parted from Ben, Freddy recognised that it was Jaspar al-Husayn’s demand for total discretion that worried her the most. How could he take personal charge of an illegitimate child whose very existence would surely cause an enormous scandal in a conservative Arab country? It was not as though he could adopt Ben: as far as Freddy was aware, Muslim countries did not practise adoption.

Recalling how suspicious the Crown Prince had been of her staid appearance on his first visit, Freddy decided that she had better make what effort she could to look the part she now felt forced to play for a little longer. So the following afternoon she went to get her hair done. Afterwards, she was rather stunned by the foaming mane of eye-catching blonde curls she seemed to have developed.

Freddy had always worn her hair tied back. Indeed, she would have had it cut short had her late father not once remarked on how pretty her hair was. Well, long hair was all very well but not practical during working hours, and long thick curly hair was something else again unless one was talented with a blow-dryer, which Freddy was not.

A couple of early and very wounding experiences with boys had confirmed her conviction that she was a born spinster just as Ruth had once confessed herself to be. In recent years, only amorous drunks or self-pitying types desperate for a sympathetic audience had demonstrated any interest in her. Why? Well, as Erica had said, ‘You’re a little plump and homely, Freddy.’

Freddy loathed her body and loved to cover it. A mere glimpse of her too ample bosom and curvaceous behind when she was undressing was enough to depress her for the rest of the day. Developing far in advance of her schoolmates had been a severe embarrassment in primary school and hiding beneath capacious sweaters and T-shirts had become a necessity when she’d compared her own burgeoning shape to Erica’s reed-slender delicacy. No matter how hard she exercised, her full curves remained.

After tucking Ben in, she hovered by his cot, gazing down into his peaceful and sleepy little face. Her throat thickened and she felt as if a giant hand were squeezing her heart and dared not even think of what her life would be like without him. She went for a quick shower and then wound herself into a pink towel. In the cloakroom, she stood at the vanity unit, which had marvellous lighting, and painstakingly applied eye-shadow and mascara. She rarely bothered to use cosmetics yet she knew every trick, lessons learned by watching Erica as both teenager and woman.

The doorbell buzzed just as she was putting on lipstick. She smiled because she had ordered herself a pizza as a treat. Once a week, where was the harm? Taste buds watering, she went to answer the door. It didn’t matter that she was only wearing a towel as the take-away employed a woman to deliver in the area.

But when Freddy opened the door, she got a surprise. Jaspar al-Husayn strode into the hall without awaiting an invitation.

‘I thought you were my pizza being delivered,’ Freddy mumbled, aghast at his early arrival and then shocked all over again by the sheer impact of him in the flesh.

She encountered stunning eyes the colour of pure gold and was dazzled. If I had three wishes, it would be him…and him…and him, she thought dizzily, her heartbeat taking off like a jet plane. Electric tension held her fast and breathing was a challenge. The tall wrought-iron lamp cast shaded light that shimmered over the luxuriant black hair swept back from his brow, accentuated the smooth planes of his hard cheekbones, and lingered on the sculpted curve of his firm male lips.

His lean, tightly muscled frame was sheathed in a dark grey business suit that was exquisitely tailored to his powerful physique. A study in shades of vibrant bronze, he was lethally attractive. And meeting those eyes, those extraordinary eyes that she could not look away from, she felt an enervating charge of tension pulse through her, tautening every tiny muscle. Yet her body was filling with a sensation of liquid, languorous warmth, making her outrageously aware of the heaviness of her breasts and the sudden embarrassing prominence of her nipples.

‘Pizza…’ Jaspar murmured huskily, rooted to the spot by the sight of her.

Where the hell had his attention been on his previous visit? he asked himself with stark incredulity. Her eyes were the aqua colour of the sea, that curious blending of blue and jade and turquoise that changed according to the light. And she had the kind of hair mermaids had in fairy tales, a wild golden mane that fell round her shoulders in glorious, rippling abundance. But no legendary sea creature could have competed with the luscious swell of her creamy breasts above the towel or that glorious hourglass shape. Even as he hardened in hot-blooded male response to that sensual vision, Jaspar was shifting cool mental gears, knowing that he had severely underestimated the opposition and that was a rare error for him. He wanted to rip the towel off, propel her back against the wall and sink deep into her, lose himself in the kind of raw, urgent sex he hadn’t fantasised about since he was a teenager. And maybe he would, once he had got what he wanted.

‘P-pizza,’ Freddy stammered like a belated echo, dazed by the throbbing silence, the almost painful tension and heat inside her, the sheer terrifying emptiness of her own mind.

‘Are you planning to take the towel off?’ Jaspar enquired silkily. ‘Or are you just a tease?’

Slow burning colour flushed her throat in a wave and climbed up into her cheeks as she tore her dilated gaze from his intent scrutiny and glanced down at herself in dismay, absorbing the fact that she truly was still hovering a few feet from him clad only in a towel. With a stifled moan of embarrassment, she blundered into sudden movement in the direction of the cloakroom.

Afterwards, she could never work out how it happened, but as she accidentally brushed against him he caught her to him, one lean brown hand anchoring into her hair, the other splaying to her hip. Her startled aqua eyes flared into mesmeric gold and it was as if fireworks were flaring inside her, setting every inch of her ablaze.

‘The stammer was overkill…’ he told her huskily, white, even teeth flashing as he slanted a mocking smile down at her, ‘but the welcome invitation was ace—’

‘You’ve got the wrong idea!’ Freddy gasped, all composure crumbling.

‘I don’t think so… I hate to sound like a jerk, but women have been throwing themselves at me since I was a teenager.’

And before Freddy could even absorb that unashamed assurance that wickedly sensual mouth had descended with devouring heat down onto hers. Intense excitement surged up inside her in a sheet of multicoloured flame. Reaching out blindly, she gripped his arm to stay upright. She felt as if she were falling, falling so fast and furiously that she would burn up before she reached solid earth again. And nothing mattered, nothing mattered but that that connection with him remained. She was in a wonderland of sensual discovery, gasping at the plundering invasion of his tongue inside the tender interior of her mouth, shivering violently, desperately longing for him to pull her close and crush her up against him.

She heard the doorbell buzz with a kind of delayed recognition only as he tensed and then pulled back from her.

‘Oh…crumbs…’she framed, blinking rapidly and then shooting into the cloakroom behind him like a scalded cat.

Thrusting home the bolt on the door, Freddy flung herself back against it, shaking like a leaf in a gale. The mirror surrounded with lights opposite confronted her with her own image. Literally cringing with mortification, she studied her swollen mouth, her dilated pupils and the expression of shock and bewilderment still etched there. How are you ever going to go out there again and act as if nothing happened? screamed the first thought to emerge from her reawakening brain.

He thought she had deliberately flaunted herself in the towel too. True brazen hussy stuff. At that realisation, she writhed in even greater embarrassment, but over and above that discomfiture lurked an entire new level of self-knowledge. She honestly hadn’t known that a man could make her feel like that. There was a sort of shameless fascination still gripping her: that one smouldering kiss could make her forget everything. Who she was, who he was, everything. It also seemed especially cruel that she should have made that discovery with Jaspar al-Husayn. In fact, could there be anything more infuriating? All this time she had wondered why most women’s magazines raved about sex as though it was a truly exciting pursuit when her own slender experience had taught her otherwise.

And then this guy she hated like poison grabbed her and showed her that the excitement might actually not be a giant con practised on the female sex. How dared he have done that to her? What was the point of finding out that a Crown Prince had more than a fighting chance of persuading her out of celibacy? A blasted Crown Prince, she thought afresh, eyes scorching with sudden tears.

He had come to talk about Ben, she reminded herself. Paling, she forced herself to move and unlocked the door sneakily and silently, before pressing down the handle equally quietly and peering out into the hall through a gap barely an inch wide. The coast seemed clear. Had he left? She crept out and then fled down the corridor to her bedroom faster than the speed of light to find some clothes.

Pulling on an oversized T-shirt and a jersey skirt which fell almost to her ankles, she dug her feet into clumpy shoes. The whole time she was dressing, she was rationalising what had happened between them. He had taken her by surprise. She had been temporarily deprived of her wits by the simple fact that he was so gorgeous. But he only had to speak and his mythical attraction vanished, so really she was quite safe from making an even bigger ass of herself. So women were forever throwing themselves at him…oh, the poor love, how did he bear the torment of being so unbearably fanciable? He had the most gigantic ego and she would have done anything to puncture it.

She trudged back down to the main reception rooms, very much hoping he wouldn’t be waiting for her. But the guy had no tact, no shame and the kind of self-assurance that would have ensured that the Titanic sank the iceberg instead of the other way round. There he was, large as life and twice as bold in the drawing-room, which she had barely entered since Erica’s death. But then he had found his natural milieu, hadn’t he? He looked more at home there against the elaborate furniture and the curtaining weighed down with excessive swagging, fringing and tassels.

‘Your pizza…’ Indicating the shallow box parked on the coffee-table, Jaspar al-Husayn sent her a slow, slashing smile that made her heart skip a beat and told her too many things that she didn’t want to know.

‘Look, I don’t fancy you!’ Freddy heard herself state with shocking baldness before she could think better of it. ‘So you can stop looking so pleased with yourself because what happened out in that hall was just one of those stupid things and there is not the smallest danger that I am going to be tempted to throw myself at you! Not unless I get a brain transplant.’

He said nothing. In the silence that dragged even in the first second, and which was working like a shriek alarm on her nerves by the tenth second, Jaspar gazed back at her with measuring cool.

Freddy could feel her face burning up like a bonfire. While those ten seconds limped past, she went from defensive defiance to shrinking chagrin. What on earth had come over her? Instead of ignoring what had happened, she had dredged it back up again and attacked him like a teenager desperate to save face.

‘Let’s discuss my nephew,’ he finally murmured in his rich, dark drawl. ‘Feel free to enjoy your pizza.’

Freddy pictured an imaginary headline: ‘Crown Prince battered to death by pizza box’. She hated him, oh, boy, did she hate him. Every time he opened his mouth, he put her down, and only a minute ago he had proved that he didn’t even have to speak to achieve that feat. Freddy plonked herself down on an overstuffed sofa. Her tummy gurgled and she stiffened with embarrassment and stared a hole in the pizza box. She had a healthy appetite and she was starving, but she was convinced that if she started eating he would take one scornful look at her and think, No wonder she’s that size!

Mind you, he had kissed her, hadn’t he? Her downbent head came up a notch. Obviously he hadn’t found her that unattractive. There must have been some spark on his side of the fence. Maybe he liked women who weren’t skin and bone. It was such a seductive thought that Freddy had an instant vision of herself lying in a desert tent being stuffed with sweets by an adoring male, who would die if she mentioned going on a diet. What was the matter with her? For goodness’ sake, this was probably the most important discussion she would ever hold in her whole life, for Ben was her life, and yet her mind was filled with nothing but nonsense!

‘I understood that you employed a nanny for my nephew,’ Jaspar remarked without warning. ‘Where is she?’

Wondering how on earth he could seem to know so much about Erica’s life and yet not know that her cousin was no longer alive, Freddy stiffened and then forced herself to look at him. ‘She has a family emergency to deal with right now. Look… you said you wanted to take charge of Ben. I’d like to know why.’

Jaspar al-Husayn surveyed her with narrowed golden eyes. ‘He is my nephew.’

‘But your brother wanted Ben’s existence kept a secret. He didn’t seem to want anything further to do with him either.’ Freddy was choosing her words carefully.

‘I will not comment on my late brother’s decisions,’ Jaspar murmured, his strong jawline clenching. ‘It would be inappropriate.’

‘But I don’t think it’s unreasonable of me to ask why you have this sudden desire to give Ben a home,’ Freddy persisted.

‘I have in my possession a recent investigation report into your lifestyle.’

Instinctively resenting that superior tone as much as she disliked the news that a private detective had been snooping into Erica’s life without her late cousin’s knowledge, Freddy tilted her chin and said with helpless defiance, ‘Bully for you!’

Jaspar dealt her a grim appraisal. ‘The report made it clear that you are a neglectful mother. You have continually left my nephew to the sole care of an employee, sometimes for periods of six weeks at a time. When you are at home, you throw wild parties for your drunken friends. The police have been called on more than one occasion to settle violent disputes at this address.’

Freddy reddened with sudden shame because it was all true and she turned her head away for a moment, no longer able to meet his challenging gaze. She could still recall lying nervously awake behind a locked door with Ben on the night that Erica had staged her first party since her son’s birth. Neighbours had complained to the police about the excessive noise and offensive behaviour of the guests. When, on a subsequent evening, someone had tried to force their way into the bedroom, Freddy had been really scared. After that experience, whenever Erica had decided to throw a party, Freddy had simply taken Ben over to Ruth’s and spent the night there with him in peace.