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A Question of Honour
Kate Walker
A runaway princess…It should be easy. Karim Al Khalifa, Crown Prince of Markhazad, has one task: retrieve rebellious princess Clementina Savanevski from her hideout in England and return her home to be wed…to another man.His to find or his to keep?It is not for Karim to notice her alluring scent, those seductive curves, the enticing glances she sends his way. No, his family’s honour – and his own – requires Clementina to be delivered pure and untouched to her unwanted bridegroom. And he must resist all temptation to keep her for himself!Discover more atwww.millsandboon.co.uk/katewalker



‘You wanted honesty—well, here’s honesty …’ Karim said.
Suddenly Clemmie didn’t want him to say anything. That frankness she had wanted now seemed so dangerous, so threatening. Yet she had pushed him to say it and she couldn’t find the words to stop him. It was too late.
‘I do want you.’
Karim’s black eyes burned down into her wide amber ones, searing right into her thoughts.
‘Never doubt it. I want you so much that it’s tearing me to pieces not to have you. But what does that do for us?’
‘It … You know it was an arranged marriage. One I had no part in … no agreement given. I was just a child. My father sold me!’
‘The agreement is still binding. You are here to become Nabil’s Queen.’
‘But not yet …’ she said.
KATE WALKER was born in Nottinghamshire, but as she grew up in Yorkshire she has always felt that her roots are there. She met her husband at university, and originally worked as a children’s librarian, but after the birth of her son she returned to her old childhood love of writing. When she’s not working she divides her time between her family, their three cats, and her interests of embroidery, antiques, film and theatre—and, of course, reading.
You can visit Kate at www.kate-walker.com (http://www.kate-walker.com)
Recent titles by the same author:
A THRONE FOR THE TAKING (Royal and Ruthless) THE DEVIL AND MISS JONES THE RETURN OF THE STRANGER (The Powerful and the Pure) THE PROUD WIFE
Did you know these are also available as eBooks?Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
A Question
of Honor
Kate Walker


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
This book needs several dedications:
To my editor, Pippa,
whose support and understanding has been invaluable.
To Marie,
whose ‘shiver down the spine’ comment told me I needed to finish it.
And to my who knows how many ‘greats’ back ancestor Chevalier Charles Wogan, whose real-life story was the inspiration behind my fictional version.
Contents
CHAPTER ONE (#u0a0fb977-b773-5f17-b834-08526f3150f1)
CHAPTER TWO (#ub532b114-801a-5767-b520-088596a56a60)
CHAPTER THREE (#ufe2fb687-b5fb-5121-9291-f8f459368d20)
CHAPTER FOUR (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER FIVE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SIX (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER SEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER EIGHT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER NINE (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ELEVEN (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER TWELVE (#litres_trial_promo)
EXCERPT (#litres_trial_promo)
CHAPTER ONE
‘YOU KNOW WHY I’m here.’
The man’s voice was as deep and dark as his eyes, his hair...his heart, for all Clemmie knew. He filled the doorway he stood in, big and broad and dangerously strong. Worryingly so.
She didn’t know what put that sense of danger into his appearance. There was nothing in the way he stood, the long body relaxed, his hands pushed deep into the pockets of the well-worn jeans that clung to narrow hips and powerful legs, that spoke of threat or any sort of menace. And his face, although rough-hewn and rugged, did not have the type of features that made her think of black shadowy novels about serial killers or vampires rising from the dead.
Not that serial killers conformed to the myth that evil had to be ugly as well. And this man was definitely not ugly. He was all hunk, if the truth was told. Those deep brown eyes were combined with unbelievably luxuriant black lashes, slashing high cheekbones, surprisingly bronze-toned skin. He was a man for whom the word ‘sexy’ had been created. A man whose powerfully male impact went straight to everything that was female inside her and resonated there, making her shiver. But once the image of a vampire—dark, devastating and dangerous—had settled into her brain there was no way she could shake it loose.
It was something about the eyes. Something about that cold, direct, unflinching stare. Dead-eyed and unyielding. She couldn’t understand it. And because she couldn’t find a reason for it, it made her shiver all the more though she forced herself not to show it and instead pasted a smile that she hoped was polite but not overly encouraging on to her face.
‘I beg your pardon?’
If he caught the note of rejection and dismissal she tried to inject into the words then not a sign of it registered in that enigmatic face. He certainly didn’t look discouraged or even concerned but flashed her another of those cold-eyed glances and repeated, with obvious emphasis, ‘You know why I’m here.’
‘I think not.’
She was expecting someone. Had been dreading his arrival for days—weeks. Ever since the time had approached when she would celebrate her twenty-third birthday. If ‘celebrated’ was the right word for marking the day that would mean the end of her old life, and the start of the new. The start of the life she had known was coming but had tried to put out of her mind. Without success. The thought of what her future was to be hung over her like a dark storm cloud, blighting each day that crept nearer to the moment her destiny changed.
But she had prayed he wouldn’t come so soon. That she would have at least a few more days—just a month would be perfect—before the fate that her father had planned for her when she had been too young to understand, let alone object, closed in around her and locked her into a very different existence.
The person she had been expecting—dreading—was very different from this darkly devastating male. He was much older for a start. And would never have appeared so casually dressed, so carelessly indifferent to the demands of protocol and security.
Which was just as well because the sudden and unexpected ring at the doorbell had caught her unawares. She hadn’t even brushed her hair properly after washing it and letting it dry naturally, so that it hung in wild disorder around her face. Her mascara was smudged, and although she’d decided that the lipstick she’d been trying on was really too bright and garish, she hadn’t had time to take any of it off, or in any way lessen the impact of the vivid colour.
‘I have no idea who you are or what you’re doing here. If you’re selling something, I’m not interested. If you’re canvassing, I’ll not be voting for your party.’
‘I’m not selling anything.’
No, she’d expected that. His clothes, while too obviously casual for a salesman, had a quality and style that contradicted that thought.
‘Then in that case...’
She’d had enough of this. If he wasn’t going to explain just why he was here then she had no intention of wasting her time standing here in the hallway. She had been busy enough before the autocratic and impatient knock had summoned her to the door and if she hung around any longer she was going to be late for Harry’s party and he would never forgive her.
‘I’d appreciate it if you would just leave...’
She made a move to close the door as she spoke, wanting this over and done with. Hunk or not, he had invaded her world just at the worst possible moment.
She had so little time to spare. Correction—she had no time to spare. No time at all for herself, no time between her and the future, the fate that had once seemed so far away. She had to finish packing, organise the legal transfer of the cottage and everything else she was leaving behind. And that was always supposing that she could persuade the man she really was waiting for to give her just two days more grace.
Just forty-eight more hours. It would mean so little to him, except as a delay in the mission he’d been sent on, but it would mean the world to her—and to Harry. A tiny bubble of tension lurched up into her throat and burst there painfully as she thought about the promise she had made to Harry just the previous evening.
‘I’ll be there, sweetheart, I promise. I won’t let anything stand in my way.’
And she wouldn’t, she had vowed. She had just enough time to visit Harry, be with him through this special time, and then make it back home. Back to face the fate she now knew her dreams of escaping would never ever come true. Back to face the prospect of a future that had been signed away from her with the dictates of a peace treaty, the plans of other people so much more powerful than she could ever be. The only thing that made it bearable was the knowledge that Harry would never be trapped as she had been. Her father knew nothing about him, and she would do anything rather than let him find out.
But that had been before she had received the unwelcome news that the visitor she so dreaded seeing would be here much sooner than she had anticipated. Forty-eight hours earlier. The vital forty-eight hours she needed.
And now here was this man—this undeniably gorgeous but totally unwelcome man—invading what little was left of her privacy, and holding her up when she needed to be on her way.
‘Leave right now,’ she added, the uneasy feelings in her mind giving more emphasis to her words, a hard-voiced stress that she would never have shown under any other circumstances. As she spoke she moved to shut the door, knowing a nervous need to slam it into its frame, right in his face. That feeling was mixed with a creeping, disturbing conviction that if she didn’t get rid of him now, once and for all, he was going to ruin her plans completely.
‘I think not.’
She only just heard his low-toned words under her own sharp gasp of shock as the door hit against some unexpected blockage at its base. She suddenly became disturbingly aware of the way that he had moved forward, sudden and silent as a striking predator, firmly inserting one booted foot between the wood and its frame. A long, strong fingered hand flashed out to slam into it too, just above her head, holding it back with an ease that denied the brutal force he was employing against her own pathetic attempt at resistance. The shock of the impact ricocheted disturbingly up her arm.
‘I think not,’ he repeated, low and dangerous. ‘I’m not going anywhere.’
‘Then you’d better think again!’ she tossed at him in open defiance, her head going back, bronze eyes flashing golden sparks of rejection.
He’d expected problems, Karim Al Khalifa acknowledged to himself. The way that this woman had taken herself off from the court, the sort of life she had set up for herself, ignoring all demands of protocol and safety, in a different country, all indicated that this was not going to be the straightforward task his father had led him to believe. Clementina Savanevski—or Clemmie Savens, which was the name she was masquerading under in this rural English hideaway—knew where her duty lay, or she should do. But the fact that she had run away from that duty, and had been living a carefree life on her own had always indicated that she held her family’s promise very lightly. Far too lightly.
And now that he was face to face with her, he felt he understood why.
She had clearly cast off the restraint and the dignity she should be expected to have as a potential Queen of Rhastaan. She had on only a loose, faded tee shirt and shabby denim jeans, the latter so battered that they were actually threadbare in places where they clung to her tall, slender figure. The long dark hair hung wild around her face, tumbling down on to her shoulders and back in a disarray that was as shocking as it was sensual. Her face was marked with dark smudges around her deep amber eyes, a garish crimson lipstick staining her mouth.
And what a mouth.
Unexpectedly, shockingly, his senses seemed to catch on the thought, his heart lurching sharply, making his breath tangle inside his chest so that for a second he felt he would never exhale again. His own mouth burned as if it had made contact with the red-painted fullness of hers, his tongue moving involuntarily to sweep over his lower lip in instinctive response.
‘I’ll call the police!’
She moved back to her place by the door so that she was blocking his way if he wanted to come towards her. The movement drew his attention to her feet on the wooden floor. Long, elegant, golden-skinned, they were tipped with an astonishingly bright pink polish on her nails. And the movement had brought a waft of some tantalising perfume stirring on the air. Flowers, but with an unexpected undertone of sexy spice.
‘No need for that.’ His voice was rough around the edges as he had to push it from an unexpectedly dry throat. ‘I’m not going to hurt you.’
‘And you expect me to believe that, do you?’ she challenged, flinging another furious and flashing glare into his face.
Knowing she had caught his attention, she let her gaze drop downwards in a deliberate move to draw his attention to where his foot still came between the door and its white-painted frame, blocking the way.
‘Does that look like normal behaviour?’ she questioned roughly, nodding towards the carefully imposed barrier. Her tone was almost as raw as his but for very different reasons, he suspected. She was furious, practically spitting her anger at him. And suddenly he had the image in his head of a young, thin stray cat he had seen in a car park only that morning. A sleek black beauty who had started in violent apprehension when he had approached it and, turning, had hissed its defiance in his face.
He was handling this all wrong, Karim acknowledged uncomfortably. Somewhere in the moments between the time he had arrived here and she had answered the door, all his carefully planned tactics had gone right up in smoke and he had taken completely the wrong approach. He hadn’t expected her to be so hostile, so defiant. Raw and unsettled as he was already with thoughts of the situation he had left behind at home, worry about his father’s health, the way he had been forced so unexpectedly into taking this action today, he had let his usual rigid control slip shamefully.
That and the fact that he’d been without a woman for so long, he acknowledged unwillingly. Too long. There had been no one in his bed or even near it since Soraya had stormed out, accusing him of never being there for her. Never being there, full stop. Well, of course he hadn’t. When had he had the time, or the freedom of thought, to be there for anyone other than his father, or the country that he now found himself so brutally and unexpectedly heir to? The problems that had flared up so suddenly had taken every second of his time, forcing him to take on his father’s duties as well as his own. He wouldn’t be here otherwise. Not willingly.
And, face it, he had never expected her to be so physically gorgeous. So incredibly sexy. He had seen photographs of her, of course, but not a single one of those pictures had the sensual impact of the molten bronze eyes, golden skin, tousled black hair and the intoxicating scent that seemed to have tangled itself around his nerves, pulling tight. His mouth almost watered, his senses burning to life in the space of a heartbeat.
No.
Hastily, he pulled himself up. He couldn’t allow thoughts like that to sneak into his mind, even for a moment. It didn’t matter a damn if this woman was the sexiest female on earth—and he refused to listen to his senses’ insistence that that might just be the case—she was not for him. She was forbidden to him, dammit. They were on opposite sides of a huge divide and, frankly, it was better it stayed that way. From what he had heard, she was too much trouble to be worth any transient pleasure. And he already had too much on his conscience as it was.
‘My apologies,’ he said stiffly, imposing control on his voice in the hope that the rest of his senses would follow. ‘I am not going to hurt you.’
‘Do you think that if you say it often enough I’ll be forced to believe you?’ she challenged. ‘What’s that phrase about protesting too much?’
He wasn’t sure if she had deliberately flung the question at him to distract him, but it worked. Puzzled, he reacted without thinking, taking his foot from the door and, sensing the lessening of pressure against her hand, she acted instinctively, pushing the door back against him and whirling away from him, dashing back inside the house.
If she could just reach the phone, she could call the police, Clemmie told herself. Or she could hope to get right through the house and out of the back door. She didn’t trust for one minute his declaration that he had no intention of hurting her. He meant trouble, she was sure. Some deeply primitive instinct told her that, gorgeous or not, he was dangerous right through to the bone.
But she hadn’t pushed the door quite soon enough. She knew the moment that he stopped it from closing, the silence instead of the bang of wood on wood. He had stepped into the hallway; was right behind her. Every nerve, every muscle tensed in anticipation of his coming to claim her, to grab at her shoulder or her arms. But, unbelievably, as she dashed into the kitchen she heard him come to a halt.
‘Clementina.’
Whatever she had expected, it wasn’t that. Wasn’t the use of her name—her full name. The one that no one here in England used. The one that no one even knew was her real name. And the sound of it stopped her dead, freezing her into stillness in the middle of her tiny kitchen.
‘Clementina—please.’
Please? Now she had to be hearing things. He couldn’t have said that. He wouldn’t have said please—would he?
‘I’m not coming any further,’ he said with careful control. ‘I’m going to stay here and we should talk. Let me explain—my name is Karim Al Khalifa.’
Through the buzzing in her head, Clemmie heard the words so differently. She had been expecting to hear that name, or one so very like it, that she believed he’d said what she’d anticipated.
‘Now I know you’re lying.’
She tossed the words over her shoulder, turning her head just far enough to see that he had actually halted as he had said, just outside the kitchen door.
‘I don’t know how you know that I was waiting for someone to come here from Sheikh Al Khalifa, but it sure as blazes wasn’t you. I’ve seen a picture of the man who was coming and he’s at least twice your age, has a beard. The photo’s on my computer—it was in the email...’
‘Was,’ he inserted, cold and sharp. ‘The important word there is “was”.’
‘What are you talking about?’
Needing to see him to look into his face, meet his eyes, to try and read just what was going on inside his handsome head, she made herself turn to confront him and immediately wished she hadn’t. The dark glaze of his eyes was like black ice, making her stomach lurch. At the same time she felt the clench of her nerves in another, very different sort of response. A very female, very sensual sort of reaction. One that made her throat ache in a way that had nothing to do with fear.
One that was the last thing she wanted, or should even acknowledge she was feeling.
‘The man who was coming,’ he repeated with a dark emphasis. ‘But isn’t any more.’
‘And how do you know...’ Clemmie began, only to find that her voice failed her, the rest of the question fading away into an embarrassing squeak. This man knew too much about her situation—but from what sources?
Suddenly, she was nervous in a new way. One that had thoughts of diplomacy, peace treaties, international situations and strong tensions between countries running through her head. Her hands felt damp and she ran them down the sides of her thighs to ease the sensation, her heart clenching painfully as she watched his dark eyes drop to follow the betraying movement.
His eyes lingered in a way that made her shift uncomfortably from one foot to another on the terracotta-tiled floor.
‘I know because I organised it,’ was the emotionless response. ‘My father ordered what was to happen and instructed Adnan to come and fetch you. He also had the photo of the man he’d put in charge of this sent to you so that you knew who was coming. At least those were the original arrangements—but then everything changed.’
‘Changed?’
It felt as if her blood was weakening, the strength seeping out of her so that she almost imagined there would be a damp pool collecting on the floor at her feet. Adnan was the name of the man Sheikh Al Khalifa had said he would send. The man who was to see her safe to Rhastaan. And she needed her safety to be guaranteed.
Not everyone was as pleased about this prospective marriage as her father. Sheikh Ankhara, whose lands bordered Rhastaan, and who had always wanted the throne for his own daughter, had made no secret of the fact that he would sabotage it if he could. It was because of a possible threat from him that Sheikh Al Khalifa—my father, Karim had said—had taken charge, organising a trusted man to escort her to Nabil.
But now Karim was saying that he had changed those arrangements. Did that mean that something had gone wrong?
‘Do you want to sit down?’
Her feelings must have shown in her face. Perhaps the blood had drained from there too.
‘Here.’
He had crossed to the sink, snatching up a glass and filling it with water from the tap.
‘Take this...’
He pushed it into her hand then closed his own hand around hers as her shockingly nerveless fingers refused to grasp it, coming dangerously close to letting it drop and smash on the tiles.
‘Drink it.’ It was a command as he lifted the glass to her lips.
She managed a little sip, struggling to swallow even the small amount of water. He was so shockingly close. If she breathed in she could inhale the scent of his skin, the faint tang of some aromatic aftershave. His hands were warm on hers, sending pulses of reaction over her skin, and if she looked up into his dark eyes she could see herself reflected in their depths, a tiny, pale-faced thing with huge eyes that gave away too much. She didn’t like how the image made her feel diminished in a way that was as powerful as her awareness of the force and strength of the long body so close to hers, creating a pounding turmoil inside her head.
‘Your—did you say your father?’
A sharp, curt nod of that dark head was his only response. He was still holding the glass of water to her lips, not pushing it at her, but making it plain that he believed she needed more. It was a toss-up between easing the painful tightness of her throat or risking making herself sick as she struggled to swallow.
She managed another sip then pushed the glass away. The brief slick of her tongue over her lips did little to ease the way she was feeling. Particularly not when she saw that darkly intent gaze drop to follow the small movement and she actually saw the kick of his pulse at the base of his throat. Was it possible that he was feeling something of the same heated reaction as the one that had seared through her at his touch?
‘And who, precisely, is your father?’
‘You know his name—you talked of him just now.’
‘I talked of Sheikh Al Khalifa, but he can’t...’ Another nod, as sharp and hard as the first, cut her off in mid-sentence and she had to shake her head violently, sending her dark hair flying as she tried to deny what he was saying. ‘No—he can’t... Prove it!’
A faint shrug of those broad shoulders dismissed her challenge but all the same he reached into his jacket pocket, pulled out a wallet and flipped it open, holding it up in front of her.
‘My name is Karim Al Khalifa,’ he said slowly and carefully, as if explaining to a difficult and not very bright child. ‘Shamil Al Khalifa is my father—he is also the man whose envoy you were expecting. Isn’t he?’ he demanded when she could only stare at the driving licence, the bank cards in blank silence.
‘But if he—’ Clemmie shook her head slowly, unable to take it all in. ‘Why would he send you—his son...?’
Because if this Karim was the Sheikh’s son then that meant he must be a prince in his own right, as rich and powerful—possibly more so—as Nabil, who was the reason for this situation in the first place.
‘I was expecting a member of his security team. Someone who would make sure that I travelled safely to Rhastaan and...’
‘And met up with your prospective groom,’ Karim finished for her, making it clear that he really did know all about the situation; that he was well aware of what was going on.
‘Things made it—imperative—that the arrangement we’d put in place could not go ahead as we planned. Plans had to be changed at the last moment.’
‘But why?’
‘Because it was necessary.’
And that was all the explanation she was going to get, Clemmie was forced to acknowledge as Karim pushed himself upright, straightening his long back and flexing his broad shoulders. He strode to the sink, tossed what was left of the water into it and placed the glass on the draining board. The air around Clemmie suddenly felt uncomfortably cold without the warm strength of his body so close to hers.
‘And those plans mean that we don’t have any time to waste.’ He flung the words over his shoulder, not even troubling to turn and face her as he spoke. ‘I hope you’ve packed as instructed, because we have to leave now.’
‘Now?’ That brought her to her feet in a rush. As instructed. Who did he think he was?
‘No way. That’s not happening.’
‘Oh, but I assure you that it is.’
She’d planned on arguing against this. Or, at the very least, she’d hoped to discuss it with the man who was due to arrive at her cottage. Her birthday was still nine days away. Less than a month, but that made all the difference.
‘The contract that was drawn up between my family and the rulers of Rhastaan only comes into effect on December third. The day I turn twenty-three.’
‘That day will come soon enough. We’ll be in Rhastaan by the time you come of age.’
So he did know everything about her. Was it supposed to reassure, to let her know that he really was in control of the situation? Because reassure was the last thing it did. She had known that one day someone would come for her. It had been decided, signed and sealed thirteen years before, when the son of the Sheikh of Rhastaan was five, and she not quite ten. They had been betrothed, contracted to each other, to be married when Nabil reached adulthood. She had had some years of freedom, time to complete a university course, while their parents waited for her prospective husband to become old enough to wed and to hold the throne of his own kingdom. And now that time was up.
But not yet. Please, not yet.
Clemmie had thought that she would be able to argue with the man who had been sent. That she could at least pull rank just a little, insist on having a day or two’s grace before she had to leave. The man she had thought was coming to collect her—an older man, a family man, she had hoped—might be someone she could appeal to. Someone who would give her that breathing space and let her have a chance of fulfilling her promise to Harry.
But this dark, sleek, dangerous panther of a man—would he listen to a word she had to say? Would he give her any sort of chance? She doubted it. Especially when she couldn’t tell him—or anyone—the whole truth. She didn’t dare. It was vital that she kept Harry’s existence a total secret. If anyone ever found out about him then the little boy’s future was at risk.
So how could she persuade him?
‘I need more time. A few days.’
You have to be joking, the look he turned on her said without words. It made her feel like some small, crawling insect just within crushing reach of his feet in their highly polished handmade shoes. A small, crawling female insect. And from the way he looked down his straight slash of a nose, the burn of contempt in the blackness of his eyes, she knew just which of those words he considered to be the greatest possible insult he could toss her way.
She made herself face him, her eyes locking with his, burning with the defiance she felt towards his arrogant decree.
‘And who precisely are you to order me around?’
‘I told you—I am Karim Al Khalifa, Crown Prince of Markhazad.’
He obviously thought that his cold statement would impress her but he couldn’t be more wrong. She’d spent so much time as she grew up with the royal family who were destined to be her family one day. It had been a sterile, regimented existence, with very few moments of freedom. Her father had been determined that she knew how to behave, how to follow court protocol. She had been trained for her role. When she married they would be more than equals, and soon she would be queen.
‘Crown Prince, hmm? So why are you here, running errands—’
He hadn’t liked that, not one bit. A flame of anger had flared in those polished jet eyes, turning them from ice to fire in the space of a heartbeat. And, contradictorily, that chilled her own blood till she felt it might freeze in her veins.
‘I am here representing my father,’ he snapped, cutting her off before she could complete the sentence. ‘Not running errands. And as my father’s representative I insist that you pack your bags and get ready to leave.’
‘You can insist all you like. I’ve no intention of going anywhere with you so I suggest you just turn around and walk out that door.’
‘And I have no intention of leaving—at least, not without you.’
How could that gorgeous, sensual mouth make a simple statement sound like the most terrible threat since time began? And the husky appeal of his accent only added to the horror of the contradiction.
‘I’ve come for you. And I’m leaving with you. And that is all there is to it.’
CHAPTER TWO
WAS SHE REALLY going to make this more difficult than he had ever thought? Karim found it hard to believe that this slip of a girl was going to make things so very problematic for him.
And the worst part of it was that he couldn’t even tell her the truth. He couldn’t reveal to her just what was behind his coming here, the problems and dangers that had meant he had to deal with this himself, rather than leave it to Adnan who, although a member of the security team, was not the right man for the job. Definitely not once Karim had found out that he was secretly in the pay of Ankhara.
His eyes narrowed as he looked into Clementina’s face assessingly, wondering just how much he could tell her. How much did she know about Sheikh Ankhara and his ambitions to put his own daughter on the throne of Rhastaan? Karim had no doubt that if Adnan had been the one to collect her, as had originally been planned, then there would have been some unfortunate ‘accident’ on the journey back. Anything to ensure that she didn’t make it to her wedding.
Clementina didn’t look like the type of delicate flower who would go into some sort of emotional meltdown if she realised the risks involved in getting her out of here and taking her back to Rhastaan, handing her over to her husband-to-be. On the contrary, she had been hissing and spitting defiance at him ever since he had arrived, like some beautiful, hostile, wild cat that had been driven into a corner and trapped there, her back against the wall. And just because she was sleek-boned and soft-haired, he would be all sorts of a fool if he let himself think of her as any sort of kitten rather than a fully grown cat. She was far more likely to lash out and scratch him viciously if he tried to touch her, rather than purring and preening under his caress.
Just for a moment the thought of her arching that elegant back to meet his hands, or rubbing the softness of her hair against his face made his breath knot in his throat, his blood heating as his body tightened in the sort of purely carnal hunger he hadn’t known for some time.
Hell, no! This was not the way he had expected to feel about this woman. It was the last thing he should feel about the betrothed bride of the young King of Rhastaan. It went against all the laws of honour and trust. It threatened the reasons why he was here right down to the very roots that had founded them. It was why he had had to move away from her earlier, when the purely instinctive move to offer her a drink of water had suddenly turned into some sort of brutal sensual endurance test. He hadn’t been able to stay there, so close that he could feel the warmth of her body, see the pulse of her blood beating blue under the fine skin at the base of her throat. When she moved, some delicate scent had slipped into the air and combined with the soft brush of a wandering strand of her dark silky hair across his face, which caught on the roughness of the day’s growth of dark stubble to create a burn of response that was almost more than he could endure.
Suddenly he wanted her so much that it hurt. He had never wanted a woman so much and yet she was the last woman he could ever, should ever feel that way about. She was not available; not for him.
She was forbidden to him.
So the best damn thing that he could do was get her out of here, on the jet where she would be safe and hidden again, on their way to Rhastaan, and deliver her to her bridegroom just as soon as he possibly could.
‘So—are you going to pack?’ he demanded, his voice rough with all that he was fighting to hold back.
He wouldn’t even meet her eyes though he could tell that was what she wanted. She sought to confront him face to face, challenging everything he said.
Was she really so irresponsible, so careless of the consequences of her actions, that she would defy him out of sheer perversity? That she would put everything so many people had worked towards in jeopardy on a selfish whim? She had been given a touch of, if not freedom, then at least the chance to run on an exceptionally loose rein for a while. But even the most magnificent thoroughbred was the better for a little restraint, a strong grip on the bridle, a light touch of spurs, to keep it under control. Clementina Savanevski, soon to be Queen Clementina of Rhastaan, could not be allowed to run wild any more. And if anyone could be relied on to bring her under control then he was the man to do it. That was one of the reasons why his father had sent him on this mission in the first place.
‘Well?’
‘I am packed,’ she surprised him—stunned him—by saying. He had been expecting further defiance, further rebellion. In fact, if he was honest he was actually a touch disappointed that she wasn’t digging in her neat little heels, bringing up that small chin once more and letting her glorious amber eyes clash with his in pure defiance. He’d expected it, and anticipated the thrill of battle that would come from bringing her back under control.
‘You are? Then it’s time...’
‘But not to leave here,’ she disconcerted him by adding. ‘I’ve only packed an overnight bag.’
‘That won’t be adequate.’ She knew that; why was he even having to say it? ‘You need to pack everything you want to take with you. You’ll not be coming back here again.’
‘Oh, but there you’re wrong.’
Something had set her soft mouth into a surprisingly hard determined line, and the way she shook her head sent the dark hair flying again, tormenting his nostrils with that subtle floral scent.
‘I’m only going away for one night this time—and then I will be back. I’ll do my proper packing then. Look...’ she broke in hastily when he opened his mouth to reject her outrageous statement and tell her just what he thought of such stupidity ‘...I can explain.’
‘You can try,’ Karim growled, fighting the urge to grab her by the arms, bundle her out of the door, into his car and drive away from here just as quickly as he could. That would meet one of the demands of this mission and get her on the road back to Rhastaan as soon as he could.
But it would also defeat the other part of the plan, which was to move her from A to B with as little fuss and publicity as possible. If he virtually kidnapped her—because that would be how she would interpret his actions—then she would react strongly, possibly go into meltdown and panic completely. She would certainly not go quietly—not this woman. If she started screaming for help or calling for the police, even here in this small village, she would soon draw too much unwanted attention to who they were and where they were going.
‘You’re not going anywhere. Not for one night—not for any time at all.’
‘But... Please...’
Hastily, she seemed to adjust her frame of mind, altering her tone to match so that it was suddenly disturbingly soft and cajoling. Obviously, she had decided to try to entice him round to her way of thinking. And the shocking thing was the way that just hearing that low, almost gentle tone changed his mood. He wanted to hear more of that voice, could imagine it murmuring to him in bed, whispering temptation in the heated darkness of his room. And that was not an image he needed in his mind right now.
‘Haven’t you ever wanted—needed—to keep a promise? So much so that you would do anything at all to make sure you did just that?’
‘What?’ His brows drew together in a dark frown. ‘Of course I have.’ It was why he was here now. ‘But...’
‘Then you’ll know exactly how I’m feeling right now. I made a promise...’
‘To whom?’
‘To Har—to someone,’ she corrected hastily, obviously horrified that she had almost blurted out the truth. ‘Someone who really matters to me.’
She had been about to give someone’s name. A man’s? Harry? Someone who really matters to me.
‘Nothing matters—’ Karim’s tone was harsh and unyielding. His face seemed carved from stone, not a muscle moving to reveal any sympathy or understanding. ‘Nothing should matter more than the promises you made—your commitment to Nabil.’
‘I know all about my commitment to Nabil and, believe me, I mean—’ Something caught in her throat, making the words tangle there, tight as a knot, so that she had to struggle to force them out. ‘I mean to honour it.’
She had no choice. None at all. Not unless she wanted to risk the ruin of international relations between two powerful kingdoms. The possible outbreak of hostilities. The destruction of her family’s reputation. Hadn’t her father drummed it into her from the moment he had signed the documents? He had made it sound as if it was her sacred duty. She had been fifteen before she’d realised just how much he was getting out of it himself, that the luxury they lived in had been bought from the sale of his own daughter.
‘But not yet.’
‘You will be twenty-three in nine days’ time.’ Could his voice be any more cold, any more inflexible? ‘You do not have any more time to delay. You’ve had your freedom, been let off the leash for a while; now it is time to consider your duty.’
‘Consider my duty!’
Clemmie threw up her hands in a gesture that was a blend of exasperation and despair.
‘Do you think I’ve ever done anything else? That I’ve ever been able to forget it?’
‘Then you will know why...’ Karim put in, but she ploughed on, unable to hold back any longer.
‘And let off the leash! You make me sound like a naughty puppy dog that has to be brought to heel.’
If the cap fits...his expression said. That was all she was in his eyes. A naughty, disobedient puppy who had been running wild for far too long. She could almost see him snapping his fingers and declaring ‘Heel—now!’
She had not been able to tell anyone why she had wanted to leave Markhazad in the first place. She had had to go, while she still could. Once she was married, once she was queen, her life would be lived within the confines of the palace walls, subject to her husband’s control, his to command. And she would have lost her last chance to spend time with the only other member of her family. The little boy who had now stolen her heart completely.
‘You are to be a queen,’ Karim said now, his tone dark and disapproving. ‘You should learn to behave like one.’
‘Unlike my mother?’ Clemmie challenged.
Everyone who knew of her story must know how her English mother had run away from the court, leaving husband and daughter behind, never to be seen again. Clemmie winced away from the memory of how it had felt to be left alone, abandoned by her one defender from her father’s worst excesses. Those had been the worst years of her life. It was only recently, in the letter from her maternal grandmother that had been delivered to her after the old lady had died, that she had learned why her mother had had to run. The unplanned, late in life baby she had been determined to hide from her husband. He was a secret that Clemmie was now just as determined to keep, whatever it cost her.
She knew how little her father had valued her because she was only a daughter. She had no needs or dreams of her own. Her only value to him had been in the marriage market, sold to the highest bidder. What he might have done if he knew he had the son he had dreamed of made her shudder to think.
‘I’ll behave like one when I am a queen! Until then...’
She watched that frown darken, felt a shiver run over her scalp and slither down her spine. She had a suspicion that she knew what he was thinking but she didn’t dare challenge it in case it meant he subjected her to more questioning that might push her to drop something revealing about Harry and his circumstances.
‘There is no “until then”. From this moment on you are the prospective Queen of Rhastaan, and I have been sent to fetch you home for your wedding and then your coronation.’
‘But I promised! And if he...’
‘He...’ Karim pounced on the word like a cat on a mouse, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the chase. ‘He. Just who is he?’
Clemmie bit down hard on her lower lip in distress at how close she had come to giving herself away. She should know better. Even after less than half an hour in this man’s company, it was obvious that he was not the sort of person who was easily side-tracked or misled.
‘N-no one. Just a friend. Someone I met while I was living here in England. It’s his birthday soon and I promised him I’d be at his party.’
What was it they said—that if you were going to lie, then lie as close to the truth as you possibly could? He was focused on her so completely that she had little hope of getting away from him...unless...
‘And you think that you can delay our journey—the plans for the reception and the wedding that are already underway—for a party?’
‘But I promised! It’ll break his heart...’
‘And you expect me to believe that?’ Dark eyes turned glacial as he flung the question at her. ‘Just because you’re about to become a princess doesn’t mean that I have to believe in the fairy tales you make up.’
‘It’s not a fairy tale. I have to see—to see...’ The realisation of the danger in giving away just what she had to do dried her mouth and had the words shrivelling up into silence.
‘You have to see...?’ Karim queried cynically. ‘Just what is more important than the upcoming wedding—the future of the peace treaty?’
My family. My baby brother. Harry. The words beat inside her head, creating a terrible clenching sensation in her stomach that made her feel both nauseous and dry-mouthed in the same moment. A deadly combination.
But at the back of her mind there was the idea that had come to her like a flash of inspiration just moments before. It might just work. And she was desperate enough to try anything.
‘Who is this man—your lover?’
That was just so ridiculous that she was close to laughing out loud. Did he really think that she had come to England to meet up with a man? But perhaps it might almost be worth letting him think that for now. At least it would distract him from the truth. And while he was distracted...
‘Oh, okay! You win.’ She hoped it sounded yielding enough. ‘It seems I have no choice so I’ll go and get my bag. Look, why don’t you make a coffee or something? If we’re going to have to travel, we might as well have a drink before we go.’
He still eyed her with suspicion and he didn’t show any sign of moving towards the kettle as she walked past him and made her way up the stairs, her feet thumping on the uncarpeted wood. She walked noisily across the floor of her small bedroom, the one that was to the left off the landing, thankfully not the one directly above the kitchen. She had no doubt that Karim Al Khalifa was still standing, alert as a predatory hunter, listening to any sounds that reached him from above.
Determinedly, she added to the sound effects he would be waiting to hear by banging open the door of the elderly pine wardrobe, rattling the coat hangers inside. There was really no need to do any such thing. The small overnight bag she had prepared earlier was still lying, full and firmly zipped up, on the bed. But Karim would be expecting her to pack more than that. He thought she was leaving with him for ever. For the rest of her life.
The thought made her rattle some more coat hangers even more viciously, wishing she could throw some of them at Karim’s handsome head.
Karim Al Khalifa. The name reverberated in her head, making her pause to think. He was the son of the Sheikh—a friend of Nabil’s late father—who had arranged all this. So why had someone so important—the Crown Prince, after all—come on a mission like this? He had never explained that.
‘Clementina?’
Karim’s voice, sharp with impatience, came up the narrow staircase. He had clearly noted her silence. And he just as clearly wanted to be on his way. He wouldn’t be prepared to wait much longer.
‘Nearly done!’ She hoped her unconcerned tone was convincing. ‘Be down in a minute.’
She had to be out of here. Grabbing the small overnight bag and slinging its longer strap around her neck, and grabbing her handbag, she crept over to the half-open window. Karim might be big and strong and powerful but she had the advantage over him here. Several childhood holidays in England, visiting her English grandmother, had given her a detailed knowledge of this old house and the secret ways in and out of it that had been fun and exciting for a tomboyish teenager.
There was a trellis up the side of the wall, a heavy rich growth of ivy that was thick and strong enough to support her weight even though she was now no longer thirteen and just growing into her womanly form. With luck she could scramble down it, get to her car before he had even realised she had gone silent in the room above him.
But as she eased the window open fully, a last minute thought struck her. This wasn’t just a personal thing; there were so many other implications of all this—political ones, international treaties. If she just disappeared then, she shivered at the thought of the trouble it might cause. The repercussions of her behaviour. On her country. On him.
There was a notepad and pen beside her bed and she snatched these up, scribbling down five hasty words, adding her signature as an afterthought.
‘Clementina!’
What little patience Karim had was wearing thin.
‘Just a minute—or would you like to come and pack for me?’ she challenged.
The thought of him doing just that—coming upstairs, into her room, into her bedroom—made her heart lurch up into her throat, snatching her breath from her. But his growled response made her feel more relaxed.
‘Get on with it then.’
‘Oh, I will!’
Leaving the note lying in the middle of the bed where he couldn’t possibly miss it, she edged towards the window, her bare feet silent on the floor, her bag on one arm. She didn’t dare risk opening the window any further in case it creaked, the wood scraping against wood.
Sliding out backwards, her feet found the spaces in the trellis work that held the ivy tight against the wall with the ease of long-held memory. She prayed it would still hold her—they were both ten years older, herself and the criss-crossed wood. And she was definitely inches taller, pounds heavier. Her toes found the footholds, her hands knowing just where to grab to support herself on the way down. Holding her breath, she let the ivy take all her weight, inched her way down the wall, down to the ground at the back of the cottage, landing with a small sigh of relief as her feet touched the gravel.
‘So far so good...’
Her battered red Mini was parked several metres away, its small size and well-worn paintwork totally overshadowed by the big black beast of a SUV that was drawn up just outside the front door. A car as sleek and powerful as the man himself, Clemmie told herself as she wrenched the driver’s door open, tossed the bags on to the back seat, flinging herself after them and pushing her key into the ignition almost before she was settled.
The moment that the Mini’s engine roared into life was her last chance. Karim had to hear it and would come running so it was now or never. Not even bothering to fasten her seat belt—that could come later—she let off the brake, pushed her foot down on the accelerator and set the car off down the drive at breakneck speed.
She thought she saw the flash of movement—the opening of the door—the appearance of a tall, dark, powerful figure in the empty space, but she didn’t take the time to be sure. She needed to focus on the road ahead.
‘I’m coming, Harry!’
Pieces of gravel spurted up from under her car’s tyres as she headed for the lane and, after that, the motorway and freedom.
At least for now.
CHAPTER THREE
THE SNOW THAT had been threatening from the moment she’d woken up was falling steadily by the time that Clemmie turned off the motorway and headed back to the village. Huge white flakes whirled in front of her windscreen and the elderly wipers had trouble pushing them aside so that she could see the road.
‘Oh, come on!’ she muttered out loud, concentrating fiercely on steering as carefully as possible. After just over nine months in England, and most of that spent in much warmer and easier weather conditions, she was unused to driving over icy roads, and the addition of the slippery coating of snow made the situation even more treacherous.
Added to that, her elderly car was not exactly in the best state for difficult weather driving. Because she had basically run away from home when she had found out about Harry, not taking much money with her, and not wanting to use her bank cards in case someone found where she was staying, she had bought the cheapest, oldest car she could afford. A decision that had seemed wise at the time, but which she was really regretting now.
Particularly when the engine started to splutter in a worrying way, and the rather worn tyres spun on the frozen surface. If only she had the sort of powerful, brand new four-wheel drive that had brought Karim to the cottage. That beast would have eaten up the miles between the small market town where Harry lived and the moorland village where she had made her temporary home with no trouble.
‘Karim.’
Just the thought of him took her attention so that her concentration on her driving went along with it. For a couple of dangerous seconds, the car drifted towards the centre of the road, only coming back under control as she shook her head sharply, reminding herself of where she was.
But the thought of coming face to face with Karim once again made her stomach nerves tighten and twist into painful knots.
Karim Al Khalifa would be waiting for her when she got home. OK, perhaps he wouldn’t actually be in the house, but she knew that as soon as he realised she was back, he would be there on the doorstep once again, demanding that she come with him, travel with him back to Rhastaan.
And to her wedding.
Once again the wheel jerked under her convulsive grip, and the unpleasant groaning sound that came from the engine made her wince in distress.
There was no avoiding it now. No hope of gaining any more time or hoping for a reprieve. Her twenty-third birthday was coming up fast, and Nabil had come of age last month. The promises their parents had made to each other would have to be kept. The marriage that had been arranged all those years before must now take place. Or the consequences were unthinkable.
And Karim had been sent to make sure that she kept her word.
Just for a moment the image of Nabil as she had last seen him floated behind her eyes. A gangling youth—not much more than a boy, with hooded eyes, a whisper of a moustache under his hooked nose and a sullen mouth, and her stomach clenched on a pang of nerves. But perhaps he had changed, grown up in the time since she had been at the court. He would be a year older after all.
And it was really rather unfair to consider him in the same thought as Karim Al Khalifa. Karim, the dark and devastating. Karim, with the tall and muscular frame that dominated a room so effortlessly. With the sexy, deep-toned voice, the powerful yet somehow elegant hands, the polished jet eyes and the stunning, outrageously lush thick lashes that framed them.
‘What am I doing?’
Clemmie’s hands tightened round the steering wheel until her knuckles showed white.
Up ahead, on the horizon at the top of the hill, almost concealed by the wildly whirling snow, the outline of the cottage appeared etched against the heavy grey-whiteness of the sky. Home. Or it should have felt like home, like coming back to safety, warmth and comfort after the long and difficult journey.
This little cottage had been the only sort of home she had ever known. Holidays with her English grandmother had given her a tiny taste of freedom from the rules and protocol of the court. Used to the burning heat of Balakhar and Rhastaan, she had loved the peace and quiet, the green fields that surrounded it, the sweeping view spread out from where it stood high on the hill. She had lived a much simpler, very different way of life with her grandmother, how different she hadn’t fully realised until she had seen the happy, relaxed childhood Harry was now enjoying with his adoptive parents. They might not have anything like the luxuries she had known but they had one great treasure—the love they shared. And the freedom she was determined to preserve for Harry at all costs.
But the cottage no longer felt like home. Instead, it seemed as if she was heading foolishly into a trap, putting her head into the lion’s jaws. And the sleek, dark predator who had turned her home into an alien, hostile environment was Karim Al Khalifa.
But the problem was that she wasn’t thinking of him as that predator. She wasn’t even remembering him as the cold-eyed, tight-jawed, arrogant representative of the Sheikh of Markhazad. The Crown Prince of Markhazad himself. All she could focus on right now was the man himself.
And what a man.
Shivering pulses of excitement sparked along her nerves at just the memory, the recollection of having him so close, the scent of his skin. He was not a man to be alone with in the confined space of her small cottage. He was pure temptation, and tempted was something she couldn’t afford to be—not now, not ever.
Just for a second Clemmie considered putting the car into a turn and heading back the way she had come. Back to the house where she had just left Harry, so happy and secure, worn out after the excitement and enjoyment of his birthday party. Surely Arthur and Mary Clendon, Harry’s adoptive parents, would give her support, somewhere to stay...
‘No!’
She couldn’t go back on her word. The word she had given to her father and the Sheikh. However much she felt her insides twist in apprehension at the thought of the future, she had made her promise and she had to stick by it. If she didn’t, then someone else would come looking for her—after all, Karim had found her easily enough. And they would find Harry.
Surely her memory had to be playing her false. Karim couldn’t have possibly been that devastating. That sexy. Could he?
Well, it seemed she wasn’t due to have her memory jogged any time tonight at least, she told herself as she swung the little car in through the battered gates and pulled to a halt at the side of the small house. Wherever Karim was this evening, it wasn’t here at Hawthorn Cottage. There was no sign of the big hulk of his car, and all the lights were off inside the house. Obviously, he had decided to go somewhere else, probably somewhere where he could have much more comfort than her small home could provide.
So was that flutter in her stomach one of relief or disappointment? She didn’t dare to pursue the question any further, afraid of what it might reveal, as she pulled on the brake and switched off the engine. Not before time, she acknowledged. The silence that fell as the rattle died away made it only too clear that what she had been hearing was the death throes of the elderly car. It certainly wasn’t going to take her very much further after tonight. The snow—heavy and drifting now, piling up against the walls of the cottage and blocking the narrow lane—had been the very last straw.
It was almost the last straw for her too, as she got out of the car and straight into a snowdrift that was nearly up to her thighs. Cold and wet slid into her shoes, making her shudder and she grabbed her bag, dashing towards the door. It wasn’t locked, of course, she realised belatedly as she pushed it open. In her haste to be gone yesterday, to get away from Karim, she hadn’t thought about locking anything after her, just to get on the road.
Another wild fall of snow whirled around her, so thick and heavy that she couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her as she stumbled into the house, deeply grateful for the warmth that even the old-fashioned central heating had thrown out while she was away. A quick glance out of the window showed that the snow had already piled inches deep on top of her car.
‘Going nowhere else tonight,’ she muttered, shrugging out of her coat and hanging it on a hook on the wall.
So did that mean that Karim wouldn’t be able to make it to the cottage either? Did she actually have an extra night’s grace?
She needed a coffee and perhaps some food before she thought about her next move, she told herself, pulling open the door into the living room. But before that she’d get the fire going to keep the house warm all through the night. She didn’t know if she could rely on the heating and on several bitter nights she had actually slept downstairs on the settee with a coal fire glowing in the grate. It looked as if this was going to be one of those nights tonight.
‘Good evening, Clementina,’ a voice came to her from across the room. A dark, rich, male voice that she recognised in the space of a jolting, stunned heartbeat.
‘What?’
Whirling in a panic, Clemmie almost flung herself towards the light switch, stabbing a finger at it in her haste to illuminate the room.
She already knew what she would see but her thoughts still reeled in shock as she came face to face with the reality. It was one thing to realise that Karim was there, in the house, silent and still, waiting for her. Quite another to confront the reality and see him sitting there, tall and proud, impossibly big, impossibly dark, ominously dangerous, his polished jet eyes fixed on her face. He was wearing another pair of jeans and a grey cashmere sweater that hugged the honed lines of his powerful chest. Simple, casual clothing but of such high quality that they looked out of place against the shabby surroundings, the worn upholstery of the armchair that seemed barely large enough to contain the lean strong frame of the powerful man who looked every bit the King’s son that he was.
Surprisingly, he had a sleek tablet computer in his hands, one that he touched briefly to switch it off before letting it drop down on to his knees.
‘Good evening, Clementina,’ he said again, turning on a smile that was barely there and then gone again, leaving an impression of threat, of danger, without a word having to be said. ‘I’m glad you made it back home.’
Was that doubt in his voice? Deliberate provocation to imply that this was the last place he expected to see her?
‘I said that I would!’ Clemmie protested sharply. ‘And I left a note.’
Karim nodded slowly, reaching out for a piece of paper that lay on the table beside his chair. Clemmie recognised the note she had left lying on the bed and she couldn’t suppress the faint shiver that skittered over her skin at the thought of what his mood must have been like when he had found it.
‘“I’ll be back tomorrow”,’ Karim read aloud, his accent making the words sound strangely alien. ‘“Promise”.’
‘I promised. And I kept my word.’
‘So you did.’
And she’d surprised him there, Karim admitted. He’d been quite prepared for her to have taken off for good, turning her back on everything she had promised and leaving the situation in the most dangerous and difficult stage possible. He’d even organised contingency plans to move into action if that happened. After all, he’d had emergency plans in place before he’d even started out on the journey to England and all it would have taken would have been a couple of phone calls, and the backup team could have moved into action. He’d almost made those phone calls in the first moments after he’d lost patience with her so-called ‘packing’ and headed upstairs to the bedroom to bring her down, ready or not. Then he’d seen the open window, felt the icy blast of wintry air sneaking through the gaping space. He’d heard the sound of her car’s engine picking up speed, heading away from the cottage. But then he’d seen the note on the bed.
‘You didn’t think that I would?’
‘To be honest—no.’
Putting aside the tablet, he uncoiled from the uncomfortable chair, stretching cramped muscles as he did so. The tracking device he’d left on her car had worked well. When he had known that she was heading home, he had settled down to wait, listening for the sound of her car coming up to the door. Then he’d stayed silent and still so as not to have her turning and running.
‘But then did you give me a reason to trust you?’
‘Um...no.’
Her eyes dropped away from him as she spoke and she actually chewed at her lower lip, white teeth biting down hard on the soft pink flesh in a way that made him wince inwardly. He wanted to reach out and put his hand to her mouth, stopping the nervous gesture, but instinct held him back though his fingers twitched in anticipation of the contact. He could already feel the heat of her body, the scent of her skin reaching him and the sizzle of electricity down his nerves was like a brand on his flesh. He felt hungry, wanting in a way that was darkly carnal, just barely under control.
‘I did run out on you.’
If he hadn’t already met her, if he didn’t know her voice, her scent and those stunning amber eyes, he might think that this was not Clementina but her double. An identical twin who had stepped in at the last minute to replace her wilder, less conventional sister. This woman was a cooler prospect altogether. Her long dark hair was caught into a shining tail that fell sleekly down her back. Her porcelain skin and golden eyes were free of any make-up—they didn’t need any—and the curling black lashes that framed her gaze were impossibly thick and lush without any cosmetic enhancement.
This woman was a princess—a potential queen through and through. In spite of the fact that her clothing was once more on the far side of casual, worn denim jeans with holes at the knees and frayed hems, and an elderly dark pink jumper that had shrunk in the wash or was deliberately designed to give a disturbing glimpse of peachy skin on a tight stomach and narrow waist when she moved. She was tall and elegant. And hellishly beautiful.
But then her eyes came up fast to meet his and there was the burn of defiance in their depths.
‘I did leave a note! And all I asked for was another twenty-four hours!’
The wilder Clementina was back as she tossed back her hair. He’d liked the wild Clementina better—hell, he’d loved the wild one even though he hadn’t been able to show it. She’d thrown him off balance when he was already tight on edge with all that had happened. The news about his father. About Nabil. About his security chief.
‘Would it have hurt so much to give me that?’ she challenged.
‘Not if I could have been sure that all you really wanted was those twenty-four hours.’
‘I said so, didn’t I? And you didn’t believe me.’
‘It depended on what you wanted to do with that extra day—where you planned to go. You ran away from the palace once before. How was I to know if you were setting off to some other hideaway or if you ever planned to come back.’
‘I said that I would!’ She turned on him a look from those brilliant eyes that was searingly scornful, even with a touch of pity threaded through it. ‘It must be hellish being you—being so suspicious of everyone. Is there anyone you can trust? Anyone you can believe in?’
I believed in Razi. In spite of himself, Karim couldn’t stop the thought from sliding into his mind. He had put his trust in his brother and look where that had got him. The worst failure of his life. Two deaths he hadn’t been able to prevent. A whole change of life, the old one turned inside out. A new role that he had never wanted. Even a bride he had almost had to marry out of duty, if that hadn’t been decided against.
‘I had no reason to believe in you.’
Dark memories made his words as cold as black ice, turning the atmosphere inside the room colder than the wintry scene outside.
‘And I had no way of knowing that you were simply heading for a birthday party in Lilac Close...’
That got through to her. If he had thought that her eyes were amazing before, they were stunning now, open wide in shock and questioning bewilderment. The knowledge that he had shaken her out of her defiance gave him some satisfaction in return for the way she had escaped yesterday, leaving him with his mission unaccomplished. She had lost all colour now, her cheeks parchment-white, in contrast to the rich dark fall of her hair, those impossible eyelashes.
‘How did you know?’ Her voice sounded rough and raw, as if it came from a painfully dry throat.
She really didn’t know who she was dealing with and the satisfaction at having wrong-footed her so completely was like a roar in his blood.
‘It was easy.’
She was still staring at him as he headed for the hall, wrenching open the door. The wild fury of the snowstorm made him wince. It had been nothing like as bad as this when he had driven back to the cottage this morning. There must have been inches—more—that had fallen while he had been inside, waiting for Clementina to arrive. No wonder the reception for his computer had been spotty to say the least.
Hunching his shoulders and ducking his head, he headed out towards where her tiny elderly car was parked, its tyres already halfway deep in the drifts.
Just what was he doing now? Clemmie asked herself, as something that was not just the cold but something more, something deeper and rawer than the icy blast of the wind from outside crept round her neck and shoulders, making her shiver miserably. It was something about Karim himself. About the way he had looked at her, the ice in his eyes, the blank emotionlessness of his tone. He had been sent to fetch her and that was the one thing he was concentrated on, like a hunting dog with the scent of its prey in its nostrils. He was never going to let her go.

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