Society Weddings (6 page)

Jenna flinched. She knew very well what he would say. And feel. For a Quador man, her father was remarkably in touch with his feelings. Unlike this beast of a lion who sat so mockingly before her now! He would be hurt and angry that she had lost her honour before her marriage. He would feel her to be compromised, as indeed she now was. Quador had such black and white views on a subject like this, she thought. Oh, why had she ever agreed to come back?

‘He would make me marry you,’ she said woodenly. ‘You know he would.’

‘Correction. He would be
delighted
for you to marry me. It was always what he wanted.’

She shook her shorn head distractedly. How
could
her father, her sweet gentle father, possibly have agreed to let his daughter be given to this…this…? ‘Barbarian!’ she spat at him.

He gave a low laugh. ‘Oh, how I enjoy your protestations and your defiance, Jenna,’ he murmured. ‘Your capitulation will make a worthy prize, and you, my sweet, will make a most stimulating partner!’

Defensively, she locked her long fingers around her neck. ‘Partner!’ she echoed. ‘I can’t believe you have the nerve to use an expression which describes some kind of
sharing
!’

‘We will share many things,’ he promised. ‘And I will show you how much lovemaking
can
be enjoyed.’

She felt sick.

Sex.

That was what this was all about. Sex and pride and blood-lines and showing her just why he was considered one of the world’s greatest lovers. Whatever had happened to the mention of love? But more fool her for wishing for the impossible. It had never been anything other than a business arrangement, and one which he had been happy to avoid for as long as possible.

And when he tired of her, as he inevitably would, what then? For Rashid had known many women in his life—why on earth should he settle for a life of marital fidelity when he was used to variety in the most exotic sense imaginable.

Could she bear it? She imagined some not-too-distant day when he would go abroad on ‘business’—but in reality would no doubt be seeking out the experienced warmth of Chantal, or women just like her?

But what else could she do?

She asked herself what alternative she had, tried to imagine the scenario of thwarting his wishes and risking her father’s wrath. She thought of Nadia, too—and her loving but clandestine relationship with Brad. What if Rashid followed her back to New York, determined to get his own way, and discovered the truth about her sister and her American lover, as doubtless he would?

He would put a stop to
that
, as well—she wouldn’t put it past him. And how could she threaten her dear sister’s very obvious happiness because of a bizarre sequence of events which had culminated in her losing her innocence to Rashid?

She had no choice—she was doomed if she did and doomed if she didn’t. Her fevered mind could not see any alternative to the one which lay so darkly in front her.

She nodded her head, her face full of resignation, but she did not flinch from his piercing gaze. ‘You may take me as your bride, Rashid,’ she said, with quiet dignity. ‘But you cannot make me a willing partner! And here is something else that might make you change your mind—I will never enjoy sex with you. Never, ever,
ever
!’

By the shafts of his silken-clad thighs he clenched his fists with anger, but only for a moment. He must maintain control—at least until after the ceremony. But it wasn’t easy—not with her lips parted in protest and just begging to be kissed.

Resisting the urge to crush her into his arms and to prove her wrong in the most unequivocal way possible, he stood up and towered over her, like some dark, avenging statue.

‘You must know that I like nothing better than a challenge, my impetuous Jenna,’ he said softly. ‘How I will take pleasure in making you take those words back, in having you sigh my name over and over again as you beg for more, and yet more.’

‘Never!’ she said again, but that look of dark intent in his eyes was difficult to challenge.

‘We shall see,’ came his cool retort. ‘Now, come. Let us go to your father. Let us break the happy news to him.’

‘Y
OUR
Sheikh awaits you, mistress. The wedding draws near.’

The words seemed to come at her from a long way away, and Jenna forced herself back into the present from out of the wistful thoughts which had occupied her mind for much of the last week. And one thought alone had dominated.

There was to be no baby.

The discovery had not surprised her, for physically she had not felt any different—and surely she would have felt profoundly and completely different if Rashid’s child had been growing inside her womb?

But she had been unprepared for the primitive swamping of despondency when she had learned that she would not start her married life as a pregnant woman. At least a baby would have given her some reason for being. Some
reason
for being married to a man who did not love her.

She had spent sleepless nights weeping silently into her pillow as she mourned something which all common-sense told her was the best thing which could have happened.

Yet Rashid, too, had not reacted as she might have expected. There had been none of the expected exultation and relief. She had quietly told him and he had taken the news in silence, his dark eyes hooded, and then he had nodded his dark head.

‘It is as destiny wills it,’ he had said, his voice sounding cold and toneless.

Yet wouldn’t a pregnancy have reassured him that his all-important bloodline would continue? Wasn’t her fertility the most vital aspect of this union?

‘Mistress,’ said her lady-in-waiting again. ‘Your Sheikh awaits you.’

Jenna stared into the floor-length mirror as if scarcely believing the image which was projected back at her.

She did indeed look fit for a king!

She wore a heavy gold satin gown, richly and lavishly studded with jewels, which weighed almost as much as she did. Her hair had grown a little in the weeks leading up to the wedding. Rashid had not demanded it—he had not needed to. She had seen the unmistakable glitter of disapproval every time those dark eyes had surveyed her long, bare neck. Quador women wore their hair long—and now that she was the public representative of those women she would have to do the same. And, in truth, she had missed the weight and the silken caress of her waist-length locks.

Today, her hair was adorned with tiny jewelled clips—and every jewel was the real McCoy. She was wearing a king’s ransom on her head!

Diamonds. Sapphires. Rubies and emeralds. All gleamed with multi-coloured splendour—dazzling and bright—making her face look pale by comparison. Her amber eyes glittered back at her, huge and haunted and distracted, and the fingers which were clasped together by the heavily encrusted belt which lay low over her hips were trembling like the first leaves of spring.

And no wonder. For the day she had so been dreading had finally arrived.

Her wedding day.

For the past forty-eight hours world leaders had been flying into Riocard, as had film stars and models and moguls—rich and powerful friends and acquaintances of the man who seemed like a cold-faced stranger to her.

The world’s press were camped along the wedding route and glossy magazines from just about every country in the world had been sent to cover the ‘wedding of the year’. She had received countless requests for interviews, but she had refused them all—for surely perceptive journalists would easily be able to detect her uncertainty. And her insecurity about the future.

From outside she could hear the sounds of the jubilant crowds lining the main streets of Riocard, in the hope of catching a glimpse of their Sheikh’s bride as she travelled with her
father to the palace for the ceremony which would make them man and wife.

Rashid’s wife.

Jenna shivered, trying not to think about what lay ahead. First there was the ceremony itself—with all the eyes of Quador on her, along with the eyes of the world. They would be expecting a bride who was rapturous with joy at the thought of marrying one of the world’s most eligible bachelors.

She allowed herself a wry smile. If only they knew! What would they say if they discovered that she and Rashid had barely spoken a word to each other in the intervening weeks—let alone loving words. They had discussed only what had been absolutely necessary.

Only once, with her father in proud attendance, had she summoned up the courage to ask Rashid about what her future ‘role’ as his wife would entail.

And Rashid had narrowed his black eyes and fixed her with a look of bemused tolerance.

‘Why, Jenna,’ he had responded softly, ‘your role is to support your Sheikh.’

‘But I have been studying law, Rashid,’ she had pointed out. ‘Could that not be put to some use?’

Her father had shaken his head and smiled. ‘Your role as consort will leave you little spare time, Jenna.’

And Rashid, murmuring his agreement, had risen, his silken robes flowing, signalling that the discussion had come to an end.

The chaperons had put paid to all but the most formal communication between them. Like questions from Rashid about her preferences for the wedding feast—and, on one memorable occasion, a drawled query about where she would care to spend the honeymoon.

As far away from you as possible,
her eyes had said, but she had given him a sarcastically submissive smile. ‘That choice must be yours, O Sheikh,’ she had answered softly, and had seen his mouth tighten in response. ‘Perhaps Paris?’ she had questioned, with mock innocence. ‘I believe that the Sheikh knows the city
very
well?’

He had drummed his long fingers on the exquisite inlaid
desk at which he’d sat, and his dark eyes had frosted her a look of pure ice.

‘Perhaps we should stay right here in Quador,’ he had murmured in a little-spoken Quadorian dialect which he knew full well that she alone in the room understood. ‘After all—one bed is pretty much the same as any other!’

Jenna shivered again. After the wedding and the feast would come the wedding night itself, and that was the part she was dreading most. She had declared that she would not respond to him, that she would tolerate his caresses but not enjoy them. Yet over the last few headachy days she had begun to wonder whether she would have the resolve to withstand his raw and heated sensuality.

But even if she didn’t there was no guarantee that she would enjoy it—not if that single, frantic bout in the bedchamber was anything to go by. And if she was worried that Rashid would be unable to resist the lure of mistresses past, present and maybe future—then she was almost certain that a frigid wife would send him running straight to their beds.

She stared into the mirror one last time and fixed a practised smile onto her lips. She would go forward towards her future, and put her trust in fate.

There was little else in which she could trust.

Rashid stood with narrowed eyes as he surveyed the horizon for the first sign of her carriage.

‘Exalted One?’

Rashid didn’t move, his heart unaccustomedly heavy. ‘What is it, Abdullah?’

‘The woman—Chantal—she has been leaving messages for you, O Sheikh.’

Rashid
did
turn round then, his narrowed eyes growing even more flinty than usual. ‘You dare to speak to me of such matters on the day of my wedding?’

‘I merely pass on messages, Sheikh, just as I have always done.’

‘Then pass them on no longer,’ said Rashid tonelessly. ‘I instructed Chantal not to contact me. She knows that I am a man of my word.’

‘Indeed.’ Abdullah nodded.

‘Did she choose one of the pieces of jewellery I left?’ Rashid enquired, as an afterthought.

Abdullah shifted uncomfortably. ‘She said that making a choice was impossible, Excellency.’

‘And?’

‘She kept them all.’

For a moment the Sheikh was still, and then he smiled a cynical smile. ‘So be it,’ he murmured. ‘Then there is nothing more to be said.’ He stilled once more as bells began pealing loudly in the palace courtyard. ‘She is here,’ he breathed. ‘Jenna has come.’

Moving stiffly in the heavy wedding gown, and surrounded by her women-in-waiting, Jenna made her way slowly towards the Throne Room, where Rashid awaited her.

And with her first glimpse of him a small, instinctive sigh escaped from her lips—for he looked as perfect as it was surely possible for any man to look.

He wore robes of silver, far plainer than her own, and from his belt hung the priceless Quador sword which was never far from his side. He turned around and his carved face was stern, but for one brief moment the dark eyes softened as he bowed his head with imperial grace.

He had got what he wanted, she thought as she moved across the crowded ornate room to his side—while her own wishes had been cast aside in the tide of his arrogant determination.

‘You look exquisite,’ he murmured.

And so did he. She bowed her own head, because, stupidly, the appreciative blaze from the black eyes had made it seem like the most wonderful compliment she had ever received. A tiny morsel thrown to a starving dog. ‘Thank you.’

The ceremony passed in a blur. Ancient words were spoken. Heavy crowns placed upon their heads. The wedding vows were quietly made—vows of love and endurance and fidelity. And, staring into the onyx glitter of his eyes, Jenna found the words all too simple to say. A wave of sadness rocked her, for she
had
loved him with all her heart, and deep down she suspected that she still could.

But as Rashid echoed her words of undying fidelity they sounded hollow and empty in her ears.

He placed a circlet of rubies on her finger as the words of the ceremony echoed around the high-vaulted Throne Room.

They were married. Man and wife. Jenna felt faint as her eyes were drawn to a sudden cloud-like spectacle outside the window—the blur of wings as a thousand white doves were released into the skies.

How free they looked, she thought wistfully. How carefree.

Rashid felt her tremble beside him as she watched the birds fly away. ‘What troubles you, Jenna?’ he whispered.

He did. She turned to face him, her brow criss-crossing with concern. ‘Will the doves not fly straight into the desert and perish?’ she questioned worriedly.

He gave a brief, hard smile. Did she think so badly of him? ‘I am not such a barbarian as to condemn such living beauty to death,’ he demurred. ‘No, they will be carried on the warm thermals to more hospitable climes than Quador. Who knows? They may settle where no dove has ever settled before—a new beginning for them as well as for us, sweet Jenna.’

Jenna suppressed a sigh of longing. He could make his words sound like poetry—if only he meant them!

After the wedding came the feast in the Banqueting Hall, and there were murmurs of approval from the glittering assembly as they looked around, observing for themselves the vast wealth of Quador.

Meats were turning on vast spits. Huge bowls of jewel-bright and glistening fruits tempted the eye and the palate. But Jenna had little appetite for food and she felt dazed in the spotlight of so many curious stares.

She drank some strong wine from one of the carved golden goblets, and the fiery liquid burned into her stomach, filling her with a welcome warmth.

Rashid bent his head to her ear. ‘And now we must move into the Grand Ballroom, my sweet bride,’ he murmured softly. ‘They are awaiting our first dance.’

‘Duty calls,’ she responded with a nod of her head, and the thumping in her head only increased as she saw him frown.

A string quartet had been flown in from New York and they played quietly in one corner of the ballroom as Jenna moved into her new husband’s arms.

For a moment she saw the envious eyes of an international starlet fixed on them—a woman whose tiny, glittering dress showed off every perfect inch of her body. And then she was aware of nothing other than the scent of the man who was now her husband, and the lean, hard body beneath the fine silk he wore.

He touched his lips to her ear, and she shivered. ‘You are pale, Jenna mine,’ he observed. ‘Has your wedding day not pleased you?’

She lifted her head up, dazzled by the piercing black light from his eyes. ‘It has all been so…bewildering,’ she said truthfully. ‘I hadn’t thought…hadn’t realised just what a big show it was going to be.’

His eyes narrowed.
‘Show?’
he questioned, his voice sultry, but underlaid with a faint note of impatience. ‘The trappings are necessary, but a wedding is a wedding is a wedding—and tonight I will show you just how fulfilling married life can be.’

She quickly turned her face into his shoulder again, for fear that he should see the foreboding in her eyes.

Rashid felt the stiff tension in her body, but kept his face relaxed, knowing that every eye in the room was on them, and that every nuance would be observed and reported back.

What had happened to the easy warmth which had once flowed like honey between them? Should he ever have let her leave? Was he to blame for this frosty state of impasse? He allowed himself a small sigh. He bitterly regretted the way he had taken her, with such fervour and such little consideration for her innocence. He had believed her rash declaration. Had thought that she was a woman of sexual experience—and oh, how wrong he had been.

He drifted his mouth to the jewelled hair, remembering her angry words to him. So she would not enjoy sex! He smiled. Let her say that when the morning sun washed its first golden rays over their naked bodies!

It was almost eight by the time they took their leave of their
guests. They were to spend that night in the Palace, before travelling to the west of Quador the following day, where Rashid had a hunting lodge and only a bare skeleton of servants.

They would be almost alone, she realised—or as alone as a man in his position could ever be.

‘Come now, Jenna,’ he said softly, and, taking her hand, he led her past the clapping guests towards his quarters. ‘Let the wedding night begin.’

It was a journey which seemed to take for ever, and all Jenna was aware of was the pounding of her heart and the powerful presence of the silver-clad Sheikh by her side as they mounted the marble stairs.