The sheikh's chosen wife (24 page)

'It might come to
nothing.' Anxiety was playing havoc with her beautiful eyes.

'We will deal with the something
or the nothing together.'

'I am afraid of the
nothing,' she confessed to him. 'I am afraid I might never get the chance to
feel like this again."

'I love you,' he said
huskily. 'Can that not be enough?'

'For you?' She threw the
question back at him, clinging to his eyes like a vulnerable child.

'We know how I feel,
Leona,' he said ruefully. 'In fact, the whole of Rahman knows how I feel about
you. But we hardly ever discuss how you feel about the situation I place you in
here.'

'I just don't want you to
have to keep defending my place in your life,' she told him. 'I hate it.'

Hassan thought about the
damage-control exercise he had already set into motion, and wished he knew how
to answer that. 'I like defending you.' His words seemed to say it all

'You won't tell anyone
tonight, will you?' she flashed up at him suddenly. 'You will keep this our
secret until we know for sure.'

'Do you really think I am
that manipulative?' He was shocked, then uncomfortable, because he realised
that she knew him better than he knew himself. 'Tomorrow we will bring in a
doctor,' he decided, looking for an escape from his own manipulative thoughts.

But Leona shook her head.
'It would be all over Rahman in five minutes if we did that. Look what happened
when I went to see him to find out why 1 couldn't conceive?'

'But we have to know—'

'Evie is bringing me a
pregnancy testing kit with her,' she told him, too busy trying to smooth some
semblance of calmness into herself to notice how still he had gone. 'I rang
her and explained. At least I can trust her not to say anything to anyone.'

'What did she say?'
Hassan enquired carefully.

'She said I should make
sure I tell you. Which I've done.' She turned a wry smile on him. 'Now I wish
that I hadn't because, looking at you, I have a horrible feeling you are going
to give the game away the moment anyone looks at you.'

Confess all, he told
himself. Tell her before the Al-Kadahs tell her that you already suspected all
of this, days ago. A knock at the door was a thankful diversion. Going to open
it, he found Rafiq standing there dressed very much like himself—only he was
wearing his gutrah.

'Our guests are
arriving,' he informed him. 'You and Leona should be downstairs.'

Guests. Dear heaven. His
life was in crisis and he must go downstairs and be polite to people. 'We will
be five minutes only.'

'You are all right?'
Rafiq frowned at him.

No, I am slowly sinking
beneath my own plots and counter-plots. 'Five minutes,' he repeated, and closed
the door again.

Leona was standing by a
mirror, about to fix her lipstick with a set of very unsteady fingers. The urge
to go over there and stop her so that he could kiss her almost got the better
of him. But one kiss would most definitely lead to another and another. In fact
he wanted to be very primitive and drag her off by her beautiful hair to his
lair and smother her in kisses. So instead he stepped back into the other room
and came back a moment later wearing white silk on his head, held by triple
gold thongs, to find that Leona had also covered her hair with a gold-spangled
scarf of red silk.

The red should have
clashed with her hair but it didn't. It merely toned with the sensual colour on
her lips. She lifted her eyes to look at him. He looked back at her. A
different man, a different woman. It was amazing what a piece of silk laid to
the head could do for both of them, because neither was now showing signs of
what was really going on inside

His smile, therefore, was
rueful. 'Showtime,' he said.

And showtime it was. As
on the yacht, but on a grander scale, they welcomed heads of state from all
over Arabia, diplomats from further afield. Some brought their wives, sons and
even their daughters, and some came alone. Some women were veiled; all were
dressed in the exotic jewelled colours favoured by Arabian women.

Everyone was polite,
gracious, and concerned about Sheikh Khalifa's well-being. He had not yet put
in an appearance, though he had every intention of doing so eventually. This
was his night. He had in fact planned it as much as he could from his sick bed.
Today his doctor had insisted he be sedated for most of the day to conserve his
energy. But he had looked bright-eyed and excited when Leona had popped in to
see him just before she had gone to get ready.

'Rafiq should be doing
this with us,' Leona said to Hassan when she realised that his brother was
nowhere to be seen.

'He has other duties,' he
replied, then turned his attention to the next person to arrive at the doors to
the great hall. A great hall that was slowly filling with people.

Sheikh Abdul arrived
without his wife, Zafina, which seemed a significant omission to Leona. He was
subdued but polite to her, which was all she could really expect from him, she
supposed. They greeted Sheikh Jibril and his wife, Medina, Sheikh Imran, and of
course Samir.

When Sheikh Raschid
Al-Kadah and his wife, Evie, arrived, there were some knowing glances exchanged
that made Leona want to blush. But the real blushing happened every time Hassan
glanced at her and his eyes held the burning darkness of their secret.

'Don't,' she whispered,
looking quickly away from him.

'I cannot help it,' he
replied.

'Well, try.' A sudden
disturbance by the door gave her someone new to divert her attention, only to
have her heart stop in complete surprise.

Two men dressed in black
western dinner suits, white shirts and bow ties. She flicked her eyes from one
smiling male face to the other, then on a small shriek of delight launched
herself into the arms of her father.

Tall, lean and in very
good shape for his fifty-five years, Victor Frayne caught his daughter to him
and accepted her ecstatic kisses to his face. 'What are you doing here? Why
didn't you tell me? Ethan—' One of her hands reached out to catch one of his. i
can't believe this! I only spoke to you this morning. I thought you were in San
Esteban!'

'No, the Marriott, here.'
Her father grinned at her. 'Thank your husband for the surprise.'

Hassan. She turned, a
hand each clinging to her two surprises. 'I love you,' she said impulsively.

'She desires to make me blush.'
Hassan remarked, and stepped forward, took his wife by her waist, then offered
his hand to his father-in-law and to Ethan Hayes. 'Glad you could make it,' he
said.

'Happy to be here,' Ethan
replied with only a touch of dryness to his tone to imply that there was more
to this invitation than met the eye.

Leona was just too
excited to notice. Too wrapped up in her surprise to notice the ripple of
awareness that went through those people who had dared to believe rumours about
her relationship with her father's business partner. Then, with the attention
to fine detail which was Hassan's forte, another diversion suddenly appeared.

People stopped talking,
silence reigned as Rafiq arrived,

pushing a wheelchair
bearing Sheikh Khalifa ben Jusef Al-Qadim.

He looked thin and frail
against the height and breadth of his youngest son. A wasted shadow of his
former self. But his eyes were bright, his mouth smiling, and in the frozen
stasis that followed his arrival, brought on by everyone's shock at how ill he
actually looked, he was prepared and responded. 'Welcome...welcome everyone,'
he greeted. 'Please, do not continue to look as if you are attending my
funeral, for I assure you I am here to enjoy myself."

After that everyone made
themselves relax again. Some who knew him well even grinned. As Rafiq wheeled
him towards the other end of the room the old sheikh missed no one in reach of
his acknowledgement. Not even Leona's father, whom he had only met once or
twice. 'Victor,' he greeted him. 'I have stolen your daughter. She is now my
most precious daughter. I apologise to you, but I am not sorry, you
understand?"

'I think we can share
her,' Victor Frayne allowed graciously.

'And...ah...' he turned
his attention to Ethan '...Mr Hayes, it is my great pleasure to meet Leona's
very good friend.' He had the floor, as it should be. So no one could miss the
messages being broadcast here. Even Leona began to notice that something was
going on beneath the surface here. 'Victor...Mr Hayes...come and see me
tomorrow. I have a project I believe will be of great interest to you... Ah,
Rafiq, take me forward, for I can see Sheikh Raschid...'

He progressed down the
hall like that. As Leona watched, she gently slipped her arm around Hassan's
waist. She could feel the emotion pulsing inside him. For this was probably
going to be the old Sheikhs final formal duty.

But nothing, nothing
prepared her for the power of feeling that swept over everyone as Rafiq and his
father reached the other end of the hall where Sheikh Khalifa's favourite divan
had been placed upon a raised dais, ready for him to enjoy the party in
reasonable comfort.

Rafiq bent and lifted his
father into his arms and carried the frail old man up the steps then gently
lowered his father down again. As he went to straighten, the sheikh lifted a
pale bony hand to his youngest son's face and murmured something to him which
sent Rafiq to his knees beside the divan and sent his covered head down.

The strong and the weak.
It was a painful image that held everyone in its thrall because in those few
seconds it was impossible to tell which man held the strength and which one was
weaker.

'Hassan, go to him,'
Leona said huskily. 'Rafiq needs you."

But Hassan shook his
head. 'He will not thank me,' he replied. And he was right; Leona knew that.

Instead Hassan turned his
attention to causing yet another diversion by snapping his fingers to pull a
small army of

They came bearing trays
of delicately made sweets and Arabian coffee and bukhoor burners, which filled
the air with the smell of incense. The mood shifted, took on the characteristics
of a traditional majlis, and the next time Leona looked the dais was surrounded
by the old sheikhs from the desert tribes sitting around on the provided
cushions while Sheikh Khalifa reclined on his divan enjoying their company.

Hassan took her father
and Ethan with him and circulated the room, introducing them to their feUow
guests. The timid Medina Al-Mahmud attached herself to Leona's side like a
rather wary limpit and, taking pity on her, Leona found herself taking the
older woman with her as they moved from group to group.

It was a success. The
evening was really looking as if it was going to be a real success. And then
from somewhere behind her she heard Sheikh Abdul say, 'A clever ploy. I am impressed
by his strategy. For how many men here would now suspect Mr Hayes as his lovely
wife's lover?'

She pretended not to
hear, smiled her bright smile and just kept on talking. But the damage was
done. The evening was ruined for her. For it had not once occurred to her that
her father and Ethan were here for any other purpose than because Hassan
wanted to please her.

Evie appeared at her side
to save her life. 'Show me where I can freshen up,' she requested.

As Leona excused herself
from those she was standing with, a hand suddenly gripped her sleeve. 'You
heard: I saw your face. But you must not listen,' Medina advised earnestly.
'For he has the bad mouth and his wife is in purdah after Sheikh Hassan's visit
yesterday.'

Sheikh Hassan's visit?
Curiouser and curiouser, Leona thought grimly as she took a moment to reassure
Medina before moving away with Evie Al-Kadah.

'What was that all
about?' Evie quizzed.

'Nothing.' Leona
dismissed the little incident.

But from across the room
Hassan saw the green glint hit her eyes and wondered what had caused it. Had
Evie let the proverbial cat out of the bag, or was it the timid Medina who had
dared to stick in the knife?

He supposed he would soon
find out, he mused heavily, and redirected his attention to whoever it was
speaking to him, hoping he had not missed anything important.

The evening moved on; the
old sheikh grew tired. His two sons appeared by the side of his divan. He did
not demur when Hassan gently suggested he bid goodnight to everyone. Once again
Rafiq lifted him into his wheelchair with the same gentleness that would be
offered a fragile child. His departure was achieved quietly through a side
door, as the old Sheikh himself had arranged.

Leona was standing with
her father and Ethan as this quiet departure took place. 'How long?' Victor
asked her gravely.

'Not very long,' she
answered, then eluded herself because Sheikh Khalifa wished his thirtieth
celebration to be an occasion remembered for its hospitality, not as his
obituary.

It was very late by the
time people began leaving. Even later before Leona felt she could dare to allow
herself a sigh of relief at how relatively pain-free the whole evening had
turned out to be.