A Question of Honour. Kate Walker
‘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
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
A Question
of Honor
Kate Walker
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
‘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.