The Scandalous Collection. Кейт Хьюит
ideal couple to get married, if the purpose of marriage is to legitimise children. And my country tends to be rather liberal about divorce. If you find living in Kashamak to be unbearable, I will give you your freedom, once the child is born.’
Ella’s teeth dug into the fleshy cushion of her bottom lip, because his offer of an easy divorce seemed to make a complete mockery of his marriage proposal. Yet wasn’t his suggestion the only thing which made sense in this whole crazy situation? That there was an escape route all mapped out if she chose to take it—and frankly, she couldn’t imagine not taking it.
It was just his arrogant certainty that he could just snap his fingers and she’d fall in with his plans which made her want to rebel. And so did something else—the very real fear that going to a faraway country to live with Hassan would throw up all kinds of new problems. Alone with a man who seemed to despise her … How on earth could she feel comfortable about something like that?
‘And what if I refuse?’ she challenged quietly. ‘What then?’
Hassan stared at her. Was she seriously pitting her will against his? It seemed that she was, judging by the sudden determined tilt of her chin, and he forced himself to remember that she was pregnant, and volatile. ‘Don’t make it hard on yourself, Ella,’ he said silkily. ‘Why not sit back and let me take care of you?’
His words were like soft but very effective weapons aimed straight at the most vulnerable part of her and Ella felt temptation wash over her. Someone to take care of her. Because when had that ever happened before? She thought about the struggle of doing this pregnancy on her own. Of lumbering into work every day on the train and worrying like crazy about money.
And then she thought about this man who had put her in this predicament. She saw the glitter of his black eyes as they observed her. Would it be so terrible to let him take over, to use the abundant power at his fingertips to make her life a little easier? A wave of nausea washed over her and briefly she closed her eyes to let it pass. But it had the effect of emphasising her general weakness and, with a heavy sigh, she nodded. ‘Okay,’ she said. ‘I’ll marry you.’
Hassan looked down into her ashen face as he registered her grudging tone and the briefest of smiles glimmered on his lips. Whoever would have predicted it?
That after years of women plotting and scheming to get him to commit, his eventual bride should consent to marry him with such obvious reluctance.
‘SO YOU really are called Cinderella?’
Ella had been staring out of the car window at the stark beauty of the desert speeding by, but she turned now to look at the robed figure by her side. Her new husband. She might have thought she was in the middle of a particularly bizarre dream were it not for the faint weakness and queasiness she was still experiencing from her pregnancy. But she dredged up a rueful smile from somewhere as she turned to answer Hassan’s question. ‘I’m afraid I am. Apparently, my father told my mother that giving me such a name meant I’d be bound to marry a prince.’
‘Then for once, your father was right,’ commented Hassan drily. ‘I am rarely surprised, but I certainly was when the registrar read out your full name during the marriage ceremony.’
‘I wasn’t planning on announcing it,’ she admitted, giving a little shrug of her shoulders. ‘It’s something I tend to keep quiet about, but the registrar insisted that I declare it.’
‘You must have been teased about it a lot at school,’ he observed.
‘Oh, being a Jackson was enough to ensure that. Having a ridiculous Christian name didn’t really make any difference.’
But her airy assertion didn’t quite ring true and Hassan surveyed her with thoughtful eyes. He’d dismissed her as nothing but a playful flirt when she’d first introduced herself with the storybook name. He’d never have dreamt in a million years that she was telling the truth. And yet it had fitted his stereotypical views of women to think of her as a sexy and teasing minx, rather than this rather solemn mother-to-be who now wore his wedding band. He let his gaze drift over the paleness of her skin and felt a sudden beat of anxiety. ‘The car is not too bumpy for you? You don’t feel sick?’
‘No sicker than I was feeling back in London, and it’s nothing to do with the car, or the road. Why, it’s so smooth that you’d hardly believe we were speeding along in the middle of a desert!’
‘Probably because you imagined the roads of Kashamak would be primitive dirt tracks, potted with holes and barely passable because of camels? Didn’t you once say something predictable about camels?’
‘Maybe I was a little guilty of that,’ she said as she stared down at the shiny new wedding ring on her finger, still dazed by the speed of everything that had happened. Still unable to believe that the dark-faced man sitting at her side really was her husband, as well as the father of her child.
Had she been out of her mind to agree to their hasty marriage, or simply too dazed by sickness and general worries to protest about the future? And hadn’t her decision to wed him been made easier by his offer of an ‘easy’ divorce, should she want one?
She sat back against the soft leather of the car seat. ‘I wasn’t sure what to expect when I got here, but so far everything has defied all my expectations.’
The insights as to how her new life would be had begun the moment she’d boarded the luxury jet on a private airfield just north of London. The flight had been seamless and further than she’d ever flown before. With mainland Europe far behind them, they’d skirted the edges of the beautiful Caspian Sea before coming in to land at the airport in Samaltyn, the capital city of Kashamak.
Protocol had been discreet on the plane, which had been empty save for them and the crew members who outnumbered them. But the moment they’d landed and Ella had heard the national anthem being played, she had realised that she was actually in the company of a real-live king.
While she—unbelievable as it seemed—was his new queen. A queen kitted out in lavish silks which covered every bit of available flesh, except for her face and hands.
Their marriage had taken place in the Kashamak Embassy in central London, with only two diplomats as their witnesses and no advance publicity given out, not even to their respective families. Hassan had been adamant he didn’t want an international frenzy with swarms of paparazzi clustering around to take photos of the sheikh’s new Western queen.
But Ella knew this wasn’t the only reason he had insisted on no fuss and why a quiet statement about their union had been issued only this morning, just as they were about to board their jet. She suspected he was terrified of all the negative publicity which always surrounded the Jackson family. And if that was the case, then she was forced to concede that he might be right.
She could just imagine how her family might have sabotaged their wedding day. Her father boasting that his daughter was marrying one of the most powerful men in the Middle East. Her mother playing her habitual doormat role beside him. And Izzy—heaven forbid—trying to sing her congratulations.
But Ella was also afraid that one of her sisters might have discovered the truth behind her bright smile and realised the heavy burden she was carrying. That Hassan was only marrying her to stamp his mark of possession on their unborn baby.
And now they were travelling in a sleek air-conditioned car towards Hassan’s palace, on roads which were as flat as millponds. She felt … well, she felt as displaced as most women would feel if they were newly pregnant and leaving behind everything they knew. But most women in her position would have the comfort of knowing that they were loved and desired, instead of regarded as some sort of royal incubator.
Her actions instinctively mirroring her turbulent emotions, she moved her hand to let it rest on her stomach.
‘You