Sheikh's Convenient Marriage. Кейт Хьюит
But now was not the moment to dwell on all the things which were missing from their relationship, because Sara had arrived to accompany her to the embassy for the wedding and Leila knew she must push her troubled thoughts aside. She must pin a bright smile to her lips and be prepared to play the part expected of her. Because if Sara guessed at her deep misgivings about the marriage, then mightn’t she try to talk her out of it?
They embraced warmly and Sara’s smile was soft as she pulled away and studied her. ‘You look utterly exquisite, Leila,’ she said. ‘I hope Gabe knows what a lucky man he is.’
Somehow, Leila produced an answering smile. Lucky? She knew Sara had guessed the truth—that she was newly pregnant with Gabe’s baby. But Sara wasn’t aware that the thought of having a baby didn’t scare her nearly as much as the fact that she was marrying a man who seemed determined to remain a stranger to her. She thought of his shuttered manner. The way he had batted back her questions as if she had no right to ask them. How could she possibly cope with living with such a man?
Yet as she made a final adjustment to her flowered headdress she felt a little stab of determination. Couldn’t she break through the emotional barriers which Gabe Steel had erected around his heart? She had come this far—too far—to be dismissed as if what she wanted didn’t matter. Because it did matter. She mattered. And no matter how impossible it seemed, she knew what was top of her wish-list. She wanted Gabe to be close to her and their baby. She’d had enough of families who lived their lives in separate little boxes—she’d done that all her life. Sometimes what you wanted didn’t just happen—you had to reach out and grab it for yourself. And grab it she would.
‘Let’s hope he does,’ she said with a smile as she picked up her bouquet.
But her new-found determination couldn’t quite dampen down her flutter of nerves as the car took her and Sara to Grosvenor Square, where Gabe was standing on the steps waiting for her.
She thought how formidably gorgeous he looked as he came forward to greet her. Toweringly tall in a charcoal suit which contrasted with the dark gold of his hair, he seemed all power and strength. She told herself she wouldn’t have been human if her body hadn’t begun to tremble with excitement in response to him.
But he was only standing there because he had no choice.
Because she was carrying his baby.
That was all.
‘Hello, Leila,’ he said.
Her apprehension diminished a little as she saw the momentary darkening of his quicksilver eyes. ‘Hello, Gabe,’ she answered.
‘You look...incredible.’
The compliment took her off-guard and so did the way he said it. Her fingers fluttered upwards to check the positioning of the crimson flowers in her hair. ‘Do I?’
Gabe read the uncertainty in her eyes and knew that he could blot it out with a kiss. But he didn’t want to kiss her. Not now and not in public. Not with all these damned embassy officials hovering around, giving him those narrow-eyed looks of suspicion, as they’d been doing ever since he’d arrived. He wondered if they resented their beautiful princess marrying a man from outside their own culture. Or whether they guessed this was a marriage born of necessity, rather than of love.
Love.
He hoped his exquisite bride wasn’t entertaining any fantasies about love—and maybe he needed to spell that out for her. To start as he meant to go on. With the truth. To tell her that he was incapable of love. That he had ice for a heart and a dark hole for a soul. That he broke women’s hearts without meaning to.
His mouth hardened.
Would he break hers, too?
THE MARRIAGE CEREMONY was conducted in both Qurhahian and English, and Gabe reflected more than once that the royal connection might have intimidated many men. But he was not easily intimidated and essentially it was the same as any other wedding he’d ever been to. He and Leila obediently repeated words which had been written by someone else. He slid a gleaming ring onto her finger and they signed a register, although his new wife’s signature was embellished with a royal crest stamped into a deep blob of scarlet wax.
She put the pen down and rose gracefully from the seat, but as he took her hand in his he could feel her trembling and he found his fingers tightening around hers to give her an encouraging squeeze.
‘You are now man and wife,’ said the official, his robed figure outlined against the indigo and golden hues of the Qurhahian flag.
Sara and Suleiman smilingly offered their congratulations as soft sounds of Qurhahian Takht music began to play. Servants appeared as if by clockwork, bearing trays of the national drink—a bittersweet combination of pomegranate juice mixed with zest of lime. After this they were all led into a formal dining room, where a wedding breakfast awaited them, served on a table festooned with crimson roses and golden goblets studded with rubies.
Leila found herself feeling disorientated as she sat down opposite Suleiman and began to pick at the familiar Qurhahian food which was presented to her. The enormity of all that had happened to her should have been enough to occupy her thoughts during the meal. But all she could think about was the powerful presence of her new husband and to wonder what kind of future lay ahead.
Who was Gabe Steel? she wondered as she stabbed at a sliver of mango with her fork. She listened to him talking to Sara about the world of advertising and then slipping effortlessly into a conversation about oil prices with Suleiman. He was playing his part perfectly, she thought. Nobody would ever have guessed that this was a man who had effectively been shotgunned into marriage.
He must have sensed her watching him, for he suddenly reached out his hand and laid it on top of hers, and Leila couldn’t prevent an involuntary shiver of pleasure in response. It had been weeks since he’d touched her, and she revelled in the feeling of his warm flesh against hers—but the gesture felt more dutiful than meaningful. She couldn’t stop noticing the way Suleiman and Sara were with each other. The way they hung off the other’s every word and finished each other’s sentences. She felt a tug of wistfulness in her heart. Their marriage was so obviously a love-match and it seemed to mock the emptiness of the relationship she shared with Gabe.
She turned to find his cool grey gaze on hers.
‘Enjoying yourself?’ he said.
She wondered what he would say if she told him the truth. That she felt blindsided with bewilderment about the future and fearful of being married to a man who gave nothing away.
But Leila was a princess who had been taught never to show her feelings in public. She could play her part as well as he was playing his. She could make her reply just as non-committal as the cool question he’d asked.
‘It’s been a very interesting day,’ she conceded.
Unexpectedly, he gave a low laugh—as if her unemotional response had pleased him. He bent his lips to her ear. ‘I think we might leave soon, don’t you?’
‘I think that might be acceptable,’ she said, swallowing in an effort to shift the sudden dryness in her throat.
‘I think so too,’ he agreed. ‘So let’s say goodbye to our guests and go.’
The unmistakeable intent which edged his words made Leila’s heart race with excitement. But hot on that flare of anticipation came apprehension, because the sex they’d shared that afternoon in Qurhah now seemed like a distant dream.
What would it be like to make love with him again after everything that had happened? What if this time it was a disappointment—what then? Because she suspected that a man as experienced as Gabe would not tolerate a wife who didn’t excite him. Wasn’t that why men in the desert kept harems—to ensure that their sexual appetites were always gratified? Wasn’t it said in Qurhah