The Sheikh's Secret Babies Read online

  A lift door whirred back in the hall and the nanny, accompanied by a young woman in Marwani dress, appeared, each bearing a beaming drowsy twin back to their mother.

  ‘I’ll leave now.’

  ‘I want you to stay,’ Jaul decreed.

  ‘Listen.’ Chrissie rested a hand daringly on a muscular brown forearm as she stretched up to him to whisper, ‘For now, I’m staying with my family. I’ll do what I have to do only when you leave for Marwan. When is that happening?’

  ‘I have to return within twenty-four hours. I have already released the photos taken at our wedding at the embassy to the press at home.’

  Chrissie lost colour. Only one wretched day of freedom left? Only one day more to be with her family and savour her independence and liberty to do as she liked. ‘So you expect me to...what?’

  ‘Close down your life here in the short term. Your family will naturally be welcome to visit and stay with us whenever they like.’

  ‘Then it’s about time you met my father,’ Chrissie pronounced abruptly, a rueful expression in her eyes for she doubted that Jaul would enjoy the experience. Her dad was chock-full of prejudices, against foreigners, rich people and royalty to name only a few, and Brian Whitaker was not diplomatic about hiding the fact. Jaul deserved that meeting as she had not deserved hers with his late father, Lut. ‘He’s coming down to London tonight to visit us.’

  * * *

  On the way back to her sister’s with the twins, Chrissie was recalling the day she had met King Lut, remembering the clammy break of sweat on her skin when she had finally grasped the alarming truth that the angry older man, dressed exactly as though he had stepped off a desert film set, was actually her father-in-law. He had not even spoken to her in English. Throughout another older man had stood anchored to his side translating his every furious gesture and bitten-out word and yet Jaul had once told her that his parent spoke fluent English. Possibly the King’s temper had prevented him from finding the right words in her language, the horrible, hateful words that had never left her once he had assured her that their very marriage had been completely unlawful...

  ‘It was not a proper marriage. It was never intended to be more than a casual affair and Jaul wants to be left in peace. It is over between you now that he’s back in Marwan. He does not want you living here in his English home, nor does he want to hear from you again. Please do not embarrass him further by visiting our embassy. My son plans to marry a decent woman from his own culture and who will marry him if you cause a scandal?’

  There had been a lot more along the same lines, Chrissie recalled unhappily, every word aimed at ensuring that she accepted just how unimportant she was and how unfit she was to be Jaul’s wife. She had been a sexual fling, nothing more, an intruder in his apartment, an embarrassing visitor creating scenes at the embassy, in short a woman pitifully clinging to a man who no longer wanted her. Her pride had been crushed and her heart broken because she had loved Jaul with all her heart.

  And now it seemed that her life had turned full circle, she reflected as the limo whisked her back to her sister’s home. She knew that Cesare and Lizzie would support her if she chose to fight Jaul for the children but she could not help recalling that even Cesare had urged her to be cautious in her dealings with Jaul, because Jaul had more power and influence than the average non-resident father. In other words even her powerful and extremely shrewd brother-in-law had been doubtful of her chances of winning such a custody battle.

  And there were two menacing sides to her dilemma, she acknowledged wretchedly. If she fought Jaul it would turn bitter and nasty and then what would happen if she ultimately lost the custody battle? How much would Jaul allow her to see of her children in the hostile aftermath of such a conflict? She shivered, clammy and cold inside as she pondered that very realistic question. Hadn’t she already had the warning of learning what had happened to Jaul’s British grandmother, Lady Sophie? From what she could establish that poor woman had never got to see her child again, at least not until he was an adult and too locked into his prejudices and hostility to listen to the other side of the story. Chrissie reckoned that if she wasn’t careful she might fall victim to the same heartbreak and lose her children altogether.

  Her other concern was the sheer selfishness of plunging Cesare and Lizzie into that same conflict with her. Lizzie was pregnant again and the very last thing she needed was added pressure and anxiety. A court case would be nerve-racking and would attract the sort of publicity that her sister and brother-in-law abhorred, for in spite of their wealth they led quiet, private lives. However, if Chrissie plunged into a divorce and custody battle with Jaul, the press were sure to pick up on it because an Arab king’s secret marriage to an Englishwoman would be all too newsworthy to ignore. No, she couldn’t possibly risk exposing her family or her children to that kind of intrusive publicity. They all deserved better from her, she conceded heavily. After all, she had chosen to marry Jaul and the consequences were hers to deal with. Why should anyone else pay the price?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  CHRISSIE SAT ON Jaul’s private jet during the flight to Marwan like a small grave statue, slender body straight-backed and rigid, hands circumspectly folded on her lap, eyes veiled.

  Jaul compressed his sensual lips and grimly returned his attention to his laptop. What had he expected? A relaxed and happy travelling companion? It was wiser to concentrate on the positives: Chrissie was on board with his children and, even better, was considerately wearing the sort of outfit for her first public appearance that would impress his people. The simple blue shift dress enhanced the slender grace of her figure. In the sunlight coming through the porthole behind her, she looked incredibly beautiful with her hair gleaming like a liquid fall of bright reflective silver. That same exacting light accentuated her almost transparent porcelain skin and the lush perfection of her soft pink lips.

  All too fast and predictably, Jaul recalled the silky brush of her hair across his thigh and the hot, erotic grip of her mouth. Long brown fingers braced on the table edge in front of him as arousal coursed through him with the force of a volcanic flow of lava, leaving him hot and hard and throbbing with need. Gritting his teeth, he concentrated instead on thinking about how she would react to the special request he had to make of her. He compressed his wide, sensual mouth, resolving to approach the topic with tact.

  Chrissie’s stillness cloaked her inner turmoil. She wanted to scream and shout with angry frustration. Jaul had, quite literally, hunted her down and trapped her like prey. Two years too late she was taking up the role of being his wife and the mother of his children, a role that she would once, most ironically, have eagerly embraced. A trickle of perspiration beaded her short upper lip as she recalled the incredible crush of paparazzi fighting to photograph the Marwani royal party at the airport and the sheer wall of security men it had taken to hold them back. It had not occurred to her that their marriage would so quickly incite that amount of attention. Jaul had taken it in his stride but Chrissie had been unnerved by that level of public exposure.

  But then, in truth, the past twenty-four hours had been equally unsettling. Cesare and Lizzie had reacted to her announcement that she was returning to Marwan with Jaul with far less surprise than Chrissie had naively expected. Her sister and brother-in-law had assumed that Jaul and Chrissie were making an effort to rebuild their marriage for the sake of their two young children.

  ‘And if it doesn’t work out, at least you know you tried and you can come home again,’ Lizzie had proclaimed in her innocence of the fact that ‘coming home’ was an option that Chrissie had legally surrendered two years earlier. To come home, she would have to be willing to leave her children behind her and that was not an option she could ever imagine choosing.

  That same day, Chrissie had boxed up her possessions for storage and had put her apartment in the hands of a rental agency. For what had remained of her meagre twenty-four hours of freedom, she had gone shopping with her sister for a more
suitable wardrobe of formal clothing. In the evening her father had arrived in London for a visit and Jaul had joined them for dinner. Jaul had dealt calmly with her father’s often barbed comments and he had laughed when Chrissie had remarked on his discretion before his departure.

  ‘When it comes to temperament, your father is a walk in the park. My father lost his head in rage at least once a week. There was no reasoning with him and he would often say offensive things. Of course, he was very much indulged growing up and because he saw himself as an all-powerful ruler he never studied to control his temper,’ he had confided, startling her with his candour. ‘It was a good learning experience for me.’

  That glimpse into Jaul’s background had sharply disconcerted Chrissie because to her it had sounded less like a learning experience and rather more like living with a tyrant. Recalling the raging man she had once briefly met, Chrissie had made no comment as she suppressed an inner shiver while contemplating the possibility that, with such an intolerant and inflexible parent, Jaul’s childhood could not possibly have been as secure and privileged as she had always assumed.

  Before boarding the flight, Chrissie had gone to a beauty salon to have her hair trimmed and her nails painted, small measures to enable her to present herself as the well-groomed royal wife people would be expecting to see by Jaul’s side. Royal? That very word made her roll her eyes. The only royal thing about her was that she had allowed Jaul to royally shaft her in every sense of the word, she thought with rebellious bitterness.

  She had agreed to return to a husband who had once abandoned her and who had yet to explain himself on that score. How on earth had she allowed him to get away with that? How had she let that huge question get buried beneath her terror of losing custody of the twins? And what the heck was Jaul still hiding from her?

  He was probably only trying to hide the unlovely truth from her, Chrissie reasoned with scorn. But she wasn’t stupid and she could work out the most likely scenario for herself. Obviously Jaul had never loved her; all he had ever felt for her was lust, a lust honed to a fine sharp edge by the length of time he’d had to wait to get her into bed. Had he realised soon after their marriage that he had made a dreadful mistake and that she was not at all what he wanted in a wife?

  Had he then confessed all to his father? Why else would Jaul have never returned from Marwan? Was he now ashamed of having once treated her so cruelly? Of the fact that he had dumped her without even having the guts to tell her he was done with her? Of the fact he had had his father pay her off as though she were some sort of slutty gold-digger? Was that why Jaul had still to explain his own behaviour?

  From below her lashes, Chrissie studied her husband with simmering intensity. Whether she liked it or not, dressed in a charcoal-grey suit stamped with the flawless cut and fit of handmade designer elegance, Jaul looked absolutely gorgeous. One look at him with his strong jawline already shadowed by faint black stubble and his guarded dark eyes pinned to her below the heavy black fringe of his lashes and her pulses hammered. She had a sudden devastating image of his lithe, sleek body sinking down over hers and, even in the mood she was in, her breathing constricted and her heart pounded like crazy. Jolted by that response, her chest tightened in a stress reaction even as she felt her nipples prickle and swell below her clothing.

  In Jaul’s magnetic presence those reactions came as naturally as breathing to her. Her carefully constructed barrier of scorn was already being burned off by the pool of heat spreading like liquid honey at the heart of her. It was desire, the very same lust she had mentally slated Jaul for, and it was a terrifyingly strong hunger, she acknowledged grudgingly, and unfortunately not a stimulus that died down at her bidding. If she didn’t watch out and stay on her guard, he would hook her in again like a stupid fish.

  But why on earth did she feel so cringe-makingly needy? She had lived perfectly well without sex until Jaul came back into her life and now it was as though he had lit a fire inside her that she couldn’t put out. That burning hunger unsettled her and flung her back in time to the days when just being near Jaul had swept her up to an adrenaline-charged high where desire and emotion combined in an intoxicating rush. And no way was she planning to let herself sink back to that level, she swore inwardly.

  By the time the jet was circling and getting ready to land, Chrissie’s tension was on a high. She was apprehensive about the new life ahead of her in Marwan. Naturally she was. A different culture, a language she didn’t speak and suddenly she was royal, an actual queen? Of course she was nervous about the mistakes she would undoubtedly make.

  Furthermore in her head where it mattered she still saw herself as a Yorkshire farmer’s daughter, born in poverty and raised by a troubled mother. She had made it to university and trained as a teacher but it had never once crossed her mind that one day she would be the wife of a king. Even when she had married Jaul she had failed to look ahead to that future because it had seemed so far away and unreal. She had not been aware at the time that, although seemingly in the best of health and looking much younger than his years, King Lut had already been in his seventies. The older man had suffered a massive heart attack and had died without the smallest warning.

  ‘I should tell you that within Marwan the news of our marriage has been received very positively,’ Jaul informed her soothingly as the jet engines whined into a turn. ‘The palace has been flooded with congratulations, bouquets and gifts for our children.’

  Chrissie was pleasantly surprised. ‘But surely your people think it’s very odd that it took until now for you to admit that you are married?’

  ‘My father’s prejudices against Western women and his rages were legendary and people have proved to be remarkably understanding of my reticence,’ Jaul confided wryly.

  Jane, their new nanny, joined them with the stewardess, the twins clad in white broderie anglaise playsuits for their first public airing. Silence fell as everyone buckled up. Chrissie breathed in slow and deep and resolved to make the best of her new future. A future from which she excluded all thought of Jaul. She didn’t have to stay married to him for ever, she reminded herself doggedly. Once they were able to separate, she wouldn’t even need to live below the same roof with him, she reflected, studying his bold bronzed profile and wondering why that particular thought was signally failing to lift her spirits.

  When it was time to disembark, Jaul lifted Tarif out of Jane’s arms. ‘I want to show him off.’

  ‘But you wouldn’t let anyone photograph the twins in London,’ Chrissie remarked in surprise.

  ‘That was London. This is Marwan. Our people have the right to see this little boy in the flesh first,’ he decreed without hesitation. ‘He is my heir and one day he will be King.’

  They disembarked and the line of people waiting to greet them outside began to move closer. Jaul’s bodyguards fanned round them lest a crush develop. Somewhere a military brass band was playing and Chrissie was disconcerted to see television cameras set up below the bright blue sky. The heat was intense and it was much hotter than Chrissie had innocently expected it to be. The advance party of VIPs engaged Jaul in conversation and a smiling older woman approached Chrissie, bobbed a curtsy and told her in excellent English that Soraya was adorable. Cameras were clicking and flashing all around them and Chrissie found it stressful to keep on talking and smiling as though nothing were happening. Painfully slowly the royal party and the interested crowd surrounding them made their way into the airport building, which was mercifully air-conditioned.

  That coolness was welcome to Chrissie while even more photos were being taken of them indoors. Being the centre of so much attention with the twins was a shock to her system but she was enjoyably surprised by the mood of genuine friendliness at their arrival and the number of people who spoke her own language. When Tarif began to get restive in his arms, Jaul recognised that it was time to move on and within minutes they were ensconced in a limousine, travelling down a wide boulevard. Her eyes widened when she registered
the crowds of waving well-wishers. Jaul was evidently a popular ruler. Gripped by curiosity, she gazed out at streets lined with the sort of ultra-modern buildings that might have featured in any city, although the occasional glimpses of elaborate minarets and men in robes added a touch of exotica to the urban landscape.

  ‘What’s the palace like?’ she asked in the rushing silence.

  ‘It’s old-fashioned,’ Jaul warned her. ‘Everything’s as old as Queen Victoria aside of the bathrooms, kitchens and IT connections. It’s been generations since the palace had a queen to take an interest in it.’

  ‘I’d forgotten that.’

  ‘You can change anything you like. I’m pretty much indifferent to my surroundings...unless it’s completely weird and uncomfortable like the mansion in London,’ he conceded wryly.

  The limo had left the city streets behind and rocky plains of sand bounded the desert highway. Dusk was falling. Away in the distance Chrissie could see the looming heights of giant rolling sand dunes coloured every tawny shade from ochre to orange by the setting sun. Giant gates dissecting very high turreted walls appeared a hundred yards ahead and Chrissie sat forward with a look of bemusement. ‘Is that the palace? My goodness, it’s the size of a city and it looks like a Crusader castle!’

  ‘The front part of the original fortress was built by the Crusaders before we threw them out,’ Jaul volunteered with amusement. ‘For hundreds of years as fashion changed every generation added new buildings. Even I haven’t been in all of them. The family was once much larger and in those days my ancestors lived with a vast retinue of servants and soldiers, who all had to be housed.’

  The guards patrolling the walls were waving their guns and roaring a welcome as the limo purred through the automatic gates.