Midnight at the Oasis: His Majesty's Mistake

“Such a different life than mine.”

“I can’t see you on a ranch.”

“Neither can I, but I do ride. Not Western-style, of course. I used to compete.”

“Dressage?”

She grinned. “No, jumping. I was quite good.” She must have seen the disbelief in his eyes because she laughed and added, “I really was. Even made the Brabant Olympic Equestrian team at twenty.”

“You participated in the Olympics?”

“Well, I made it there, but ended up getting thrown in my first event. It was a nasty fall, and for almost twenty-four hours I had no feeling below my chest. Thank goodness full sensation eventually returned, but that was the end of my riding. I’m not allowed to compete again.”

“I had no idea.”

“I can’t imagine you reading tabloid magazines, so it’s unlikely you’d know I was mad about jumping. It’s not exactly mainstream news.”

“Your accident would have made headlines.”

“It was mentioned that I was thrown, but there was a massive earthquake the next day, and the focus turned to real news.”

“How many years ago was that?”

“Five.” She glanced down at her middle and pressed a hand to the peasant blouse, flattening the cotton fabric over her still-flat stomach. “That’s how I met Alejandro. He was at the course when I was thrown and he came to the hospital to check on me. The nurses wouldn’t let him in. Alejandro being Alejandro—” She broke off, swallowed. “—he told them he was my fiancé, and they let him in.”

Makin thought he’d known Princess Emmeline all of these years. He thought he’d known everything important about her—beautiful, fashionable, chic, as well as soft, pampered and lazy. He’d imagined that her only ambition was being seen and photographed. Instead she’d spent years training in a highly competitive, dangerous sport. She’d been thrown from a horse. She was far stronger than he’d ever imagined.

“That’s how the rumors and talk started,” she added. “About Alejandro and me. But we weren’t involved. There was nothing between us, not until March.”

“But over the years you were seen with him, time and again.”

“Because he would search me out. Never the other way around. I was never interested in him. He wasn’t my type. I know you don’t believe me, but I worked very hard to rebuff him. Only, I think that backfired. The more I pushed him away, the more determined he was to win.”

Looking at her stunning features—the high cheekbones, the angled jaw, the full mouth—he could believe it. She was beyond beautiful. She had a rare, luminous quality, as though there was a light inside of her making her shimmer and glow. “Men like the chase,” he said.

“So I’ve learned.” She tried to smile but it didn’t reach her eyes. “He didn’t love me. He didn’t even want me. He just wanted to. oh, what’s that English expression? Score. He just wanted to score.” She met his gaze, smiled mockingly. “And he did. Now he’s gone. I’m pregnant. And nothing will ever be the same, will it?”

He felt such a sharp tug of emotion that it almost took his breath away. She’d been through a difficult time and things weren’t going to be getting any easier. He suddenly knew she needed a friend, someone in her corner. Someone who would be there for her. “You’re right. It won’t be.”

“I’m scared.”

He felt another inexplicable tug on his emotions. Gone was the glossy, glamorous princess who had sailed through life untouched by the problems of ordinary mortals. She looked young and real and heartbreakingly vulnerable. “You could end the pregnancy. No one would be the wiser.”

“I would.”

“It’d be the best thing for you.”

“But not for the baby!” she flashed hotly, color suffusing her cheeks. “And I know you don’t like Alejandro—”

“This has nothing to do with him,” he interrupted sternly. “And I’m not a proponent of abortion. But I think you have to be very practical right now, think hard on your choices. You are Princess Emmeline d’Arcy and the world holds you to a different standard.”

“Perhaps. But I could no more abort the pregnancy than amputate an arm or leg. I love this baby, and I want this baby and am prepared to make the necessary sacrifices to ensure that he or she has the best possible life.”

Makin regarded her steadily, torn between admiration and concern, aware that the road ahead of her would not be easy. But life wasn’t about making the easy decision, it was about making the right decision, and if keeping the baby was the right thing for her, then he supported her one hundred percent. Life was fragile and precious and full of unknowns.

Makin was all too familiar with the fragility of life. He’d known since he was a teenager that he’d never be able to have children due to the gene he’d inherited from his father. And so at twenty, six months after his father’s death, Makin had elected to have a vasectomy to ensure that he couldn’t carelessly or accidentally impregnate his partner. He simply could not take the risk of passing on such a fatal, painful disease to his children. It had been bad enough watching his father suffer. He couldn’t imagine his own children suffering the same fate.

“Then you need to be strong,” he said to Emmeline at length. “You need to hold tightly to your convictions and do not let anyone sway you from what you believe is right and true.”

They traveled in silence for nearly forty minutes and then the captain announced that they would be starting their descent momentarily.

Emmeline looked out the window and then at Makin. “We’re still flying over desert.”

“We’re stopping in Nadir to refuel. We’ll only be on the ground fifteen or twenty minutes.” He paused, studied her brown hair, aware that it wasn’t her true color. “Do you have a personal hair stylist?”

“Yes. She’s in Raguva with Hannah.”

“Which means she could be anywhere.” He saw Emmeline’s expression and clarified, “Hannah’s no longer in Raguva. She left the palace early this morning and should be on her way back to Dallas now.”

“So King Patek knows?”

“He discovered the truth last night.”

“My parents must know then, too.”

“I did send word we were on the way and had to stop and refuel. They aren’t expecting us until midafternoon.”

“It’s going to be pretty ugly when we get to Brabant,” she said slowly.

“You have to face your family sooner or later.”

“Then later seems preferable.”

“Right now, maybe. But it’s always better to confront problems head-on. I act as soon as I can. It saves heartache down the road.”

“That’s why we’re on the plane now. Better to get me home quickly than delay and risk more trouble.”

“Exactly,” he agreed, and then realized how it must sound to her. He tried to soften the blow. “My father taught me not to sweep things under the carpet or play ostrich by burying your head in the sand. People will think you’re ashamed or have something to hide.”

“But I do feel shame. I’m not proud to be a single, unwed mother. I’ve made so many appearances trying to educate young girls, wanting them to be smart and careful, and yet I’ve failed to do the very thing I preach.”

“As you said, you made a mistake.”

“A terribly stupid one.”

Makin’s insides tightened, his chest knotting with sensation, and he realized now it wasn’t Hannah he’d wanted to send away yesterday. It was this person, this woman. Emmeline. Not because he disliked her, or because she’d failed him in some way, but because she was making him care. Not about grand or important things like politics and economics, but about something very small and personal. Her.

He did care for her. He was glad he was accompanying her home, if only to lend his moral support. “What’s done is done,” he said. “You can’t go back. All you can do is go forward.”

“Yes.”

“But I don’t think you should go home like this.” He indicated her hair. “Not as a brunette. Since your stylist isn’t available, I know someone who could help. She can meet us at the airport and board the plane when we refuel.”

Emmeline touched her hair. “You’re sure she’ll come?”

“She’s on my payroll.”

“She’s your stylist then?”

“No. She’s Madeline’s.”

“Madeline?”

“My … mistress.”

Emmeline frowned. “That’s right. You mentioned her last night.” She hesitated. “Does Madeline mind that her stylist will help with my hair?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, suddenly uncomfortable and impatient. He wished he hadn’t mentioned Madeline. There was no need to bring her up, and he certainly had no desire to discuss her with the princess. “Risa is an expert at doing hair on this jet and she’ll have you back to your natural color by the time we arrive in Brabant.”

Just a little over an hour later, they were back in the air after refueling in Nadir.

Risa, the hairstylist, had brought everything she might need in a large trunk. She had various boxes of color, foil squares, cotton strips, shampoo and conditioner, as well as a hair dryer, curling tongs, styling creams and finishing sprays.

On board, Risa immediately mixed color and applied it to Emmeline’s hair, taking little strips here and there and wrapping them in foil.

Now Emmeline sat on the bed flipping through one of the magazines Risa had brought with her while she waited for the color to finish processing, but her mind kept wandering from the magazine to Makin. Why did he have a mistress? What was the point of a mistress? Why not a girlfriend … or a wife?

A knock sounded on the door. It was Makin. He opened the door a crack. “Are you decent?”

“I’m dressed. But not sure how decent I look,” she answered, setting the magazine aside.

He opened the door wider. “You look like an alien,” he said, taking in the pieces of foil and purple cream.

Emmeline smiled wryly. “You’re not supposed to see this part.”

“Where’s Risa?”

“In the galley kitchen rinsing the bowls and brushes.” Emmeline closed the magazine and slid her legs off the bed. “Risa’s good, by the way. She knows what she’s doing.”

“She worked in Paris for ten years for a top salon before Madeline hired her away.”

“Risa told me Madeline’s blonde.” Emmeline didn’t know why she said it.

“She is,” he agreed.

Emmeline waited for him to elaborate but he didn’t. “Have you always had a mistress?”

Makin blinked. “What kind of question is that?”

“I’m curious. And you’ve asked me very personal things. I don’t know why I’m not allowed to know anything about you.”

“I never said you weren’t.”

“Good. So, why a mistress instead of a girlfriend? What’s the point of having a mistress?”

He hesitated a moment than shrugged. “Convenience.”

Her brows knit together. “For you?”

“Yes.”

“And what’s in it for her?”

“Comfort. Security.”

“Financial security, you mean?”

“Yes.”

“Because it doesn’t sound as if there is emotional security.”

“I wouldn’t say that—”

“Because you have all the control. It’s a relationship on your terms. You see her when you want, and she must be available whenever you call. Which, by the way, is horrible.”

“Madeline’s not unhappy.”

“How do you know she’s not unhappy?”

“Because she’s never said she was.”

“Maybe she’s afraid to complain—”

“Madeline’s not afraid of me.”

“But she can’t feel all that secure. She’s not in a relationship with you—”

“Time to change the subject.”

“Do you love her?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“Do you plan on marrying her?”

“Again, none of your business.”

“But she’s been your mistress for three years.”

“Risa told you that, didn’t she?”

“Don’t blame her. I ask too many questions.”

“I can believe that,” he said dryly.

Emmeline flushed. “It’s just that I would hate to be someone’s mistress. I would hate to spend my life waiting for someone to call me or come see me.”

“Madeline has friends in Nadir, and a busy social life attending parties and fashion shows.”

“I’d rather be poor and have someone to love me, than to have lots of money and no love.”

“You can say that because you wear couture and get invitations to the most exclusive parties—”

“But clothes and parties aren’t real. Clothes and parties are frills … window dressing. I’d rather someone like me—want me—for me, than for what I have in a bank account.”

Makin suddenly smiled and shook his head. “You’re like a little dog with a bone. You’re not going to drop it, are you?”

She looked at him for a long moment before smiling reluctantly. “I’m sorry. I guess I did get a little carried away.”

“I admire your strong convictions.”

Her smile stretched wider. “You know, you’re not all bad, Sheikh Al-Koury. There are some good things about you.”

“Just hours ago you were saying I was a power monger.”

She blushed, not sure if she should laugh or cry. “Haven’t forgotten. And I haven’t forgotten that we’re not friends. And that we don’t like each other.”

His lips curved faintly. “You’re incorrigible. I don’t think anyone could control you.”

“Many have tried.”

For a moment he just looked at her, his hard features set, his gray eyes narrowed. “You can’t move to England. You’d be miserable.”

“No.”

“You would. You’d be living in a fishbowl. You couldn’t go anywhere without a half dozen paparazzi following you.”

“Not in the country.”

“Most definitely. You are Princess Emmeline d’Arcy. Once the media discovers you are pregnant and single, you will never be left alone. The tabloids will haunt you. Photographers will shadow you. The paparazzi aren’t going to disappear just because you want to live quietly.”

“Well, I can’t stay in Brabant, locked behind the palace gate, under my parents’ thumb. It’s not healthy.”

“Don’t you have a home of your own in Brabant?”

“My grandparents left me an estate in the north. It’s quite pretty, a small castle with gorgeous grounds—orchards, a rose garden and even a small wood with a lake for fishing—but my parents have said that it’d cost too much for me to actually live there. Staffing it, running it, security. And so it’s mine, but unlivable.”

“I thought you said you had some money of your own now? That you’d come into your majority?”

“I do, but it’s not enough to fund the running of a château, and my parents won’t help cover the difference, nor will they ask the taxpayers to help. And I do agree with that. Our people don’t need me being a burden. That’s why I thought that I would just go somewhere else, like England, and find a small place that I could afford.”

“I think your citizens would be hurt if you left them. They love you.”

She thought of the large crowds that turned out every time she made an appearance, all ages, waving flags and carrying flowers, of all the little children who lifted their faces for a kiss. “And I love them. They have always been so very good to me. So loyal. But now I am pregnant, and it will bring them shame, which doesn’t seem right. I was to have been their perfect princess, a replacement for my aunt Jacqueline who was a most beloved princess. She’s been gone longer than she was alive, and yet they still mourn her.”

“She was stunning.”

“She was so young, too, when she died. Just twenty.”

“But now you create a new life,” he said firmly. “A new royal baby for your citizens to love and adore.”

Emmeline throat ached with emotion. “But I’m not royal—”

“What?”

She nodded. “And Alejandro is a commoner so the baby won’t be given a title, or be in line for the throne. That’s how it works in Brabant.” Her voice broke. “That’s why I had to marry King Patek. I had to marry a royal, a blue blood. And obviously I can’t marry Zale now—can’t marry any royal—and so I’m no longer in line for succession. Which means, my child won’t be, either.”

“I don’t understand. How can you not be royal? You are King William and Queen Claire’s daughter—”

“Adopted daughter.” Emmeline’s eyes met his. She hesitated, struggling to find the right words when none of them felt good. “They adopted me when I was six days old. Apparently I’m a bastard, which even today brings Claire, my adoptive mother, endless shame.”

He looked dumbstruck. “Do you know anything about your birth parents?”

“Only that my birth mother was a Brabant commoner. Young, pregnant and unwed.”

“And your father?”

“No one knows anything about him.”

“You can’t find out?”

Emmeline shook her head. “It wasn’t an open adoption. My birth mother had no idea who would be adopting me, and my parents are very private. I had no idea I was adopted until I was sixteen.” She paused, tugged on the cuff of the blouse with unsteady fingers. “My father broke the news to me just before my birthday party.”

Makin’s eyes narrowed fractionally. “The actual day of your birthday?”

She shrugged. “I know it sounds childish, but it crushed me. I’d had no idea, and then suddenly my father was telling me I was illegitimate—a bastard—born of sin.” Her lips twisted wryly. “There I was, in my beautiful party dress and brand-new high heels, my first real set of heels, feeling so grown-up and excited. Then Father called me aside and took it all away. I don’t think he meant to hurt me as much as he did. But to call me a bastard? To tell his only daughter that she was a product of sin?”

Her smile slipped for a moment, revealing raw, naked pain. “I fell apart. I think I cried the rest of the night. Silly, I know.”

“It would have been shocking for anyone.”

“Maybe.” She was silent a moment. “So you see, I understand the stigma and shame of being illegitimate. I know what it’s like to be judged and rejected. Who knows who my birth parents were, or why they had to give me up for adoption? But they did, and they must have imagined it was the best thing for me. And maybe it was. But I do know this—I want my child—he or she is not a mistake. And I will do everything in my power to ensure that he or she has the best life possible.”

CHAPTER TEN

EMMELINE sat on the edge of the bed while Risa blew-dry her hair with a big round brush, aware that once she was home, it would be absolute hell. Her mother would lose her temper, probably scream at her that she was stupid. Her father would look morose and deeply disappointed and let her mother do all the talking. It was how they handled problems. It was how they handled problems like her. Not that she’d ever done anything to be considered a problem before, but it was how they’d always viewed her.

Sometimes Emmeline thought she should do something outrageous to give them cause for complaint, as the worst thing she’d ever done—until now—was skinny-dipping while visiting her cousins in Spain. She’d been twelve and it had seemed so daring to swim naked at night in the palace pool. Thirteen-year-old Delfina had suggested it and ten-year-old Isabel had endorsed the idea so Emmeline, nervous and giggling, joined them. And it had been fun, up until the time the palace security reported them to their parents.

Aunt Astrid had given them a scolding but Emmeline’s mother had been furious. She’d demanded to know whose idea it was, and when Delfina didn’t speak up, Emmeline took the blame to protect her cousins.

Emmeline had expected that her mother would spank her and that would be the end of it. Instead her mother spanked her and sent her home to Brabant.

The spanking had been bad, but being sent away from her cousins in disgrace, so much worse.

In the fourteen years since then, not a lot had changed. Her parents were still distant, her mother rigid. Emmeline could only imagine their reaction to the news that she was pregnant. She was too old to be spanked or sent away, so what would they do this time? Lock her in a tower and throw away the key?

“Almost done,” Risa said, turning off the blow-dryer.

Which meant they were almost there, Emmeline thought, hands knotting into fists.

While Risa was styling Emmeline’s hair in the rear cabin, Makin sat in his seat in the main cabin replaying the last several conversations he’d had with Emmeline in his head.

She wasn’t who he’d thought she was. She wasn’t shallow, either. Just sheltered and naive.

How could you hate someone for being sheltered? Inexperienced?

He couldn’t.

He understood now that she’d panicked back in March. She’d turned to Alejandro out of desperation, wanting someone to love her, knowing her prospective bridegroom didn’t. She’d made a gross error of judgment, but she wasn’t a terrible person. He couldn’t condone her actions, but he couldn’t dislike her anymore. Not when he understood how painful it had been for her to be married off to the highest bidder, as if she were an object instead of a smart, sensitive and shy young woman with hopes and dreams of her own.

Makin suddenly wished he hadn’t been so quick to put Emmeline on the plane for Brabant. But it was too late to turn around. All he could do now was offer her his support and let her know she wasn’t alone.

An hour later they were in the back of a limousine sailing toward the palace. Just before landing Emmeline changed into a black pencil skirt and a chic black satin blouse, which she accessorized with a long strand of ivory pearls. Her hair, now a gleaming golden blond, was drawn into an elegant chignon at the back of her head. She wore pearls at her ears.

She was nervous, beyond nervous, but she squashed every visible sign of fear, flattening all emotion, refusing to let herself think or feel. Things were what they were. What would happen would happen. She would survive.

“Not that it matters, but I’m not a fan of arranged marriages,” Makin said abruptly, breaking the silence. “They’re popular in my culture, but it’s not for me.”

She looked at him, surprised that he had shared something personal. “Your parents didn’t try to arrange anything for you?”

He shook his head. “They were a love match. They wanted the same for me.”

“Are they still alive?”

“No. They died quite a few years ago. My father first—I was twenty—and my mother the year after.” He hesitated. “We expected my father’s death. He had been ill for a long time. But my mother … she was still young. Just forty-one. It was quite a shock. I wasn’t at all prepared to lose her.”

“An accident?” she murmured.

“Heart attack…” His voice drifted off and he frowned, his strong brow creasing. “Personally, I think it was grief. She didn’t want to be without my father.”

Emmeline looked at Makin and the emotion darkening his eyes. Until he’d kissed her last night, she’d imagined him to be cool…cold…and quite detached. Now she was beginning to understand that with him, still waters ran deep. His cool exterior hid a passionate nature. “They were happy together?”

“Very. They had an extraordinary relationship, and they were devoted to each other, from the day they met until the very end. I was lucky to have parents who loved each other so much, and to be part of that circle of love. It made me who I am.”

“So why haven’t you married?” she asked, noting that he, too, had showered and dressed just before they landed. He now wore a gray shirt and black trousers, and the crisp starched shirt was open at the collar and exposed the hollow of his throat. His skin was the burnished gold of his desert, perfectly setting off his black hair and striking silver eyes.

And it was a good question, she thought, waiting for him to answer. He was gorgeous. Brilliant. Ridiculously wealthy. He would be the catch of the century.

His broad shoulders shifted. “I haven’t met the right one.”

“And what would she be like?”

“I don’t know. I haven’t met her yet. But I’ll let you know the moment I do.”

Makin saw her lips curve and her eyes dance as she laughed at him. He wouldn’t have thought he’d like her laughing at him and yet he found himself amused by her amusement. She didn’t laugh often, but now she came alive, mouth lifted, dimples flashing, light dancing in her eyes. She was joyous … mischievous … happier and younger than he’d ever seen her and it crossed his mind that he would do almost anything to see her smile like this again.