A Question Of Honour

‘My name is Karim Al Khalifa,’ he said slowly and carefully, as if explaining to a difficult and not very bright child. ‘Shamil Al Khalifa is my father—he is also the man whose envoy you were expecting. Isn’t he?’ he demanded when she could only stare at the driving licence, the bank cards in blank silence.

‘But if he—’ Clemmie shook her head slowly, unable to take it all in. ‘Why would he send you—his son...?’

Because if this Karim was the Sheikh’s son then that meant he must be a prince in his own right, as rich and powerful—possibly more so—as Nabil, who was the reason for this situation in the first place.

‘I was expecting a member of his security team. Someone who would make sure that I travelled safely to Rhastaan and...’

‘And met up with your prospective groom,’ Karim finished for her, making it clear that he really did know all about the situation; that he was well aware of what was going on.

‘Things made it—imperative—that the arrangement we’d put in place could not go ahead as we planned. Plans had to be changed at the last moment.’

‘But why?’

‘Because it was necessary.’

And that was all the explanation she was going to get, Clemmie was forced to acknowledge as Karim pushed himself upright, straightening his long back and flexing his broad shoulders. He strode to the sink, tossed what was left of the water into it and placed the glass on the draining board. The air around Clemmie suddenly felt uncomfortably cold without the warm strength of his body so close to hers.

‘And those plans mean that we don’t have any time to waste.’ He flung the words over his shoulder, not even troubling to turn and face her as he spoke. ‘I hope you’ve packed as instructed, because we have to leave now.’

‘Now?’ That brought her to her feet in a rush. As instructed. Who did he think he was?

‘No way. That’s not happening.’

‘Oh, but I assure you that it is.’

She’d planned on arguing against this. Or, at the very least, she’d hoped to discuss it with the man who was due to arrive at her cottage. Her birthday was still nine days away. Less than a month, but that made all the difference.

‘The contract that was drawn up between my family and the rulers of Rhastaan only comes into effect on December third. The day I turn twenty-three.’

‘That day will come soon enough. We’ll be in Rhastaan by the time you come of age.’

So he did know everything about her. Was it supposed to reassure, to let her know that he really was in control of the situation? Because reassure was the last thing it did. She had known that one day someone would come for her. It had been decided, signed and sealed thirteen years before, when the son of the Sheikh of Rhastaan was five, and she not quite ten. They had been betrothed, contracted to each other, to be married when Nabil reached adulthood. She had had some years of freedom, time to complete a university course, while their parents waited for her prospective husband to become old enough to wed and to hold the throne of his own kingdom. And now that time was up.

But not yet. Please, not yet.

Clemmie had thought that she would be able to argue with the man who had been sent. That she could at least pull rank just a little, insist on having a day or two’s grace before she had to leave. The man she had thought was coming to collect her—an older man, a family man, she had hoped—might be someone she could appeal to. Someone who would give her that breathing space and let her have a chance of fulfilling her promise to Harry.

But this dark, sleek, dangerous panther of a man—would he listen to a word she had to say? Would he give her any sort of chance? She doubted it. Especially when she couldn’t tell him—or anyone—the whole truth. She didn’t dare. It was vital that she kept Harry’s existence a total secret. If anyone ever found out about him then the little boy’s future was at risk.

So how could she persuade him?

‘I need more time. A few days.’

You have to be joking, the look he turned on her said without words. It made her feel like some small, crawling insect just within crushing reach of his feet in their highly polished handmade shoes. A small, crawling female insect. And from the way he looked down his straight slash of a nose, the burn of contempt in the blackness of his eyes, she knew just which of those words he considered to be the greatest possible insult he could toss her way.

She made herself face him, her eyes locking with his, burning with the defiance she felt towards his arrogant decree.

‘And who precisely are you to order me around?’

‘I told you—I am Karim Al Khalifa, Crown Prince of Markhazad.’

He obviously thought that his cold statement would impress her but he couldn’t be more wrong. She’d spent so much time as she grew up with the royal family who were destined to be her family one day. It had been a sterile, regimented existence, with very few moments of freedom. Her father had been determined that she knew how to behave, how to follow court protocol. She had been trained for her role. When she married they would be more than equals, and soon she would be queen.

‘Crown Prince, hmm? So why are you here, running errands—’

He hadn’t liked that, not one bit. A flame of anger had flared in those polished jet eyes, turning them from ice to fire in the space of a heartbeat. And, contradictorily, that chilled her own blood till she felt it might freeze in her veins.

‘I am here representing my father,’ he snapped, cutting her off before she could complete the sentence. ‘Not running errands. And as my father’s representative I insist that you pack your bags and get ready to leave.’

‘You can insist all you like. I’ve no intention of going anywhere with you so I suggest you just turn around and walk out that door.’

‘And I have no intention of leaving—at least, not without you.’

How could that gorgeous, sensual mouth make a simple statement sound like the most terrible threat since time began? And the husky appeal of his accent only added to the horror of the contradiction.

‘I’ve come for you. And I’m leaving with you. And that is all there is to it.’

CHAPTER TWO

WAS SHE REALLY going to make this more difficult than he had ever thought? Karim found it hard to believe that this slip of a girl was going to make things so very problematic for him.

And the worst part of it was that he couldn’t even tell her the truth. He couldn’t reveal to her just what was behind his coming here, the problems and dangers that had meant he had to deal with this himself, rather than leave it to Adnan who, although a member of the security team, was not the right man for the job. Definitely not once Karim had found out that he was secretly in the pay of Ankhara.

His eyes narrowed as he looked into Clementina’s face assessingly, wondering just how much he could tell her. How much did she know about Sheikh Ankhara and his ambitions to put his own daughter on the throne of Rhastaan? Karim had no doubt that if Adnan had been the one to collect her, as had originally been planned, then there would have been some unfortunate ‘accident’ on the journey back. Anything to ensure that she didn’t make it to her wedding.

Clementina didn’t look like the type of delicate flower who would go into some sort of emotional meltdown if she realised the risks involved in getting her out of here and taking her back to Rhastaan, handing her over to her husband-to-be. On the contrary, she had been hissing and spitting defiance at him ever since he had arrived, like some beautiful, hostile, wild cat that had been driven into a corner and trapped there, her back against the wall. And just because she was sleek-boned and soft-haired, he would be all sorts of a fool if he let himself think of her as any sort of kitten rather than a fully grown cat. She was far more likely to lash out and scratch him viciously if he tried to touch her, rather than purring and preening under his caress.

Just for a moment the thought of her arching that elegant back to meet his hands, or rubbing the softness of her hair against his face made his breath knot in his throat, his blood heating as his body tightened in the sort of purely carnal hunger he hadn’t known for some time.

Hell, no! This was not the way he had expected to feel about this woman. It was the last thing he should feel about the betrothed bride of the young King of Rhastaan. It went against all the laws of honour and trust. It threatened the reasons why he was here right down to the very roots that had founded them. It was why he had had to move away from her earlier, when the purely instinctive move to offer her a drink of water had suddenly turned into some sort of brutal sensual endurance test. He hadn’t been able to stay there, so close that he could feel the warmth of her body, see the pulse of her blood beating blue under the fine skin at the base of her throat. When she moved, some delicate scent had slipped into the air and combined with the soft brush of a wandering strand of her dark silky hair across his face, which caught on the roughness of the day’s growth of dark stubble to create a burn of response that was almost more than he could endure.

Suddenly he wanted her so much that it hurt. He had never wanted a woman so much and yet she was the last woman he could ever, should ever feel that way about. She was not available; not for him.

She was forbidden to him.

So the best damn thing that he could do was get her out of here, on the jet where she would be safe and hidden again, on their way to Rhastaan, and deliver her to her bridegroom just as soon as he possibly could.

‘So—are you going to pack?’ he demanded, his voice rough with all that he was fighting to hold back.

He wouldn’t even meet her eyes though he could tell that was what she wanted. She sought to confront him face to face, challenging everything he said.

Was she really so irresponsible, so careless of the consequences of her actions, that she would defy him out of sheer perversity? That she would put everything so many people had worked towards in jeopardy on a selfish whim? She had been given a touch of, if not freedom, then at least the chance to run on an exceptionally loose rein for a while. But even the most magnificent thoroughbred was the better for a little restraint, a strong grip on the bridle, a light touch of spurs, to keep it under control. Clementina Savanevski, soon to be Queen Clementina of Rhastaan, could not be allowed to run wild any more. And if anyone could be relied on to bring her under control then he was the man to do it. That was one of the reasons why his father had sent him on this mission in the first place.

‘Well?’

‘I am packed,’ she surprised him—stunned him—by saying. He had been expecting further defiance, further rebellion. In fact, if he was honest he was actually a touch disappointed that she wasn’t digging in her neat little heels, bringing up that small chin once more and letting her glorious amber eyes clash with his in pure defiance. He’d expected it, and anticipated the thrill of battle that would come from bringing her back under control.

‘You are? Then it’s time...’

‘But not to leave here,’ she disconcerted him by adding. ‘I’ve only packed an overnight bag.’

‘That won’t be adequate.’ She knew that; why was he even having to say it? ‘You need to pack everything you want to take with you. You’ll not be coming back here again.’

‘Oh, but there you’re wrong.’

Something had set her soft mouth into a surprisingly hard determined line, and the way she shook her head sent the dark hair flying again, tormenting his nostrils with that subtle floral scent.

‘I’m only going away for one night this time—and then I will be back. I’ll do my proper packing then. Look...’ she broke in hastily when he opened his mouth to reject her outrageous statement and tell her just what he thought of such stupidity ‘...I can explain.’

‘You can try,’ Karim growled, fighting the urge to grab her by the arms, bundle her out of the door, into his car and drive away from here just as quickly as he could. That would meet one of the demands of this mission and get her on the road back to Rhastaan as soon as he could.

But it would also defeat the other part of the plan, which was to move her from A to B with as little fuss and publicity as possible. If he virtually kidnapped her—because that would be how she would interpret his actions—then she would react strongly, possibly go into meltdown and panic completely. She would certainly not go quietly—not this woman. If she started screaming for help or calling for the police, even here in this small village, she would soon draw too much unwanted attention to who they were and where they were going.

‘You’re not going anywhere. Not for one night—not for any time at all.’

‘But... Please...’

Hastily, she seemed to adjust her frame of mind, altering her tone to match so that it was suddenly disturbingly soft and cajoling. Obviously, she had decided to try to entice him round to her way of thinking. And the shocking thing was the way that just hearing that low, almost gentle tone changed his mood. He wanted to hear more of that voice, could imagine it murmuring to him in bed, whispering temptation in the heated darkness of his room. And that was not an image he needed in his mind right now.

‘Haven’t you ever wanted—needed—to keep a promise? So much so that you would do anything at all to make sure you did just that?’

‘What?’ His brows drew together in a dark frown. ‘Of course I have.’ It was why he was here now. ‘But...’

‘Then you’ll know exactly how I’m feeling right now. I made a promise...’

‘To whom?’

‘To Har—to someone,’ she corrected hastily, obviously horrified that she had almost blurted out the truth. ‘Someone who really matters to me.’

She had been about to give someone’s name. A man’s? Harry? Someone who really matters to me.

‘Nothing matters—’ Karim’s tone was harsh and unyielding. His face seemed carved from stone, not a muscle moving to reveal any sympathy or understanding. ‘Nothing should matter more than the promises you made—your commitment to Nabil.’

‘I know all about my commitment to Nabil and, believe me, I mean—’ Something caught in her throat, making the words tangle there, tight as a knot, so that she had to struggle to force them out. ‘I mean to honour it.’

She had no choice. None at all. Not unless she wanted to risk the ruin of international relations between two powerful kingdoms. The possible outbreak of hostilities. The destruction of her family’s reputation. Hadn’t her father drummed it into her from the moment he had signed the documents? He had made it sound as if it was her sacred duty. She had been fifteen before she’d realised just how much he was getting out of it himself, that the luxury they lived in had been bought from the sale of his own daughter.

‘But not yet.’

‘You will be twenty-three in nine days’ time.’ Could his voice be any more cold, any more inflexible? ‘You do not have any more time to delay. You’ve had your freedom, been let off the leash for a while; now it is time to consider your duty.’

‘Consider my duty!’

Clemmie threw up her hands in a gesture that was a blend of exasperation and despair.

‘Do you think I’ve ever done anything else? That I’ve ever been able to forget it?’

‘Then you will know why...’ Karim put in, but she ploughed on, unable to hold back any longer.

‘And let off the leash! You make me sound like a naughty puppy dog that has to be brought to heel.’

If the cap fits...his expression said. That was all she was in his eyes. A naughty, disobedient puppy who had been running wild for far too long. She could almost see him snapping his fingers and declaring ‘Heel—now!’

She had not been able to tell anyone why she had wanted to leave Markhazad in the first place. She had had to go, while she still could. Once she was married, once she was queen, her life would be lived within the confines of the palace walls, subject to her husband’s control, his to command. And she would have lost her last chance to spend time with the only other member of her family. The little boy who had now stolen her heart completely.

‘You are to be a queen,’ Karim said now, his tone dark and disapproving. ‘You should learn to behave like one.’

‘Unlike my mother?’ Clemmie challenged.

Everyone who knew of her story must know how her English mother had run away from the court, leaving husband and daughter behind, never to be seen again. Clemmie winced away from the memory of how it had felt to be left alone, abandoned by her one defender from her father’s worst excesses. Those had been the worst years of her life. It was only recently, in the letter from her maternal grandmother that had been delivered to her after the old lady had died, that she had learned why her mother had had to run. The unplanned, late in life baby she had been determined to hide from her husband. He was a secret that Clemmie was now just as determined to keep, whatever it cost her.

She knew how little her father had valued her because she was only a daughter. She had no needs or dreams of her own. Her only value to him had been in the marriage market, sold to the highest bidder. What he might have done if he knew he had the son he had dreamed of made her shudder to think.

‘I’ll behave like one when I am a queen! Until then...’

She watched that frown darken, felt a shiver run over her scalp and slither down her spine. She had a suspicion that she knew what he was thinking but she didn’t dare challenge it in case it meant he subjected her to more questioning that might push her to drop something revealing about Harry and his circumstances.

‘There is no “until then”. From this moment on you are the prospective Queen of Rhastaan, and I have been sent to fetch you home for your wedding and then your coronation.’

‘But I promised! And if he...’

‘He...’ Karim pounced on the word like a cat on a mouse, his eyes gleaming with the thrill of the chase. ‘He. Just who is he?’

Clemmie bit down hard on her lower lip in distress at how close she had come to giving herself away. She should know better. Even after less than half an hour in this man’s company, it was obvious that he was not the sort of person who was easily side-tracked or misled.

‘N-no one. Just a friend. Someone I met while I was living here in England. It’s his birthday soon and I promised him I’d be at his party.’

What was it they said—that if you were going to lie, then lie as close to the truth as you possibly could? He was focused on her so completely that she had little hope of getting away from him...unless...

‘And you think that you can delay our journey—the plans for the reception and the wedding that are already underway—for a party?’

‘But I promised! It’ll break his heart...’

‘And you expect me to believe that?’ Dark eyes turned glacial as he flung the question at her. ‘Just because you’re about to become a princess doesn’t mean that I have to believe in the fairy tales you make up.’

‘It’s not a fairy tale. I have to see—to see...’ The realisation of the danger in giving away just what she had to do dried her mouth and had the words shrivelling up into silence.

‘You have to see...?’ Karim queried cynically. ‘Just what is more important than the upcoming wedding—the future of the peace treaty?’

My family. My baby brother. Harry. The words beat inside her head, creating a terrible clenching sensation in her stomach that made her feel both nauseous and dry-mouthed in the same moment. A deadly combination.

But at the back of her mind there was the idea that had come to her like a flash of inspiration just moments before. It might just work. And she was desperate enough to try anything.

‘Who is this man—your lover?’

That was just so ridiculous that she was close to laughing out loud. Did he really think that she had come to England to meet up with a man? But perhaps it might almost be worth letting him think that for now. At least it would distract him from the truth. And while he was distracted...

‘Oh, okay! You win.’ She hoped it sounded yielding enough. ‘It seems I have no choice so I’ll go and get my bag. Look, why don’t you make a coffee or something? If we’re going to have to travel, we might as well have a drink before we go.’

He still eyed her with suspicion and he didn’t show any sign of moving towards the kettle as she walked past him and made her way up the stairs, her feet thumping on the uncarpeted wood. She walked noisily across the floor of her small bedroom, the one that was to the left off the landing, thankfully not the one directly above the kitchen. She had no doubt that Karim Al Khalifa was still standing, alert as a predatory hunter, listening to any sounds that reached him from above.

Determinedly, she added to the sound effects he would be waiting to hear by banging open the door of the elderly pine wardrobe, rattling the coat hangers inside. There was really no need to do any such thing. The small overnight bag she had prepared earlier was still lying, full and firmly zipped up, on the bed. But Karim would be expecting her to pack more than that. He thought she was leaving with him for ever. For the rest of her life.

The thought made her rattle some more coat hangers even more viciously, wishing she could throw some of them at Karim’s handsome head.

Karim Al Khalifa. The name reverberated in her head, making her pause to think. He was the son of the Sheikh—a friend of Nabil’s late father—who had arranged all this. So why had someone so important—the Crown Prince, after all—come on a mission like this? He had never explained that.

‘Clementina?’

Karim’s voice, sharp with impatience, came up the narrow staircase. He had clearly noted her silence. And he just as clearly wanted to be on his way. He wouldn’t be prepared to wait much longer.

‘Nearly done!’ She hoped her unconcerned tone was convincing. ‘Be down in a minute.’

She had to be out of here. Grabbing the small overnight bag and slinging its longer strap around her neck, and grabbing her handbag, she crept over to the half-open window. Karim might be big and strong and powerful but she had the advantage over him here. Several childhood holidays in England, visiting her English grandmother, had given her a detailed knowledge of this old house and the secret ways in and out of it that had been fun and exciting for a tomboyish teenager.

There was a trellis up the side of the wall, a heavy rich growth of ivy that was thick and strong enough to support her weight even though she was now no longer thirteen and just growing into her womanly form. With luck she could scramble down it, get to her car before he had even realised she had gone silent in the room above him.

But as she eased the window open fully, a last minute thought struck her. This wasn’t just a personal thing; there were so many other implications of all this—political ones, international treaties. If she just disappeared then, she shivered at the thought of the trouble it might cause. The repercussions of her behaviour. On her country. On him.

There was a notepad and pen beside her bed and she snatched these up, scribbling down five hasty words, adding her signature as an afterthought.

‘Clementina!’

What little patience Karim had was wearing thin.

‘Just a minute—or would you like to come and pack for me?’ she challenged.

The thought of him doing just that—coming upstairs, into her room, into her bedroom—made her heart lurch up into her throat, snatching her breath from her. But his growled response made her feel more relaxed.

‘Get on with it then.’

‘Oh, I will!’

Leaving the note lying in the middle of the bed where he couldn’t possibly miss it, she edged towards the window, her bare feet silent on the floor, her bag on one arm. She didn’t dare risk opening the window any further in case it creaked, the wood scraping against wood.