Darker Side of Desire
Penny Jordan

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

‘DARLING, I’m sorry about this, spoiling what was supposed to be your holiday treat too.’

‘Being with Uncle Henri is far more important than spending the day shopping with me,’ Claire assured her godmother. ‘It was just lucky that the hospital managed to get through to you before we’d left the hotel.’

‘Umm.’ A worried frown creased her godmother’s forehead. ‘Henri has had these attacks before of course, but…’

‘You must go to him,’ Claire told her firmly. Her godmother’s second husband had suffered from angina for several years and Claire knew that her godmother was deliberately playing down her concern because she didn’t want to spoil what had been intended as her birthday treat to mark Claire’s twenty-second birthday.

‘There’s a flight back to Paris in just over an hour. I could be on it.’

‘You will be on it,’ Claire corrected. She glanced at her watch, surprised to see that it was still only seven in the morning. The call which had disturbed their sleep and altered their plans seemed to have come hours ago not a mere fifty-odd minutes. ‘I’ll help you pack and ring down to reception to tell them that we’ll be checking out. I’ll come to the airport with you.’

‘No, Claire.’ Susan Dupont spoke firmly. ‘No, I want you to stay on here and enjoy your day as we’d planned. You’re looking so tired, darling,’ she added softly. ‘I wish I could do more to help you. If I could only pay Teddy’s school fees for you…’

They had been through this discussion so many times before that she knew what her goddaughter’s response would be before it came. Although Henri was a good and kind husband, she was solely dependent on him financially, and both she and Claire knew that if she did pay Teddy’s school fees it would have to be without the knowledge and permission of her French husband, who, while he allowed her to spoil her goddaughter upon occasions, saw no reason why he should be responsible for that same goddaughter’s brother’s school fees, and this was something that Claire would not allow her godmother to do.

‘Now promise me that you will spend the day shopping and enjoying yourself,’ Susan Dupont pleaded. ‘The room is paid for for tonight, and I’ll speak to reception and have them forward the bill on to me.’

Claire smiled, signalling her acceptance. Two days in London staying at the Dorchester, all expenses met by her godmother, had been a delightful surprise birthday present, and even if she did not really have the spare cash to shop at the more exclusive stores she knew her godmother had visualised for the treat, she wasn’t going to add to her distress by refusing to stay on at the Dorchester when her godmother left. She could easily fill in time wandering round the art galleries and museums, it would give her something to write to Teddy about when she next sent him a letter; and if she returned home all she would be doing would be moping about the small flat which was all she could afford at the moment.

Unconsciously she sighed. Life hadn’t been easy since the death of her parents. Teddy had only been eight at the time, and because their parents lived and worked abroad, he had already spent two years at the exclusive and expensive private school their father had also attended. Ten years separated brother and sister. Claire had been on the point of starting university when her parents died. Like Teddy, she too had attended boarding school; her parents had been comfortably enough off for her to share in all the ‘extras’ the school provided, and she had not really given a thought as to how she would spend the rest of her life.

Then her whole world came crashing down around her. In six short months she had grown from a carefree teenager into an adult. Her father’s generous salary ceased with his death, and apart from a modest insurance policy there had been no provision made for the future. There wasn’t even a house to sell as her father and mother had lived abroad at his company’s expense.

The family solicitor had tried to be as gentle as possible. Teddy would have to leave school, the man had told her, there simply wasn’t the money… The proceeds of the insurance policy could be used to buy a modest house and provide a small income. But, rightly or wrongly, Claire had ignored his advice. His school and the friends he had made there were Teddy’s whole world. If she took him away from school she would have to pay child-minders to look after him while she was at work and being taken away from his school so soon after losing their parents was bound to have a profound effect upon him, she decided, and so, instead of taking their solicitor’s advice, Claire had used some of the money to pay for her own secretarial training, using the rest, carefully eked out over the years, to pay for Teddy’s schooling.

Inflation had caused school fees to soar and over the last two years the money she had put aside hadn’t been sufficient. A large part of her own salary went towards keeping Teddy at school. Her job was a good one, she worked for the Managing Director of an advanced electronics company based within half-a-day’s drive of Teddy’s school, but she didn’t earn anything like enough to pay for six more years’ schooling. Teddy was exceptionally clever, so his school told her, almost definitely Oxbridge material, and for the past few months the problem of how to raise the cash to keep him at school had constantly taxed her mind. She had no real financial assets. Her small Mini was already on its last legs, and the only thing she could think of was to try and get an evening job to supplement her daytime earnings.

This brief stay at the Dorchester was very much an unaccustomed luxury, but she was determined not to add to her godmother’s problems by letting her see how disappointed she was that she could not remain with her.

‘Now promise me you’ll go down and have breakfast. Don’t stay up here on your own,’ Susan Dupont cautioned when her case was packed. ‘Who knows, you might run into that gorgeous man we saw downstairs last night.’

Her godmother was an inveterate matchmaker, and Claire subdued a small grimace. The gorgeous man her godmother referred to had done nothing for her. Oh, he had been gorgeous right enough—far too gorgeous with that thick dark hair, and those unusual green eyes. And despite the formal tailoring of his European suit there had been no mistaking his Middle Eastern origins. They were there in the arrogant pride of his profile; faintly cruel in a way which had sent shivers down her spine and made her think of herself as foolishly imaginative. She had disliked him instinctively. There had been something in the way he looked at her, a careless scrutiny that observed and dismissed with languid hauteur coupled with an unmistakable contempt that burned her pride.

She had seen him again later, in the restaurant, dining with a group of men. Unaware that her gaze had rested on him she had flushed uncomfortably when her godmother followed it and remarked teasingly, ‘Mm, there’s definitely something about those tall, dark, forceful-looking men, isn’t there?’

To cover her embarrassment, Claire had replied acidly, ‘He’s probably the sort of man who thinks he simply has to dangle a diamond bracelet in front of a woman’s eyes and she’ll jump right into bed with him.’

Her godmother’s rich chuckle had surprised her. ‘My dear,’ Susan Dupont had responded roguishly. ‘I suspect that most women, if they thought such a gorgeous male creature was even thinking about taking them to bed, would be offering him the diamonds!’ She had laughed again at Claire’s shocked expression, noticing the sudden tightening of her lovely full lips with a faint sigh. She was full of admiration for the way Claire had shouldered her burdens since her parents’ death, but it sometimes seemed to her that Claire was old before her time, not physically but mentally. There had been no time for fun, for the careless enjoyment of dalliance with the opposite sex, before the blow had fallen and now Claire seemed to concentrate all her energies and time on her job and her younger brother. If only Henri would allow her to help, but he had grandchildren of his own and Teddy was, after all, no relation.

‘No, don’t come to the airport with me,’ Susan Dupont reiterated when Claire followed her out on to the steps in front of the hotel to wait for her luggage to be placed in the waiting taxi. ‘Go back inside and have your breakfast.’ As she got into the taxi she placed a cheque in Claire’s surprised hand. ‘This is the rest of your birthday present, darling. I want you to buy yourself something nice… something… sexy…’ she added with a twinkle. ‘Something that would appeal to our friend from the restaurant last night.’

She was gone before Claire could protest. The cheque was a generous one and Claire already knew that she would not spend it on herself. She would use it to replace those items of Teddy’s school uniform which most needed attention. Twelve-year-old boys grew so quickly… She suppressed a small sigh.

It was all too easy to imagine the sort of ‘something’ that would appeal to the insufferably arrogant male nature she had sensed lurking below the warm olive skin and cold green eyes of the man her godmother had referred to. Rich silks and satins. Fabrics with a sensual appeal that would bring the glitter of sexual appreciation to those strange eyes. He would like his women supine and obedient, toys to be played with and then discarded when other, and more important matters took his attention. Unknowingly, her mouth hardened, and she was oblivious to the appreciative looks directed towards her by the hotel staff as she stepped back inside the foyer.

Slenderly built with fine bones, she had an air of fragility of which she herself was unaware. Silver-blonde hair which she wore in a shoulder-length bell because it was easy to maintain, framed a classically oval face. Long-lashed grey eyes surveyed the world with a cool aloofness that had been born the day she woke up and suddenly found she was alone with full responsibility for an eight-year-old boy. Always neatly groomed, her clothes were useful rather than alluring. Neat suits and high-necked blouses which she wore for work, bought normally in end-of-season sales. There were no ‘pretty’ clothes in her wardrobe, apart from the ridiculously expensive gifts she received from her godmother; beautiful silk undies, a cashmere jumper, things she never wore without thinking how much they cost and how that money might have been eked out on more practical garments. Of course she longed for nice clothes, for luxuries, and perhaps when Teddy eventually left university… She pulled a brief face. By then she would be in her thirties… It was a subject on which she refused to dwell.

There had been several men at work who had approached her for dates, but once they learned about Teddy their interest had waned sharply. And who could blame them? She was certainly not prepared to enter into any relationship which was one of mere sexual indulgence, and yet what man would want to marry her knowing she was responsible for a young brother? That problem was one she refused to dwell on too deeply. Of course she had had the normal feminine dreams. She had envisaged for herself a husband, a family, at some dim date in the future, after she had left university and enjoyed her freedom for a few years, but now she was resigned to the fact that she would probably never marry, and since she was not prepared to go from one affair to another, she had found herself coolly freezing off any male attempts to get closer to her, knowing in advance what would happen when they learned about Teddy.

Thousands of women lived alone these days anyway; she had a good job, a comfortable if small flat. When Teddy was qualified she would be able to travel… and yet somehow the picture of her future did not appeal. Although she enjoyed her job she was no career woman. Of course she did not want to batten on to a man simply to escape being alone. She wanted to love and be loved, Claire admitted as she headed for the lift. She wanted to share and enrich her life with another human being.

Her room was on the second floor, where the corridor was carpeted in a richly warm crimson and cream with a luxuriously thick pile. The room she had shared with her godmother was almost as large as her entire flat, and far more luxuriously furnished. Dressing in a soft tweed suit in mauves and lilacs with a toning grey silk blouse, she brushed her hair into its neat bell, applied a discreet touch of make-up and then picked up her bag and key. Over breakfast she would decide how to spend her day.

At first when she stepped into the dining-room she thought she must have mistaken her directions and that she had inadvertently strayed into a private room. A large party of Arabs—all male—were seated together in deep discussion, and her own entrance occasioned an immediate and embarrassing silence which held her immobile on the threshold of the room until a waiter came forward and led her to a table.

All the way down the length of the room Claire was conscious of male eyes following her progress, studying her, assessing her, but the scrutiny she was most aware of was that which came from ice-cold green eyes that seemed to follow her every step, carelessly dismissing while still assessing her.

It was an unnerving experience, and she was dismayed to discover how much her hands trembled when she eventually sat down. She should have breakfasted in her room, but it was too late—and too obvious—to get up now and walk away.

As her composure returned she realised that she was not, as she had thought, the only female in the room. Several tables away a young Arab girl was trying to feed a small baby, strapped into a highchair. The child, a little boy, was protesting volubly, pushing away the proffered spoon, and Claire could tell that the girl was getting impatient with him. Twice she slapped the small plump legs, raising crimson marks, making the child cry loudly in retaliation. The girl was too uncaring to be the child’s mother, and Claire guessed that she must be his nurse, but there seemed to be little sympathy between them, and she was aware, as she glanced up from her own breakfast, that the man with the green eyes was also studying the little boy and his nurse, with a frown.

When the proffered spoon was pushed away for the umpteenth time the girl lost her temper, forcing it into the small mouth. The result was inevitable. The child started to cry loudly, and his efforts to avoid the unwanted food dislodged the dish holding it, spreading it over the table and the floor. The girl threw down the spoon, smacking the chubby legs hard as she pushed away her own chair. Claire noticed that as she stood up she glanced at her watch, hesitated, and then saying something in Arabic to the gathered men, walked towards the door.

The baby was still crying, quite hard now, and against her will Claire felt herself sympathising with him. He had been naughty with his food, but perhaps if the girl had cajoled instead of forced he might have been better behaved. He was wriggling violently in his chair, and Claire gasped as she saw it tilt, rushing instinctively to steady it before it fell.

Close to the baby was enchanting, with soft olive skin and huge tear-drowned dark eyes. He clutched hold of her blouse, the crying stopping as he gazed up at her. He wasn’t even secured properly in the chair, and Claire wondered a little at the child’s parents, allowing such an inexperienced and uncaring girl to have charge of him. Was one of the men seated at the table the child’s father? She glanced towards them and found herself pinned where she stood by the sharply cold glance of the man with the green eyes. What was the matter with him? she thought, unconsciously touching her tongue to suddenly dry lips. Did he think she was going to run off with the baby? His eyes dared her to so much as touch the child, and perhaps it was that, or perhaps it was the piercingly forlorn cry the baby gave as she started to move away that prompted her next action.

Almost automatically she turned back, smiling a little as the baby, sensing victory, lifted his arms. She half expected the man watching them to tear the baby out of her arms, but surprisingly no one moved. When she had been training to be a secretary she had often supplemented her income by baby-sitting and although it had been a couple of years since she had last held such a small child she found herself instinctively slipping back into the mothering role.

The olive cheeks were faintly flushed, his skin hot, and Claire guessed that he was probably teething. His clothes were obviously expensive but crumpled and stained with food. Suddenly realising what she was doing Claire moved to put him back into the chair. He cried protestingly, clinging on to her. Torn between common sense and an inborn instinct to comfort him she glanced across the room. He was still watching her and it was something in that look that impelled her towards defiance. Turning away from the chair and walking back to her own table, she soothed the complaining howls, murmuring soft nonsense which seemed to have the desired effect for the cries gradually ceased. She had just reached her table and turned when she saw the men enter the room.

Later she decided she could only have acted by blind instinct, because surely there hadn’t been enough time for her to register the menacing appearance of the gun; the silent intent of the man pointing it towards the now empty highchair, and even as he sought her out she was pushing over the sturdy table and crouching behind it, cradling the baby as she heard the sharp splinter of china and another noise that chilled her blood.

Gunfire was something she was familiar with from television, but she had never before experienced it so close at hand. The silence that followed those staccato spurts of sound was, in its way, even more terrifying than what had gone before. Dimly she was aware of running feet, of doors being closed, of someone approaching, a dark hand resting on her shoulder. She knew she tensed, unable to turn and look up, her too-vivid imagination working overtime, so that when she was eventually able to move the first thing she saw was the gun, held casually in the hand of the man standing over her.

Fear thundered through her body, leaving her drenched in perspiration, and trembling so much that he had to drop the gun to pull her to her feet. She heard him mutter something she couldn’t understand and she had a vivid moment’s recognition of green eyes, no longer ice-cold but hard with a burning anger, as her head was pushed against his shoulder and her body, betrayingly, sank gratefully against solidly braced male muscles, taking the support they offered without paying the slightest heed to her brain’s feverish command to resist and pull away.

Dimly she was aware of the doors opening, of hurried, staccato conversation; her eyes fluttered open, to discover that she was still holding the baby and that both of them were safe and unharmed.

The arms that had been holding her fell away and she told herself it was foolish to experience such an acute sense of loss. Dizzily she became aware of her surroundings; of the limp, lifeless dark-suited bodies lying on the floor; of the small, voluable middle-aged man who had erupted into the room, and whose features she vaguely recognised; but most of all of the man who had been holding her and who was now standing several feet away talking calmly to his plump, disturbed companion, both of them pausing to glance at Claire.

She only realised when the baby let out a protesting cry that she was holding him too tightly. Her head felt as though it was full of cotton wool. She seemed to have strayed into another world and she still couldn’t take in what had happened. Now, only the overturned table and the smashed crockery remained to prove that it had been real, that she had actually taken shelter behind it while bullets flew about the room. Suddenly, desperately, she wanted to laugh—or to cry—and the only thought surfacing through the muddle of her brain was that if she had to pay for the broken china it would probably use all her godmother’s parting cheque.

‘Please… forgive me… I am so disturbed that I forget my manners.’ Claire smiled vaguely at the plump bearded man. ‘I am Sheikh Ahmed ibn Hassan,’ he told her, introducing himself, ‘and if you had not…’ He tried to compose himself, shaking his head slowly. ‘Allah must have been smiling upon us this morning, Miss…’

Dutifully Claire supplied her name. ‘But, we cannot talk of this here. Will you come up to my suite so that I can thank you more properly…?’ He saw her hesitation and smiled, warmth and charm lighting his rather heavy features, and in that instant Claire recognised him.

He was the head of a small Middle Eastern state and she had seen his photograph in the papers. He was in Britain on a state visit, although the Press had suggested there might be something more in it than that. His country would offer a strategic point for Europe and its allies in a military sense, and it was strongly hinted that this could be the purpose underlining his visit. Claire also remembered reading that his nephew and heir had recently been killed in an accident together with his wife, and there had been rumblings of a Soviet plot to instate a ruler of their choice with sympathies to them rather than to the West.

‘I can ask the hotel management to vouch for me…’ her companion was saying earnestly and Claire realised that he had misinterpreted her hesitation.

She shook her head and proffered a brief smile. ‘No… no. I recognise you from your photograph in the papers, Sheikh.’

When they left the room they were followed by most of the other occupants, although Claire noticed that one man stayed behind and the mockery in his green eyes seemed to follow her as she walked out of the room, head held high, the baby still clutched in her arms, surrounded by what seemed like a phalanx of silent men.

The lavishness of the Sheikh’s suite made her blink, and as she sat down Claire found herself wondering curiously about the child she was still cuddling. She couldn’t blot out of her mind looking up and seeing that gun pointed lethally in the direction of the highchair.

‘You must be wondering what is going on,’ Sheikh Ahmed announced when she had refused a cup of coffee and his attendants had been dismissed. ‘This child,’ he looked at the baby on her knee, ‘is the only son of my nephew, and will in time succeed me as ruler of our state. Today’s events have proved beyond any shadow of a doubt that his life is at risk.’ The baby started to cry and he frowned in concern. ‘There is something wrong?’

Claire shook her head wryly. ‘Not really. He is wet and hungry. His nursemaid… the girl who was with him in the dining-room…’

‘I suspect she was a plant who had been paid to leave him unattended. He is normally guarded at all times, but Raoul tells me that the girl insisted that I had said he was to eat in the dining-room. This is not true, and if it had not been for your quick actions…’

‘I thought we were both going to die,’ Claire admitted, shuddering herself.

‘And yet thinking that, you did not abandon Saud,’ the Sheikh commented watching her. ‘Raoul tells me that but for your quick thinking Saud would be dead.’

‘Were you… were you expecting something to happen?’ Claire asked, remembering the guns which had appeared as though by magic in the hands of the men in the dining-room.

The Sheikh shrugged fatalistically. ‘Not so much expecting as suspecting. There is a faction in our country that does not approve of our ties with the West. It is not always easy to know friend from foe and one must always be on one’s guard. Saud’s nursemaid is an example of how easy it is to be deceived. I myself am widowed and have no female relatives close enough to trust with the child.’ He suddenly looked tired and careworn. ‘But I must not burden you with our problems. I should like to reward you for…’

‘No…’ Claire spoke quickly and automatically, reiterating, ‘no… please, I would rather you did not. I simply acted instinctively.’ She looked down at the child now sleeping on her lap. ‘Is there someone who ‘can change and feed him?’ It seemed incredible to her that this child, who was apparently so important, should have no one to care properly for him.

‘I had hoped to find a nanny for him while we are here, but Raoul is opposed to it. He believes Saud would be better looked after by one of our own race.’ He smiled. ‘Perhaps because of his own dual blood, Raoul is more opposed to Saud having a foreign nanny than might otherwise be the case. He feels very deeply the differences which set him aside from his peers.’

What relationship did Raoul have with the baby on her lap, Claire wondered, but it was a question she could not ask, she had no desire to pry into the personal life of the man who had looked at her so coldly with those too-seeing green eyes. Had they registered her minute, betraying reaction to his proximity? The momentary weakness which had had nothing at all to do with her shock and had instead sprung from an entirely voluntary response to him as an intensely male man? It was humiliating to think that they might, especially when she had on more than one occasion seen the derisive dismissal of her as a woman in his eyes.

‘Er…’ She paused, seeing hesitation and embarrassment on the Sheikh’s face, intrigued because she sensed it wasn’t a habitual expression for him.

‘Saud’s room is through there.’ He indicated a communicating door. ‘Would it be trespassing too much to ask you to…?’

‘You want me to change and feed him?’ Claire supplemented, hiding a small smile.

‘We did not bring a large entourage; the boy’s nursemaid was to have been sufficient. I feared to leave him behind unprotected, but now… I think what happened this morning will prove to Raoul that we cannot entrust his care to anyone lightly. The girl who had charge of him came extremely highly-recommended, and yet it is plain that she was part of the plot to kill him.’

Remembering how the girl had lost her temper with the child, and looked so pointedly at her watch before she left the dining-room, Claire suspected that he was right.

The Sheikh was charming and as she allowed herself to be manoeuvred into taking Saud into his own bedroom to attend to his needs, she repressed a small smile. This was most definitely not what her godmother had had in mind for her stay in London.

The baby was supplied with every luxury imaginable, from toys to silk and satin clothes, but there seemed to be scant love in his young life, Claire thought pityingly as she first fed and then bathed him. He was not a difficult baby really, responding affectionately to her when she cuddled and held him. She was just towelling him dry, laughing as he lay gurgling on her lap, when the door opened. She tensed automatically, unable to blot out the mental image of men carrying guns and the high-pitched whine of bullets.

Cool green eyes surveyed her speculatively. ‘A very domesticated picture. What a shame that it is me and not Ahmed who is witnessing it. What are you hoping for with this touching display of maternalism, Miss Miles? More than a diamond bracelet, obviously.’

Claire winced, recognising that he had overheard her conversation with her godmother the previous night, and then anger replaced embarrassment as she recognised the calculated insult behind his words. He was implying that she was motivated by materialism. Her full pink lips tightened ominously, and for a moment she considered thrusting the still damp baby into his arms and letting him finish the task for himself. That would soon destroy his sardonic dignity. A small giggle bubbled up inside her as she pictured his immaculately suited figure dealing with the squirming baby.

‘Sheikh Ahmed asked if I would help, and I agreed,’ she said calmly, ‘but only because Saud was both wet and hungry, and too small yet to fend for himself. Sheikh Ahmed tells me that you are against his employing a European nanny for Saud.’

‘You have been exchanging confidences, haven’t you? What else did he tell you?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Liar. I’m sure knowing my uncle as I do that he also told you of my mixed blood, and now, no doubt, you are on fire with curiosity to know more.’

His arrogance provoked her into an instinctive anger. ‘On the contrary,’ she told him coldly, ‘I have no desire to know the slightest thing about you. Why should I?’ She finished buttoning Saud into clean rompers and got up, thrusting the baby towards him, a little surprised by how deftly he held the child, then swept out of the room before he could stop her, seething with fury, because he was right—she had been curious about him. Of course, he must be used to women finding him fascinating. That blend of East and West was a potent one, and he knew it, damn him!

She had always loathed arrogant, self-assured men, Claire reminded herself as she let the door slam behind her and hurried towards the lift, and if she had responded momentarily to the sheer male power of his body against her, it had been a reaction intensified by weakness and relief. After all, she would be a fool to think for one moment that those green eyes might burn with tenderness and passion for her, or that that hard, faintly cruel mouth might touch hers in need and hunger. A complete fool.

CHAPTER TWO

THERE was no reason for her to feel so dissatisfied. Her day had passed pleasantly enough, Claire told herself. She had visited the Tate to admire many old favourites, and then there had been a pleasant walk through the park. Now she was on her way back to the Dorchester to indulge herself with afternoon tea in the promenade room, so why should she feel this tiny feathering of restlessness that kept disturbing her? Perhaps it was because she was alone. She would write to Teddy, send him a postcard of the hotel. Thinking of Teddy reminded her of her ever-present worries about finding his school fees. Generous though her salary was, it couldn’t cover them. She would have to find a part-time job. By her reckoning, she could just about manage two more terms with what savings they had left, and the present term’s were paid.

‘Afternoon tea, madam?’ The waiter’s voice broke into her reverie, and when she nodded he showed her to a comfortable padded chair, the small table in front of her set for two.

It was just gone five o’clock, obviously a popular time for tea, because most of the tables were taken, and Claire amused herself as she waited for hers to be brought by studying her surroundings. The room itself was long and rectangular with several sets of doors leading off it which she knew led to the restaurants. Decorated in soft buttercup-yellow with the frieze picked out in gold, the decor was an attractive one. Marble columns soared up to the ceiling, and underfoot was a soft patterned carpet rather like an Aubusson. Voices rose and fell mingling with the chink of china cups and the clatter of cutlery against plates.

Nibbling her dainty sandwiches, Claire continued her scrutiny. Expensively and elegantly dressed men and women sat at the small tables, couples in the main, although there were some family groups. All at once she felt very alone, the food she was eating turning to sawdust in her mouth. Pushing away her plate, Claire got up unsteadily, the events of the morning catching up with her. The Head Porter handed her her key when she asked for it, and also an envelope bearing her name. Unable to recognise the handwriting, Claire frowned as she headed for the lift, the small mystery solved when she opened the envelope and realised that the letter was from Sheikh Ahmed.

The lift came. She was the sole passenger and started to read her letter as she was borne upwards. Barely able to take in its contents before the lift stopped, she hurried to her room, unlocking the door with nervous fingers, sinking down into the comfortable chair by the window before unfolding the heavy, expensive paper and reading through the note again.

The Sheikh wanted to see her to discuss something with her. But what? The note was almost deliberately evasive, full of gratitude for what she had done and yet really telling her nothing of the Sheikh’s purpose in writing to her. He would send someone to escort her to his suite, his note informed her. Obviously she wasn’t going to be allowed to refuse.

Repressing a sigh, Claire found the card she had bought for Teddy and started to write to him. The summer holidays were coming up and she already knew that Teddy had been invited to join a schoolfriend on his father’s yacht. She had been worrying about how she was going to pay for the clothes that he would need, but her godmother’s generous cheque had solved that problem. It would also enable her to give Teddy some money of his own to spend while he was away and she was just writing to him to this effect when she heard the sharp rap on her door. Guessing in advance that it would be one of Sheikh Ahmed’s armed men, she went to the door and opened it, suppressing a small stunned gasp of dismay when she realised he had sent Raoul.

‘I’ll just get my bag and my key,’ she told him, surprised to find that he was following her into her room. Her key and bag were on the far bed and as she picked them up she was astounded to discover that Raoul was openly reading the card she had been writing to Teddy.

‘Your lover?’ he questioned, without a hint of embarrassment at being discovered.

‘My relationship with Teddy is private,’ Claire responded furiously. From the first moment she had set eyes on him something about this man had antagonised her, and it was plain that he shared her antipathy. He was looking at her with something that bordered on acute dislike.

‘That will be something my uncle hasn’t bargained for,’ he murmured under his breath as he straightened up, but before Claire could question him further he was heading for the door, the small courtesy of opening it for her and then standing back so that she could precede him, drawing a thin, sardonic smile from his lips. ‘My mother used to say that the thing that made her fall in love with my father was his good manners. My countrymen…’

‘Believe in treating their women like possessions,’ Claire said unwisely. ‘No wonder your mother chose to marry a European.’

‘You prefer European males to Eastern?’ The dark eyebrows shot up. ‘Why is that, I wonder? Because you know it is easier to dominate them? Are you then a modern, liberated woman, Miss Miles, who believes herself equal or indeed superior to my sex? A woman who chooses her lovers as her grandmother might have done a new gown and discards them just as easily…’

Trying to hold on to her temper, Claire responded briefly, ‘And you? Am I to infer from what you have said that you prefer your women to be of a more biddable disposition; Muslim women, in fact, taught from the cradle to revere and worship the dominant male? How fortunate we both are that we can indulge our separate tastes without opposition.’

She had meant the words as a taunt, but had been totally unprepared for the look of dark, almost brooding anger that tightened every feature, his eyes almost black as they bored into puzzled grey ones.

‘You might be able to indulge your preferences, Miss Miles,’ he said at last, ‘I am less fortunate. Muslim fathers are careful where they bestow their daughters, and like any child of a dual-race marriage, I am totally accepted by neither. Indeed, if it were not for the good offices of my uncle Sheikh Ahmed, I doubt I would even have a country to call my own.’ He saw her expression and his face hardened further. ‘You might find the thought of a marriage between East and West a romantic concept, Miss Miles,’ he told her, correctly reading her thoughts, ‘but my mother soon discovered to her cost that my father had no intention of keeping the promises he made when they became man and wife. In the East at least a woman has the comfort of her family if she should be deserted or ill-treated by her husband, in the West… My father married my mother purely for her wealth. Once they were married and I was conceived, he devoted all his spare time to other women and gambling. My mother died shortly after I was born. The shame of her husband’s desertion was something she could no longer endure, and once my father discovered that he was not going to benefit from his marriage, he gave my uncle the option of either bringing me up himself or placing me in an orphanage.’

Why was he telling her this? Only this morning he had savaged her with the knife thrust of his contempt for merely betraying a brief curiosity, but now he was telling her the intimate details of his life, and in such a taut, bitter way that she guessed every word was a sharp thorn piercing an old wound. She couldn’t understand it.

They were borne upwards in the lift towards the Sheikh’s private suite. As before, the Sheikh was alone, his smile welcoming and she was sure sincere, as he waved her into a chair.

‘Please, sit down, Miss Miles,’ he glanced at his nephew as Claire obediently sank into a plush chair. ‘Has Raoul said anything to you of my purpose in asking you to join us?’

‘I have told her nothing. You know my views.’

‘But if she is agreeable you will…’

‘I will do whatever is needed to protect the child, you know that.’

Alarmed by the harsh tone of his voice and the undercurrents she could sense seething between the two men, Claire glanced from Raoul’s set, dark face to the Sheikh’s kinder, but no less resolute one.

‘You are alarming our guest, Raoul,’ he berated mildly ‘My dear, there is no need to be afraid. Indeed we are the ones to suffer that emotion lest you should…’ He broke off while Claire stared up at him in mystification. Neither of them struck her as men who would fear anything, especially Raoul. By his actions this morning he had proved that when it came to physical danger… She shuddered, suddenly over-taken by a vivid memory of the gunmen and the rapid sound of gunfire, the fear that had been pushed aside by the adrenalin-induced need to act now emerging to surge sickeningly through her veins. Only the knowledge that Raoul was watching her and would no doubt relish her weakness gave her the strength to suppress her feelings, her nerves as taut as fine wire as she waited for the Sheikh to continue.

‘I have a proposition to put to you, Miss Miles,’ he began quietly, and beneath the calm dignity of his manner Claire sensed a deep inner disquietude. ‘Indeed, it is only because I sense within you a warm and sympathetic personality that I am able to speak of this matter to you at all.’ He gave her a charming smile. ‘You might say that I am taking an unfair advantage of your good nature, and I’m afraid that is true. This morning you risked your own life to save that of my nephew…’

‘I acted entirely instinctively,’ Claire told him, a faint warm colour staining her cheekbones. If the Sheikh had brought her here to offer her another reward, she was going to refuse it. But surely a reward would not necessitate Raoul’s presence or be the cause of the uncertainty and agitation she sensed in the older man?

‘Perhaps, but nevertheless, your first instinct was to protect Saud, and I myself have observed your care of the child. You like children, Miss Miles?’

‘Yes, but…’ Her voice trailed off as her muddled thoughts clarified. Could the Sheikh be going to ask her to act as Saud’s nanny? ‘I could not look after him full-time if that is what you are about to suggest. I have a job already, and then…’ Then there was Teddy, but some inner caution made her say haltingly, ‘I have certain commitments…’

‘To your lover?’ Raoul suggested sardonically. ‘His should be the commitment to you, Miss Miles.’

‘There is a man already in your life?’ The Sheikh looked disturbed.

‘Yes…’

‘But you are not betrothed or married to him. There is no truly firm commitment?’

Her mouth had gone dry. Why hadn’t she simply explained that Teddy was her brother right from the start? How on earth was she going to extricate herself from her own half-truths now? Anger came to her rescue. What business was it of either of these men what her relationship with Teddy was?

‘Miss Miles and her lover are conducting a long-distance affair,’ Raoul supplemented cynically. ‘She was writing to him when I went to collect her.’

‘So… Then it is possible that you would be free to return with us to Omarah?’

‘As Saud’s nanny? I cannot. I am not trained… I…’

‘It is not as Saud’s nanny that my uncle requires your services, Miss Miles,’ Raoul cut in in a hatefully mocking voice, ‘but as his mother.’

‘His mother?’ The room seemed to whirl dizzily in front of her eyes, ‘but… but that is impossible.’

‘Biologically yes, but…’

‘What my nephew is trying to say, Miss Miles, is that in order to protect Saud it might be as well if we allowed those who instigated this morning’s attack to believe it succeeded. No… please hear me out,’ he begged when Claire would have interrupted. ‘No one apart from ourselves and my guards, whose loyalty I know I can depend on, know the truth. Those sent to kill my nephew have themselves been killed, but if we return to Omarah with Saud there will be other attempts on his life, attempts which could easily prove to be successful, and then I fear my country will turn its eyes and heart to Russia. You know already of the divisions in my country.’ He drew a sharp sigh. ‘Had Raoul been the son of my brother rather than the son of my sister, I could have appointed him as my heir…’

‘And that, I believe, is the only thing I can thank my father for,’ Raoul interrupted grimly.

‘I know you have no wish to step into my shoes, Raoul. Raoul is the head of our petrochemical industries,’ the Sheikh told Claire, and something in the look on the former’s face told her that this was no sinecure post, and that Raoul was completely genuine when he said that he had no wish to take his uncle’s place.

‘And thanks to the insistence of my father I am also a Christian,’ Raoul added grittily. He saw Claire’s look of surprise and said cuttingly, ‘Does it surprise you to know that those of my uncle’s faith are so tolerant towards others? The Prophet himself decreed that it must be so.’

Why, when he obviously felt so bitter about his father, and had chosen to ally himself to the Arab blood he carried, had he not changed his religion, Claire wondered, trying to shrug her curiosity aside as the Sheikh shook his head warningly.

‘We digress Raoul. We have not appraised Miss Miles of our… plan. Obviously, if we do allow it to be known that Saud did not survive this morning’s attack, it would be difficult for us to take the child back with us to Omarah. I did think at one time of leaving him in your country where he could be brought up in secret and, I hope, in safety, but…’

‘But if you do that he will grow up a stranger to his own country and its customs. The people would never accept him in your place. He would be more European than Arab.’

‘This is true,’ the Sheikh agreed gravely, ‘which is why, my dear, we are seeking your help. You see, the only way we can take Saud back with us in safety is if we take him as someone else’s child. You can see, I am sure, the dangers attendant on such a course. How could we be sure that the couple we might choose would be trustworthy? And Saud must be brought up as befits his station.’

‘I am honoured that you should have thought of me as a candidate,’ Claire responded truthfully, ‘but surely, even if I agreed, people would think it strange that you should take into your family an unmarried European girl with a child. Surely they would suspect…’

The two men exchanged a look that made her blood turn to ice in her veins, a feeling that she had suddenly strayed on to very unsteady ground sending alarm signals rushing to her brain.

‘I have not entirely explained, Saud would not just be your child, but… but Raoul’s as well. It would be announced that you were married during our visit to your country, and…’

‘Oh, but that couldn’t possibly work,’ Claire expostulated, refusing to dwell for the moment on the multitude of sensations assailing her and clinging only to the bare facts. Later, when she was alone, she would allow herself to think more deeply on the strange sensation stirring in the pit of her stomach at the thought of Raoul as her husband… her lover.

The look he gave her was bitterly sardonic. ‘Well, it won’t,’ she said sharply. ‘Everyone will know that we haven’t been married long enough to have a child, and… and with a European woman… Surely…’

Finding no reassurance in Raoul’s hard, cynical features, she looked wildly at the Sheikh, her heart sinking at what she saw in his calm, dark eyes.

‘We have been into this, and if you are in agreement, our story will be that Saud was the result of an affair between you and Raoul. He spends a considerable amount of time abroad, so that aspect need not cause us any concern. Your child will have been born illegitimately, and I will have coerced Raoul into marriage with you, for the child’s sake.’

The picture he was painting wasn’t a very attractive one and Claire found herself grimacing in distaste. ‘I suspect Miss Miles is thinking the proposition would sound more attractive had I been the one to do the coercing, Uncle,’ Raoul interceded mockingly, ‘but you are not thinking clearly, Miss Miles. No one knowing me would believe that I had willingly married a European woman…’

‘But they will believe that one bore your child?’ Their argument had personal undertones that bewildered Claire. Calm and even-tempered, she had never allowed herself to be so provoked and disturbed by any man. In fact, she had come to think of herself as someone who could not be affected physically by men, and yet this man with merely a look—a word—had inflamed her temper to the point where she could feel her self-control slipping dangerously away.

‘I am a man who spends a considerable amount of time away from my own people,’ Raoul acknowledged, shrugging as though dismissing her accusation as juvenile gaucheness. ‘Naturally, it would not be expected that I should live as a monk. It is also well-known in our country that European women take lovers.’

‘I cannot do it,’ she said positively. ‘I’m sorry, but I…’ She broke off as the door opened and a young girl walked in carrying Saud. She was dressed in the uniform of the hotel staff, the little boy was still flushed and fretful. But he seemed to recognise Claire, perhaps because of her fair hair, which was probably unusual to him, Claire thought, unable to check her own response and he wriggled impatiently in the girl’s hold, stretching out his arms to her.

The girl came over and handed Saud to her, saying something in Arabic that Claire couldn’t understand, before leaving the room.

‘She thinks you are Saud’s mother,’ the Sheikh pointed out quietly. ‘I know it is a great deal to ask of you, but I beg you to reconsider. Saud’s life is at stake… We cannot protect him for every second of it. Another year and we shall have overcome our problems. Then you will be free to go. A year, that is all we ask.’

‘And, of course, you will be well paid,’ Raoul interjected swiftly, mentioning a sum of money that made Claire gasp. It was a fortune, more than enough to put Teddy through school and university and still leave enough for her to buy herself a small house instead of the poky flat she presently rented.

‘But… marriage…’

‘Our marriage will be a mere fiction,’ Raoul assured her contemptuously. ‘Why else do you think my uncle is at such pains to state that it will have been forced upon me? That way neither of us will be expected to play too false a part. We can live our separate lives… I told you you should have offered the money first,’ he said over her head to his uncle.

The contempt and ugly suggestiveness of his tone took Claire’s breath away. She dearly longed to throw his words back in his face, and his money, but at that moment Saud started to cry, and by the time she had soothed him, rocking the small round body against her shoulder, enjoying the warm baby smell of him, she had had time to think. Time to consider all that such a large sum of money could mean for Teddy. No more scrimping and scraping; no more having to do without the treats enjoyed by most of his fellow boarders. She suppressed a small sigh, knowing that she really had no choice. And then there was Saud. Already she was fond of the small child. There had been one attempt on his life, and she had to admit that the Sheikh’s plan was an excellent one.

‘I… I agree.’ The words almost choked in her throat as she saw Raoul’s cynically knowing eyes rest on her flushed cheeks. The Sheikh was thanking her profusely, but Claire barely heard him, she was still too shaken by the look of acute dislike she could see in Raoul’s eyes. And this was the man she would have to live with as his wife for twelve months! It was on the tip of her tongue to take back her words, but before she could speak he forestalled her.

‘I will have the arrangements put in hand. First we will fly to Paris. At the end of the week…’

‘Paris?’

He saw her stunned expression and laughed sarcastically. ‘Oh, don’t worry, I have no intention of extending the farce of our “marriage” to include my French relatives, it is just that as my wife you will be expected to maintain a certain standard of dress and appearance.’ His lips twisted bitterly as they surveyed her slender frame in the tailored tweed suit. ‘While your clothes might be perfectly suitable for your present life-style…’

‘My nephew is quite right,’ the Sheikh interposed sympathetically when he saw her face. ‘He is a very wealthy man, and it would not be fitting…’

‘But surely, if everyone knows you have forced him to marry me, they will not expect…’

‘What they will expect is for you to be dressed as befits my wife, even if I don’t treat you as such.’ He grimaced as he caught her brief flush, and added with infuriating accuracy, ‘Oh come, surely you don’t really suppose that I can’t see what is running through your foolish head now? I will say this once and once only, Miss Miles. Even if you were the type of woman I find physically attractive, which you are not, the fact that you have another lover, and your very evident avarice, would undoubtedly be sufficient to kill any desire I might have for you.’

Claire went red and then white as he turned on his heel and stormed out of the room, leaving her alone with the Sheikh and Saud in a silence that seemed to thicken with every passing second.

‘Try to forgive him,’ the Sheikh said softly at last. ‘His has not been an easy life. His mother, my sister, was forced to live almost as a servant in her own home when she returned from France. She had married Lucien D’Albro against my father’s wishes, and when they parted…’ He drew a faint sigh. ‘You must understand that it is a matter of family honour when a woman parts from her husband, and my father was of the old school. To make matters worse, a marriage had been arranged for Zenobe. She died when Raoul was very young, but my father remained bitter about his birth to the end. As a child I remember Raoul desperately wanted to be accepted by my father, but he was a man of cruel pride. Raoul of all the family is most like him, and I think my father sensed this. Against his will he loved Raoul best of all his grandchildren. When he died he left him a considerable fortune, but nothing could wipe away the bitter loneliness of those early years. As a child, Raoul was taught to hate and deride his European inheritance. As an adult, he knows that this teaching sprang from my father’s anger against Zenobe and against her husband, but Raoul is a complex character; a man who has suffered and still suffers great pain.’

He saw Claire’s expression and assured her softly, ‘You do not believe me, but I assure you this is so. Why else, now that he is an adult and free to adopt the Muslim religion if he so chooses, does he deny himself this thing that he wanted so desperately as a child? He is a man deeply conscious of the schisms within himself.’

Rather than reassuring her, the Sheikh’s words only made her regret more than ever her folly in agreeing to accept the role of Raoul’s wife. It might only be make-believe, but some deep inner instinct warned her against any sort of intimacy with Raoul, no matter how tenuous. He would hurt her if he could, she could sense it inside him. Saud stirred in her arms, and she glanced down at the olive face.

‘Already he is attached to you,’ the Sheikh said quietly. ‘I should like you to remain here with us until it is time for you to leave for Paris.’

‘I… I shall have to tell my employers.’ And Teddy, she added mentally. She would drive down to his school to tell him—but tell him what? She nibbled her lip, worrying at its soft fullness, as she took Saud through to his own room and set about preparing his food. She knew that there were several Arab children at Teddy’s school. If she told Teddy the truth, he might innocently mention it, and she felt it would be unfair to put the Sheikh’s plans at risk. But what other alternatives did she have? She could hardly not tell her brother anything.

The problem worried at her mind as she prepared Saud for bed. Perhaps she ought to allow Teddy the fiction that she was marrying Raoul. She would say nothing of Saud, of course… And then in twelve months’ time? Marriages broke up all the time… Dear God, what was she doing?

Panic swept over her, pushing aside all her sensible thoughts and decisions. She couldn’t go through with it. She couldn’t! She couldn’t put herself in the power—no matter how briefly—of Raoul D’Albro. He would taunt and torment her continually. She had seen it in his eyes when they studied her with contempt and bitterness. But she had to go through with it. She had said she would—and then there was the money.

Her mouth twisted wryly. Oh, she had seen the look in Raoul’s eyes when he mentioned it. He thought she had accepted through greed, but he was wrong—quite wrong. It was for Teddy’s sake, not for her own personal gain. But he thought Teddy was her lover. As her feelings of panic subsided, Claire acknowledged that she was the one responsible for that error. But even if she could correct it, would she? Wasn’t she safer while Raoul thought she was a greedy, avaricious female with at least one established lover?

But safe from what? Even if he knew the truth Raoul would not be interested in her. She wasn’t his type. He had told her that. But the danger didn’t come from him, it came from within herself, Claire acknowledged tiredly. Right from the very first time she had seen him it had been there, although she had fought against admitting it; she had told herself that he was everything she disliked and resented in a man.

And he was, but there was more to it than that; more to her feelings than mere dislike. And yes, if she were honest, she would have to admit to the faint, but unmistakable feelings of nervy excitement that his presence aroused. An excitement which she knew instinctively possessed the seeds of very great danger.

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