Imprisoned by a Vow

Joss Carmody didn’t have a softer side.

‘Don’t look so worried,’ Leila said hurriedly, appalled that surprise had provoked a genuine response from her. ‘The idea hadn’t crossed my mind.’

‘You’re sure?’ His straight eyebrows scrunched down in a scowl of disbelief.

Leila supposed he saw himself as a matrimonial prize. With his looks and obscene wealth women must flock to him.

Yet surely she wasn’t the only one to see him for what he was: self-contained, dangerous and definitely not ready for domestication. Impatience at his all-conquering attitude blindsided her.

‘Surprisingly enough, I am.’ To her amazement Leila heard the rapier-sharp provocation in her tone. His expression told her he heard it too.

After years guarding every word, how could she trip herself up now? Where was her hard-won composure? Even Gamil at his worst couldn’t provoke an outburst these days. It was vital she play to the Australian’s expectations if the marriage was to go ahead.

‘So what did you envisage, Leila?’ His voice dropped half an octave, slowing on her name. He rolled it around his mouth, almost as if savouring it.

Fine hairs rose on her arms and nape. No man had ever said her name like that. A challenge and an invitation at the same time.

Heat flushed her throat as she realised she’d stepped into perilous waters. He didn’t threaten like Gamil, but she sensed danger in his sultry invitation. Not the danger of physical punishment but of something more insidious.

Her lack of experience with men told against her now.

She blinked. Gamil was no doubt hidden beyond the doorway, sifting each word, ready to mete out punishment for errors.

The laugh had been a mistake. She’d read it in Joss’s surprise. Yet she couldn’t regret it. He deserved to be shocked from his insufferable self-satisfaction, even if her stepfather made her pay later.

‘I thought you were interested in my inheritance, not me personally.’ She kept her tone even, holding his gaze, refusing to reveal how much hinged on his response.

After a moment he nodded brusquely. ‘I’m not after an heir and I have no interest in playing happy families.’

At least he didn’t expect intimacy. Relief swelled.

She’d wondered whether, when it came down to it, she would be able to sell herself into an intimate relationship in order to escape. Had wondered too about the logistics of disappearing as soon as they were married to avoid giving herself physically to a man she didn’t want. Now it seemed she wouldn’t have to.

This was pure business. He’d gain the oil reserves, while Gamil gained income and status through his new son-in-law.

She was supposed to be thrilled by Joss Carmody’s offer of matrimony. Though come to think of it there’d been no offer. It had been a deal done between power-hungry men.

She squashed instinctive outrage as a luxury she couldn’t afford.

‘I don’t want a wife who will cling or make demands.’

‘Of course not.’ She couldn’t imagine him accepting emotional ties. Nor did she want any.

‘So tell me, Leila—’ he leaned closer, his voice a deep thread of sound that shivered across her flesh ‘—why do you want to marry me?’

Her brain froze as she watched those firmly sculpted lips shaping her name, feeling again that tremulous shock of disturbance deep inside.

Then she breathed deeply, her mind clicking into gear, considering and discarding possibilities.

Tell him what he expects to hear and seal the deal.

‘For what you can give me.’ His almost-imperceptible nod confirmed she was on the right track, feeding him the response he expected. ‘To see the world and live the life of a billionaire’s wife. Bakhara is my homeland but it’s rather…confining.’ Wry laughter threatened at the understatement and she bit her cheek, using pain to counter weakness. It was a trick Gamil, if only he’d known it, had inadvertently taught her over the years, with his regime of punishments for imagined infringements. ‘Married to you my life will change for ever.’

Dark eyes surveyed her so closely she saw the exact moment he made up his mind. His lips pursed and his eyes gleamed approvingly.

Joss Carmody knew what he wanted. A wife who wouldn’t clutter his life. A woman who’d marry him for his wealth and prestige. A woman who would shop and amuse herself while he got on with what interested him: making even more billions of dollars. Money drove him. Nothing else.

What would he do if he realised he meant just one thing to her?

Escape.

‘He’s late!’ Gamil paced the courtyard, his heavy tread careless of the exquisite mosaics Leila’s ancestors had installed and the carefully nurtured grass by the long mirror pool, a lush green bed in a land of scarce rainfall and high temperatures.

‘What did you say to him?’ He spun round, spittle spraying Leila’s cheek. ‘It must have been you. Everything else was settled. There’s no reason for him to cry off unless you put doubt in his mind.’

His angry countenance filled her vision but she stood steadfast, knowing better than to retreat before his fury.

‘You heard all that passed between us,’ she said levelly. Too much in fact. Her temerity in laughing at Joss Carmody’s self-conceit had earned her weeks of punishment on bread and water. Fortunately her rations had been increased this week so she wouldn’t be too weak to say her vows.

‘That I did.’ Ire mottled Gamil’s complexion. He leaned forward, his stale breath hot on her face. ‘I heard you play word games! Obviously that was enough to make him have second thoughts. And now…’ Gamil gritted his teeth and turned away.

‘How will I hold my head up if you’re jilted by such a man? Think what it will do for my reputation, my prospects at court! I have plans…’

He stalked to the other end of the courtyard, muttering. His hands clenched and unclenched as if ready to throttle someone.

Her stepfather rarely resorted to physical violence, preferring more subtle methods. But she had no illusions she was safe if he felt himself goaded too far.

Leila pressed clammy hands together. If only Joss Carmody would thrust open the ornamental doors and stride into the courtyard.

Never had an unwanted bridegroom been so eagerly awaited.

Fear churned her stomach. Was Gamil right? Had the Australian cried off? What, then, of her plans for independence and the career she’d always wanted?

No! She couldn’t think like that. There was still time, though he was ninety minutes late and the whispering guests had already been ushered into the salon for refreshments.

Heat filled the courtyard. Leila stiffened her weary spine against the frightening compulsion to admit defeat.

How many more years could she take? This last bout of solitary confinement had almost broken her.

Gamil had broken her mother, destroying her vibrant optimism and love of life. Leila had watched her change from an outgoing, charming beauty, interested in everyone and everything. In a few short years she’d transformed from a society hostess par excellence and an asset to her first husband’s brilliant diplomatic career to a faded, downtrodden wraith, jumping at shadows. She’d lost the will to live long before illness had claimed her.

Leila tipped her head up, feeling the sun on her face. Who knew how long before she’d feel it again?

Despite the gossamer-fine silks, the lavish henna decorations on her hands and feet, the weight of traditional gold jewellery at her throat and ears, Leila was no pampered princess but a prisoner held against her will.

If Joss didn’t show, standing here in the open air might be the closest she’d come to freedom till she came of age at twenty-five in another sixteen months.

‘What are you doing outside in the heat?’ The dark voice sidled through her thoughts and shock punched deep in her solar plexus.