Sheikh's Forbidden Queen: Zarif's Convenient Queen / Gambling with the Crown

The persistent ringing of the front door bell wakened Ella from an uneasy doze. Clambering out of bed in a panic when she realised that it was after one in the morning, she dragged on her dressing gown and hurried to answer the door.

Her father’s best friend, Jonathan Scarsdale, stood on the doorstep and immediately apologised for getting her out of bed. ‘Your landline was constantly engaged and I thought it would be better to talk to you in person.’

Ella glanced at the phone table and noticed the handset wasn’t set on the charger and sighed because it was little wonder that the phone wasn’t working.

‘No...no, don’t worry about that,’ Ella urged, for her parents’ best friends, Jonathan and Marsha, were also Cathy’s parents and familiar to her from childhood. ‘I’m glad to see you. Come in.’

‘Perhaps I’d better,’ the older man said heavily. ‘Although I hate bringing you more bad news than you’ve already had.’

‘Mum?’ Ella gasped, jumping to conclusions and wide-eyed with apprehension.

‘No, Ella. Your mother’s fine,’ Jonathan reassured her quietly. ‘But your father called me from the hospital. He was so upset, I drove over to join him although there’s little enough I can do to help in the current circumstances.’

Ella was pale with strain as she led the way into the lounge, switching on lights as she went. ‘I’m sure Dad was grateful for you being there.’

‘I’m here to talk to you about your father,’ the older man told her heavily. ‘I’m afraid he’s having a breakdown, Ella. Jason’s betrayal of his trust, your mother’s heart attack, the whole situation... Unfortunately he’s not able to cope with it all right now. I phoned Marsha and she came out to the hospital to speak to your father and make a professional diagnosis. She suggested that Gerald should stay in our nursing home here for a few days until he’s calmed down and come to terms with things...’

‘Dad...a breakdown?’ Ella repeated sickly. ‘But he’s not the type.’

‘There is no type, Ella. Anyone can have an emotional breakdown and at the moment your father simply can’t handle the stress he’s under. He’s in the best place for the present with trained staff able to offer the support he needs,’ he pointed out soothingly. ‘I’m sorry though that this leaves you alone.’

‘I’m not alone...I have Jason,’ she pointed out, avoiding the older man’s compassionate look out of embarrassment while struggling to absorb the news of her father’s predicament.

Ella was shell shocked as she thanked Cathy’s father for his help and she got back into bed in a daze, gooseflesh prickling at the disturbing realisation that both her parents had collapsed from the trauma of Jason’s revelations. There was no room for manoeuvre or protest now, she acknowledged dully. If she could do anything at all to alleviate the crisis in her parents’ lives, she needed to make the attempt to do so: she had no choice but to ask Zarif for a meeting.

CHAPTER TWO (#u2a42d7ea-ba46-5596-b6c3-fb54d8fdfc89)

ELLA PARKED HER mother’s car with the extreme care of someone strung up tight with nerves and terrified of making a mistake at the wheel.

Earlier that morning she had visited both her parents and that had proved a disorientating experience. On medication her father was now much calmer but he had seemed utterly divorced from the events that had led to his breakdown in the first place, not once even referring to them. In any case she had been warned before her visit not to touch on any subject that might cause him distress. Luckily Gerald’s overriding source of concern had been his wife’s recovery and he had lamented his inability to be with her. At least Ella had been able to tell her father that her mother was out of Intensive Care and receiving visits from her friends. Jennifer Gilchrest, however, had been equally reluctant to discuss the events that had preceded her heart attack.

As a result, Ella had been left feeling totally bereft of support and she was still guiltily reproaching herself for being so selfish. After all, neither of her parents was well enough to assist her. At the same time, Ella remained horribly aware of the huge burden of expectation resting on her shoulders while bankruptcy and repossession threatened her parents’ business and home. She had already fielded several excusably angry phone calls from staff members who hadn’t received their salary and who were struggling to pay their bills. In the midst of catastrophe, and in spite of being their father’s partner in the firm, Jason had done absolutely nothing beyond contacting another former student friend to establish where Zarif was staying prior to delivering his speech at the university. Jason had then contacted the hotel on the evening of Zarif’s arrival, had spoken to his chief aide and had been granted an appointment.

Jason had then made some wildly opportunistic and slick forecasts about the likely result of his sister speaking to Zarif in person.

‘Zarif’s really hot on family values, so he’ll be very sympathetic when he appreciates how devastating all this has been for us,’ Jason had opined optimistically. ‘I’m tremendously relieved that you’ve decided to see sense about this.’

‘Don’t you think that you should be coming with me?’ Ella had asked in surprise for she had certainly originally assumed that her brother would, at least, be accompanying her to the meeting. ‘I mean, Zarif made the loan to you, not to me, and I won’t be able to answer any business queries he has.’

‘Take it from me. You’re the best messenger the family could have,’ Jason had insisted.

Only, unhappily, Ella did not feel equal to that challenge. She was painfully aware that any slight regard Zarif might have cherished for her three years earlier had died the same day she refused to marry him. Determined not to reveal her true feelings after he put her on the spot and demanded an explanation for her refusal, she had employed lame excuses, which had not only offended him but which still made her cringe in remembrance. Could she really blame him for his anger that day?

Zarif al-Rastani was born of royalty and was scarcely the average male. She might often have overlooked that reality when he was visiting them in the UK and displaying few of the trappings of his true status, but the day she had said ‘no’ Zarif had regarded her with stunned disbelief and his extremely healthy ego had visibly recoiled from the affront of her rejection.

Of course, he had said and done nothing that could be remotely termed emotional that day. Evidently Zarif didn’t do emotion and she would have been far too emotional a being to make him a good wife, she reflected wryly. She had been sadly mistaken when she once naively assumed that Zarif’s icy reserve and self-discipline masked powerful inner feelings that he preferred to keep to himself.

While she had fallen madly in love with Zarif and had craved him with every fibre of her being, she had recognised the very last time that she saw him that he was virtually indifferent to her and was not in love, merely in lust and in need of a male heir. Had Jason only realised how shallow her former relationship with Zarif had ultimately proved to be, he would not have been so hopeful that by some miracle his sister would somehow be able to save her family from the consequences of his extravagance. Indeed Ella suspected that Zarif was more likely to be annoyed than appreciative at her daring to request another meeting with him. Women were gentle nurturing motherly creatures in Zarif’s world and that kind of woman was his ideal, as Ella knew to her cost.

She walked into the imposing country house hotel. Jason had told her that Zarif and his entourage were occupying the entire top floor of the building.

‘Miss Gilchrist?’ A slim Arab man with a goatee beard was on the lookout for her before she even got to engage with the reception staff. ‘I am Hamid, the King’s chief aide. I spoke to your brother on the phone. His Majesty will see you upstairs.’

While Hamid talked valiantly about the weather, his efforts undimmed by her monosyllabic replies, Ella smoothed damp palms down over her long skirt, wishing she had had a smart business suit to don in place of her usual more casual clothing but she didn’t own any formal outfits. She had teamed the skirt with a pristine white layered blouse and camisole. At least, she wasn’t wearing jeans, she told herself in consolation, desperate to think about anything other than the approaching challenge of an interview with Zarif. Her heart started to beat very, very fast, a chill of nervous tension shivering through her slender frame and making her tummy flip. She breathed in, slow and deep, striving to calm herself.

‘Miss Gilchrist...’ Hamid announced, pushing wide the door.

Ella walked a few steps into the room and then saw him and her courage failed her and she came to a sudden halt. Six feet two inches tall with a lean, powerful build, Zarif was a stunningly beautiful male and, in her opinion, far and away the most handsome of the three half-brothers. He was also the youngest of the trio, the other two of whom she had met briefly.

Zarif had the tawny eyes of a lion framed between lush black lashes and set deep below straight ebony brows. An arrogant, slim-bridged nose dissected exotically high cheekbones and his stunning features were completed by a strong masculine jaw line and a perfectly modelled mouth, the very thought of which had once kept Ella lying awake at night. She had craved his touch like a life-giving drug.

The memory sent chagrined heat surging through her tense body as she remembered all too well how frustrated she had become with his hands-off courtship. She had been a virgin but she would have surrendered her innocence any time he asked and if she was still a virgin, she conceded with undeniable resentment, it was only because she was determined not to settle for anything less than the intense hunger that Zarif had once inspired in her.

‘Eleonora...’ Zarif murmured, his rich as dark chocolate deep drawl dancing down her spine like the brush of ghostly fingers from the past. He did not have a definable accent because he had learned English from his British grandmother.

Her throat convulsed. ‘Zarif...’ she responded, struggling to push his name past her lips.

Zarif surveyed her with razor-edged intensity, luxuriant black lashes covertly veiling his acute gaze. He’d had an antique storybook as a child, which featured a lovely pale-haired princess imprisoned in a tower, and had once idly wondered if that had been the mysterious source of his one-time obsession with Ella Gilchrist. She was a beauty of the pure English Rose type with her translucent porcelain skin, bright blue eyes and long waving hair that had the depth and gloss of rich golden honey. Slim and of medium height, she had surprisingly lush curves for her slight frame and she moved as gracefully as a dancer. He scrutinised her soft bee-stung pink mouth and his body betrayed him with an immediate reaction. Anger stirred along with the indignity of the prickling heaviness of arousal at his groin.

She had always contrived to look natural, unadorned, untouched. His even white teeth ground together at that improbability. It had probably only ever been part of the demure fawn act she had staged for his benefit in the days when he had been that credulous and impressionable with the female sex, he reflected with angry resentment.

Time would have moved on for her in any case, just as it had done for him, and he refused to think further along that line because it would cross the bitter defensive boundaries he had raised inside his mind. After all, it was purely due to Ella Gilchrist’s power over him that Zarif had later betrayed every principle he had once respected, and he still reeled from any recollection of the mistakes he had made and the very large dent inflicted on his once stainless sense of honour. She had embarked on a dangerous power game with him. She had played him like a fish on a line, vainly determined to get the ego boost of having royalty propose marriage to her without ever considering acceptance as a viable possibility.

He had considered the matter many times and believed that was the only practical explanation for her behaviour.

‘Won’t you sit down?’ Zarif invited smoothly, his outer assurance absolute. ‘Then you can tell me how I may be of assistance.’

So, Zarif was going to play dumb, Ella reckoned uncomfortably and then wondered if she was being unjust. Was it possible that he hadn’t a clue about the situation her family was in?

She settled into a high-backed, opulently upholstered armchair and went straight to the heart of the subject. ‘Until this week, I had no idea that three years ago you gave Jason a very large loan.’

‘It was not your concern,’ Zarif fielded without skipping a beat.

Ella stiffened defensively. ‘But I wish it had been,’ she fenced back, refusing to be intimidated by his powerful presence. ‘Giving Jason a million pounds without any form of supervision was the equivalent of putting a fox in charge of a hen coop.’

Zarif compressed his handsome mouth. ‘You are not very loyal to your brother.’

‘I wonder how loyal you would feel towards one of your brothers if his wheeling and dealing had plunged your father’s firm into bankruptcy and left your parents facing homelessness. Right now, I’m worried about them, not about my brother,’ Ella spelt out combatively.

A gleam of surprise lightened Zarif’s spectacular eyes for it had been a very long time since anyone had addressed him with such a pronounced lack of respect. Indeed the last to do so had probably been her and he was both aggravated and yet strangely entertained by her boldness. It was a complete novelty in his world, where almost every word addressed to him was wrapped in flattery and a desire to ingratiate and please. His jaw line squared. ‘I was not aware that your parents were involved in this debacle.’

‘They were very much involved the moment Jason became a partner in Dad’s firm. My father was so proud that his son was joining the family business that he gave Jason a completely free hand,’ Ella explained heavily.

‘My business manager has already presented me with a file covering his investigation into how the loan was utilised,’ Zarif revealed gently.

‘So, really it wasn’t very nice of you to ask how you might be of assistance when I arrived!’ Ella shot back at him with spirit. ‘You were being facetious at my expense.’

‘Was I?’ Zarif quipped, scanning the animated expressiveness of her exquisite face, which openly brandished every emotion she experienced. He was convinced he could now read her like a children’s book and recognise her angry resentment and mortification that she should be put in the position of pleading her unworthy brother’s cause.