Scandals Of The Crown: The Life She Left Behind / The Price of Royal Duty / The Sheikh's Heir

“You knew that from the beginning.”

She nodded. “Yes. I did.” From the moment she’d seen the positive test, she’d known. It was either hide the truth from him forever, or embrace life as his queen. “But…where did these dresses come from?” If she really was going to be his wife she would take a stand here at least. She wasn’t wearing cast-off gowns from cast-off women.

His face hardened, for a moment he looked like he’d been carved from stone. “They have been here. Just as this room has been here. Awaiting its queen.”

“What?”

“They are yours. I had them prepared when you accepted my proposal.”

“And you…kept them?”

He tilted his chin upward, the gesture making him look haughty. Defiant. “I was to marry one day with or without you. Clothes are altered easily enough, why should I replace them.”

“Why indeed?” she struck back. “If the woman in question does not matter, if she’s only part and parcel to a business agreement then why does it matter what she might want? Who she is?”

“It matters,” he said, his voice rough.

She took a step back, her stomach curling in. “Oh. I…I…”

He appraised her for a moment, his dark eyes searching. “It will not be so bad to be my wife, will it?”

She didn’t know what to say. Words stuck in her throat. Words in denial and in agreement.

His expression hardened. “Well then, let us prepare to speak to the media.”

She had a feeling she’d done the wrong thing. But she could not find the words to placate him. Because they would be a lie.

It would be hard to be married to him. Hard to guard her heart against feelings she didn’t want but wasn’t certain she could deny.

“You were exquisite,” Taj said as he closed the limo door and encased them in the air-conditioning.

“I hardly spoke.” She felt horrible. Her head was pounding, and she was still shaking from having to sit there in front of so many people.

“And in Rahat, that will be considered a bonus.”

“Oh, I do hope you’re joking,” she said, treating him to her deadliest glare. In addition to the headache, she was hot, starving and in no mood to take garbage off anyone. Least of all Taj.

He shrugged, as if shaking off her anger. “I was. Sort of. But the way the more traditional citizens of my country think is not necessarily the way I think.”

“And how do you think, Sheikh Taj Ahmad, because I think I’m entitled to know that seeing as I’m about to leg-shackle myself to you for the rest of our lives.”

Something flashed in his dark eyes. Amusement mixed with something deeper. Deadlier. “A leg shackle doesn’t do anything for me fantasy-wise. Handcuffs, perhaps.”

“I am in no mood,” she said, keeping her sharp glare trained on him.

“My apologies,” he said, his voice stiff. “I expect a wife to meet my needs. To provide me with heirs.”

“What?” she asked, leaning forward in her seat. “Meet your needs? What does that mean?”

“I expect for her to share my bed, to accompany me to events, to have my children. That’s straightforward enough.”

“That’s…sexist enough,” she said.

“How? It has nothing to do with you being a woman, and everything to do with being the wife of a sheikh. I have particular duties as ruler, and you have particular duties as the spouse of a ruler.”

“So if I was sheikh…”

“You very likely wouldn’t be called sheikh.”

She let out an exasperated breath. “Fine. If I were sheikha,” she said, drawing out the syllables, “then you would be expected to fulfill my sexual needs and hang on my arm at events?”

“That sounds fair,” he said, a frown marring his features. “I take it you are not thrilled with my expectations?”

“Does it matter?” she asked, feeling panic start to rise in her breast. “Does any of it matter? I’m stuck. You have the power here. You and I both know that.”

“I am not a tyrant, neither am I a dictator. I get no pleasure from beating you into submission. What do you expect from a husband?”

Love. If there was love, so many other things could be forgiven. But without it…what was there? “I…I would like to be considered as a person, not an ornament. I don’t want my life to begin and end with my husband’s needs. I want him to consider mine. I want a husband who will love his children and take an interest in them.” A husband who loves me.

His brows were drawn together, his expression contemplative. “It is not how things are done.”

“What isn’t?”

“There are…certain things expected of the Sheikh of Rahat, things I learned as a child and…they did not include caring for children or…many of the other things you mentioned. My duty is to my people.”

“But if you can’t love the people in your household, how can you expect to care for those you rule?”

“Ruling requires distance and a firm hand.”

Something inside her deflated and sank down to her toes. “It’s the love that you have trouble with.”

“I did not learn it.”

The way he said it, so authoritative and so final, told her he never intended to try.

Chapter Seven (#u3deddbef-46f5-59cf-a22b-7d90f6eda70b)

Angelina pulled her thin robe more tightly around herself and stepped out into the gardens, the cobblestones, cooled by the night air, felt good on her feet. Calming. Soothing.

She followed one of the paths that led into the center of the lavishly kept landscape, her thoughts turning over that afternoon’s conversation with Taj. Taj didn’t know how to love. He hadn’t learned how.

A shame since she loved him.

She was certain of that now. That she loved him. That she had loved for him for years, and that no matter how bad their first parting had been, the good memories would always be stronger.

“What brings you out here?”

Angelina whirled around to find the voice in the darkness and nearly ran into Taj. “What are you doing out here?”