Sharif expectantly and his eyes narrowed. ‘There’s more, isn’t there?’
Sharif looked uncomfortable. ‘It is now almost five years since your brother’s tragic death, Your Highness. His widow is—’ He broke off and licked dry lips. ‘There have been pictures—your father is asking questions. He is afraid that there will be another scandal.’ Sharif cleared his throat delicately. ‘It is no secret that your father hopes that you will wed your brother’s widow—’
Zak sat totally still, not a muscle flickered in his handsome face.
It was definitely time he married. And it wouldn’t be to his sister-in-law.
Any woman would be preferable to her.
To think that he’d once—
His jaw tightened as he contemplated the foolishness of youth. Although he was now firmly of the belief that love did not exist, he was convinced that he could do better in his choice of bride than a woman who put her own needs ahead of those of her child.
He would not be marrying Danielle.
Zak gave a sigh, the prospect of marriage leaving him profoundly depressed. There were many occasions when the duty and responsibility accorded to his role felt like an un-yielding block of concrete around his neck.
When he finally had his emotions back under control, he spoke. ‘I will deal with my late brother’s wife.’
With a wave of his hand he dismissed Sharif and lounged back in his chair, his dark eyes narrowed as he considered his next move.
Suddenly all he could think of was Emily Kingston.
He stared down at the pages of figures on his desk, but his mind was filled with disturbing images of honey-blonde hair and a soft, tempting mouth.
Doubtless she had done nothing to disguise that amazing blonde hair or those lush curves before making her bid for freedom. The knowledge that those charms were now on the streets of Kazban, visible to all, did nothing for his concentration.
With a rough exclamation he rose to his feet and stared at the sky, noting the deepening blue, acknowledging that Sharif was right. It would be dark in an hour. And Emily Kingston was alone.
Making an instant decision, he cursed softly and hit a series of buttons on his phone.
He’d sort out the problem with his nephew and his sister-in-law later. First he had to deal with Emily Kingston.
Unable to believe that she’d managed to leave the palace without being apprehended, Emily sneaked a glance over her shoulder, but there was no sign of anyone following her. Her heart was thudding and her palms were damp and she’d never felt such panic in her life before. She’d barely been able to breathe, choked with anticipation, expecting to feel a hand on her shoulder at any moment.
But there had been no hand. She’d done it.
Now all she had to do was find a car to take her to the airport.
Where on earth did one find a taxi in Kazban?
The initial panic fading, she was suddenly aware of just how hot it was away from the cool interior of the palace. Even though it was early evening, the sun hammered down on the dusty streets and the air was stifling.
Wishing that she had a hat and feeling more than a little vulnerable, she clutched her one small bag and walked as fast as she could in her one pair of ridiculous heels, trying to ignore the fact that she was boiling to death in her jacket. There was no way she was removing it. She had no wish to draw attention to herself and she knew that, although her dress fell to her ankles, it revealed far too much of her arms and shoulders to be considered decent in a country such as Kazban. So she gritted her teeth and kept the jacket on, promising herself that as soon as she was safely on the airplane she’d take it off and cool herself down.
She walked through the souk, wondering which direction to take, distracted by the colourful stalls and the wonderful smells.
Spices.
Intrigued, Emily paused by a stall heaped high with dune-like mountains of turmeric and many other spices that she didn’t recognize. Next to the spice stall someone was cooking, the clatter of pans and the sizzle of hot fat cutting through the dry, still air, the smells delicious and tempting.
She wandered on, past stalls where men dressed in traditional robes sold brightly coloured silks, past boxes and boxes of exotic nuts and sweets, fruits and vegetables.
Once she tried asking about a taxi and the man waved his arms vaguely. She tried to follow his directions but there were just more and more stalls and no sign of anything that even remotely resembled a taxi.
The light was fading fast and she realized that she was lost in the middle of Kazban, with absolutely no idea where she was.
Feeling decidedly uneasy, she turned back the way she’d come and looked at the maze of dusty streets, trying to remember her route.
When exactly had the bustle and activity ceased? The streets were eerily quiet, as if she were the only person inhabiting this corner of the planet.
Wishing that someone else would appear, she started to walk down the nearest street and then stopped dead as three men dressed in robes suddenly blocked her path.
Her heart gave a jolt of panic.
One of them spoke to her in a language that she didn’t understand and when she didn’t answer they circled around her, blocking her escape.
Instinctively Emily clutched at her bag even though there was virtually nothing in it and her passport was safely tucked into a pocket in her dress.
The tallest of them spoke again and this time he smiled, but it was such an unpleasant, threatening smile that Emily felt a shiver of fear.
Determined not to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he’d frightened her, she lifted her chin boldly and tried to sidestep past the men, but they closed in more tightly, throwing remarks to each other that she didn’t understand.
One of them reached out and grabbed a handful of her hair, twisting it around his fingers as though he were considering a purchase.
‘Leave me alone!’ Heart galloping like a horse’s hooves, Emily jerked her head away from his touch and took a step backwards, but one of his friends was directly behind her, blocking her escape.
She had nowhere to go.
CHAPTER THREE
SHE was in huge trouble.
Emily glanced frantically around her, searching for an alternative escape route. But there was none. And already the men were closing in. Before she could move, one of them made a grab for her bag and another dragged her jacket from her shoulders.
Suddenly she was standing in the dusty streets wearing nothing but her thin cotton dress and a pair of ridiculous shoes.
For a moment she stood still, breathing rapidly, frozen with fear. And then some of the fear melted away to be replaced by anger. She was a visitor to a foreign country. She should be treated with respect and courtesy.
‘I’m English.’ She spoke slowly and clearly. ‘Give me my things back.’
They leered at her and, acting on a sudden impulse, she flew at the man who’d taken her bag, kicking him so hard with one of her shoes that he gave a yelp and doubled up in pain and surprise.
‘Finally I understand the origin of the term “killer heels”,’ Emily muttered, snatching at her bag and making a run for it.
Her triumph was short-lived. Temporarily stunned by her surprise attack, the man’s two comrades suddenly came to life and grabbed her bodily. Her dress tore, she lost the bag and crashed awkwardly to the ground, wincing as something cut into her ankle.
‘Ouch—!’ Gritting her teeth against the pain, she lifted her head, furious and ready to fight—and then she