Leila had to bite her lip to keep from mentioning the fact that Hassan had attended college in America. Her own education had been restricted to an all-female boarding school in Switzerland, capped off by a year in England, and her brother’s engineering degree from M.I.T. was a source of envy to her.
“What about business?” she said after a moment. “Now that Hassan has married Elena, and she is head of an oil company—”
“But that is Hassan’s business. It has nothing to do with you. No, Leila, dear—” Samira gave her arm a not unsympathetic squeeze as she turned away from the screen “—I am afraid the only hope you would have of visiting America is if, like Hassan, you were to marry an American.” She and Nadia exchanged laughing glances. “And for that, you must first wait until Nadia and I have found husbands.”
“I will be old and ugly before that happens,” Leila grumbled.
Never one to entertain a dark mood for long, she straightened, dimpling wickedly as she peered through the screen. “Speaking of prospective husbands—guess who has just arrived. Look, Nadia, it is Butrus Dabir.” She slid her eyes toward her oldest sister, lips curving in an innocent smile. “Is it true he has asked Father if he may marry you?”
Her teasing was rewarded by a most satisfactory gasp of dismay from Nadia. “Where did you hear that?” Hands on her hips, she rounded on her servant. “Nargis? How many times—”
Nargis was already making a hasty retreat, after sneaking Leila a delighted wink. “Yes, Princess—I am going to prepare your bath now. Did you wish the jasmine scent, or the rose? Or perhaps that new one from Paris…” She ducked through the draperies and disappeared into the princesses’ sitting room.
“She is such a terrible gossip,” Nadia said crossly, snatching up her sketchbook from the settee and preparing to follow. In the doorway she paused to give her sisters a piercing glance. “I have not said I will marry Butrus.”
“She will, though,” said Samira with a shrug when Nadia had gone. “I am almost sure of it.”
Still gazing intently into the garden, Leila could not repress a shiver. “I wish she would not. Even if it means we both must wait longer before we can marry.”
“You do not like Butrus?” Samira looked at her in surprise. “He is very handsome, in his way. And he has been almost a member of the family for so many years. Father trusts him.”
“It is just that…he seems so cold. I do not see how Nadia can possibly love him.”
“Perhaps,” said Samira thoughtfully, “there are other reasons to marry besides love. Not,” she hastened to add, “that I would ever do such a thing. But…who knows what is in another person’s heart? Nadia’s, after all, has been broken once already. Perhaps she does not wish to risk such pain again. And I suppose if the other reasons were important enough…”
Leila said nothing. Once again she was watching the man in the dove-gray suit and cowboy hat stroll along the tiled pathways. This time she did not take her eyes off of him until he had disappeared from view beyond a stone archway thickly entwined with climbing roses.
In the shaded promenade beyond a rose-covered archway, Cade Gallagher paused to light a cheroot—a small sin, and one of the few vices he allowed himself. He was alone, for the moment, in this secluded part of the palace grounds, and he relished the solitude and the quiet, pulled it into himself along with the honey-sweet smoke of the cigar. As he exhaled, the chatter of strangers’ conversation receded to background noise. Nearby he could hear the twitter of birdsong, and the musical ripple of water. The air was cool and fragrant, misty with breeze-blown spray from distant fountains.
Not quite the juniper and live oak-covered vistas of his Hill Country ranch retreat back home in Texas, he thought, but not at all bad.
Admittedly, he hadn’t seen much of Tamir so far, save for the mosque and the royal palace and gardens. Thanks to the usual flight delays, he’d arrived late yesterday afternoon, just barely in time for the marriage ceremony. He found it all interesting, though frankly he was already beginning to feel cooped up and restless. He was more than ready for all this partying and celebrating to be over with so he could get on to his real reason for flying halfway around the world to this remote little island kingdom—business.
More specifically, oil business. In the beginning he’d resisted Elena’s invitation to attend the wedding as her honored guest, and to stand up for her as her guardian—ridiculous idea, he knew of no one on earth less in need of guardianship than Elena Rahman—in place of nonexistent family. At first. Until she’d mentioned that Sheik Ahmed Kamal, her father-in-law to be, was interested in refitting his country’s oil refineries, perhaps even building new ones. Cade was in the business of building and refitting oil refineries. The opportunities had seemed too promising to pass up.
There was very little in this world that impressed him, certainly nothing having to do with wealth or title or positions of power. But the old sheik—Sheik Ahmed—he’d made one hell of an impression on Cade, even after only one brief meeting. He was sharp, that one. Silver-haired and carrying the weight of a little too much good living, but still crafty as they come. Surprisingly unpretentious, too. The man was the absolute monarch of his country, yet he’d elected to use the title of sheik—a general all-purpose title of respect, was the way Cade understood it—rather than king. Cade liked that.
He liked the sheik’s son, Hassan, too, though he wasn’t ready to admit as much to Elena. Cade was beginning to think Elena hadn’t completely lost her mind after all, marrying into a Middle Eastern royal family. Hassan seemed westernized enough, and Elena was just hardheaded enough, as he well knew from personal experience, that they might actually make a go of it.
All at once he was remembering the unheralded softness in Elena’s voice on the telephone when she’d called to tell him of her plans to marry Hassan. He was remembering last night, and the way her eyes had shone when she’d lifted them to her new husband’s face as he’d drawn aside her veils… Twinges of unfamiliar emotions stirred in his chest—envy and longing were the only two he recognized. Annoyed, he drew deeply on the cheroot, his motions momentarily jerky and disconcerted.
It was at that moment when a low murmur of voices reached him from beyond the rose-covered archway. Glad of the distraction, he hurriedly composed himself, preparing to make polite small talk with intruders on his private corner of Eden. Instead, the newcomers—two of them, from their conversation—halted just on the other side of the arch. About to step through and join them, Cade hesitated. Something—the sneering quality of the speaker, perhaps—made him go still and alert and stay right where he was, hidden from view by a lush bank of hibiscus.
“…joyous occasion!” Suddenly raised, the voice was sharp, sarcastic and clear. That was followed by a distinct snort.
“You seem less than pleased, Desmond,” the second voice remarked in a mildly surprised tone. “Lucas is our cousin. Even if he were not family, I would have thought King Marcus’s joy would be reason enough for us to celebrate. After all, he had all but given his son up—”
“Now, don’t get me wrong,” the first speaker broke in hastily, his voice now smooth as oil. “I’m as thankful as anyone that Prince Lucas has turned up alive and…apparently none the worse for wear.” There was a pause, and then in a decidedly unctuous voice, “I’m thinking of you, Lorenzo.”
“What do you mean?” The question was curt, a little wary.
“Oh, come now—don’t pretend you don’t know that in the crown prince’s absence, King Marcus had been grooming you as his heir. Now that Lucas is back in the picture, your position in the royal court can hardly be the same.”
There was an ambiguous sound that could have been amusement or reproof. “It’s never been my ambition to govern a country, Desmond. I’m happy with the position I have, thank you.” And after a pause… “In any case, I really don’t think it’s my position you’re concerned about.”