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Nabil raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Excellent. A child would certainly make our plan easier to accomplish.”
This was getting too much. Kadar struck his fist on the table. “Nabil! This is ridiculous. I will not have the intimate details of my life become part of a political strategy!”
Nabil shook his head, sighed and looked at Kadar as if he was a stupid child. “My dear, Kadar. It already is.” He gripped the desk and leaned over to him, his gray beard and sharp eyes conveying his seriousness. “Youknowit is.”
And he did. Didn’t the entirety of his family history show that nothing wasn’t political for the royal family? But it didn’t mean he had to like it.
“So, if the first time doesn’t prove enough to produce a child,” Nabil continued, “you must make sure there are more occasions when an heir can be conceived.” The old man grinned. Kadar had seen that wolfish smile before. His vizier knew he was in control and could scent a win ahead. And it was a win that he, Kadar, also needed. Not for himself. But for his country.
He steepled his fingers on the desk and met the old man’s gaze directly. “I will consider the matter,” he said, knowing that his vizier described the best course of action open to him, as king, and the worst as a man.
“Seduction,” Nabil said, “has to be your focus for the foreseeable future. For the next two weeks, in fact. I doubt I can delay the British Consulate any longer than that. You say she doesn’t know who her family is yet, so she has no idea how important she is tothem, or tous. But shewillsoon and before she does, you need to make sure she will marry you. Who knowswhat could happen if her tribe discovers she’s here? They could rise up and pose a genuine threat to your reign. There’s no getting around it, Kadar. The future peace and prosperity of our country depend on you marrying this girl.”
“What about the arrangements my father made for me to marry Sheikha Soraiya?”
The vizier waved his hand dismissively. “They will be dissolved. Your brother will do for her instead. Her father has no love for the girl and won’t care so long as she marries one or the other of you. Sheikha Soraiya is not an obstacle.”
CHAPTER 8
“Ineed to see the vizier immediately,” said Sarah, trying to keep her anger suppressed but failing. She drew in a deep breath. She couldn’t muck this up. “Please,” she added as an afterthought. She listened to more excuses from the administrative office of the busy vizier, who apparently was the only man who could help her get what she needed—her passport—when the double doors behind them burst open and a wizened old man stepped forward. Although he was short and skinny, with a face ravaged by wrinkles, he walked with absolute authority, and his narrowed eyes were like bullets about to fire. She was left in no doubt as to his identity when the officers shrank away, leaving her standing alone, facing the king’s all-powerful vizier.
“Miss Albright,” he said in a surprisingly deep, cultured voice, with an impeccable English accent. Another Oxford-educated sheikh, she thought to herself. “What a pleasure to meet you.” He extended his hand to hers.
Her innate politeness saw her hand shoot out to greet his before she could stop it. He grasped it instantly, and she was taken aback by the way his skinny, muscular hand seemed to envelop hers and hold it for longer than was necessary. His eyesprobed her in the same controlling way, as if he could read her mind. She steeled herself, hoping in this instance that he could. It would save her time.
“And to meet you at last, Sheikh Nabil. It hasn’t been easy to gain access to you.”
“Ah,” he said with a smile. “My staff protects my time.” He leaned in to her. “And I apologize for this. But I do hope we can make amends for our mistakes.”
She narrowed her eyes. “We?”
He smiled again and ushered her toward the open double doors. “Please, come into the office and we can discuss whatever it is you want to discuss.”
She had no choice but to agree, despite her heart plummeting as she saw the regal coat of arms, and other ceremonial pieces which signaled this wasn’t, in fact, the office of the vizier, but the office of…
She turned the corner and saw him, standing tall, hands behind his back, in front of the window, his eyes locked onto her. Yes, she’d just walked into her second trap of the day. This wasn’t the office of the vizier, but of the king.
She lifted her chin to meet Kadar’s gaze and to convey to him in that one moment, in that one gaze, what she thought of him.
“Sarah,” he said. His voice washed over her like a caress, before sinking into her skin, warming her. She cleared her throat. She didn’t want to be warmed or caressed.
“Your Highness,” she said with mock solemnity.
“I trust your rooms are to your liking?”
“No. They were locked, and I donotappreciate being incarcerated when I have done nothing wrong. For one thing, I hardly thought that would be how you treated your guests, and for another I’m sure it’s against the law. Even the law of a country such as yours.” Petty dig, but it made her feel better.
“I apologize for that. It must have been an error in communication. I do not wish for you to be incarcerated. I want you to enjoy your stay here.”
“Ah, there is where we differ. I donotwish to stay here. I wish to leave immediately.”
“But,” interrupted the vizier after a small cough, “there is, I believe, the small matter of your passport?”
She turned to the vizier. “I lost it. That is why I need to visit the British Consul.”
“And I apologize for that. The perpetrators of the crime will be punished accordingly.”
“They were kids.”
