Passion. LYNNE GRAHAM
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all right to loathe Rashad when he was in front of her and enjoying full health, when she was assailed by a vision of him lying somewhere hurt and unattended she felt sick and wanted to rush to his aid. For that reason, she was on the very brink of disobeying orders and leaving the room when the door opened.
‘Where on earth have you been all this time?’ she shot at Rashad in instant fury at his reappearance, when it became immediately obvious that her fears had been nonsensical: not a strand of his luxuriant black hair was out of place and his superb tailored suit was immaculate. ‘I’ve been frantic with worry!’
‘Why?’ Rashad asked, ebony brows pleating.
‘The gunfire … your instructions … all those jets and helicopters flying in and round about!’ Tilda slung at him shakily.
‘There is no cause for alarm. Natural caution urged me to ask you to stay here. But the outbreak of excitement was a celebration and the result of a misapprehension.’ Rashad shrugged a broad shoulder with something less than his usual cool. ‘The misunderstanding is entirely my fault. The whole country thinks that I have brought you back to Bakhar as my wife.’
Tilda was so taken aback by that information that she simply stared at him, noting that his lean, strong face was unusually pale and taut. ‘For goodness sake, why would anyone think something like that?’
‘Circumstances have conspired to make it the only acceptable interpretation of events,’ Rashad pronounced with great care. ‘I acknowledge that I did wrong in bringing you here. No woman has ever travelled home to Bakhar with me before. The intervention of the press in London and their awareness of our previous relationship only added strength to the rumour that you are, at the very least, my intended bride.’
Tilda blinked. ‘So what now?’
Rashad frowned. ‘According to my father we are already married in the eyes of the law, because I referred to you as my woman in front of witnesses.’
Puzzled by the first part of that explanation, Tilda easily picked up on the second part and slung him an angry look of disdain. ‘You called me that? When?’
‘Before we alighted from the jet. But I can put my hand on my heart and swear on my honour that I intended no insult to you.’
‘Of course you did—you described me as your woman as though I was a possession! It’s medieval!’
‘You feel as though you belong with me. I meant that you were part of my life,’ Rashad growled. ‘Now you are in truth a part.’
‘In the eyes of the law … we’re already married?’ Tilda parroted in sudden shock as his original meaning finally sank in on her. ‘How can that be?’
‘Many years ago, my grandfather abducted my grandmother and created a huge scandal. He always acted first and thought afterwards. To smooth matters over it was considered necessary to pass a law that allowed him to claim that she was his wife from the moment he said she was in the presence of witnesses. That law relates only to the royal family and it has not been repealed.’
‘But such behaviour and laws of that sort are still downright medieval! With relations like that, I’m amazed that you had the nerve to criticise my family.’ Tilda shook her head in a daze, her thoughts tumbling about in turmoil while she attempted to reason with clarity. ‘Well, the obvious solution to all this ridiculous confusion is that you just tell the truth. You are, after all, very fond of telling me that lies are always unacceptable to you.’
As that proposal was made, a tiny muscle pulled taut at the corner of Rashad’s unsmiling mouth. ‘The truth would now appear to be that, according to Bakhari law, we are legally married.’
‘If that is so, I really do think that it would serve you right,’ Tilda admitted helplessly. ‘But, as I wouldn’t stay married to you even if you had a gun to my head, the divorce can’t come quick enough!’
‘This is a serious matter.’
A bitter edge had already entered Tilda’s thoughts and coloured them. She was remembering how madly in love she had been five years earlier. In those days she would’ve made any sacrifice to marry her desert prince. Were they really and truly married? No doubt that fact explained why he was as grave as though he were attending a funeral. She was obviously the very last woman alive that he would have willingly chosen to be his wife.
‘I expect it is serious. But if I’m married to you, then I must have some rights.’ Her beautiful eyes concealed by her lashes, she turned her head away from him, determined not to reveal that she was upset. ‘Or have you got another list of threats to hold over me to ensure that I do exactly as you want me to do?’
That candid question hit Rashad like a bucket of icy water on hot skin. Until she had come back into his life, he had never threatened a woman, nor ever dreamt that he might do so. Now he was confronted head-on with his harsh treatment of Tilda. Once, she had betrayed his trust and inflicted a wound for which he had never forgiven her. But that, Rashad acknowledged heavily, was no defence for a misuse of power to mete out punishment. His father’s talk of marriage and the photo of Tilda with Jerrold had reawakened Rashad’s bitter anger and encouraged him to pursue what he believed to be justice. But from the instant he had seen Tilda again, far less acceptable motives and desires had powered him. No longer could he marvel at the disastrous consequences that he had unleashed on both of them.
‘No. There will be no more threats.’ His lean and darkly handsome face sober, Rashad surveyed her with dark, unreadable eyes. ‘I should never have used coercive tactics.’
Surprised by that total turnaround, Tilda lifted her pale blond head. ‘You’re admitting that?’
‘I can do nothing less when I look at the situation I have created. I was in the wrong and for that I apologise.’ Voicing those words of sincere regret cost Rashad a great deal of pride for he had never had to apologise before. ‘I harboured anger from the past and it blinded me to what was right.’
Tilda could only think of her own anger, nourished and kept alive by hurt. She thought of the fact that she had never let any man so close to her again. She thought of how she had felt just minutes earlier when she had been afraid that he might have been injured. A giant tide of fear engulfed her at that point as she appreciated that her feelings for Rashad ran much deeper than was safe or sensible.
‘I will never threaten you again,’ Rashad promised her levelly. ‘Instead, I am asking you for your co-operation.’
‘Are we really and truly married?’ Tilda prompted uncertainly.
‘Yes,’ Rashad confirmed.
‘But I expect you’ll do whatever it takes to get us out of the marriage as fast as you possibly can,’ Tilda remarked in a tone that was a tad brittle.
Rashad studied the wall to one side of her with frowning attention. Divorce would entail her departure from Bakhar. He discovered that that prospect had no appeal for him whatsoever. Surely, he reasoned, a hasty marriage and an even hastier divorce would only compound the errors he had made? A marriage was a marriage, no matter how it had been entered into. In the same way a wife was a wife, deserving of his support and respect. He should at least try to make a success of their alliance, he decided with sudden purpose. He would have to learn to put all memory of her past behind him.
‘A quick divorce is not an option I would wish to choose.’ Rashad rested dark golden eyes, gleaming with renewed energy, back on her. ‘There is no reason why we should not attempt to make the best of our predicament.’
‘Meaning?’ Suddenly maddeningly aware of the smouldering appraisal resting on the swollen contours of her pink mouth, Tilda tensed. Without warning she found that she was reliving the melting pleasure of his hungry mouth roaming over her breasts and the pulsing ache at the secret heart of her body. She sucked in a fractured breath, embarrassed by her susceptibility.
Taut with arousal, Rashad made a valiant attempt to overcome the barrier of his fierce pride and build a bridge that might take