The Sheik & the Bride Who Said No. Susan Mallery
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family will come to my rescue. You must know they have substantial political power.”
He didn’t seem the least bit intimidated by the threat.
“What I know,” he said, “is that their ambitions have not changed. They still wish for a Snowden female to marry royalty.”
She couldn’t argue that. First her parents had pushed her at Murat, and now her own sister pushed Brittany.
“I’m not like them,” she said.
“How true.” He glanced at his watch. “Dinner is at seven. Please dress appropriately.”
She laughed. “And if I don’t want to have dinner with you?”
He raised one eyebrow. “The choice has never been yours, Daphne. When will you finally learn that? Besides, you do want to dine with me. You have many questions. I see them in your eyes.”
With that he turned and left.
“Annoying man,” she muttered when she was alone again. Worse, he was right. She had questions—lots of them. And a burning desire to deal with the unfinished business between them.
As for the man himself…time had changed him, but it had not erased her interest in the only man she had ever loved.
Chapter Three
D aphne stood in front of her open suitcase and stared down at the contents. While a part of her wanted to ignore Murat’s demand that she “dress appropriately” for their dinner, another part of her liked the idea of looking so fabulous that she would leave him speechless. It was a battle between principles and beauty and she already knew which would win.
After sorting through the contents of her luggage, she withdrew a simple sleeveless dress and carried it into the bathroom. She would let it hang in the steam while she showered. She plugged in the electric curlers she’d already unpacked, then pinned up her hair and stepped into the shower.
Fifteen minutes later she emerged all cleaned and buffed and smoothed. The bath towels provided were big enough to carpet an entire room. An array of cosmetics and skin-care products filled the cabinets by the huge mirror and vanity.
Everywhere she looked she saw marble, gold, carved wood or beveled glass. How many women had stood in front of this mirror and prepared to meet a member of the royal family? What kind of stories had these walls witnessed? How much laughter? How many tears? Under other circumstances she could enjoy her stay in this historical part of the palace.
“Who am I kidding?” she murmured as she unpinned her hair and brushed it out. “I’m enjoying it now.”
She’d always loved Bahania and the palace. Murat had been the problem.
He hadn’t been that way in the beginning. He’d been charming and intriguing and exactly the kind of man she’d always wanted to meet. As she reached for the first hot curler, she remembered that party she’d attended in Spain where they had first met.
Traveling through Europe the summer between her sophomore and junior year of college had meant doing her best to avoid all her parents’ upper-class and political friends. But in Barcelona, Daphne had finally caved to her mother’s insistence that she accept an invitation to a cocktail party for some ambassador or prime minister or something. She’d been bored and ready to leave after ten minutes. But then, on a stone balcony with a perfect view of the sunset, she’d met a man.
He’d been tall, handsome and he’d made her laugh when he’d confessed that he needed her help—that he was hiding from the far-too-amorous youngest daughter of their host.
“When she comes upstairs looking for me, I’ll hide under the table and you will send her away,” he said. “Will you do that for me?”
He stared at her with eyes as dark as midnight. At that second her stomach had flipped over, her cheeks had flushed and she would have followed him to the ends of the earth.
He’d spent the entire evening with her, escorting her to dinner and then dancing with her under the stars. They’d talked of books and movies, of childhood fantasies and grown-up dreams. And when he’d walked her back to her hotel and kissed her, she’d known that she was in danger of falling for him.
He hadn’t told her who he was until their third date. At first she’d been nervous—after all, even she had never met a prince—but then she realized that for once being a Snowden was a good thing. She’d been raised to be the wife of a president, or even a prince.
“Come back with me,” he’d pleaded when he had to return to Bahania. “Come see my country, meet my people. Let them discover how delightful you are, as I have.”
It wasn’t a declaration of love—she saw that now. But at twenty, it had been enough. She’d abandoned the rest of her tour and had flown with him to Bahania, where she’d stayed at the fabled Pink Palace and had fallen deeply in love with both Murat and every part of his world.
Daphne finished applying her makeup, then unwrapped the towel and stepped into her lingerie. Next she took out the curlers and carefully finger-combed her hair before bending over and spraying the underside. She flipped her hair back and applied more hairspray before finally stepping into her dress.
The silk skimmed over her body to fall just above her knees. She stepped into high-heeled sandals, then stared at her reflection.
Daphne knew she looked tired. No doubt her mother could find several items to criticize. But what would Murat think? How was the woman different from the girl? Ten years ago she’d loved him with a devotion that had bordered on mindlessness. The only thing that could have forced her to leave was the one thing that had—the realization that he didn’t love her back.
“Don’t go there,” she told herself as she turned away from the mirror and made her way out of the bathroom.
Maybe if she arrived at the main rooms early, she could see where the secret door was as the staff arrived with dinner. She had a feeling that Murat would not be letting her out of the harem anytime soon—certainly not for meals. Which meant meals would have to come to her.
But as she stepped into the large salon overlooking the gardens, she saw she was too late. A small cart with drinks stood in the center of the room, but even more interesting than that was the man waiting by the French doors.
She’d been thinking about him while getting ready, so seeing him now made her feel as if she’d stepped into an alternative universe—one where she could summon handsome princes at will.
He turned toward her and smiled.
“You are early,” he said.
“I’d hoped to catch the staff delivering dinner.”
One dark eyebrow rose. “I fail to see the excitement of watching them come in and out of the door.”
“You’re right. If they’re using the door, it’s not exciting at all. But if they were to use the secret passage…”
His smile widened. “Ah. You seek to escape. But it will not be so easy. You forget we have a tradition of holding beautiful women captive. If they were able to find their way from the palace, we would be thought of as fools.”
“Is that your way of saying you’ll make sure I don’t find the secret passage?”
He walked toward the drinks cart. “No. It is my way of saying that it is impossible to open the door from this side. Only someone outside the harem can work the latch.”
He held up a bottle of champagne and she nodded.
“I suppose that information shouldn’t surprise me,” she told him. “So there really is no escape?”
“Why would you want there to be?”
He popped the bottle expertly, then poured two glasses.
“I