The Santina Crown Collection. Кейт Хьюит
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wanted the man he could never be, the close and loving partner all women were programmed to want.
He turned away from the window to see her looking at him, her blue eyes wary, her arms folded defensively across her breasts. And suddenly he realised that this was the one area of his life where he had consistently shown a complete lack of courage. Was he so afraid of reliving the pain of his childhood that he wouldn’t take any risks for a chance of happiness? Couldn’t he at least try to be what she wanted?
‘Maybe you’re right,’ he said slowly. ‘I have been guilty of neglecting you. But if it’s any consolation, I thought I was doing it for the best.’
‘For the best for who? For you? Or for me?’ she shot back. ‘And meanwhile, you mooch around being all king-like and solitary, while I’ve been cooped up inside this wretched palace for weeks!’
‘I realise that.’ He drew a breath, unused to this newfound role of mediator in his own marriage. ‘Which is why I wondered if you’d like to go on a trip?’
‘That’s what I’m proposing, Hassan—a trip back home to England.’
‘No, not that.’ He shook his head. ‘My brother has a traditional Bedouin tent situated on the edge of the Serhetabat Desert. It’s not far from here, although it feels like a different world. We could go and stay there for a couple of nights.’ His black eyes narrowed. ‘It would give you a break. Give you a complete change of scenery. Wouldn’t you like that, Ella?’
Despite all that had happened between them, Ella felt tempted. Surely two nights in a Bedouin tent meant that they’d connect again—and wasn’t that something she still wanted even though her aching heart told her that she was crazy to want it? She wondered what his offer represented. Whether it was his way of saying that he understood her frustrations and wanted to make some amends. Or whether it was simply a sweetener to get her to do what he wanted and stay in Kashamak.
‘I don’t know,’ she prevaricated.
Her reluctance didn’t surprise him and neither did the fierce light which sparked from her blue eyes. Hassan realised that he admired her defiance and her determination to stand up to him. All the things which he’d once claimed not to like in a woman, he found amazingly attractive in Ella. And yet didn’t nature ensure that what attracted also repelled? Didn’t what drew him to her also drive him away, with a feeling which was the closest he’d known to fear?
‘It is a very beautiful place,’ he said steadily. ‘Which you really ought to see for yourself. The desert sky when it’s washed in moonlight is a sight not to be missed.’
‘And afterwards, Hassan? What then?’
He felt an aching dryness in his throat as he met the question in her eyes and knew he couldn’t offer her empty promises. He could take this first step and see where it led, but he wasn’t in the habit of dishing out false hope. ‘If you decide that you’re missing England so much, then of course you must go back. I won’t stop you, and I will support you and our child in whatever way I can.’
Her heart pounding, Ella stared at him. He was offering her freedom, and never had an offer seemed like such a poisoned chalice. ‘And you wouldn’t mind?’
He shrugged. ‘Naturally, it would be easier to keep you and the baby here,’ he said heavily. ‘But I don’t intend to force you to stay. Ultimately, it has to be your decision.’
Ella shook her head in frustration. With his burnished skin and magnificent body, he might look like every woman’s fantasy come to life, but inside he was frozen. Frozen. It was like dealing with some sort of robot, one who was conditioned to move but never to feel! He doesn’t care whether you go or stay! Nothing has changed in all the weeks you’ve been here.
The voice inside her head mocked her hesitation and yet something inside her made her want this trip. Some illogical little hope which refused to die, despite all the odds which were stacked up against it.
‘Then let’s go,’ she said as she stared into his black eyes. ‘Maybe seeing the desert sky washed with moonlight is exactly what I need.’
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
THEY left the next morning in a four-wheel drive which Hassan drove himself, the powerful car eating up the miles of straight, desert roads. Ella was determined to make the most of what might be her one and only desert trip, but her excitement was tempered by the niggling backache she’d developed during the night and which seemed to be preventing her from getting comfortable.
She felt edgy. Wondering why was she was going to the bother of putting herself through all this—the newlywed queen being shown the desert by her sheikh king—when it was nothing but a sham. Hassan had probably only offered to take her in order to placate her. To keep the little lady quiet. Restlessly, she wriggled in her seat.
Hassan shot her a glance as he saw her tug impatiently at the seat belt which was straining over her swollen belly. ‘Are you okay?’
‘I’m absolutely fine,’ she said. ‘So will you please keep your eyes off me and look at the road instead?’
She had been in an irritable mood all morning, he acknowledged, but he did as she asked, silence falling as they drove along until he saw a familiar marking on the horizon.
‘Look,’ he said. ‘Straight ahead and a little to the left. Can you see it?’
Ella screwed up her eyes to see a small blot on the stark landscape. As they grew closer, she could see that it was a tent, but nothing like as glamorous as she’d been expecting. Apart from its dense, black colour, it just seemed like a much bigger version of the tents you saw at music festivals.
‘Does it stand empty all the time?’ she asked.
‘This one does. Kamal uses it only infrequently. I sent some servants here earlier to make it habitable for us, but they will have returned to the palace by now.’
He stopped the car in a spray of sand and went round to the passenger door. The pure, clean air filled his lungs as he inhaled deeply and he looked up into the deep cobalt of the sky before helping his wife down. It had been a long time since he’d been in the desert for the purpose of pleasure, rather than war, and inevitably he felt the fizz of exhilaration. Stealing a glance at Ella’s face, he helped her down from the car. Maybe not quite pleasure, he amended wryly—at least, not for her. Endurance might be a more accurate description, judging by her expression.
‘Welcome,’ he said. ‘To a genuine Bedouin tent. For the weary traveller, the sight of one of these is like stumbling across an oasis.’
Ella dredged up a smile from somewhere. She was feeling very weary herself, and it was much hotter out here than she’d imagined. But she recognised that Hassan was trying hard to please her, so shouldn’t she just try to enjoy the experience? Fanning her hand across her face, she made her way over to the entrance of the tent, but as she pulled back the flap and stepped inside the surprisingly cool interior, she sucked in a breath of amazement.
Lit by intricate metal lamps, the canopied ceiling was hung with rich fabrics of scarlet and bronze, all shot with shimmering gold. Rose and turquoise wall hangings glimmered with a soft intensity, and on the woven rugs stood low sofas, cushions and bronze tables. The air was scented with something spicy and evocative and for a moment Ella’s niggling backache was forgotten.
‘Oh, wow,’ she said softly, because it was exactly like stepping into an illustration from the Arabian Nights. ‘It’s beautiful.’
But Hassan’s attention wasn’t on the decor. He was momentarily transfixed by the look on his wife’s face. By the parting of her rose-petal lips and the widening of her ice-blue eyes. She was beautiful, he thought suddenly. Her face bare of makeup and her body swollen with his child, he thought he’d never seen anyone look quite so lovely in his life. And she wants to leave you. She wants to leave you, and you have no one to blame but yourself.
‘Shall