Romancing The Crown: Leila and Gage. Kathleen Creighton
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she’s doing? Spoiled brat…she’s going to ruin me—ruin everything!
He let go of her abruptly, and felt her round and firm little bottom come to rest on his drawn-up knee.
“No,” he said hoarsely as, jerky and shell-shocked, he peeled her arms from around his neck and thrust her from him. The places where she’d touched him felt like fresh abrasions.
Little by little, in ungraceful adjustments, he managed to stand her on her own two feet, and himself as well. And all the while she said not a word, while her eyes gazed up at him, black as ink, glistening dangerously. Her lips, pink and soft and still glazed from his mouth, parted slowly. If she speaks, he thought…Or worse, if she cries…
He grasped at his anger like a drowning man reaching for a life preserver and spoke in a ragged and guttural voice. “I said no. Do you understand me?” He pulled himself away from her, raked a distraught hand through his hair and fought to get his breathing calmed down. “This isn’t going to happen, okay? Not tonight, not ever. I’m sorry—you have to go. Come on—out.”
Since she didn’t appear able or willing to move on her own, he took hold of her arm and gave it a tug. Just a small one. Then he watched in horror as her gown slipped down over one creamy-smooth shoulder. He let go of her arm in a hurry. “Ah, hell—Princess…” He closed his eyes and said it with a groan, almost pleading.
Then, through the pounding of his own pulses he heard a sharp, heartbroken sob…felt the rush and flurry of her passing…and at last, the click of an opening door.
Regret pierced his heart without warning, pierced it like an arrow and sent it plummeting into his belly. Belatedly he was aware of how young, how innocent Leila really was, and how grievously his rejection must have hurt her. He felt as if he’d kicked a puppy, or trampled a lovely blossom into the mud.
Hoping to explain, to soften it for her somehow, he lunged after her as she hurled herself through the doorway, out into the hallway—straight into the arms of her father, the sheik.
Sheik Ahmed Kamal had been feeling quite pleased with himself, and enormously satisfied with the way the weekend’s events had unfolded. The wedding ceremony had been as solemn and dignified as should be—in spite of the tendency on the part of young people nowadays to want to adopt certain deplorable Western customs instead of adhering faithfully to traditional ways. The groom’s banquet had been enjoyable for all in attendance, sumptuous and generous as was appropriate for a royal couple yet neither excessive nor ostentatious. The exhibition polo matches had been enjoyed by the many guests in attendance, and had resulted in gratifying wins for the Tamari team. Tonight’s state dinner and reception honoring the king and the crown prince of Montebello had been a grand success.
Yes…and its aftermath even more so. Sheik Ahmed was, in fact, just returning from a most productive private meeting with his Montebellan counterpart, after having personally accompanied the royal contingent to their quarters in the guest palace on the other side of the gardens. He was in an expansive mood; his belly was full of good food and his mind full of plans for Tamir’s future, plans that involved economic expansion in a number of areas near and dear to the sheik’s heart.
Now, accompanied by his cadre of loyal bodyguards, he was making his way toward his private chambers at the end of a long, empty passageway adorned with mosaics and murals and softly lit by recessed lamps. He was looking forward to discussing the weekend’s activities with Alima, his beloved wife, and afterward…a well-deserved rest.
And then—what was this? His youngest daughter, blinded by tears and with garments in disarray—garments, moreover, that would be appropriate only for a woman’s chambers, or her husband’s—his beloved child running headlong into his arms!
“Daughter, what is the meaning of this?” the sheik thundered, holding her at arm’s length while he made hurried and necessary adjustments to her costume. He spared no thought at all for his contingent of bodyguards; being both well-trained and loyal, they had already turned their backs and averted their eyes from the deplorable spectacle.
Besides, if the truth were known, at that moment Sheik Ahmed’s thoughts were in too much of a quandary to worry about what his bodyguards might or might not have witnessed. On the one hand, there was a father’s understandable wrath at finding one of his offspring in a place and circumstances she had no business being at such an hour. On the other hand…the fact was, the sheik had a secret softness in his heart for his youngest child, and seeing her face so pale and frightened, her eyes overflowing with tears, gazing up into his…
“Leila, explain yourself!” he bellowed, but his anger was more show than substance.
Her lips opened, but she did not speak. He felt her arm tremble in his grasp. About to repeat the command a bit more gently, he hesitated. His focus wavered. A flash of movement on the periphery of his vision caught his gaze and jerked it away from his daughter’s frozen face…and beyond. His eyes narrowed.
In the space of an instant his fatherly anger, mostly bombast, bluster and hot air, melted down and solidified into a rage as cold and deadly as any he’d ever known in his life.
Cade had never seen murder looking back at him from a man’s eyes before, but he knew beyond any doubt he was seeing it now.
Strangely, faced with his worst nightmare, he felt all fear leave him. His body grew cold and his mind quiet. His eyes never left Sheik Ahmed’s face as he waited for what would come.
Rotund and flushed with the effects of good food and good living, the Sheik was still an imposing presence. His snow-white hair and beard and magnificent hawk’s beak of a nose gave him an almost biblical majesty, and even though he didn’t speak loudly, his voice, welling from the depths of a barrel chest, sounded to Cade like the voice of doom.
“Young man, there was a time, not so long ago, when I could have had you executed on the spot. Explain yourself.”
A strangled cry from Leila tugged at Cade’s attention, but it was only a flicker, and only for an instant. All of his attention was focused on her father.
Explain himself? Under the circumstances it seemed to him a more than reasonable, even generous demand. Certainly more than he’d expected.
Explain himself. Well. Your Highness, I was just getting ready for bed, minding my own business, when your daughter, here, came knocking at my door, and the next thing I knew, she was throwing herself into my arms. Did I invite her? No sir, I did not. And…where did she get the idea to come to my chambers, Your Highness? You mean, did I entice her? Lead her on? Well…no sir, I sure didn’t…unless you count kissing her earlier this evening until she couldn’t stand up….
Cade sighed inwardly. To explain seemed cowardly to him, and heartless, somehow. His mouth, opened to release the words that were poised on the tip of his tongue, firmly closed.
He looked at Leila, standing so straight and still beside her father. Her face was pale but proud, even with eyes lowered and veiled by tear-clumped lashes. He cleared his throat and determinedly began. “Your Highness, this is not what you think. Your daughter—” He glanced at her again, and saw her eyes go wide and stare straight into his…saw her lips part and her cheeks flood with pink. She reminded him of a doe he’d seen once, caught in a hunter’s snare. And again he felt that awful sensation in his midsection, as if his heart had just been speared, and had landed with a thud in the bottom of his belly.
Every rational thought went out of his head. His mind was chaos, a whirlwind of remorse and shame. This was his fault. He’d humiliated this girl—and she was a girl. She was a princess and he’d humiliated her. She was almost certainly a virgin, and he’d kissed her frivolously, toyed with her emotions. And now, to make matters even worse, her humiliation was made public, since all at once the hallway around them seemed filled with people—bodyguards, servants, even Leila’s mother with her servants, come to see what all the commotion was about. The damage he’d done to Leila—and to his own agenda, of course—seemed irreparable.