The Sheikh's Pregnant Bride. Jessica Gilmore

she managed to take in a breath, only her whitened knuckles giving away her inner turmoil. She could do it. She’d done it before. She would have no choice but to pick herself up once again.

      But not without a fight. ‘I’ll talk to my lawyer.’

      ‘You do that,’ he said affably. ‘I can afford to fight this all the way. Can you say the same, Saskia? Daddy must be keeping you short if you’ve resorted to surrogacy and you’ve been off the party circuit for a while. Will any of your boyfriends pick up the tab?’

      The casual, contemptuous mention of her father was like a physical blow but she didn’t waver, keeping her voice low and cold. ‘Don’t you worry about me.’

      ‘You’ll be a single mother as well. That’s not the kind of accessory men look for in their dates.’

      Her gaze snapped up to meet his. There was no humour in his dark eyes, just a searing contempt. ‘What do you mean?’

      He shrugged. ‘The lawyer was quite clear. Under Dalmayan law there’s no way of proving that the child is Fayaz’s. I don’t have any obligation to take in a child of unknown origin.’

      ‘The agreement. His DNA...’ But she remembered the lawyer’s words as clearly as Idris did.

      ‘Inadmissible.’

      ‘Not in the UK.’

      ‘Saskia, we’re not in the UK.’

      ‘You’d turn your back on your cousin’s child?’

      ‘This country is going through enough right now. I wasn’t born here or brought up here. My first language is French, my surname is French. My mother ran away surrounded by the biggest scandal of the last century. That’s the legacy I inherit. I need to be seen as committed to Dalmaya. The last thing I need is a motherless baby who isn’t mine muddling up the succession. Now, I’m willing to marry you, legitimise the baby and make it my heir. But it’s all or nothing, Saskia. Pick wisely.’

      Go to hell.

      The words were so tempting but she reined them in while she desperately searched for a way out, a way to reach him. Her earlier thought ran through her brain like a track on repeat, reminding her that the Idris she had known before wasn’t cruel. Single-minded, yes. Definitely ambitious. But not cruel. Not until the last time she’d seen him.

      But that man, that man who had turned his back on her, he was capable of turning his back on the baby too, she was almost sure. Almost...it was a slim word to hang her hopes on to. Could she risk it?

      If he was in earnest then she wouldn’t just be returning to the UK penniless, she’d be returning with a baby. A baby would make finding a job, a place to live so very, very much harder...

      And of course there was Jack. She’d promised him a better life. Could she drag him back to an even more difficult childhood than the one he’d left? He’d never complained before but he’d never known another way before.

      ‘Saskia!’ A voice broke through her thoughts and she looked up. Was it that time already? She’d meant to keep Jack well away from Idris but it was too late. Her brother raced through the marble hallway, dropping his bag in the middle of the room as he kicked off his shoes. His au pair followed, picking up his discarded belongings as she went. How quickly he’d adjusted to the heat and the space and the staff. How could she take him back to an inadequately heated one-bedroom flat?

      He skidded to a halt by her chair. Ignoring Idris’s raised brow, she held out her arms for the cuddle her brother still greeted her with. ‘Jack, how was your day, tiger?’

      ‘Good. I scored three goals during playtime.’

      ‘Three goals, huh? Good to see you’re learning something in that fancy school of yours. Jack, I want you to meet someone. This is Idris. I used to...’ She faltered. ‘We knew each other when I was younger. He is Fayaz’s cousin.’

      Jack turned, a little shyly, but stuck out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

      Idris threw her a startled glance as he shook Jack’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you too, Jack. Are you over visiting Saskia?’ But his keen eyes were scanning Jack and Saskia knew he had noted the school uniform, the au pair, the houseboy standing to one side with a tray filled with milk and cookies. All the signs that Jack was a permanent member of the household.

      ‘No.’ Jack sounded surprised. ‘I live here.’

      ‘You live here?’ His brows had snapped together and he was looking at Jack assessingly.

      ‘Jack is my brother and I am his guardian,’ Saskia interjected smoothly. ‘Jack, go and have your milk and cookies in the kitchen, okay? Then I think Husain has offered to give you a swimming lesson.’

      ‘Really? Cool!’ And he was gone in a blur of elbows and calves.

      ‘He lives with you?’

      ‘Yes.’

      ‘Where’s his mother?’

      She shrugged. ‘I’m not quite sure. She was in Brazil last I heard but she doesn’t keep in contact.’

      ‘Your father?’

      ‘Dead. Look, Jack is none of your business so let’s...’

      If the news of her father’s death surprised him he hid it well. ‘If your brother lives with you then he is very much my business. When we are married...’

      ‘You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, have you? I am not marrying you, Idris. Not in two days’ time, not ever.’ But although her words and tone were defiant despair flowed through her. There was no happy ending here. Her dreams of returning to England in just a few months ready to restart her degree and with enough money to buy a small house somewhere within commuting distance of London had turned into a nightmare. Either she returned back to the same hardship Maya had rescued her from—only this time with a baby in tow—or she stayed and married Idris. There would be no money worries if she chose the latter. But there would be no hope of escape either.

      Idris reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card, which he handed to her. Numbly she took it, barely glancing at the plain black type on the crisp white background. ‘My number. If you change your mind call me tomorrow. If not then I will organise a plane to take you and your brother back to London as soon as possible. The choice is yours.’

      And then he was gone. Saskia put the card down, her hands trembling so much she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to make them stop. She wasn’t going to give in. Never.

      * * *

      Tucking Jack in wasn’t easy; she couldn’t bend over the bed any more. Instead Saskia had to perch on the side of the bed while she read to him. Saskia could forget her worries for a short while as she read the story of a boy wizard and his adventures out loud, doing all the voices as instructed.

      ‘At least I never had to sleep under the stairs,’ Jack said as she closed the book and laid it on the bedside table.

      ‘Not up to now,’ Saskia agreed.

      ‘When we go home, will you have a bedroom too?’ Jack had always thought it most unfair that he had had a room of his own while Saskia had slept on a sofa bed in the flat’s all-purpose living and dining room. But it had been an impossible conundrum. The temping agency she had worked for supplied offices around London’s West End. The wages were very good for a temp job but to get into work for just before nine, to pay as little as possible on transport and to ensure she could fit in with the childminder’s hours, Saskia had had to live as close to central London as she could afford. Which had meant compromising on space. The exorbitantly expensive, tiny new-build flat would have been bijou for one person; for a family of two, one of whom was an active growing boy, it was oppressively small. It had, however, been home but she had given up her rental agreement when she’d left England. Who knew where the two of them would end up?

      The three of them...unless Idris was