A Question of Honour. Kate Walker

thought of him doing just that—coming upstairs, into her room, into her bedroom—made her heart lurch up into her throat, snatching her breath from her. But his growled response made her feel more relaxed.

      ‘Get on with it then.’

      ‘Oh, I will!’

      Leaving the note lying in the middle of the bed where he couldn’t possibly miss it, she edged towards the window, her bare feet silent on the floor, her bag on one arm. She didn’t dare risk opening the window any further in case it creaked, the wood scraping against wood.

      Sliding out backwards, her feet found the spaces in the trellis work that held the ivy tight against the wall with the ease of long-held memory. She prayed it would still hold her—they were both ten years older, herself and the criss-crossed wood. And she was definitely inches taller, pounds heavier. Her toes found the footholds, her hands knowing just where to grab to support herself on the way down. Holding her breath, she let the ivy take all her weight, inched her way down the wall, down to the ground at the back of the cottage, landing with a small sigh of relief as her feet touched the gravel.

      ‘So far so good...’

      Her battered red Mini was parked several metres away, its small size and well-worn paintwork totally overshadowed by the big black beast of a SUV that was drawn up just outside the front door. A car as sleek and powerful as the man himself, Clemmie told herself as she wrenched the driver’s door open, tossed the bags on to the back seat, flinging herself after them and pushing her key into the ignition almost before she was settled.

      The moment that the Mini’s engine roared into life was her last chance. Karim had to hear it and would come running so it was now or never. Not even bothering to fasten her seat belt—that could come later—she let off the brake, pushed her foot down on the accelerator and set the car off down the drive at breakneck speed.

      She thought she saw the flash of movement—the opening of the door—the appearance of a tall, dark, powerful figure in the empty space, but she didn’t take the time to be sure. She needed to focus on the road ahead.

      ‘I’m coming, Harry!’

      Pieces of gravel spurted up from under her car’s tyres as she headed for the lane and, after that, the motorway and freedom.

      At least for now.

      CHAPTER THREE

      THE SNOW THAT had been threatening from the moment she’d woken up was falling steadily by the time that Clemmie turned off the motorway and headed back to the village. Huge white flakes whirled in front of her windscreen and the elderly wipers had trouble pushing them aside so that she could see the road.

      ‘Oh, come on!’ she muttered out loud, concentrating fiercely on steering as carefully as possible. After just over nine months in England, and most of that spent in much warmer and easier weather conditions, she was unused to driving over icy roads, and the addition of the slippery coating of snow made the situation even more treacherous.

      Added to that, her elderly car was not exactly in the best state for difficult weather driving. Because she had basically run away from home when she had found out about Harry, not taking much money with her, and not wanting to use her bank cards in case someone found where she was staying, she had bought the cheapest, oldest car she could afford. A decision that had seemed wise at the time, but which she was really regretting now.

      Particularly when the engine started to splutter in a worrying way, and the rather worn tyres spun on the frozen surface. If only she had the sort of powerful, brand new four-wheel drive that had brought Karim to the cottage. That beast would have eaten up the miles between the small market town where Harry lived and the moorland village where she had made her temporary home with no trouble.

      ‘Karim.’

      Just the thought of him took her attention so that her concentration on her driving went along with it. For a couple of dangerous seconds, the car drifted towards the centre of the road, only coming back under control as she shook her head sharply, reminding herself of where she was.

      But the thought of coming face to face with Karim once again made her stomach nerves tighten and twist into painful knots.

      Karim Al Khalifa would be waiting for her when she got home. OK, perhaps he wouldn’t actually be in the house, but she knew that as soon as he realised she was back, he would be there on the doorstep once again, demanding that she come with him, travel with him back to Rhastaan.

      And to her wedding.

      Once again the wheel jerked under her convulsive grip, and the unpleasant groaning sound that came from the engine made her wince in distress.

      There was no avoiding it now. No hope of gaining any more time or hoping for a reprieve. Her twenty-third birthday was coming up fast, and Nabil had come of age last month. The promises their parents had made to each other would have to be kept. The marriage that had been arranged all those years before must now take place. Or the consequences were unthinkable.

      And Karim had been sent to make sure that she kept her word.

      Just for a moment the image of Nabil as she had last seen him floated behind her eyes. A gangling youth—not much more than a boy, with hooded eyes, a whisper of a moustache under his hooked nose and a sullen mouth, and her stomach clenched on a pang of nerves. But perhaps he had changed, grown up in the time since she had been at the court. He would be a year older after all.

      And it was really rather unfair to consider him in the same thought as Karim Al Khalifa. Karim, the dark and devastating. Karim, with the tall and muscular frame that dominated a room so effortlessly. With the sexy, deep-toned voice, the powerful yet somehow elegant hands, the polished jet eyes and the stunning, outrageously lush thick lashes that framed them.

      ‘What am I doing?’

      Clemmie’s hands tightened round the steering wheel until her knuckles showed white.

      Up ahead, on the horizon at the top of the hill, almost concealed by the wildly whirling snow, the outline of the cottage appeared etched against the heavy grey-whiteness of the sky. Home. Or it should have felt like home, like coming back to safety, warmth and comfort after the long and difficult journey.

      This little cottage had been the only sort of home she had ever known. Holidays with her English grandmother had given her a tiny taste of freedom from the rules and protocol of the court. Used to the burning heat of Balakhar and Rhastaan, she had loved the peace and quiet, the green fields that surrounded it, the sweeping view spread out from where it stood high on the hill. She had lived a much simpler, very different way of life with her grandmother, how different she hadn’t fully realised until she had seen the happy, relaxed childhood Harry was now enjoying with his adoptive parents. They might not have anything like the luxuries she had known but they had one great treasure—the love they shared. And the freedom she was determined to preserve for Harry at all costs.

      But the cottage no longer felt like home. Instead, it seemed as if she was heading foolishly into a trap, putting her head into the lion’s jaws. And the sleek, dark predator who had turned her home into an alien, hostile environment was Karim Al Khalifa.

      But the problem was that she wasn’t thinking of him as that predator. She wasn’t even remembering him as the cold-eyed, tight-jawed, arrogant representative of the Sheikh of Markhazad. The Crown Prince of Markhazad himself. All she could focus on right now was the man himself.

      And what a man.

      Shivering pulses of excitement sparked along her nerves at just the memory, the recollection of having him so close, the scent of his skin. He was not a man to be alone with in the confined space of her small cottage. He was pure temptation, and tempted was something she couldn’t afford to be—not now, not ever.

      Just for a second Clemmie considered putting the car into a turn and heading back the way she had come. Back to the house where she had just left Harry, so happy and secure, worn out after the excitement and enjoyment of his birthday party. Surely Arthur and Mary Clendon, Harry’s