A Question of Honour. Kate Walker

couldn’t go back on her word. The word she had given to her father and the Sheikh. However much she felt her insides twist in apprehension at the thought of the future, she had made her promise and she had to stick by it. If she didn’t, then someone else would come looking for her—after all, Karim had found her easily enough. And they would find Harry.

      Surely her memory had to be playing her false. Karim couldn’t have possibly been that devastating. That sexy. Could he?

      Well, it seemed she wasn’t due to have her memory jogged any time tonight at least, she told herself as she swung the little car in through the battered gates and pulled to a halt at the side of the small house. Wherever Karim was this evening, it wasn’t here at Hawthorn Cottage. There was no sign of the big hulk of his car, and all the lights were off inside the house. Obviously, he had decided to go somewhere else, probably somewhere where he could have much more comfort than her small home could provide.

      So was that flutter in her stomach one of relief or disappointment? She didn’t dare to pursue the question any further, afraid of what it might reveal, as she pulled on the brake and switched off the engine. Not before time, she acknowledged. The silence that fell as the rattle died away made it only too clear that what she had been hearing was the death throes of the elderly car. It certainly wasn’t going to take her very much further after tonight. The snow—heavy and drifting now, piling up against the walls of the cottage and blocking the narrow lane—had been the very last straw.

      It was almost the last straw for her too, as she got out of the car and straight into a snowdrift that was nearly up to her thighs. Cold and wet slid into her shoes, making her shudder and she grabbed her bag, dashing towards the door. It wasn’t locked, of course, she realised belatedly as she pushed it open. In her haste to be gone yesterday, to get away from Karim, she hadn’t thought about locking anything after her, just to get on the road.

      Another wild fall of snow whirled around her, so thick and heavy that she couldn’t see more than a few feet in front of her as she stumbled into the house, deeply grateful for the warmth that even the old-fashioned central heating had thrown out while she was away. A quick glance out of the window showed that the snow had already piled inches deep on top of her car.

      ‘Going nowhere else tonight,’ she muttered, shrugging out of her coat and hanging it on a hook on the wall.

      So did that mean that Karim wouldn’t be able to make it to the cottage either? Did she actually have an extra night’s grace?

      She needed a coffee and perhaps some food before she thought about her next move, she told herself, pulling open the door into the living room. But before that she’d get the fire going to keep the house warm all through the night. She didn’t know if she could rely on the heating and on several bitter nights she had actually slept downstairs on the settee with a coal fire glowing in the grate. It looked as if this was going to be one of those nights tonight.

      ‘Good evening, Clementina,’ a voice came to her from across the room. A dark, rich, male voice that she recognised in the space of a jolting, stunned heartbeat.

      ‘What?’

      Whirling in a panic, Clemmie almost flung herself towards the light switch, stabbing a finger at it in her haste to illuminate the room.

      She already knew what she would see but her thoughts still reeled in shock as she came face to face with the reality. It was one thing to realise that Karim was there, in the house, silent and still, waiting for her. Quite another to confront the reality and see him sitting there, tall and proud, impossibly big, impossibly dark, ominously dangerous, his polished jet eyes fixed on her face. He was wearing another pair of jeans and a grey cashmere sweater that hugged the honed lines of his powerful chest. Simple, casual clothing but of such high quality that they looked out of place against the shabby surroundings, the worn upholstery of the armchair that seemed barely large enough to contain the lean strong frame of the powerful man who looked every bit the King’s son that he was.

      Surprisingly, he had a sleek tablet computer in his hands, one that he touched briefly to switch it off before letting it drop down on to his knees.

      ‘Good evening, Clementina,’ he said again, turning on a smile that was barely there and then gone again, leaving an impression of threat, of danger, without a word having to be said. ‘I’m glad you made it back home.’

      Was that doubt in his voice? Deliberate provocation to imply that this was the last place he expected to see her?

      ‘I said that I would!’ Clemmie protested sharply. ‘And I left a note.’

      Karim nodded slowly, reaching out for a piece of paper that lay on the table beside his chair. Clemmie recognised the note she had left lying on the bed and she couldn’t suppress the faint shiver that skittered over her skin at the thought of what his mood must have been like when he had found it.

      ‘“I’ll be back tomorrow”,’ Karim read aloud, his accent making the words sound strangely alien. ‘“Promise”.’

      ‘I promised. And I kept my word.’

      ‘So you did.’

      And she’d surprised him there, Karim admitted. He’d been quite prepared for her to have taken off for good, turning her back on everything she had promised and leaving the situation in the most dangerous and difficult stage possible. He’d even organised contingency plans to move into action if that happened. After all, he’d had emergency plans in place before he’d even started out on the journey to England and all it would have taken would have been a couple of phone calls, and the backup team could have moved into action. He’d almost made those phone calls in the first moments after he’d lost patience with her so-called ‘packing’ and headed upstairs to the bedroom to bring her down, ready or not. Then he’d seen the open window, felt the icy blast of wintry air sneaking through the gaping space. He’d heard the sound of her car’s engine picking up speed, heading away from the cottage. But then he’d seen the note on the bed.

      ‘You didn’t think that I would?’

      ‘To be honest—no.’

      Putting aside the tablet, he uncoiled from the uncomfortable chair, stretching cramped muscles as he did so. The tracking device he’d left on her car had worked well. When he had known that she was heading home, he had settled down to wait, listening for the sound of her car coming up to the door. Then he’d stayed silent and still so as not to have her turning and running.

      ‘But then did you give me a reason to trust you?’

      ‘Um...no.’

      Her eyes dropped away from him as she spoke and she actually chewed at her lower lip, white teeth biting down hard on the soft pink flesh in a way that made him wince inwardly. He wanted to reach out and put his hand to her mouth, stopping the nervous gesture, but instinct held him back though his fingers twitched in anticipation of the contact. He could already feel the heat of her body, the scent of her skin reaching him and the sizzle of electricity down his nerves was like a brand on his flesh. He felt hungry, wanting in a way that was darkly carnal, just barely under control.

      ‘I did run out on you.’

      If he hadn’t already met her, if he didn’t know her voice, her scent and those stunning amber eyes, he might think that this was not Clementina but her double. An identical twin who had stepped in at the last minute to replace her wilder, less conventional sister. This woman was a cooler prospect altogether. Her long dark hair was caught into a shining tail that fell sleekly down her back. Her porcelain skin and golden eyes were free of any make-up—they didn’t need any—and the curling black lashes that framed her gaze were impossibly thick and lush without any cosmetic enhancement.

      This woman was a princess—a potential queen through and through. In spite of the fact that her clothing was once more on the far side of casual, worn denim jeans with holes at the knees and frayed hems, and an elderly dark pink jumper that had shrunk in the wash or was deliberately designed to give a disturbing glimpse of peachy skin on a tight stomach and narrow waist when she moved. She was tall and elegant. And hellishly beautiful.