Sheikh's Mail-Order Bride. Marguerite Kaye

who as a major shareholder is therefore extremely well versed in such matters.’

      ‘Ah, you mean this man is a merchant of the East India Company?’

      ‘Yes. Mr Gilmour Edgbaston.’

      ‘A relative?’

      ‘Not as such. Mr Edgbaston and I are— We are— The fact of the matter is that I was on my way to India to marry Mr Edgbaston,’ Constance said faintly. ‘And now when Captain Cobb arrives he will have the sad task of informing my future husband that his bride has drowned at sea.’ She swallowed a bubble of hysterical laughter. ‘You can have no idea, Your Highness, how convenient that would be if it were true.’

      * * *

      Having absolutely no idea at all what to make of this last remark, Kadar studied the Englishwoman in some consternation. When he had first spotted it on the list of those who had perished, Lady Constance Montgomery’s name had conjured up an image of a very proper middle-aged matron. He could not have been more wrong. The rough peasant’s tunic she wore was far too big for her slim figure. Her hair, a deep glossy brown, tumbled down over her shoulders in wild waves. There was a roundness to her cheeks, a fullness to her lips quite at odds with the rather fierce brows. Her brown eyes were wide-spaced, fringed with thick lashes. Her gaze was direct and intelligent, a striking contrast to the vulnerability of her softer features and one which Kadar found unexpectedly—and most inappropriately—beguiling.

      ‘You cannot mean that you wish yourself dead,’ he said, wondering if the raw pink scar on her forehead had deranged her mind.

      She shook her head slowly. ‘No, no, of course I don’t mean that literally only—oh, I don’t suppose you will understand. Being a prince, I expect you are accustomed to arranging your life exactly as you wish it, but...’

      ‘You are mistaken,’ Kadar answered with some feeling. ‘I had a great deal more freedom when I was not a prince.’

      ‘Oh?’

      Her gaze was curious. He was oddly tempted to explain himself, which was of course ridiculous. Instead, he found himself contemplating Lady Constance’s feet. They looked vulnerable, her dainty little toes peeping out from her tunic. But he should not be looking at her toes, dainty or otherwise. ‘You were telling me why you wished yourself dead.’

      ‘I was telling you that I don’t truly wish that. Only that I wish— Oh, it sounds silly now. I wish I could have remained undiscovered. Missing presumed free, so to speak.’ She gave a wry little shrug. ‘My marriage was arranged by my parents. I’ve never met Mr Edgbaston, and know very little about him at all, save his name, age and circumstances. When I left England, I thought I had resigned myself to making the best of the situation but I’ve had the whole sea voyage to—to reconsider.’

      ‘And while you were—what did you call it?—undiscovered you could pretend that it would never happen, is that it?’

      Lady Constance nodded. ‘As I said, it was silly of me, but...’

      ‘But understandable,’ Kadar said, with feeling. ‘Bad enough that you are being forced into a marriage to a man you have never met, but to have to travel halfway across the world, to leave behind all your friends, all your family, your most intimate acquaintance a woman you met for the first time on the day you boarded the ship, it is outrageous.’

      ‘When you put it like that, I rather think I would be better off dead.’

      ‘I apologise, I did not mean to upset you. It is merely that I—’ Kadar broke off, shaking his head. ‘My words were quite out of turn,’ he said stiffly. ‘I have no right at all to comment on your personal situation.’

      None! And no right to express his own feelings on the matter. He was a prince. How many times must he remind himself of that fact? It did not matter what brought Lady Constance Montgomery here. He had more than enough troubles of his own without becoming embroiled in what amounted to a family matter, no matter how much sympathy he felt for this woman with her clear gaze and her wry smile, the wild curl of her hair trailing down her back over that peasant’s tunic, and her bare little toes. Now was not the time to be distracted by any of these completely irrelevant attributes, nor to delve further into the precise nature of her betrothal. The vast majority of marriages in the higher echelons of society were arranged, in both England and in Arabia. What he needed to do was to concentrate on resolving her sudden and frankly inconvenient reappearance.

      ‘The question now is,’ Kadar said, ‘to decide what is to be done for the best.’

      ‘There really is nothing to discuss,’ she replied flatly. ‘I too spoke out of turn. I have had my little idyll, and I rather enjoyed it, with no one knowing who I was or what I was or even knowing where I was. But it is over now. I am back from the dead, and must find a way of resuming my journey to India.’

      Must? He did not like the implications of that word, but it was not his place to consider them. She was no child; she looked to be at least twenty-four or twenty-five, and she clearly knew her own mind. ‘I am afraid you don’t quite grasp the implications of what I have told you, Lady Constance,’ Kadar said. ‘When Captain Cobb reaches Bombay, this man to whom you are betrothed will be informed of your death. The missive which I have sent to the Consul General in Cairo will at some point in the near future result in your parents also being informed of your demise. I am very sorry to be so blunt, but you did say...’

      ‘I did, I said I wanted the unvarnished truth.’ Lady Constance winced. ‘I did not expect it to be quite so brutal, but in essence it changes nothing, save that it makes it even more important that I complete my journey as soon as possible. I do not wish Mr Edgbaston to acquire another bride to take my place.’

      Kadar nodded slowly. ‘Very well, then I will have the matter investigated, but I should warn you that as things stand, the next ship heading east to Bombay is not expected in our port for at least two months.’

      ‘Two months!’ Lady Constance blanched. ‘Which means I would not arrive in Bombay for another three months. And in the meantime, Mr Edgbaston will continue under the illusion that I am dead.’

      ‘The alternative is to return to your family in England. Under the circumstances, the traumatic ordeal you have endured, no reasonable person could condemn you for wishing to do so.’

      ‘Unfortunately, my father is not a reasonable person, and would be more than likely to condemn me,’ she retorted. Her cheeks flamed. ‘I beg your pardon, I should not have said—but there can be no question of my going back to England. I should not have given voice to my doubts. I should not even have allowed them into my head. I beg you to ignore them. I am honour-bound to marry Mr Edgbaston, Your Highness. My father received, in advance, a rather substantial dowry in return for my—my promise to wed, you see.’ She summoned up a smile. ‘In effect, I am bought and paid for.’

      ‘You are not a piece of cargo, Lady Constance.’

      ‘Oh, but that is exactly what I am, Your Highness.’ Her fingers strayed to her wound. ‘Damaged goods at that, currently lost in transit.’

      There was just a trace of bitterness in her tone. She obviously knew perfectly well that she was being used and abused, but was determined not to be diminished by the fact, or to show her hurt. Was this how his affianced bride felt? No, he must not allow his mind to travel down that path. The contract had been agreed. As it had been for Lady Constance and her East India merchant.

      Kadar smiled faintly as the legal implications of this struck him. ‘You know, as things stand at present, your situation is a rather interesting conundrum. Since in your own words you have been—er—bought and paid for, from your father’s point of view, the contract has been fulfilled.’

      ‘Which is why I cannot return to England, and am duty-bound to marry Mr Edgbaston.’

      Which meant, presumably, that her father had already spent his ill-gotten gains. ‘On the contrary,’ Kadar said through slightly gritted teeth. ‘Mr Edgbaston cannot marry a woman who has drowned. According to the English