An Arabian Marriage. Lynne Graham

‘But if I was to apply to have Ben made a ward of court…er…to protect him?’

      ‘Protect him?’ The solicitor frowned in visible surprise. ‘On what grounds? Have you cause to believe that Ben would be at some risk with his uncle?’

      ‘Well, not precisely, but…I didn’t like the man at all,’ Freddy proffered feelingly.

      ‘If necessary, social services would intervene to ensure the child’s well-being but, on the basis of what you’ve told me about the uncle, I don’t see why they should. I also don’t think you need to take quite so much responsibility onto your own shoulders,’ she was told.

      Disconcerted by that quiet rebuke, Freddy left his office, dogged by the depressing suspicion that she had been charging at foolish windmills and refusing to accept the inevitable. Why had it not occurred to her that Ben’s cultural heritage would weigh heavily in the balance of what was judged best for him? Such an obvious point, yet she had not even recognised it and there was no way on earth that she alone could meet that need.

      Arriving back at the apartment, she contacted the Consulate of Quamar to try to verify Jaspar al-Husayn’s identity. The man she spoke to was not helpful. However, the internet search she then did on Erica’s computer proved more fruitful for the royal family of Quamar had an official website. It contained a small respectful piece on the demise of the former Crown Prince, Adil, and a much lengthier bulletin on King Zafir’s precarious state of health. However, her own attention was immediately engaged by the picture of the present heir to the throne, Jaspar al-Husayn, looking impossibly handsome and grave and indisputably the same arrogant male who had visited her.

      Totally disheartened by that final confirmation, Freddy went to bed that night and made herself face facts. Jaspar al-Husayn evidently knew enough about her late cousin’s lifestyle to have deemed her an unfit parent and could she truly blame him for that? Had she been unfairly biased against him? After all, it had been a considerable shock when Ben’s uncle had come out of nowhere to demand him and a hard, hurting blow in terms of her own fond hopes of keeping Erica’s child, Freddy acknowledged with scrupulous honesty. But it would be very wrong of her to allow selfish personal feelings to blind her to what would be best for Ben.

      Ultimately, it seemed, Crown Prince Jaspar would gain custody of Ben and there was nothing she could do about that. However, if she continued, just in the short term, to let him believe that she was Ben’s mother, she could at least learn what his plans for Ben entailed and try to persuade him to make the break between herself and Ben a gentle one. Then she would have to come clean about only being Ben’s nanny and no doubt Crown Prince Jaspar would be absolutely furious with her on that score.

      Even as she choked back a sob at the prospect of being parted from Ben, Freddy recognised that it was Jaspar al-Husayn’s demand for total discretion that worried her the most. How could he take personal charge of an illegitimate child whose very existence would surely cause an enormous scandal in a conservative Arab country? It was not as though he could adopt Ben: as far as Freddy was aware, Muslim countries did not practise adoption.

      Recalling how suspicious the Crown Prince had been of her staid appearance on his first visit, Freddy decided that she had better make what effort she could to look the part she now felt forced to play for a little longer. So the following afternoon she went to get her hair done. Afterwards, she was rather stunned by the foaming mane of eye-catching blonde curls she seemed to have developed.

      Freddy had always worn her hair tied back. Indeed, she would have had it cut short had her late father not once remarked on how pretty her hair was. Well, long hair was all very well but not practical during working hours, and long thick curly hair was something else again unless one was talented with a blow-dryer, which Freddy was not.

      A couple of early and very wounding experiences with boys had confirmed her conviction that she was a born spinster just as Ruth had once confessed herself to be. In recent years, only amorous drunks or self-pitying types desperate for a sympathetic audience had demonstrated any interest in her. Why? Well, as Erica had said, ‘You’re a little plump and homely, Freddy.’

      Freddy loathed her body and loved to cover it. A mere glimpse of her too ample bosom and curvaceous behind when she was undressing was enough to depress her for the rest of the day. Developing far in advance of her schoolmates had been a severe embarrassment in primary school and hiding beneath capacious sweaters and T-shirts had become a necessity when she’d compared her own burgeoning shape to Erica’s reed-slender delicacy. No matter how hard she exercised, her full curves remained.

      After tucking Ben in, she hovered by his cot, gazing down into his peaceful and sleepy little face. Her throat thickened and she felt as if a giant hand were squeezing her heart and dared not even think of what her life would be like without him. She went for a quick shower and then wound herself into a pink towel. In the cloakroom, she stood at the vanity unit, which had marvellous lighting, and painstakingly applied eye-shadow and mascara. She rarely bothered to use cosmetics yet she knew every trick, lessons learned by watching Erica as both teenager and woman.

      The doorbell buzzed just as she was putting on lipstick. She smiled because she had ordered herself a pizza as a treat. Once a week, where was the harm? Taste buds watering, she went to answer the door. It didn’t matter that she was only wearing a towel as the take-away employed a woman to deliver in the area.

      But when Freddy opened the door, she got a surprise. Jaspar al-Husayn strode into the hall without awaiting an invitation.

      ‘I thought you were my pizza being delivered,’ Freddy mumbled, aghast at his early arrival and then shocked all over again by the sheer impact of him in the flesh.

      She encountered stunning eyes the colour of pure gold and was dazzled. If I had three wishes, it would be him…and him…and him, she thought dizzily, her heartbeat taking off like a jet plane. Electric tension held her fast and breathing was a challenge. The tall wrought-iron lamp cast shaded light that shimmered over the luxuriant black hair swept back from his brow, accentuated the smooth planes of his hard cheekbones, and lingered on the sculpted curve of his firm male lips.

      His lean, tightly muscled frame was sheathed in a dark grey business suit that was exquisitely tailored to his powerful physique. A study in shades of vibrant bronze, he was lethally attractive. And meeting those eyes, those extraordinary eyes that she could not look away from, she felt an enervating charge of tension pulse through her, tautening every tiny muscle. Yet her body was filling with a sensation of liquid, languorous warmth, making her outrageously aware of the heaviness of her breasts and the sudden embarrassing prominence of her nipples.

      ‘Pizza…’ Jaspar murmured huskily, rooted to the spot by the sight of her.

      Where the hell had his attention been on his previous visit? he asked himself with stark incredulity. Her eyes were the aqua colour of the sea, that curious blending of blue and jade and turquoise that changed according to the light. And she had the kind of hair mermaids had in fairy tales, a wild golden mane that fell round her shoulders in glorious, rippling abundance. But no legendary sea creature could have competed with the luscious swell of her creamy breasts above the towel or that glorious hourglass shape. Even as he hardened in hot-blooded male response to that sensual vision, Jaspar was shifting cool mental gears, knowing that he had severely underestimated the opposition and that was a rare error for him. He wanted to rip the towel off, propel her back against the wall and sink deep into her, lose himself in the kind of raw, urgent sex he hadn’t fantasised about since he was a teenager. And maybe he would, once he had got what he wanted.

      ‘P-pizza,’ Freddy stammered like a belated echo, dazed by the throbbing silence, the almost painful tension and heat inside her, the sheer terrifying emptiness of her own mind.

      ‘Are you planning to take the towel off?’ Jaspar enquired silkily. ‘Or are you just a tease?’

      Slow burning colour flushed her throat in a wave and climbed up into her cheeks as she tore her dilated gaze from his intent scrutiny and glanced down at herself in dismay, absorbing the fact that she truly was still hovering a few feet from him clad only in a towel. With a stifled moan of embarrassment, she blundered into sudden movement in the direction