Modern Romance Collection: May 2018 Books 5 - 8. Кейт Хьюит

you politically. Wasn’t it?’ She searched his face, her expression both guileless and compassionate. ‘I don’t know the details, of course.’

      ‘You don’t need to know them.’

      ‘But what will you do if you cannot marry Halina?’ Olivia’s eyes were round, her hair tousled, her lips parted. Even now she looked desirable, and Zayed wanted her all over again.

      He suppressed that painful stab of inconvenient desire. Was this her ploy, to get him to admit that he had to stay married to her? Because he wouldn’t do it. He’d make her no promises. He’d made far too many already. ‘I don’t know what I will do,’ Zayed said shortly. ‘I have to think.’ He looked away, a muscle working in his throat, a pain lodging in his chest like a cold, hard stone. This marriage had been essential. Without it...without it...

      He had to get out of this marriage. He had to make it right with Sultan Hassan. Anything else would be failure, doom for his kingship, his country. Far too much was at stake for him to worry about the finer feelings of one forgettable woman.

      Zayed rose from his seat while Olivia watched with wide eyes, apprehension visible in every taut line of her body. ‘Where are you going?’

      ‘Out,’ Zayed said brusquely. ‘I need to think.’

      ‘But what...what am I meant to do?’

      He raked her with one deliberately dismissive glance, determined not to care about this woman to even the smallest degree. He still suspected her. How could he not? To have fallen into bed with him... Maybe he was being judgemental, but he had to be. Too much was at stake for him to trust her an inch.

      ‘You can do what you like,’ he informed her. ‘Get some sleep, stay in the tent or wander around. I wouldn’t go far, though. Outside this camp there is nothing but barren desert for a hundred miles in any direction. You wouldn’t last long, Miss Taylor.’

      And, with that parting warning, he stalked out of the tent.

       CHAPTER FIVE

      OLIVIA CURLED UP on the bed, hugging her knees to her chest. She couldn’t even begin to comprehend everything that had happened and, far worse, what it might mean. Married. Married.

      She’d been an idiot for not realising, or at least not suspecting, something of what had been going on. It had been some kind of ceremony, she could see that now, and through her dazed confusion she’d managed to grasp snatches of words: commitment...responsibility...vow. She’d heard it, but she hadn’t put it all together to realise what was actually happening. How could she have? She hadn’t known her captor was Prince Zayed, or that he thought she was Princess Halina.

      But even that was the pinnacle of stupidity, Olivia thought wretchedly. Why would a stranger kidnap her, the governess, a mere servant? Of course he’d thought she was someone else. Someone important.

      And as for what had come afterward...as magical as it had been, she couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t wrap her mind around it...or what it might mean.

      Through the tent flap Olivia could see a sliver of dawn sky, a pearly pink lighting up the world. Her body ached with fatigue, and her mind too. She needed to sleep, like Zayed had suggested. And after that... Olivia couldn’t even begin to think what the future held.

      She stretched out on the bed, inhaling the already familiar musk of Zayed. The feather mattress still bore the indent of their entwined bodies. She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep. Her mind seethed with remembered sensations, and she felt herself tensing up despite her best efforts to relax. She was never going to get to sleep, yet she knew she needed the rest. Desperately.

      Somehow, despite the tumbled thoughts in her mind, the tension in her body, she fell into a restless doze that at some point turned into a deep, dreamless slumber. When she awoke, for a few seconds she couldn’t remember what had happened, and she lay there, blinking up at the tent ceiling, her mind fuzzy and blank. Then it came back with a sickening rush, and she closed her eyes as her mind relentlessly played a montage of memories from the night before: the moment Zayed had come through the window, dark and fearsome, yet with those gentle eyes; then the dizzying fall from the window; the endless hours on horseback...and then...

      Olivia let out a rush of breath. Even now she could feel Zayed’s mouth on hers, moving so persuasively, his hands caressing her, knowing exactly how to touch her and make her respond. And her own utter wantonness... She hadn’t even questioned herself, not really. She’d simply wanted...and taken. Or, rather, let herself be taken.

      It had to be mid-morning now; the tent was baking hot, bright sunlight filtering through the entrance flap. The skimpy robe Olivia had put on last night now stuck to her body. She rolled into a sitting position, groaning as her head spun, no doubt from the alcohol she wasn’t used to, as well as being dehydrated. From outside the tent she could hear the sounds of activity: men talking in shouts and laughter; a horse nickering. What, she wondered as she held her head in her hands, happened now?

      A few moments later Suma came in with a tray of food and drink. She smiled at Olivia, looking pleased.

      ‘You wear the robe,’ she said in more distinct Arabic. Zayed must have told her that Olivia had trouble understanding. What else had he said? How many people knew what had transpired in this tent? Olivia had a feeling it was just about everyone in the camp, and she blushed with the shame of it.

      ‘Yes, thank you,’ she answered in her own halting Arabic. Suma put the tray down on the table.

      ‘Come and eat,’ she instructed. ‘Drink.’

      ‘Thank you.’ Olivia realised she was both thirsty and hungry. She’d had little to eat and drink last night besides the arak, a few grapes and a bit of cheese. Remembering how Zayed had fed her a grape made her blush all over again. How could she have allowed him such liberties? Why hadn’t she been thinking more sensibly?

      ‘It was a good night,’ Suma said with satisfaction. She beamed at Olivia as Olivia sat down at the table and began to serve herself some of the traditional Arabic dishes. There was labneh yogurt with lemon juice, fava beans with mint and fresh cucumber, as well as dates flavoured with cardamom. It all looked delicious. There was also a little brass carafe of coffee that smelled wonderful.

      ‘A bride needs to eat,’ Suma added, smiling widely. She looked homely and happy, and even through her embarrassment Olivia’s heart went out to her. Did Suma not realise she wasn’t the Princess? That this marriage was a complete disaster? ‘Especially if there is a nunu.’

      For a second Olivia didn’t know what she meant; the phrase was colloquial and beyond her understanding. Then she saw Suma pat her stomach meaningfully and realisation rushed through Olivia. A baby. Especially if there was a baby. If Zayed had got her pregnant.

      She stared at Suma in ill-disguised horror, but the older woman merely took it as maidenly surprise and chortled happily before leaving the tent. Olivia stared down at the plate piled high with various dishes, her mouth dry, her appetite vanished. What if she was pregnant?

      It was perfectly possible, she realised with a sick feeling. Her cycle was regular and she was right in the middle of it. Even she in her virginal—or not—innocence knew that this was a peak time for fertility. She could very well be pregnant with Prince Zayed’s baby.

      Recrimination tore through her, worse than before. She felt like screaming, stomping her feet or, worse, sobbing. How could she have been such a besotted fool? Twenty-two years of living quietly, staying safe, and she’d risked it all in a single night with a stranger. It was as if, last night, she’d become someone else entirely.

      The trouble was, she couldn’t stay as that person. She wasn’t that person. And now she was back to being plain Olivia Taylor, except she was married to a prince and she very well might be expecting his child. She would have laughed at the sheer lunacy of it, if there hadn’t been a lump the size