The Sheikh Who Blackmailed Her. Susan Mallery

about my country—the formalities that a princess must—’

      Her jaw dropped. ‘You want me to learn which fork to use?’

      Her interruption brought an impatient frown to his face. ‘There are customs, ceremonies …’

      She rolled her eyes. ‘I suddenly feel like Eliza Doolittle.’

      His heavy-lidded eyes narrowed at her flippant insertion. ‘One of the first things you might like to learn is that it is not generally considered good manners to interrupt a member of the royal family. I will see you tomorrow.’

      ‘I can hardly wait.’

      The worrying part was that her sarcastic parting shot as he left the room had an element of truth to it.

      She had clearly lost her mind.

      CHAPTER EIGHT

      GABBY did not actually see Rafiq until almost the following afternoon.

      Her morning had been spent with someone called Sayed. She had no idea what his specific role was in the royal household—he had introduced himself simply as a member of the Prince’s personal staff—but it was clear from the level of respect given him by others that he was a man of some influence.

      Sayed had given her a tour of the palace—or at least as much as could be covered in a morning. It was impossible to tell from the man’s manner towards her what he had been told about her, if anything. He was obviously too polite to express anything as vulgar as curiosity.

      They had now reached the library—a room of such dazzling magnificence that even after all the splendour she had been exposed to that morning Gabby was stunned into awed silence. Then Rafiq finally appeared, and Gabby was struck dumb with awe for the second time.

      She watched as he walked up the wooden steps that led to the upper mezzanine level of the room. Her breath snagged in her throat.

      The man really was magnificent!

      Her gaze swept in an arc from his toes to his dark bare head. He was wearing what seemed to be the norm for him—riding breeches, boots, and a white flowing desert robe, above which his burnished skin glowed golden. She gave her head a tiny shake of denial, still unable to reconcile his vitality with what she knew of his illness.

      He nodded quite curtly to her, and then turned to Sayed.

      The two men spoke in their own tongue for several minutes, and Gabby was left to twiddle her thumbs before the older man bowed low to her and excused himself.

      Gabby turned to the tall Prince. ‘So what’s next?’ she asked arching a brow. ‘Cutlery lessons?’

      ‘I will assess the need for those at lunch.’

      Gabby’s wrathful glare met his steady, sardonic gaze, and her expression melted into a reluctant grin. ‘If you’re serious,’ she warned, ‘I will slurp my soup.’

      His dry response disconcerted her. ‘I sense you will be a charming dinner companion.’

      The humour in his eyes disconcerted her some more—and she struggled not to respond to his dry humour. ‘Dinner and lunch?’ she said, trying not to analyse her quickened heart-rate too closely. ‘I do feel honoured.’

      ‘I would have been here earlier, but a problem required by attention. I hope Sayed was an adequate deputy.’

      ‘He was a preferable deputy.’ He hadn’t shaken loose odd, uncomfortable feelings inside her. ‘Infinitely preferable,’ she added, dragging her eyes from his mouth. ‘How did you explain to him …?’

      He shook his head and looked baffled. ‘Explain?’

      Gabby laid a hand flat on her chest. ‘Me! How did you explain me being here?’

      There was no answering flicker of comprehension in his face as he placed his hand on the back of a leather chair. Gabby’s eyes were drawn to the dark red ring on his finger. He had lovely hands … strong and sensitive … and …

      ‘Why would I explain anything?’

      Gabby’s eyes lifted to his face. Her distracted study of his hands had brought a flush to her cheeks. It remained there as she studied his lean, patrician features.

      After a few seconds she laughed. ‘Sorry—silly question.’

      ‘Sayed tells me that you have asked a good many intelligent questions.’

      ‘He does?’ Gabby doused her smile and frowned, because she didn’t want to make it seem as if she was eager to please. ‘It was the novelty of receiving straight answers,’ she observed crankily.

      ‘I will try to be direct.’ He extended his arm in invitation. ‘Would you like to have lunch?’

      Gabby gave a take-it-or-leave-it shrug and turned in the direction he indicated. As she did so she came face to face with a portrait that had caught her attention when she had first walked into the library. This close, the subject’s beauty was even more startling.

      ‘Her eyes really do follow you,’ she murmured, studying the dark-haired beauty. Her skin seemed to glow and her eyes were as blue as the string of sapphires that hung around her slender throat. ‘Who is she—or was she?’

      ‘Was. Queen Sadira.’

      Gabby’s eyes left the painting as she tilted her head up to Rafiq. She found he was looking at her and not the portrait. ‘Your mother?’

      ‘No, she was my father’s first wife. She was the love of his life.’

      Gabby, who wasn’t sure she would have enjoyed having the love of her husband’s life looking down at her from such a prominent position, turned back to the portrait.

      ‘But he loved your mother too?’

      ‘No. I think he was fond of her, and he respected her, but a man only experiences that sort of … insanity once in his life.’

      Gabby turned her head and found Rafiq was standing closer. She tilted her head further back and felt her stomach dip in reaction to the masculine aura he generated.

      ‘He didn’t love her?’ His pragmatic observation shocked her.

      ‘You sound scandalised,’ he observed. ‘You do not need to be. Not on my mother’s behalf. She did not love my father—not in the romantic sense—but she respected him, and they shared a vision of what this country should be, and a strong sense of commitment and duty.’

      Things, Gabby thought, studying his dark face, they had passed on to one of their sons at least. A son who even when he was dying did not think about it in personal terms but in terms of how it would affect the future of his damned country … She was conscious of anger building inside her. No one had ever given him the choice!

      Why should Rafiq be expected to make such a sacrifice?

      ‘My parents’ marriage was a successful union.’ Annoyance flickered across Rafiq’s face as he heard the defensive note in his own voice. ‘When they married the country was in turmoil. My mother was instrumental in supporting my father when he undid the years of neglect following Sadira’s death.’

      ‘You think love is a form of insanity?’ She studied his profile, her glance lingering on the passionate curve of his mouth, and wondered if Rafiq had ever known that insanity.

      His eyes slid to the portrait. ‘When Sadira could not bear children my father was expected to put her aside. He refused, even though the lack of a clear heir to the throne was creating major divisions.’

      Gabby’s tender heart bled for the tragic Queen. ‘You think he should have put her aside?’

      He shrugged. ‘My father put his personal happiness ahead of his duty.’

      ‘Is that a yes or a no?’ It was a silly question. It was clear from his actions that Rafiq put his individual desires