Линн Грэхем – The Sheikh Crowns His Virgin (страница 3)

‘So, what’s the connection with this woman?’

Omar shared his suspicions and Raj paled and experienced a spontaneous surge of rage at such a manipulative plot being played out in virtual secret behind the palace walls. ‘Surely that is not possible?’

‘It may not be. I must admit that the woman doesn’t look remotely as if she carries Marabanian blood. She’s got white-blonde hair...looks like something out of that fairy tale... The Sleeping Beauty,’ Omar revealed heavily.

Raj parted compressed lips. ‘Princess Azra of Bania was the daughter of a Danish explorer, who was blond,’ he murmured flatly. ‘I don’t know much about Azra’s elopement with her Greek tycoon, who was working in Maraban when the two countries joined, but I do know her flight with another man created a huge scandal. She was supposed to become my father’s fourth wife and instead, she ran off with Fotakis and married him.’

‘Didn’t know that...but then it’s not really my slice of history in the same way as it’s yours.’ Omar sighed heavily. ‘Just give me some diplomatic advice about what to do next because I’m at a standstill. This woman has obviously been kidnapped. Our doctor says she’s been drugged, so she’s unconscious and she arrived with no means of identification. But even if she is one of the al-Mishaal family’s next generation from that marriage all those years ago I still can’t believe that any young woman would agree to marry a man as old as my father—’

‘It would shock you what some Western women would be willing to do to become an Arabian princess with unlimited wealth at their disposal. Suggest that a crown could also be on offer and there would be many takers of that particular bargain,’ Raj breathed with cynical derision, his lean, darkly handsome features clenching hard as he reflected on his own experiences and the shattering betrayal he had endured...and worst of all, only after he had destroyed his standing with his father for ever. Even years after that youthful disillusionment, he was grimly aware of the pulling power of his status and wealth in the West. In his radius even seemingly intelligent women frothed and gushed like champagne, desperate to attract and bed him. Sadly for them, he didn’t find being chased, flattered or potentially seduced remotely attractive because he preferred to do his own hunting in that field. And, almost inevitably, that shattering act of infidelity following on from his mother’s suicide had underlined his growing conviction that women were not to be trusted.

‘Possibly not...shocked,’ Omar clarified as tactfully as he knew how because he too was probably thinking about that old and demeaning history that still scarred Raj’s pride. ‘But I can tell you that if that is my father’s game, very few of our people would like or accept such a marriage. My father is unpopular: he’s as old school as your father. I don’t know anyone who would be willing to accept him as the heir in place of you, no, not even if he has somehow contrived to bring back the ghost of the al-Mishaal royal family as a potential bride!’

Raj had been away from palace politics for a very long time but he had not forgotten the scheming games of one-upmanship involved. In the role of Hakem’s bride, Princess Azra’s granddaughter would be a priceless figurehead, Raj acknowledged grimly. Half the population of Maraban came from Banian roots and all had been seriously dissatisfied forty-odd years ago when the joining of the two states was not matched as had been promised by a marital alliance between Bania’s only Princess and Mara’s King. All those people had felt cheated by the absence of Banian blood in the royal family tree of Maraban. It would be a triumph for his uncle to marry Azra’s descendant and it definitely would increase his popularity, which was precisely why Raj’s father would never have allowed such a marriage to take place: King Tahir did not tolerate competition or, for that matter, a little brother he deemed to be getting too big for his boots. After such a publicity-grabbing stunt, Hakem could only have been hoping to be named the King’s heir and step into Raj’s former position as Crown Prince in his nephew’s stead.

Omar broke into Raj’s racing thoughts. ‘Tell me, what am I to do with her?’ he demanded, infuriated that an innocent woman had been kidnapped to prevent a marriage he believed to be wholly inappropriate. ‘How do I safely and decently rid myself of this appalling responsibility? ‘

And Raj told him with a succinctness that shook both of them before he powered back into his meeting to apologise and explain that a family crisis demanded his immediate attention. He contacted an investigation firm, who had done excellent work for him in the past, to request an immediate file on his uncle’s putative bride. He needed information and he needed it fast yet he was aware that he was struggling to concentrate.

Why?

For the first time in eight years, Raj would be returning to the country of his birth and, although anger was driving him at the prospect of being forced to deal with another unscrupulous and mercenary woman, on another much more basic level he was quietly exhilarated at the prospect of seeing his homeland again...

* * *

Zoe surfaced from an uneasy, woozy dream to find someone helping her to lift a glass of water to her lips. Her eyes refused to focus and her body felt limp but she knew she needed the bathroom and said so. Someone helped her rise and supported her—more than one someone, she registered dimly, because her limbs were too weak to carry her. She tried to scan her surroundings but the walls being weirdly bendy spooked her and momentarily she shut her eyes as she was helped back to bed. She had been drugged, taken somewhere, she registered fearfully, fighting without success to stay conscious and focus. She had to protect herself, had to protect herself! That self-saving litany rang through her brain like a wake-up call...but even that panic couldn’t prevent her from sliding down into oblivion again.

* * *

When Raj received the info on Zoe Mardas, he was forced to rapidly rearrange his expectations. Why on earth would such a woman be willing to marry a man almost as old as her grandfather? Clearly, financial greed would be a most unlikely motive for a woman with the billionaire Stamboulas Fotakis at her back. Fotakis was her grandfather and, by all accounts, an extremely protective relative. Other more stressful concerns then started dawning on Raj. The Greek tycoon would scarcely take the kidnapping of his granddaughter lying down. He would not allow it to be hushed up either. Yet, even more strangely, it did look as though Fotakis had been the prime mover and shaker behind the proposed marriage between Hakem and Zoe. What was Stam Fotakis getting out of it? Some lucrative business deal? Or a title for his granddaughter? Raj pondered those unknowns and decided to contact Fotakis direct...

* * *

Someone was brushing Zoe’s hair when she next woke up, someone murmuring softly in a foreign language. She opened her eyes and saw an older woman, who smiled down at her from her kneeling stance by her side while she brushed Zoe’s long mane of pale blonde hair with admiring care. She did not seem hostile or threatening in any way and Zoe forced a smile, her innate survival instincts kicking in. Until she knew what was happening she would be a good little prisoner, playing along until such time as her grandfather came to rescue her; because one thing she did know: Stamboulas Fotakis would not be long in putting in an appearance. He would create a huge fuss the instant he realised that Zoe had gone missing and no rock would be left unturned in his search for her, she reflected with a strong sense of relief.

Gently detaching her hair from the woman’s light hold, she sat up and the woman stood up and helpfully showed her straight to the bathroom. Even by that stage, Zoe was recognising that she had not been disorientated the night before when she had thought the walls surrounding her looked rather odd. Evidently, she was no longer at the villa in the palace complex, she was in a tent, a very large and very luxurious tent decorated with rich hangings and opulent seating but, when all was said and done, it was still a tent! And the connecting bathroom was also under canvas. Zoe felt hot and sweaty and looked longingly at the shower, but she didn’t want to risk the vulnerability of getting naked. She freshened up with cold water, dried her face and frowned down at the unfamiliar long white fine cotton shift she now wore in place of the skirt and top she had travelled in. That creepy nervous doctor and his sidekick, she thought in disgust. She would never trust a doctor again!

Why had she been taken from Prince Hakem’s villa? Although no one had ever told her that it was his villa, she had simply assumed it was. Presumably somebody didn’t want this marriage of his to take place, she reasoned reflectively. No problem, she thought ruefully, there had been no need to assault her with a syringe, send her to sleep and ship her out to a tent because she would quite happily go home again without any argument. Furthermore, she rather thought that would be her grandfather’s reaction as well because he had demanded very strong assurances from her bridegroom-to-be that she would be safe and secure in Maraban and he would be appalled at what had happened to her. Surely her becoming a princess to follow in the footsteps of her formerly royal grandmother, Princess Azra, would not still be so important to Stam Fotakis that he would expect his granddaughter to risk life and limb in the process?