The Sheikh's Pregnant Bride Page 4

  Her hands curled into tight fists. How could he be so dismissive? Act as if they hadn’t once been, if not in love, so very close to falling off that cliff? Maybe it had just been her, so besotted she hadn’t noticed how little he felt for her. But for all his faults, for all his arrogance, she had never known Idris Delacour be deliberately cruel. Even that last time...she hadn’t actually managed to tell him about her father’s death when he sent her away.

  Surely Maya and Fayaz had filled him in on what had happened to her, told him about her father? She’d assumed so. But if he hadn’t known she was their choice of surrogate, hadn’t known she was in Dalmaya, then maybe not. Thinking about it, they had always been very careful not to discuss Idris with her beyond mentioning that he had achieved his dream of renovating the chateau and the vineyards. Her pulse began to race as she took in his politely contemptuous expression. He couldn’t know, not about her father’s death, not about Jack. After all, she hadn’t even known of Jack’s existence when they were together.

  She lifted her chin. ‘This and that.’ If he didn’t know about Jack then she wasn’t going to enlighten him. The less he knew about her life, her circumstances, the better. The less ammunition he would have.

  ‘No husband? Fiancé? Significant other? Career? I thought not. I’m offering you it all on a plate, Saskia, a family, a home, a position that comes with all the luxuries and money a girl like you needs to get by.’

  She wouldn’t cry. Wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of even a chin wobble. ‘You know nothing about a girl like me.’

  ‘Non? Well, I suppose I have the rest of my life to find out.’

  ‘The answer is still no. You can sue me, Idris. See what people think about the King of Dalmaya suing a woman into becoming his wife. I can take that kind of humiliation, can you?’

  His eyes were hard and flat. That shot had gone home. He’d always been abominably proud. ‘I don’t need to sue you, Saskia. If you don’t marry me and legitimise the baby then the lawyer agrees you have broken the in extremis clause and the first three months agreement. We won’t owe you a red cent. You’ll leave here not a penny the richer for your year and a bit’s hard work.’ His eyes flicked contemptuously to the side table laden with little pastries and fruits.

  The world stilled and stopped. No money? No money meant no house, no university, no way of clawing herself out of the exhausting cycle she had found herself repeating over and over for the last seven years. No money meant a return to long hours and mind-numbing work, to low wages and choosing between food and heating. To damp flats. No money meant no security for Jack... She couldn’t breathe, the lump in her throat outsized only by the heavy stone in her chest. She couldn’t do it all again. She couldn’t...

  Somehow, she had no idea how, she managed to take in a breath, only her whitened knuckles giving away her inner turmoil. She could do it. She’d done it before. She would have no choice but to pick herself up once again.

  But not without a fight. ‘I’ll talk to my lawyer.’

  ‘You do that,’ he said affably. ‘I can afford to fight this all the way. Can you say the same, Saskia? Daddy must be keeping you short if you’ve resorted to surrogacy and you’ve been off the party circuit for a while. Will any of your boyfriends pick up the tab?’

  The casual, contemptuous mention of her father was like a physical blow but she didn’t waver, keeping her voice low and cold. ‘Don’t you worry about me.’

  ‘You’ll be a single mother as well. That’s not the kind of accessory men look for in their dates.’

  Her gaze snapped up to meet his. There was no humour in his dark eyes, just a searing contempt. ‘What do you mean?’

  He shrugged. ‘The lawyer was quite clear. Under Dalmayan law there’s no way of proving that the child is Fayaz’s. I don’t have any obligation to take in a child of unknown origin.’

  ‘The agreement. His DNA...’ But she remembered the lawyer’s words as clearly as Idris did.

  ‘Inadmissible.’

  ‘Not in the UK.’

  ‘Saskia, we’re not in the UK.’

  ‘You’d turn your back on your cousin’s child?’

  ‘This country is going through enough right now. I wasn’t born here or brought up here. My first language is French, my surname is French. My mother ran away surrounded by the biggest scandal of the last century. That’s the legacy I inherit. I need to be seen as committed to Dalmaya. The last thing I need is a motherless baby who isn’t mine muddling up the succession. Now, I’m willing to marry you, legitimise the baby and make it my heir. But it’s all or nothing, Saskia. Pick wisely.’

  Go to hell.

  The words were so tempting but she reined them in while she desperately searched for a way out, a way to reach him. Her earlier thought ran through her brain like a track on repeat, reminding her that the Idris she had known before wasn’t cruel. Single-minded, yes. Definitely ambitious. But not cruel. Not until the last time she’d seen him.

  But that man, that man who had turned his back on her, he was capable of turning his back on the baby too, she was almost sure. Almost...it was a slim word to hang her hopes on to. Could she risk it?

  If he was in earnest then she wouldn’t just be returning to the UK penniless, she’d be returning with a baby. A baby would make finding a job, a place to live so very, very much harder...

  And of course there was Jack. She’d promised him a better life. Could she drag him back to an even more difficult childhood than the one he’d left? He’d never complained before but he’d never known another way before.

  ‘Saskia!’ A voice broke through her thoughts and she looked up. Was it that time already? She’d meant to keep Jack well away from Idris but it was too late. Her brother raced through the marble hallway, dropping his bag in the middle of the room as he kicked off his shoes. His au pair followed, picking up his discarded belongings as she went. How quickly he’d adjusted to the heat and the space and the staff. How could she take him back to an inadequately heated one-bedroom flat?

  He skidded to a halt by her chair. Ignoring Idris’s raised brow, she held out her arms for the cuddle her brother still greeted her with. ‘Jack, how was your day, tiger?’

  ‘Good. I scored three goals during playtime.’

  ‘Three goals, huh? Good to see you’re learning something in that fancy school of yours. Jack, I want you to meet someone. This is Idris. I used to...’ She faltered. ‘We knew each other when I was younger. He is Fayaz’s cousin.’

  Jack turned, a little shyly, but stuck out his hand. ‘Pleased to meet you.’

  Idris threw her a startled glance as he shook Jack’s hand. ‘Pleased to meet you too, Jack. Are you over visiting Saskia?’ But his keen eyes were scanning Jack and Saskia knew he had noted the school uniform, the au pair, the houseboy standing to one side with a tray filled with milk and cookies. All the signs that Jack was a permanent member of the household.

  ‘No.’ Jack sounded surprised. ‘I live here.’

  ‘You live here?’ His brows had snapped together and he was looking at Jack assessingly.

  ‘Jack is my brother and I am his guardian,’ Saskia interjected smoothly. ‘Jack, go and have your milk and cookies in the kitchen, okay? Then I think Husain has offered to give you a swimming lesson.’

  ‘Really? Cool!’ And he was gone in a blur of elbows and calves.

  ‘He lives with you?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Where’s his mother?’

  She shrugged. ‘I’m not quite sure. She was in Brazil last I heard but she doesn’t keep in contact.’

  ‘Your father?’

  ‘Dead. Look, Jack is none of your business so let’s...’

  If the news of her father’s death surprised him he hid it well. ‘If your brother lives with you then he is very much my business. When we are marrie
d...’

  ‘You haven’t listened to a word I’ve said, have you? I am not marrying you, Idris. Not in two days’ time, not ever.’ But although her words and tone were defiant despair flowed through her. There was no happy ending here. Her dreams of returning to England in just a few months ready to restart her degree and with enough money to buy a small house somewhere within commuting distance of London had turned into a nightmare. Either she returned back to the same hardship Maya had rescued her from—only this time with a baby in tow—or she stayed and married Idris. There would be no money worries if she chose the latter. But there would be no hope of escape either.

  Idris reached into his pocket and pulled out a small card, which he handed to her. Numbly she took it, barely glancing at the plain black type on the crisp white background. ‘My number. If you change your mind call me tomorrow. If not then I will organise a plane to take you and your brother back to London as soon as possible. The choice is yours.’

  And then he was gone. Saskia put the card down, her hands trembling so much she wasn’t sure she would ever be able to make them stop. She wasn’t going to give in. Never.

  * * *

  Tucking Jack in wasn’t easy; she couldn’t bend over the bed any more. Instead Saskia had to perch on the side of the bed while she read to him. Saskia could forget her worries for a short while as she read the story of a boy wizard and his adventures out loud, doing all the voices as instructed.

  ‘At least I never had to sleep under the stairs,’ Jack said as she closed the book and laid it on the bedside table.

  ‘Not up to now,’ Saskia agreed.

  ‘When we go home, will you have a bedroom too?’ Jack had always thought it most unfair that he had had a room of his own while Saskia had slept on a sofa bed in the flat’s all-purpose living and dining room. But it had been an impossible conundrum. The temping agency she had worked for supplied offices around London’s West End. The wages were very good for a temp job but to get into work for just before nine, to pay as little as possible on transport and to ensure she could fit in with the childminder’s hours, Saskia had had to live as close to central London as she could afford. Which had meant compromising on space. The exorbitantly expensive, tiny new-build flat would have been bijou for one person; for a family of two, one of whom was an active growing boy, it was oppressively small. It had, however, been home but she had given up her rental agreement when she’d left England. Who knew where the two of them would end up?

  The three of them...unless Idris was bluffing. But the coldness in his eyes had given her no hope of that.

  Thank goodness Maya had insisted that she be paid an allowance—and thank goodness there had never been anything to spend it on. With some careful budgeting—and she was an expert at that—she could keep herself, Jack and the baby for six months. Where she was going to keep them was a whole other matter. London was out of the question financially. But London was all she knew, except for nine months spent in Oxford a lifetime ago.

  ‘A bedroom of my own? I hope so.’

  ‘And will we have a garden? With a footie goal and a basketball hoop and space for me to ride a bike?’ He was drowsy now. This was the way he always fell asleep, talking about all the things they would have once their stay in Dalmaya was over. He wasn’t greedy, he didn’t want video games and gadgets, just space to run around and play. Saskia brushed the hair back from his forehead, her heart aching. He deserved to be able to play.

  ‘That’s the plan.’

  ‘I wish we could have a pool like we have here. Dan’s dad said he would teach us to ride and to sail, but I won’t be here much longer.’ Dan was his best friend and Jack had spent a lot of time at his house, although due to the secrecy surrounding the surrogacy he had never invited any of his friends to the villa. Another thing she had promised him: a home open to anyone he wanted. ‘Can I learn to ride horses and to sail when we get home?’

  ‘I’m not sure about that. It depends where we end up.’

  ‘I’ll miss the sun. And the sea. And the sand. I like it here. I wish we could stay...’ And he was gone. Saskia didn’t move, continuing to stroke his hair, watching his face, mobile even in sleep.

  Funny to remember how resentful she’d been when she’d realised there was no one else to care for him, that along with the shame and the debts and the mess her father had bequeathed her, there was a toddler who needed clothing and feeding and taking care of. If she hadn’t taken him in her life would have taken a very different turn; she would probably have taken her degree, got a job. She wouldn’t have lived the gilded life she had enjoyed before her father’s suicide; those circles had closed to her as soon as his embezzlement had been discovered. But she would have found something approximating her original plans of a career in the media, a shared flat in Notting Hill, parties at the weekend, skiing in winter and beaches in summer.

  Instead she had spent her days filing, answering phones, typing up reports, eating her packed lunch on a bench in a city square, shopping in sales and charity shops. No holidays anywhere, weekends spent exploring London’s abundance of free museums and city parks. She knew every exhibit in the Natural History Museum, every room, every sign.

  She couldn’t remember when resentment had turned to acceptance and then to love. Couldn’t remember the day she’d looked at Jack and seen not a burden, but a gift. The day she had started to be grateful for what she had, not what she had lost.

  Hauling herself to her feet, Saskia adjusted Jack’s covers. He looked so well; no longer pale and over the winter he’d escaped the hacking cough he usually caught in the damp London cold. The dry desert air agreed with him; he’d grown inches, filled out a little, and he loved the international school he now attended. He was going to find it hard to adjust going back, especially when the promised new home didn’t materialise and she was preoccupied with a newborn baby.

  Saskia went straight to her room, opening the sliding doors and stepping out onto her terrace. The moon was bright and round, its reflection on the sea offering her a path to who knew where. If only she could get into one of the boats moored on the wooden pier and follow its enticing, silvery road. She leant on the balcony and breathed in, enjoying the faint sea breeze that cooled the warm, desert night.

  She had agreed to become a surrogate to give Jack a better life. But, damn him, Idris was right. As soon as the baby had been implanted in her womb she had taken on an obligation to put him or her first as long as they were dependent on her. She had worked so hard not to get too attached to the baby, to remember she wasn’t its mother, merely its caretaker, but of course she loved it. It was half her. She felt it move, hiccup, knew when it was sleeping and when it was restless.

  Didn’t the baby deserve a better life too? The life it was supposed to have? It was supposed to be the Prince or Princess of Dalmaya. To grow up surrounded by the sea and the desert, to be loved and cosseted and so very much wanted. And that life was still within her power to bequeath.

  Jack could learn to sail and ride, stay at the school he liked so much, keep growing stronger and healthier.

  And she? She could endure...

  Slowly Saskia reached into her pocket and pulled out the white card with Idris’s name and number on it. She stared at it, her mouth dry and her hands numb. Married to Idris. No university, no home of her own, instead a life with a man who despised her. Who she despised.

  A life that would provide for the two children in her care.

  She had told herself that she had a choice but, really, she had no choice at all. Fumbling, she reached for her phone and, blinking back the tears, dialled.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  THE YEAR SASKIA turned eight she was a bridesmaid for her friend’s elder sister. The wedding was held in the village church and afterwards the whole congregation had walked in a joyful procession along the narrow lane to Saskia’s house, where her fath
er had allowed a marquee to be erected in the old manor house’s extensive gardens. It was a perfect wedding and small Saskia, starry eyed, vowed that one day she would have one just like it. Of course the manor house had been sold to pay off her father’s creditors and she had given up on romantic dreams a long time ago. Still, she had never imagined that she would get married while heavily pregnant to a man who disliked her and although she had no desire for white lace or ivory organza the calf-length, long-sleeved black dress screamed funeral rather than wedding—which seemed fitting enough.

  The lawyer had spent the afternoon with her, once more taking her through a contract clause by clause, although as this one was written in Arabic Saskia knew she was putting a lot of trust in him; she could be setting her name to anything. The contract went on and on, detailing expected duties, allowances, long lists she could barely take in. One thing stood out: the marriage contract pragmatically contained provisions for a divorce with generous allowances for both herself and any children resulting from the marriage. An escape clause. It didn’t quite lift the suffocation from her lungs or the heaviness from her heart but at least she would be dry eyed when she signed her marriage contract.

  ‘Sayeda Saskia, they are waiting for you.’ Leena, her maid, stood at her bedroom door, her eyes bright with excitement. The staff seemed to view the whole secret wedding as wildly romantic and she didn’t like to disabuse them.

  ‘Shokran, Leena, I’ll be down shortly.’ She paused. ‘Actually, could you please ask Sheikh Idris to step up here for a moment?’

  ‘You want to see him alone? In your bedroom? Before the wedding?’ Her maid’s eyes widened in shock.

  It was a little too late to worry about incurring bad luck or risking her reputation—after all, she was already heavily pregnant. What else could happen? ‘You can leave the door open and wait in the corridor.’ That should be sufficient chaperonage. She sank back onto the sofa and awaited the arrival of her soon-to-be husband.