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‘I’ve made more tea!’ Beth called as Tilda ducked into the dining room to make a call in private.
‘I’ll only be a couple of minutes.’ Tilda closed the door and rang the number.
She recognised Scott’s voice the moment he answered. Her tummy gave a sick lurch and she snatched in a steadying breath. ‘It’s Tilda. Why did you send me that picture?’
‘I’ve got some actual photos of you doing your little dance.’
Her fingers tightened round her mobile phone. ‘I don’t remember anyone taking photos that night. I don’t believe you.’
‘It’s up to you what you want to believe. But now you’re royalty, those photos must be worth a packet. I reckon Rashad would pay a tidy sum to keep them all to himself.’ Her former stepfather loosed a seedy chuckle. ‘Of course, if you’re not interested, just say. A half-naked blond princess in a cage would go down a treat with the gutter press.’
Tilda felt sick. Scott Morrison was blackmailing her. Had someone taken photos of her? His creepy mate, Pete, perhaps? She had no idea. A half-naked blond princess in a cage would be a much bigger source of humiliation to Rashad and his family than a runaway wife. She cringed at the prospect of such pictures appearing in print. ‘How much do you want for the photos?’
‘I thought you’d see it my way and keep it in the family. I want fifty grand.’
Although she was as white as a sheet, Tilda decided to call his bluff. ‘Then I’ll have to go to Rashad for the money because I don’t have access to that kind of cash.’
‘Leave him out of it,’ Scott hastened to tell her, his agitation at the suggestion that she involve Rashad audible. ‘Keeping you on a shoestring, is he? How much cash can you raise in a hurry?’
‘Maybe five thousand,’ she mumbled shamefacedly for she knew she was doing the wrong thing. Everyone knew it was stupid to give way to blackmail. She knew it, too, but just the idea of Rashad seeing a photo of her in that cage again made her feel physically ill. She was convinced it would mean the end of her marriage. She had not spent any of the allowance that Rashad had put in a bank account for her. She told herself that using Rashad’s money to get the photos back was a lesser evil than embarrassing him with the pictorial proof of her teenaged mistake.
Scott argued volubly, and then finally said he’d accept the payment if that was the best she could offer.
The door opened and Tilda gave a nervous start. Rashad was framed in the doorway. He quirked a sleek dark brow that questioned her obvious tension.
‘I’ll send you a cheque,’ Tilda told Scott gruffly and hurriedly finished the call.
‘Is there something wrong?’ Rashad enquired, beautiful dark golden eyes welded to her pale, anxious face.
‘No, nothing…just a stupid bill I forgot about. Embarrassing,’ she mumbled, her teeth near to chattering at the very thought of him finding out what she was planning to do.
‘My staff will take care of it. Let me have the details,’ Rashad instructed.
‘No, I’ll see to it myself. When are we flying back to Bakhar?’
‘Only when you wish.’
Tilda studied his gold silk tie with fixed attention. She did not dare meet his gaze, for he was far too keen and clever an observer. After that nasty little chat with Scott, Bakhar somehow seemed to shine like a safe haven on a wonderfully distant horizon. ‘Could we leave tonight?’
When Rashad spoke, his surprise at that request was patent in his dark deep drawl. ‘I thought you might prefer somewhere more cosmopolitan for our honeymoon…Paris, Rio-’
‘The Palace of the Lions. You never did get around to showing me the harem,’ Tilda reminded him, feeling that that remote desert location would be comfortingly out of reach of Scott and his machinations.
CHAPTER TEN
‘GOOD heavens…you and your grandfather might have been identical twins!’ Tilda studied the photo of the long-departed Sharaf in his ceremonial robes with fascination, because she could see from where Rashad had inherited his classic bone structure.
Rashad splayed a possessive hand to her stomach to angle her back into connection with his lithe, powerful body. ‘My father says his father’s genes skipped a generation and turned up in me. Although I would like to believe that the likeness is only skin-deep, I definitely didn’t inherit my father’s mild temperament.’
‘Have you abducted any women?’ Tilda teased a little unevenly, physical contact with his lean, masculine frame stirring her into immediate awareness. Her nipples were pinching into tingling tension beneath the light cotton dress she wore.
‘No. But if you hadn’t agreed to give our marriage another chance I would have abducted you.’
Her eyes rounded in disbelief. ‘Are you serious?’
Above her head, Rashad was trying not to smile. Nothing would have persuaded him to let her go. He bent his handsome dark head and his even white teeth gently grazed the tiny pulse point just below one soft feminine ear lobe. She shivered helplessly, warmth pooling in the pit of her tummy.
‘Are you?’ she repeated less evenly.
