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Zayed stared at her, yet another unwelcome realisation flashing through him. ‘You didn’t know.’ It was a statement, and one that was confirmed by the emphatic shake of her head. ‘You don’t speak Arabic,’ he stated flatly. No wonder she had seemed so confused during their rushed wedding. He’d assumed she’d just been overwhelmed by events, but she hadn’t actually known what was going on. Known that he’d been hurrying her into a binding, lifelong commitment.
For the first time he felt a flash of true shame for the way he’d treated her. His instinct was to blame her for not having revealed her true identity, and it was one he couldn’t let go of easily. He still suspected her motives, her ambition. Why hadn’t she said anything all evening long? That part still didn’t make sense.
But he’d never actually said who he was. He’d simply assumed she knew. Just as he’d assumed she’d realised they were marrying. ‘Say yes,’ he’d told her, impatient to have the thing done. And so she had. An uncomfortable and unwelcome sensation of guilt trumped his suspicions for the moment.
Olivia dropped onto the bed, her robe flying out, revealing tempting glimpses of golden skin. Zayed looked away. Now was not the time for desire. ‘How?’ she whispered. ‘How can we be married?’
‘Easily. You said the vows, as did I.’
‘I said yes...’
‘Exactly.’
‘But if I didn’t know what I was doing, if I didn’t realise, surely it can be annulled?’
Zayed gestured to the rumpled bed. ‘Considering what we have just done? The entire camp knows what has transpired here tonight. Our marriage has been consummated. Most thoroughly.’
Olivia’s cheeks went pink and she looked away. Zayed felt a stab of pity for her. He’d taken her innocence. She’d given it willingly enough, but still. It was a hard burden for a woman to bear, especially in this culture. And, he realised, she was not acting as if she expected to benefit from it. Surely she should be insisting he honour his vows rather than suggesting he seek an annulment? Unless she was playing a long game.
‘Are you promised to someone else?’ he asked, and she looked up in surprise.
‘Promised?’ She let out a short laugh. ‘No. There’s no one like that. There never has been. Obviously.’ She looked away. ‘You could set me aside, of course,’ she said in a low voice. ‘A divorce. It’s done often enough by men of power.’
And would bring her even more shame. Zayed shook his head. ‘I am a man of honour.’ Besides, he could not instigate a divorce without first knowing where he stood with Sultan Hassan.
‘Are you?’ Olivia challenged him shakily. ‘Because a man of honour would not, it seems to me, abduct a woman and then take her virtue.’
Again he felt this guilt, along with a cleaner, stronger anger. ‘I thought,’ Zayed bit out, ‘you were my bride.’
‘And I suppose you think that makes it acceptable? I would say even less so, then.’
‘I was intending to consummate a marriage that has been planned for nearly twenty years,’ Zayed snapped. ‘I admit, taking Princess Halina from her palace bedroom might seem like a drastic action, but I assure you, it was necessary.’
‘Necessary? Why?’
He didn’t really want to go into all the reasons behind the politics, not now when he was still reeling, his mind spinning, seeking answers when he feared there were none. He was married, and he’d made sure it was done in a way that was legal, binding and permanent. The trouble was, he’d married the wrong woman.
How could he have been so stupid? So rash? The events of the evening blurred in his mind; he’d been fuelled by both determination and desperation, needing to get it done, and quickly. So he had.
In one abrupt movement Zayed strode to the table and poured himself a healthy measure of arak. From behind him Olivia laughed softly.
‘That’s what got us into this trouble in the first place.’
‘What do you mean?’ He tossed it down in one burning swallow and then turned around. ‘Are you saying you wouldn’t have slept with me if you hadn’t been drunk?’ Another reason to be appalled by his own behaviour.
‘I wasn’t drunk.’ Olivia glanced down. ‘But my inhibitions were loosened, I suppose.’
Zayed thought of the way she’d arched and writhed beneath him, drawing him into her body, begging him to continue. Yes, they certainly had been loosened. And so had his. For a little while he’d lost sight of himself, and all he needed to achieve, when he’d been in Olivia’s arms. When he’d felt the sweet purity of her response. It had pierced him like an arrow, it had shattered his defences, but thankfully he’d been quick to build them back up again.
And now he needed to think. He poured himself another measure of arak and sat down to drink it slowly, his mind starting to click into gear. ‘Why were you in Princess Halina’s bedroom, as a matter of interest?’
Olivia looked at him warily, as if suspecting a trap. Perhaps there was one. He had to know if she was hiding something. Had she known of the plot—had she positioned herself to be taken? Perhaps she’d been acting on Halina’s behalf; Zayed had heard that his bride was less than enthused about their nuptials. Or maybe Olivia had seen a chance to better her seemingly small prospects and become Queen. The truth was, he knew nothing about her, and he had every reason to suspect her motives and actions. What gently reared woman fell into bed with a stranger without even asking his name or telling him her own? And not a just a stranger but a man who had kidnapped her, for heaven’s sake. Olivia’s actions bordered on incredible in the truest sense of the word.
‘I was putting her clothes away,’ she said after a pause.
‘You said you were a governess, not a maid.’
Olivia shrugged, her robe sliding off her shoulder. ‘Lina and I were friends in school. That’s how I got the position. I was in her sitting room, talking with her after she’d returned from dinner, and tidying up as I did it. Nothing unusual, really.’
