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Curiosity flickered and she quickly stamped it out. She had no need to know about Aziz’s relationship with his father, or with anyone. No need to wonder about what emotions he tried to hide, if any. ‘What requirements?’
‘In order to remain Sheikh, I must marry within six weeks of my father’s death.’ Aziz’s mouth possessed a cynical twist, his eyes flinty. She’d never seen him look so bitter.
‘It’s been over a month already.’
‘Exactly, Olivia. It has, in fact, been five weeks and four days. And my wedding to Queen Elena of Thallia is set for the day after tomorrow.’
‘Then you will succeed,’ she answered. ‘You will marry within the time required and there’ll be no problem.’
‘But there is a problem,’ Aziz informed her, his voice turning dangerously silky and soft. ‘There is a big problem, because Elena has gone missing.’
‘Missing?’
‘Kidnapped by an insurgent two days ago.’
Olivia gaped before she managed to reassemble her features into her usual composed countenance. ‘I had no idea things like this still happened in a civilised country.’
‘You’d be surprised what can happen in any country, when power is involved. What secrets people keep, what lies they tell.’ He swung away from her, the movement sudden, strangely defensive; again Olivia had the sense he was hiding something from her. Hiding himself.
In the six years she’d worked for him, Aziz had always seemed like nothing more than what he was on the surface: a charming, careless playboy. But for a moment, as he angled his face away from her, he seemed as if he had secrets. Darkness.
And she knew all about secrets and darkness.
‘Do you know where this—this insurgent might be keeping Queen Elena?’ Olivia asked after a moment.
‘Somewhere in the desert, most likely.’
‘And you’re looking for her?’
‘Of course, as best as I can.’ Aziz turned around to meet her troubled gaze with an unflinching one of his own. ‘I have not been back to Kadar in five years and I spent as little time here as a boy as possible. The people don’t know me.’ His mouth twisted. ‘And, if they don’t know me, they won’t be loyal to me. Not until I’ve proved myself to them, if I can.’
‘What are you saying—?’ she began, only to have Aziz cut her off in a hard voice.
‘I’m saying it is very difficult to find Queen Elena in the desert. Her kidnapper has the loyalty of the Bedouin tribes, and they will shelter both him and her. So until I find her, or come to some agreement with him, I need to make alternative arrangements.’
‘What kind of alternative arrangements?’ Olivia asked, although she had a horrible, creeping feeling just what they might be, or at least who they might concern. Her. Somehow he wanted to involve her in this debacle.
Aziz gave her a dazzling grin, his eyes flaring silver, his teeth blindingly white. Olivia felt her body involuntarily respond, her insides pulse with awareness of him, not as an employer or even an attractive person, a work of art, but as a man. A desirable man.
She blinked and forced back that rush of surprising, and completely inappropriate, feeling. Clearly it was just a basic biological reaction she had no control over. She had thought she was past such things, that she didn’t have anything left in her to fizz or spark, but perhaps her body thought otherwise. Even so, her mind would prevail. ‘Your Highness—’
‘Aziz.’
‘Aziz. What alternative arrangements are you talking about?’
‘It is important that no one knows Elena is missing. Such knowledge would make Kadar more unstable than it already is.’
‘More unstable?’
‘Some of the desert tribes have rallied around this rebel.’ Aziz’s mouth twisted. ‘Khalil.’
He spoke tersely, without emotion, yet Olivia still sensed something underneath his flat tone, something that seethed. Who exactly, she wondered, was Khalil?
‘Why have they rallied around this Khalil? You’re the legal heir.’
‘Thank you for your vote of confidence, but I’m afraid it’s a bit more complicated than that.’
He spoke lightly again, but Olivia wasn’t fooled. ‘How is it complicated? And what could I possibly have to do with any of this?’
‘Since I can’t let the public know my bride is missing,’ Aziz said, turning the full force of his silvery gaze on her once more, ‘I need someone else.’
Olivia felt as if someone had caught her by the throat and squeezed. For a moment she couldn’t breathe. ‘Someone else,’ she finally repeated, her voice coming out flat and strange.
‘Yes, Olivia. Someone else. Someone to be my bride.’
‘But—’
‘And that’s where you come in.’ Aziz cut her off smoothly, something almost like amusement glinting in his eyes. Olivia stared at him, disbelieving and appalled. ‘I need you to be my bride.’
CHAPTER TWO
HIS COOL, CAPABLE HOUSEKEEPER, Aziz thought in bemusement, looked as if she was about to hyperventilate. Or faint. She swayed slightly, her lovely slate-blue eyes going wider, her lush, pink lips parted in a rather delectable o.
She was a beautiful woman, he acknowledged as he had many times before, but it was a cool, contained beauty. Sleek, caramel hair she always kept clipped back at the base of her neck. Dark blue eyes. Smooth skin and rosy lips, neither ever enhanced by make-up, at least that he’d seen. Not that she needed any cosmetics, particularly right now. A flush was rising up her throat, sweeping across her face as she shook her head and compressed her mouth.
‘I’m not quite sure what you even mean, Your Highness, but whatever it is it’s not possible.’
‘To start with, you need to remember to call me Aziz.’
Temper blazed so briefly in her eyes he almost missed it. He was glad, contrarily, perhaps, that she actually possessed a temper. He’d often wondered how much passion lurked beneath that reserved exterior.
He’d known Olivia for six years, admittedly seeing her only a few times a year, and he’d had only a scant few glimpses of any deeper feeling. A silk scarf in deep reds and purples that he’d been surprised to see her wear. A sudden rich, full-throated laugh he’d heard from the kitchen. Once, when he’d arrived in Paris a day early, he’d come upon her playing piano in the sitting room. The music had been haunting, full of grief and beauty. And the look on her face as she’d played... She’d been pouring her soul into that piece of music, and it was, he’d thought in that moment, a soul that had known anguish and even torment.
He’d crept away before she’d seen him, knowing how horrified she would have been to realise he’d been listening. But he’d wondered just what lay underneath her cool façade. What secrets she might be hiding.
And yet it was her cool façade, her calm capability, that had made him choose Olivia Ellis for this particular role. She was intelligent, discreet and wonderfully competent. That was all he needed.
He hoped.
‘Let me rephrase,’ he said, watching as her chest rose and fell in indignant breaths. She wore a white blouse that still managed to be crisp after a nine-hour flight from Paris, and her hair, as sleek and styled as ever, was held back in its usual clip. She’d matched her blouse with a pair of tailored black trousers and sensible flats. He knew she was twenty-nine but she dressed conservatively, like a woman who was middle-aged rather than in the prime of her youth. Though still stylish, he acknowledged. Her clothes, while staid, were of good quality and cut.
‘Rephrase, then,’ she said evenly, and the temper he’d seen in her eyes was now banked. He saw the old Olivia, the familiar Olivia, return now. Calm and in control. Good. That was what he needed, after all.
So why did he feel just a tiny bit disappointed?
‘I need you to be my temporary bride. A stand-in for Queen Elena, until I can find her.’
‘And why do you need a stand-in?’
‘Because I want to dispel any rumours that she might be missing. I’m holding a press conference in one hour and we’re meant to appear together on the palace balcony.’
She pursed her lips. ‘And then?’
He hesitated, but only briefly. ‘And then, that’s all.’
‘That’s all?’ Her eyes narrowed. ‘If you only needed a woman for one balcony appearance, surely you could have found someone a bit more local?’
‘I wanted someone I knew and trusted and, as I told you before, I have not been back to Kadar in many years. There are few I trust here.’
She swallowed and he watched the working of her slender throat. Then she gave a little shake of her head.
‘I don’t even look like Queen Elena. She’s got dark hair and we’re not the same height, no matter what you said earlier to your staff. I must be a few inches taller.’
He arched an eyebrow. ‘You’re familiar with Queen Elena’s height?’
‘I’m familiar with my own,’ she answered coolly. ‘And I have seen photos of her. I’m guessing, of course, but—’
‘No one will concern themselves with a few inches.’
‘And my hair?’
‘We’ll dye it.’
