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‘Haifa oversees the household. She will show you to your room,’ Azrael advanced. ‘She speaks a little English.’
Molly followed Haifa up a curving turret staircase and then along a stone corridor. She was beginning to realise that the castle was considerably larger than first impressions had suggested and had evidently been much altered and extended over the years. She was shown into a room furnished with faded grandeur and some rather exotic pearl inlaid furniture that included a massive bed hung with regal blue draperies. An adjoining room contained bathroom facilities that were newly installed but unfinished. A shower cabinet sat in pieces in one corner, plumbing equipment filling it but the other facilities appeared intact and functional.
‘We bring food,’ Haifa assured her, showing her across the corridor to a sitting room that was bare but for a beautiful rug and a low table. ‘Please wait, Your Highness.’
Your Highness? Molly’s eyes widened. Who did this woman think she was? Or was it simply her lack of English at fault? Maybe the poor woman had assumed she was some visiting royal dignitary. Reluctant to embarrass or confuse Haifa by trying to correct her, Molly folded down on her knees by the table. A mere minute later a procession of servants filed in bearing dishes and enough food to supply a banquet. Without speaking, Molly indicated her choices and received selections and finally sat back to eat, although it was not a very comfortable experience with all the servants stationed by the wall, clearly intent on watching her every move and springing to attend to any request she might have. She ate quickly and returned to her room but even there it wasn’t possible to be alone. Haifa arrived with two young smiling women and laid out dress after dress on the bed for her examination. If she liked nothing, more would be forthcoming, Haifa assured her in dumbshow.
Molly quickly picked one of the silk, heavily embroidered dresses to forestall a further parade of fashion options. She was desperately in need of a change of clothes and too well aware of the fact to be choosy. Underwear was brought next in a choice of sizes. It was lingerie from some very fancy provider, each piece beribboned, lacy or embroidered and generally very flimsy, Molly registered, unimpressed. But, keen to replace the bra that had vanished in the cave, she went into the bathroom to try some stuff on and returned with the items that fitted her. Nightwear and summer sandals were produced for her examination then and she had to suppress an impatient sigh while wondering if there was some assumption that she would be staying in Djalia for months without luggage or clothing of her own. Garments accepted and duly admired, she was still not left in peace. Only when one of the women had been allowed to run her a bath was she finally left alone to sink into the warm, rose-scented water and relax.
Azrael, however, had never been further from relaxation. He was in shock and struggling to hide it while asking all the relevant questions of his very long-winded legal expert.
‘Marriage by declaration has been on our statute books for hundreds of years,’ Professor Abdi had declared. ‘But it has not been used since your great-grandfather ran off with Sheikh Hussein’s daughter in the nineteen twenties. He wanted the law retained so that nobody could ever accuse him of not being legally married.’
Azrael had no interest in his rackety great-grandfather’s history. All he remembered about him was that he had caused an enormous scandal by kidnapping a woman on the morning of her wedding to another man. That he had married her had been the least of his sins.
‘To recap, you’re telling me,’ Azrael breathed tautly, ‘that, even today in Djalia, a man can marry a woman simply by declaring that she is his wife?’
‘In front of witnesses. The marriage contract is verbal and complete as long as there are witnesses—’
‘But what about the bride’s consent?’ Azrael demanded. ‘In such a situation the woman has not given her consent.’
‘In law she does not have to give consent for the union to be binding and legal,’ the professor assured him. ‘You must appreciate that such arrangements were common hundreds of years ago when women were viewed as property.’
‘Hundreds of years ago in a different world,’ Azrael groaned through gritted teeth.
‘Even so, such a marriage is, while unusual, very traditional,’ Djalia’s most senior judge told him, as if that might constitute good news. ‘Naturally, however, everyone expects a more formal ceremony to follow.’
‘I will be honest with you, Emir,’ Azrael murmured, drawing himself up to his full imposing height. ‘I declared that Miss Carlisle was my wife to protect her reputation and, if asked, I intended to say that I had married her in London at the Djalian Embassy last year, which would have been impossible to disprove.’
‘Now you need say no such thing or indeed make any explanations whatsoever,’ Emir Abdi told him cheerfully. ‘By ancient law, you are now a married man and the young lady is your legal wife. May I wish you both every happiness, Your Majesty—’
‘Are you telling me that I would have to get a divorce to regain my freedom?’ Azrael pressed in disbelief.
‘But you are not thinking of divorce,’ Butrus broke in to state in haste.
‘Hashem made divorce a dirty word within the royal family,’ the professor agreed with a censorious frown. ‘He had as many brides as that English King in the Tudor times...what was his name?’
‘Henry VIII. Our King will not be emulating him,’ Butrus asserted confidently.
‘An instant divorce would be seen as questionable and it would be unpopular,’ the professor opined warily. ‘People would be very disappointed, but of course if in time you—’
‘There will not be an instant divorce,’ Azrael swore with determination, registering that his options were few and getting fewer with every word the older man voiced. ‘Thank you very much for your advice, Emir, and let us please do whatever it takes to get the law of marriage by declaration off the statute books. We must be seen to move with the times.’
Azrael reeled away from that meeting with his usual cool fracturing fast. He was married, legally married, and there was nothing he could do about it because, even if he was desperate enough to admit that he had lied in the first place, the public declaration of marriage he had made would still stand. He breathed in deep and slow, striving for calm.
‘That was...enlightening,’ he conceded quietly, for want of any better word. ‘I must discuss the situation with...with my wife.’
r /> His wife. It changed everything. His wife.
‘Prince Firuz is eager for you to call him,’ his assistant informed him. ‘I expect news of your marriage has reached Quarein.’
‘That is one phone call that can wait,’ Azrael declared without hesitation.
CHAPTER SIX
AZRAEL WANTED A shower and a change of clothes and he headed straight for his bedroom, it not having occurred to him that the staff would have lodged Molly in the same room. He crossed the threshold at the same time as she erupted out of the bathroom accompanied by a cloud of billowing steam. He came to a very sudden halt and stared, for with her spectacular curves enhanced by turquoise silk panties and a matching lace bra, her pink bath-warmed skin gleaming through every tiny aperture of the lingerie, Molly was a vision of stupendous sexiness.
‘What are you doing in here?’ Molly gasped, racing to the bed to snatch up the dress she had left there and hold it up against her to provide cover.
