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‘I must.’ He reached out then and took one of the hands that was gripping the steering wheel and pressed it between the sensuous warmth of his leather gloves. ‘Every word you spoke was true,’ he said quietly. ‘I was using my early marriage and my guilt as a block to forming a meaningful relationship with someone else. But I’ve realised that what I have with you transcends anything I have known before. That we have a truly adult relationship and we are equals. Yes, equals,’ he affirmed as he saw her open her mouth to object. ‘I’m not talking about the trappings of my kingdom, or the division of wealth. We are equals in the ways that matter. Or at least, I hope we are because I love you, Livvy Miller. And I’m hoping that you love me, too.’
His words were so unexpected that for a moment Livvy thought she must have imagined them and she tried to ignore the excited leap of her heart—shaking her head with a defiance that suddenly seemed as necessary to her as breathing. ‘You’re still in love with your dead wife,’ she said.
‘I will always love Alya,’ he said simply. ‘But what I had with her was so different from what I had with you. She was very young and in complete thrall to me. I was her king, not her equal. And you were right. She was taken at a time when she was perfect, and that’s what her memory became to me. My single status became a kind of homage to her, as well as being a safety net behind which I could hide. When I spoke so disparagingly about romantic love, it was because I didn’t believe in it, but now I do. I didn’t think it could ever happen to me, but now it has.’ His black eyes burned into her steadily. ‘There are many different types of love, but believe me when I tell you that my heart is yours, Livvy. That I have found my equal in you. And that even though your stubbornness and refusal to do exactly as I say sometimes frustrates the hell out of me, I love you passionately and truly and steadfastly.’
And then Livvy did believe him, because it was too big an admission for a man like Saladin to make unless he really meant it. The passion that blazed from his eyes was genuine and the conviction that deepened his voice crept over her skin like a warm glow, but still something held her back.
‘And I love you, too,’ she said. ‘Very, very much. But I’m not sure if I’m going to be able to be the kind of lover you need.’
‘And what kind of lover is that?’ he asked gently.
‘I’ve pretty much decided that I’m going to sell up and use the money you gave me to start my own stables,’ she said. ‘I don’t have a clue where that might be. And you’ll want a mistress, I suppose. I thought I wouldn’t be able to tolerate that kind of relationship, but now that I’ve seen you again I’m beginning to have second thoughts.’ She shrugged her shoulders. ‘But when I start imagining the reality—I don’t know if I can see myself being set up in some kind of luxury apartment so that you can come and visit.’
He frowned. ‘So that I can come and visit?’ he repeated, in a perplexed voice.
‘Whenever you’re in the country. Isn’t this how these things usually work?’
His answering laugh sounded like the low roar of a lion as he gathered her into his arms and tilted her chin very tenderly with the tip of his thumb. ‘I was hoping you might return with me to Jazratan, as my queen. I was hoping you would marry me.’
Her cheeks burned as she met his eyes, remembering the accusations he had thrown at her.
‘I know,’ he said ruefully. ‘But maybe I accused you of being matrimonially ambitious because already it was playing on my mind. Because I’ve realised there is no alternative scenario that I am prepared to tolerate.’ He drew in a deep breath. ‘So will you, Livvy? Will you marry me?’
And suddenly Livvy had run out of reasons to keep telling herself that this couldn’t possibly be happening and that there must be a catch somewhere. Because there wasn’t—and when it boiled down to it, Saladin’s past didn’t matter and neither did hers. Because right then he was just a man with so much love in his eyes, which matched the great big feeling that was swelling up inside her heart and making it feel as if it were about to burst with joy.
‘Yes, Saladin,’ she said, putting her arms around his neck and holding on to him as if she would never let him go. ‘I’ll marry you tomorrow if you want me to.’
EPILOGUE
THEY MARRIED TWICE. Once in the quiet stone chapel where Livvy’s own mother and father had been wed, and once in a lavish ceremony in Jazratan, attended by world leaders and dignitaries—as well as a sizeable hunk of the horse-racing fraternity.
At first it felt weird for Livvy to see her photo plastered all over the papers, with Saladin holding tightly on to her hand, her filmy veil held in place by a crown of diamonds and rubies and her golden dress gleaming like the coat of a palomino horse.
She settled happily in the country she had quickly grown to love, determined to learn to speak the Jazratian language fluently and to see Burkaan winning the famous Oman Cup. And if people ever asked her how she had managed to adapt so comfortably from owning a B & B in Derbyshire to being the queen of Jazratan, she was able to answer quite honestly. She told them that the grandness of her husband’s palace never intimidated her, because wherever Saladin was felt like home. He travelled less than before, and everywhere he went he took Livvy with him—for he was eager to show off his new bride to the world.
Livvy started working in the stables, whenever her royal role permitted it, and quickly earned herself a reputation among the staff of being gifted and reliable and never pulling rank. She liked to go riding with Saladin when the sun had started to sink low and the sting of the heat had left the day. Sometimes they rode to ‘their’ oasis, where they made love beneath the shade of the palm trees.
After a gentle campaign she persuaded Saladin to have a ceremony declaring the beautiful rose gardens officially open—and invited Alya’s parents, along with her two brothers and their wives, as guests of honour. It wasn’t the easiest of meetings—not at first, for there were tears in Alya’s mother’s eyes as she tied a small posy of flowers to one of the intricate silver coils on the Faddi gates. And yes, Livvy saw tears in Saladin’s eyes, too. But Alya’s parents were persuaded to bring their grandsons to play there at any time, and afterwards they all sat beneath the shade of a tree, drinking jasmine tea and laughing as the two sturdy little boys toddled around among the scented bowers.
It would be several years before Burkaan would triumph in the Oman Cup and many more before he was put out to stud, and a new foal—the image of his father—was born. But Peppa the cat grew grudgingly to accept Saladin’s presence in her mistress’s life and found herself happily living in the royal palace, enjoying the way that the staff fussed around her. There was a bit of a shock when it was discovered that she had sneaked out and mated with a stray tom who had been seen lurking around
the back of the stables—but she proved herself an exemplary mother of five kittens.
Wightwick Manor was never sold. Saladin decided that the house should be kept as a base for them whenever they wanted to escape the desert heat to enjoy a spell in the English countryside.
‘And it is important that any children we may have will grow up knowing and loving their mother’s inheritance, because your roots are just as important as mine, habibi,’ he said, tenderly stroking Livvy’s head, which was currently resting upon his bare chest. ‘Don’t you agree?’
Livvy wriggled a little, changing her position so that she could prop herself up onto her elbow and stare into the enticing gleam of her husband’s black eyes. She trailed a thoughtful path over his chest with her finger, circling lightly over the hard muscle and bone covered by all that silken skin, and it thrilled her to feel him shiver. She liked making him shiver.
‘I agree absolutely,’ she said as he began to brush his hand against her inner thigh and now it was her turn to shiver. ‘And in fact, that brings me very nicely to some news I have for you.’
His hand stilled and she knew he was holding his breath—just as she’d held hers when she’d surreptitiously done the test that morning. They hadn’t actively been trying, but she knew that Saladin longed for a child of his own, and she’d been wanting to have his baby since the moment he’d slid that wedding ring on her finger.
‘I’m pregnant,’ she whispered. ‘I’m going to have a baby.’
And suddenly he was laughing and kissing her and telling her how much he loved her, all at the same time. And it was only after a little time had passed that she noticed that his hand was no longer making its tantalising journey up her thigh.
She caught hold of his fingers and put them right back where they had started from. ‘Don’t stop,’ she said.
