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‘For Your Majesty’s convenience,’ the man said, his face getting redder as his confusion and concern increased at Karim’s reaction. ‘The Ruling Council believed…’ He trailed off, his gaze darting to Orla, who had gone painfully still beside him.
Why did that only make this worse? That she hadn’t asked him to explain? What did she think was happening here?
‘What did they believe?’ he snapped through gritted teeth, trying to control his temper, and the bitter pulse of guilt.
‘It was always your father’s way, to arrange a wedding as soon as possible so that…’ Saed trailed off again.
His father? The mention of the man he had always despised had the fury galloping into his throat. The bastard had tried to manipulate him in life and now he was managing to do it from beyond the grave? He wasn’t going to tolerate this.
‘So that what?’ he demanded, his voice rising, but he suspected he already knew the answer.
‘So that he wouldn’t have to wait,’ the man replied so softly Karim could barely hear him. ‘To consummate the marriage.’
Of course.
His father had enjoyed exploiting women. He had used them and discarded them. Sometimes he married then, sometimes he didn’t, but when he wanted a woman one thing he never did was wait.
‘The Ruling Council have arranged for Mistress Calhoun to be housed in the Women’s Quarters, as is tradition, to honour her as your betrothed, until the marriage is performed,’ Saed continued, practically quaking now.
Karim felt sick—as the implications of what had happened began to sink in—and shame engulfed him. This catastrophe wasn’t Saed’s fault. Any more than it was the fault of the Ruling Council. They had simply assumed he was as much of an entitled, insatiable bastard where women were concerned as his father—and they had been trying to honour Orla as his betrothed while also giving him what they had assumed he would demand, this woman in his bed as soon as possible.
The irony—that he had brought Orla to Zafar intending to do exactly that without actually marrying her—only made this situation more screwed up.
But the truth was, the only person to blame for this catastrophe, other than a dead man, was himself.
‘It’s okay, Karim. I can go to the Women’s Quarters now, if that works best for everyone.’
At the quietly spoken words, he turned to Orla. But where he had been prepared to see accusation and disgust, maybe even fear, all he saw was concern… And something far worse—trust.
Why did that only make him feel like more of a bastard?
What had he ever really done to deserve her trust? How could she have so much faith in him and his motives, when he had done nothing to earn it?
The look in her eyes reminded him for one agonising moment of the woman who had clung to him, after he had marched across a ballroom to protect her from the unwanted advances of another man. In that moment, as her fingers gripped his neck and her face pressed into his shirt, she had seemed more like a girl than a woman. An innocent, vulnerable girl who deserved to be cherished and had needed his protection.
The pulse of guilt and shame threatened to engulf him again at the disturbing thought that the man she needed protecting from now was him.
‘That would probably be for the best, until I can get this sorted out,’ he said, his voice so rough it scraped against his throat like sandpaper.
‘I will have Mistress Calhoun escorted to the Women’s Quarters immediately,’ Saed announced, clicking his fingers to summon two women over from the line of palace staff. The manservant looked so relieved at this new turn of events, it was almost funny.
Although Karim had never felt less like laughing.
If he’d been angry at the prospect of being forced to take his father’s place on the throne of Zafar, now he felt sickened by his own actions.
He’d always believed he was a much better man than the man who had sired him. Had always taken his moral superiority for granted, but when had it ever really been tested until now? And already he’d been found wanting.
He’d brought Orla with him to Zafar because it had been the expedient thing to do politically, but also because he had wanted her for himself. He had convinced himself his sexual needs took precedence over everything else—and had quite possibly put her into an untenable position as a result. Because getting this wedding stopped now might well be impossible.
How the hell was he going to explain to the Ruling Council he did not wish the wedding to go ahead as planned without also cluing them into the fact the engagement had simply been a ruse to frustrate his father? Whatever he did now, he realised, with a bitter sense of regret, Orla and he would not be able to feed the hunger tonight.
How could he have her brought to his chambers without raising lots of questions about his own integrity, not to mention the integrity of their engagement?
He tried to remain as dispassionate as possible while Saed introduced Orla to the two women who were about to take her away from him, for God only knew how long. One was an older woman called Ameera, who was Orla’s most senior lady-in-waiting, while the younger woman, Jamilla, had been hired as the new Queen’s PA.
As the older woman fussed over Orla, Karim was finally forced to lift his hand from her hip. Before she could leave him though, he snagged her wrist and tugged her round to face him. Tucking a knuckle under her chin, he lifted her face to his.
‘Don’t panic, Orla,’ he murmured, so only she could hear him, before he placed a parting kiss on her lips. He’d compromised both of them enough already by reacting so violently to Saed’s mention of the wedding. He needed to calm down and work out a solution. ‘I’ll figure this out.’
