The Innocent Carrying His Legacy Read online

  The rooms were beautiful, luxurious—much more luxurious than Ivy had ever experienced in her entire life and it had vaguely shocked her, especially in comparison to the stark utilitarianism of the rest of the fortress. They almost seemed as if they were part of a different building, a fantasy vision of a Middle Eastern sultan’s palace.

  Her battered, nondescript black suitcase, sitting on the huge, low bed near the deep windows of the bedroom, had seemed even more nondescript set against all that luxury. A small, mean little suitcase, with its meagre store of clothes.

  The staff member who’d showed Ivy around had pulled open a large and ornately carved cedar armoire full of silk robes in a rainbow of colours, indicating that Ivy was to help herself to whatever she wanted to wear. After she’d gone, Ivy had touched the lustrous fabric longingly for a couple of moments, then had firmly closed the doors of the armoire.

  She didn’t need silk robes or luxury bedding or a huge bath. She’d enjoy the shower then she’d dress in her own clothes, and hopefully then she’d feel more in charge of herself and this whole ridiculous situation.

  So she had. She’d gone to the salon to wait for the Sheikh, deciding to grill him about the danger he’d mentioned and how it would affect her and the baby, and how exactly marriage to him was going to work.

  She’d been early and, since she didn’t like waiting, had informed the staff member who’d come in to deliver the delicious-looking meal that she’d like a dustpan and brush to give some attention to the wall near the bookcases that looked a little dusty. This had been brought to her without comment and so she’d at least had something to do while she waited. And then he’d come...

  Ivy found her hand drifting to her stomach again, her fingers brushing against the heat left by his palm, and she had the oddest thought that she wouldn’t ever be able to get rid of that heat. It had settled beneath her skin, become part of her.

  He caught the movement and his eyes gleamed, and she felt heat rise in her cheeks, as if she’d revealed a secret somehow.

  Irritated, Ivy forced her hand away then moved over to the low table where the dinner had been laid out. Floor cushions had been set around it and so she sat, her stomach giving the oddest flutter as the Sheikh did the same with a predator’s fluid grace.

  Instantly he began putting things on a plate, but when she reached for her own he said in a peremptory tone, ‘I will serve you.’

  ‘I can serve myself, thank you very much.’

  He ignored her, continuing to put little morsels on the plate. ‘Nevertheless, you will allow me.’

  Ivy sat up very straight and glared at him. ‘I will not.’

  ‘You’re a very argumentative woman.’ He leaned forward and put the plate down in front of her, then reached for the pitcher of ice water and poured her a glass.

  ‘And you’re a very irritating man.’ She glanced down at the plate, annoyed to find that she was very hungry. The flatbread smelled delicious, the black olives glossy and fat, the pieces of chicken cooked to perfection.

  How aggravating.

  Is there any point being aggravated? You’ll only end up alienating him and that might not be very good for the baby.

  She let out a silent breath. It was true, continuing to argue with him perhaps wasn’t the best of ideas. Especially considering she wasn’t exactly the powerful one here. She wasn’t used to not being in charge or not being in control, but she had no choice about it now, which meant she was just going to have to deal with it and accept that the only thing she had power over was herself.

  ‘Thank you,’ she forced herself to say stiffly. ‘For the food and for the...rooms you provided. I would have been quite happy with something a little smaller and less luxurious, however. You don’t have to put yourself out for me.’

  He pushed the glass of water across the table to her. ‘I’m not putting myself out. These rooms haven’t been used in years, though my staff keep them in good order. Apart from the dust on the skirting, obviously,’ he added, dry as the desert beyond the walls of the fortress.

  Ivy felt herself blushing yet again. ‘There’s nothing wrong with wanting to keep things tidy.’

  His hard mouth relaxed. ‘Indeed not.’

  He was amused, which should have annoyed her even further and yet she found that she wasn’t annoyed. Instead it felt like a victory, which she didn’t understand. She hardly ever made people smile and that had never particularly bothered her before. Yet she was rather pleased with herself that she’d managed to amuse him now.

  She looked down at her plate, busying herself with the food so he wouldn’t notice, piling up some flatbread with hummus. ‘There must be somewhere else you could put me. The bedroom especially looks like it should be used for royalty.’

  ‘You’re not mistaken. This fortress was historically one of the Sultan’s desert palaces and those rooms used to house the harem.’

  A little shiver went down Ivy’s spine and it wasn’t altogether unpleasant. ‘I see.’

  He raised one black brow, his gaze enigmatic. ‘The term harem refers only to the women’s quarters. It doesn’t mean a sex club.’

  More heat rushed into her cheeks. ‘No, of course not. I didn’t mean to imply—’

  ‘You didn’t imply anything. I’m just clearing up misconceptions, should there be any.’ He reached for the pitcher of water and poured himself a glass. ‘Those rooms were the Sultana’s. Most recently, my mother’s.’

  Ivy stared. ‘Your...mother?’

  He shifted on the cushion, one leg bent, his elbow resting negligently on his knee. ‘Didn’t you know? I’m the previous Sultan’s bastard.’ His tone was casual and yet there was a sharp glint in his eyes that suggested otherwise.

  ‘Oh,’ she said, trying to sound neutral. ‘No, I didn’t know.’

  ‘My father was Commander of the Inarian army. The Sultan was a cruel and cold man, and my mother was lonely.’ Candlelight flickered off the glossy black of his hair and danced over the stark planes and angles of his face. ‘She would come out here to spend time away from the palace, and he would often go with her.’

  An unwilling curiosity tugged inside her. ‘And so, you own the fortress now?’

  ‘The Sultan gave it to my father eventually.’ The Sheikh gave a faint smile that now held no amusement whatsoever. ‘Though it wasn’t a gift. It was a banishment.’

  ‘Why?’ Ivy couldn’t help asking. ‘What did he do?’

  ‘The affair with my mother was discovered.’ He still made no move to drink the water he’d poured for himself or to eat. ‘To say the Sultan was displeased would be an understatement.’

  Ivy’s curiosity intensified. ‘So what happened—?’

  ‘However, we’re not discussing me or my parents,’ he interrupted mildly. ‘We’re discussing you and my child.’

  She bit her lip in annoyance. She didn’t want to be curious about him in the first place, so why she should find his change of subject irritating, she had no clue. Briefly, she debated pushing him about it, then decided not to. Perhaps later she might ask him, or maybe she would have forgotten about it by then. Either way, it didn’t matter, since it wasn’t going to have any bearing on what was happening now.

  ‘Very well.’ She put down the food she’d been about to eat. ‘You can’t possibly want to go through with this marriage idea. It’s ridiculous.’

  He glanced at the food she’d put back on her plate and frowned. ‘You need to eat. And while you’re eating, I’ll tell you what’s going to happen.’

  ‘What do you mean you’re going to tell me? Weren’t we supposed to “discuss” it?’

  That hot, possessive glint was back in his gaze. ‘Semantics,’ he said dismissively. ‘The marriage will happen whether you want it to or not, as will you staying here in this fortress. Anything else is up for discussion.’

  Ivy bristled, trying t
o ignore the small thread of panic that was unravelling inside her. ‘But I can’t stay here. I already told you that I have a job back in England that I—’

  ‘The children’s home you manage will be taken care of. I’ve already placed someone exceptionally qualified to take over and naturally all the funds necessary for the optimal running of the home will be made available.’

  She stared at him, panic continuing to unspool inside her.

  You’re replaced so easily...

  ‘No,’ she said. ‘No, you can’t do that.’

  His gaze roved over her, but it wasn’t either icy or impersonal the way it had been out in the guardhouse earlier. It was territorial, as if he were an emperor surveying a new land he’d just conquered. ‘But I did, Miss Dean. And the person who has been looking after the home for you was very relieved to hear it.’

  More emotion was welling up inside her, a thick, hot fury to cover the growing panic. That home had been her life. She’d grown up there, she’d worked there, she’d created as much of a family as she could there.

  And you were rejected there over and over again. Why did you ever stay?

  Ivy gripped her hands together hard in her lap, her knuckles white. She wanted to reach across the table and punch his arrogant face and then maybe scream at him a little—no, a lot—for interfering. But that wasn’t going to help. It would also give away far more than she wanted to reveal to him.

  ‘That home is my life,’ she said in a low, furious voice. ‘How dare you?’

  He didn’t look away and she could see the force of his will burning in the depths of his gaze, iron hard, diamond bright. ‘Then you have had a very small life, Miss Dean. Perhaps it’s time to step outside the bounds of it.’

  Fury welled up inside her. At him for how he’d taken charge, casually removing her from the only home she’d ever known. Negligently telling her she was going to have to marry him and then basically imprisoning her here in this godforsaken desert fortress. And all without discussion, as if her own wants and desires didn’t matter.

  As if she didn’t matter.

  But you don’t matter, do you? You never have.

  ‘Excuse me,’ Ivy managed to force out, suddenly desperate to be out of this room and away from him. Away from the temptation to punch his stupid face in. ‘I’ve lost my appetite.’

  Then she surged to her feet and stormed out.

  CHAPTER SIX

  ‘I’M SORRY, SIR,’ the guard said, clearly trying to be diplomatic. ‘But she still says no.’

  Nazir had returned to the fortress after a couple of days in Mahassa, where he’d had a few meetings with Inaris’s top military commanders. The Sultan was not happy about Nazir’s powerful private army and there had been veiled threats about what would happen if he didn’t disband it. The situation had been complicated by the fact that Inaris’s government was perfectly happy for Nazir’s army to remain since Nazir poured most of his considerable funds back into the country for the people’s benefit.

  It was also further complicated by the fact that he’d been distracted during the meetings due to one small English fury who’d not been best pleased with his so-called ‘interference’ in her life and who’d now refused to see him for two days straight.

  Nazir dismissed the guard and then, knowing he wasn’t going to be able to concentrate, dismissed the two aides he’d been discussing a couple of possible new contracts with too.

  Then he stood in his office considering what to do.

  He’d already made arrangements for a quick marriage and that would take place in a week or so, which left him not much time in which to convince her to agree to this of her own free will.

  Intellectually, he knew that she wasn’t one of his men and as such couldn’t simply be ordered around, but he’d expected that she’d accept the inevitability of what was going to happen and act accordingly.

  Apparently not.

  He shouldn’t have been so blunt at their dinner. Then again, he was a soldier, and being blunt was all he knew. Plus, he didn’t want her arguing with him since arguing only made that intense, possessive feeling inside him worse, and he knew what happened when he let his baser emotions get the better of him.

  It had been his jealousy and impulsiveness that had led to his mother’s exile from Inaris and had left his father’s career in ruins, and that had been a hard lesson to learn. But learn it he had and he couldn’t afford to fall back into old patterns again, which meant that while arguing with Ivy might excite the hunter in him, he couldn’t allow it to get out of hand. He’d slipped once already when he’d grabbed her in the salon and run his hand over the curve of her stomach where his child lay.

  He should have stopped himself, but he hadn’t, simply unable to quell the possessive need to touch her. She hadn’t pulled away. She’d let him stroke her, the sweet heat of her body warming his palm. Her eyes had gone so wide, the clear copper darkening and turning smoky as he’d run his hand over her. She’d trembled and there had been fear in her gaze. Yet that fear had more to do with her own response to his touch than it had to do with him, he was sure.

  An inexperienced woman, clearly. Not his favourite, of course, but inexperience could be overcome. He’d just have to go carefully. In fact, he was going to have to do everything carefully if he wanted to get her to the altar, especially since he didn’t much like the idea of forcing her there.

  You’re going to have to seduce her there then.

  Nazir wasn’t in the habit of seducing women. They either wanted him or they didn’t and if they didn’t, he wasn’t interested. He’d never once come across a woman he wanted that he couldn’t have. He’d never once come across anything he couldn’t have, to be fair, or at least not since he’d become an adult. There had been plenty of things he’d wanted as a child that he hadn’t got—the softness of a mother’s embrace, the warmth of her smile, his hand in hers—so these days he either took what he wanted or he simply didn’t want it. It made everything a hell of a lot easier.

  But Ivy Dean... She was different. He wanted her and yet she stubbornly refused to do what he said, and normally that would mean he’d lose interest. Yet she was carrying his child and far from losing interest, her refusal only made him want her more.

  What a cliché he was.

  He paced around his office a bit, going over the issue in his head, trying to get a game plan together. No, he didn’t like the idea of forcing her into marriage, since that wouldn’t exactly make her receptive to sharing his bed, so it was looking as if seduction was the way to go.

  Well, he could do that. He did like a challenge, after all.

  Heated anticipation began to coil inside him, an excitement he hadn’t felt in far too long. Not a good sign perhaps, but then again, his control was exceptional. And besides, he could allow himself a little excitement surely? He so rarely felt it these days, so why not?

  First, though, if he was going to do any seducing, he was going to have to get the little fury to see him, and that would be a challenge. She’d probably hold out indefinitely given what she’d already displayed of her stubborn nature, and he didn’t have that kind of time. He’d allowed her a couple of days to sulk so far, but his patience wasn’t limitless. Perhaps he’d have to insist.

  Nazir made a few more arrangements, issued a few more orders, then strode from his office, making his way to the harem. He had guards on the doors twenty-four-seven, as well as a few more high-tech measures for added safety, and, after a brief conversation with the guards to make sure everything was secure, he let himself into the cool, airy corridors beyond the doors.

  The tiled hallways and the sounds of the fountains reminded him of his mother, even though he hadn’t been born when she’d been here, as if somehow her presence still lingered...

  Maybe he shouldn’t have told Ivy about her. Yet there hadn’t been any reason not to. His parentage wasn’t
a secret. Everyone in the entire country knew who he was. He wasn’t anyone’s dirty secret any more. And though his father might have been ashamed of him, Nazir’s existence being the embodiment of his father’s weakness, he wasn’t ashamed. He refused to be. He’d spent his life lurking in the shadows of the palace, always on the outside looking in, watching his half-brother get all the attention from their mother while he got nothing. He’d been raised by a series of nannies hired by his father who had strict rules for how his son should be treated. He was not to be indulged in any way. Emotions were the enemy; self-control was paramount.

  Yet he’d always burned hot, even as a child, all those emotions seething beneath his skin, all that love and hate and jealousy and rage. He’d had to learn to contain them, make sure they didn’t get out, because that heat had the potential to shatter lives if he wasn’t careful. And shatter them he had. Eventually.

  He moved into the salon, checking to make sure there weren’t any small figures lurking by the skirting, but the room was empty. Then he heard voices filtering through the open French doors that led out onto the colonnade, a woman’s light, slightly smoky tones speaking English.

  He went out, stepping into the shade of the colonnade that surrounded the little courtyard. In the middle of it where the fountain sat was Ivy, standing beside one of his gardeners and talking as the man pruned one of the graceful jacaranda trees that shaded the fountain. The gardener spoke no English but that didn’t seem to concern either Ivy or the gardener, the pair of them somehow communicating through lots of nodding and pointing.

  Nazir paused in the shade of one of the colonnade’s archways, watching her. She was in the same yoga pants and T-shirt she’d worn the night of their aborted dinner, her hair in that same loose ponytail down her back, the sun glossing the vivid chestnut skein. Her small, pointed face was alight with interest as the gardener indicated the branch he was pruning, running his fingers along it, and giving Ivy an in-depth spiel in Arabic about why this branch had to come off.