The Scandalous Collection. Кейт Хьюит

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      She could just imagine how her family might have sabotaged their wedding day. Her father boasting that his daughter was marrying one of the most powerful men in the Middle East. Her mother playing her habitual doormat role beside him. And Izzy—heaven forbid—trying to sing her congratulations.

      But Ella was also afraid that one of her sisters might have discovered the truth behind her bright smile and realised the heavy burden she was carrying. That Hassan was only marrying her to stamp his mark of possession on their unborn baby.

      And now they were travelling in a sleek air-conditioned car towards Hassan’s palace, on roads which were as flat as millponds. She felt … well, she felt as displaced as most women would feel if they were newly pregnant and leaving behind everything they knew. But most women in her position would have the comfort of knowing that they were loved and desired, instead of regarded as some sort of royal incubator.

      Her actions instinctively mirroring her turbulent emotions, she moved her hand to let it rest on her stomach.

      ‘You are experiencing discomfort?’ questioned Hassan instantly. ‘Some kind of pain?’

      She shook her head, because she had decided that she was going to be strong. She wasn’t going to start whingeing every time she had a little ache or wave of sickness. ‘Hassan, I’m fine.’

      He stared at the fingers which were curled protectively over her stomach, wondering when this would all start to feel real. As if it was happening to him and not to someone else. He stared at the unfamiliar bump and tried to make sense of it. ‘The baby is kicking?’

      ‘No, not yet.’

      ‘When?’

      Her fingers tightened around the still unfamiliar swell. ‘Any day now, I hope.’

      ‘How can you know all these things?’

      His dark, gleaming eyes were curious and Ella thought at that moment how gorgeous he looked, and yet how unreachable too. His traditional Kashmakian robes made him look so darkly foreign and yet the flowing silk emphasised the honed body beneath, mocking her with memories of that snatched and forbidden night they’d spent together. The first and only time they’d made love …

      Blocking out the sudden flare of desire which shimmered over her skin and the inevitable questions that raised, she attempted to answer his question.

      ‘There’s a chart which you can download from the internet and it tells you all the things you can expect,’ she explained carefully. ‘Movement starts around sixteen weeks.’

      ‘And will you let me feel my child when it kicks, Ella?’ he questioned suddenly. ‘Will you let me lay my hand on your belly so that I can feel it move?’

      Despite the cool of the air conditioning, Ella’s cheeks grew heated at the intimacy of his question. Their night of passion had happened so long ago that sometimes it seemed as if it was nothing but a distant dream. And the more time passed, the more unreal it seemed. Because there had been no revisiting of that passion since that night. No sense that he wanted to touch her in any way at all.

      So if he laid his hand on her stomach, would that start her yearning for a greater intimacy altogether? Did he still want her in that way? she wondered.

      ‘Yes, of course you can,’ she answered quietly, knowing that she couldn’t possibly refuse him. Not just because he was the baby’s father, but because he’d done so much to help her. And for once in her life she had just sat back and let him help with a passivity which she put down to her pregnancy and to the accompanying nausea which still hit her in waves.

      Somehow, Hassan had produced a clutch of women who were eager to step into her shoes at work and Ella had interviewed every one of them. And right now, back in England, Daisy was working quite happily alongside her replacement, while the business was ticking along just fine.

      But there were more things to occupy her mind other than the business she’d left behind. Ahead she could see an enormous and elaborate pair of golden gates dazzling in the sunshine and, beyond those, neat lines of palm trees bordering a bright rectangle of water. A vast creamy-gold building rose up in the distance—a structure so wide and so grand that, once again, she wanted to pinch herself to convince herself she wasn’t dreaming.

      They had reached the royal palace at last, and suddenly all her doubts came skimming to the surface, making her stomach churn with fear. Had she forgotten who she was? Just one of the notorious Jacksons whose father had kept the British press entertained for years. How could she go from being mocked and ridiculed to wearing a crown on her head and carrying it off with any degree of confidence?

      ‘Hassan, I can’t do this,’ she croaked. ‘What if your people won’t accept me?’

      Hearing the crack in her voice, Hassan turned, trying to see her as others would see her for the first time. She was wearing an exquisite Kashamak robe in bridal colours of deep scarlet and ornamental gold. Her hair was covered by a golden veil and her eyes were ringed heavily with kohl pencil. Even her scarlet lipstick had been replaced by a glimmering rose-pink, which made her mouth look so much softer.

      She had told him that she wanted her first appearance in his land to be as traditional as possible and he respected her for her thoughtfulness. And she looked, he thought with a sudden wrench of longing, absolutely beautiful. A delectable mixture of East and West, she seemed to represent the very best of both their cultures.

      ‘Your appearance is faultless,’ he said slowly. ‘You need not concern yourself on that score. And as king, my people will accept what I tell them to accept.’

      His reassuring words gave her a moment of comfort and she clung to it, as a child would to a security blanket. ‘And what about your brother, Kamal?’

      He flicked her a glance. ‘What about him?’

      ‘I’m … looking forward to meeting him.’

      His smile was bland. ‘That won’t be happening immediately, I’m afraid, since he has decided to ride off into the desert in order to escape the rigours of court life.’

      Ella swallowed. Or to escape from having to meet her? she wondered. ‘Didn’t you say that he’s been running the country while you were away fighting the war? Won’t he mind handing back the reins to you?’ She hesitated. ‘Power can be addictive stuff.’

      He gave a hard smile. ‘Kamal is going to have to get used to a lot of changes,’ he said. ‘And to build a new role for himself. Because, of course, of much greater significance to him than my returning to rule is the fact that you are carrying my child.’ And hadn’t he always led his brother to believe that he had no desire to procreate? Would Kamal think that he had broken his word and thus changed both their destinies?

      Ella’s voice broke into his troubled thoughts.

      ‘And that child will one day inherit?’ she asked.

      ‘Only if it is a son.’ His black eyes bored into her. ‘Is it a son, Ella? Do you know that already?’

      She felt colour rising in her cheeks as his gaze washed over her. ‘No, no, I don’t. They couldn’t tell on the first scan and I …’

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