For Duty's Sake (7 page)

Typical.

A couple of days ago, she'd received a short note, in his own handwriting. It had stated that the “picture problem” had been taken care of and that he hoped to see her soon. Like that made everything better. The excitement she'd felt at seeing the return address on the stationery, quickly followed by her disappointment there hadn't been anything more personal in the short missive, and then the tiny curl of hope at his professed desire to see her soon had made her mad.

And disgusted with herself.

Almost as disgusted as she was with him right now.

What really had her blood pressure rising was his statement his countrymen could expect announcement of a wedding date by the end of the year.

Not merely the formal engagement, but the actual
wedding date
.

If she'd been reading a printed newspaper she could have thrown it down. Would have thrown it right into the garbage. As it was, all she could do was glare at her computer monitor while a growingly familiar nausea rolled over her in a clammy wave.

She was sprinting for the bathroom moments later, anger at Zahir vying for supremacy at upset at her own colossal stupidity.

 

Zahir arrived at the magazine's offices late Friday afternoon, six weeks after Angele had left Zohra. He was in search of the woman he had spent far too many sleepless nights thinking about over the past weeks.

It was his guilt at putting his duty off that kept him
awake. He wasn't happy that his inaction had led to the need for this dramatic wooing.

He liked the fact his and her names had featured prominently in the media since she'd felt the need to back out of the contract even less. First, speculation on her motives and then his reaction had kept the gossips busy. Then reaction to his own press release had been flurried and florid.

Finally the long-distance wooing he'd done while preparing his offices for his absence had sparked several articles and numerous requests for interviews. He'd turned them all down—well, all but one. However, he'd allowed details of the gifts he'd showered his fiancée-to-be with to leak.

A woman deserved others to know she was appreciated and Zahir was doing his best to express that appreciation for Angele. It had taken a while, a couple of weeks in fact, for his fury at her defection to simmer down to the point he could focus on wooing rather than reading his errant bride-to-be the riot act. He was proud that none of the short notes accompanying his gifts and flowers held any sort of recriminations in them.

He'd even agreed to do an interview and photo spread for her magazine. He'd allowed the magazine's photographer into his offices at the palace in Zohra and agreed to pictures both in his robes of state and wearing designer suits custom tailored to his tall frame for the fashion magazine's feature article.

His every overture, including that one, had been met with a frustrating silence.

Now that his schedule was cleared, the time had come to step up his game.

Accompanied by his personal bodyguard and security detail and dressed in his best Armani and over robes of his office, Zahir carried a bouquet of yellow jasmine into Angele's office building. The receptionist looked up, her eyes going wide as he approached the large half-moon shaped desk in the center of the large lobby.

Giving one of his practiced political smiles, he asked, “Can you direct me to Angele bin Cemal al Jawhar's office?”

The young woman's eyes went even wider as she scrambled for some papers she nearly knocked from her desk, without looking away from Zahir and his security men. “Um…I don't…let me just make a call.”

She scrabbled for her phone, her cheeks going a rosy-pink. She dialed and then started speaking rapidly almost immediately.

“Yes, there's a…I mean I think he's a sheikh, or something. I don't think he's dangerous, but he's got these scary-looking men with him. He's looked for Angele. I think it's Angele anyway. He called her Bin-something, but we've only got one Angele, right? I mean, there's an Angie in accounting, but no one else called Angele…”

He could hear the sound of someone speaking on the other end of the line, the deep tones indicated a male, but Zahir could not be sure.

“Yes. Oh, probably. He's carrying a bouquet of those exotic flowers Angele's been passing out to whoever would take them over the past few weeks.”

Zahir's brows drew together as the implications of the receptionists words sank in. Angele had been disposing of the flowers he sent her by giving them away to all
and sundry? What had she done with the jewelry, then? Pawned it?

His annoyance must have shown on his face because the receptionist flinched and the papers she'd managed to save went sweeping to the floor. It was probably a good thing she wore an earpiece for the phone, or the receiver probably would have gotten dropped as well.

Zahir took a step back from the desk as he schooled his features into impassivity.

The receptionist was nodding at whatever she was hearing over the phone, though she hadn't said anything for several seconds.

She jumped. “Um…yes, of course I was listening. I'll call her extension. Right now, sir.”

The flustered woman pressed a button and then three more. “Um…Angele? Well, yes, I did mean to dial your extension. It's just there's a man down here that looks like, well he could be dangerous, or something, but he's got flowers.” The woman turned away, making some effort to whisper, though her words were still clear. “You're sure he's not dangerous?”

Zahir managed to keep the scowl he felt off his features, but it was a close thing.

“All right. I'll tell him you'll be down shortly. It will be shortly, won't it?”

Apparently even Angele's patience had worn thin with the young woman because there was clearly no reply. The receptionist looked up and then flinched, her face blanching as she must have realized he could hear every word she'd spoken.

“Uh…Angele said she'll be down soon. You can…you should probably wait for her over there.” The young
woman waved toward some chairs by the window on the far side of the large lobby. Zahir nodded stiffly and led his security detail to the other side of the lobby.

“Hello, Zahir.”

He turned at the sound of Angele's voice, his smile of greeting sliding right into a concerned frown.

Her usually honey-gold skin was wan and she had circles under her eyes not hidden by her makeup. She also looked like she'd lost weight; her pale cheeks were hollow.

“Are you well?” he asked and then could have bitten his own tongue. He knew better than to make queries of this type in a public place.

“I'm fine.” She smoothed her hand down the front of her sheath dress.

The color of eggplant, the dark purple was usually a complimentary color for her, but today it only served to enhance the washed-out tone of her skin. Nevertheless, she wore it with stylish élan, her accessories and hair as well put together as any of the models her magazine photographed.

Regardless, she really had no business being at work if she was not feeling well. She needed to be home in bed, being pampered and coddled. His plans for the evening took a sudden shift.

“It is good to see you.” Bowing slightly, he offered her the bouquet of yellow jasmine.

She simply shook her head, making no effort to take the flowers. “I'm cleared to leave. Did you have a destination in mind for this conversation?”

There was something off about Angele's attitude, but he had no time to ponder it as she turned and began
walking toward the front doors. He handed the flowers off to one of the security guards to deal with. And then, he caught up to Angele with his longer strides and they exited the building together.

His limousine waited by the curb. She headed toward it without hesitation. Bemused by her assertive and frankly, unexpectedly cooperative behavior, he followed.

They were in the limo when she turned to him and asked, “Where are we going?”

“We have reservations at Chez Alene.” But he did not think they should keep them.

“My favorite restaurant.”

“I am aware.”

“My mother?” she asked.

“Ultimately, yes.”

“Ultimately?”

“Uncle Malik believed I needed assistance in my plan to woo you.”

“Let me guess, he had the queen compile a dossier.” There was nothing in Angele's tone to indicate how she felt about that, one way or the other.

“Yes.”

She nodded, making no comment on the fact they had known each other their whole lives and a dossier of that type should not be necessary.

“You gave away the flowers I sent you?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Might I inquire why?” He wasn't sure he wanted to know what she had done with the jewelry, or the designer bags and shoes he'd had her mother pick out for her.

“Why did you send them?”

“You deserved a proper wooing after my years of neglect.”

“Duty then.”

He opened his mouth to deny it, but could he without dishonesty? Not completely. “Perhaps, to an extent. However, they were also a reminder that you were in my thoughts even separated by the miles.”

“Poetic.”

He shrugged. “What can I say? I am a man of my culture.”

“You're a pragmatist with a terrifying ability to gauge human nature and use your observations to best effect.”

“You do not believe me sincere?”

“I believe you were thinking of me, but we both know the reason for that, and it didn't have a thing to do with some romantic longing to see me.”

“Define romance. Our last night together was not so forgettable.”

Her hand settled against her stomach and she frowned. “No, it really wasn't.”

“That bothers you.”

She sighed, looking out the tinted windows at the traffic surrounding them. “It doesn't matter.”

“I assure you, it does.”

“No, it really doesn't.”

“I know you think—”

“Look, let's just stop this politically motivated seduction, all right?” Despite her confident words—if possible, she looked even more fragile and out of sorts
than before. “It's a waste of both our time and your efforts.”

“You are so certain I cannot sway your mind?”

“You don't need to. If you agree to certain conditions, I will marry you.”

Z
AHIR
waited for Angele to take the words back, or at the very least, enumerate these said conditions. But she simply stared off into space, breathing shallowly.

“This is unexpected,” he said finally when it became apparent she had nothing else to add.

In fact, he was so stunned his usually facile brain had the speed of cold honey in processing her immediate capitulation.

“Disappointed?”

Oddly he was. And not a little bit wary as well.

“I am aware you love me,” he said, feeling his way in a blind negotiation he had not expected in any form at this stage. “I still believed your pride too wounded to make our reconciliation an easy one.”

She laughed humorlessly. “You believe I'm agreeing to marry you because I love you?”

“Why else?” The prospect she had suddenly decided to submit to duty was not the comfortable thought it should be.

“We didn't use condoms that night.”

His brow wrinkled as he tried to catch her point. “So?”

“So.” She rolled her eyes and waved at her stomach as if that was answer enough.

His brain had no trouble catching up this time and the implication stole all the air from his lungs.

“Surely you were on the pill, or some other form of birth control. You planned the night well ahead of time.” He'd been certain of that during their night together and even more convinced after seeing her letters to the kings and polished press release she'd left behind.

“Yes, I planned it. No, I didn't go on the pill as part of my preparations.” Self-loathing laced her voice. “I should have…I realize that now.”

“Why the hell not?” he demanded, his voice raised in a way he never allowed.

“I don't know. It wasn't rational. I know that, but I thought…one night. I was a virgin, disgustingly naive. I wouldn't get pregnant.” She frowned. “I thought you'd use condoms.”

He ignored the last statement and concentrated on the ones that came before it. “You are too smart for that.”

She glared at him and then seemed to deflate. “Yes, I am. There's no excuse. I really just thought…I don't know. I've tried to understand why I didn't say anything when you didn't use a condom, but my excuses are feeble and stupid. Even to me.”

“You expected me to use condoms?” He couldn't dismiss the claim a second time.

Her brow furrowed as if she didn't understand his question. “Well, yes.”

“Why?”

“Why not? We weren't lovers. For all intents and purposes, what we had was a one-night stand.”

“What we had was a premature wedding night,” he practically shouted and then took a deep breath in shock at himself.

She waved her hand in dismissal, apparently unmoved by his loss of cool. “Call it what you like, but I expected you to use condoms and when you didn't… Well, that first time, I was just so lost to the moment and afterward, I thought the damage was already done.”

“Damage is right.”

That brought the glare back, but there was something else in her expression, something he couldn't quite name. “What is your problem? You're getting your way.”

“You think this is me getting my way? My first child has been conceived without the benefit of a wedding ceremony. I have spent my entire life protecting my family from scandal and now it will visit itself on my child. He or she will forever carry the stigma.”

“Please. This isn't the Middle Ages.”

“If this child is my heir, his throne could be called into question.” He cursed, using more than one language and feeling like that still was not enough to express his fury at the current development.

“Do a DNA test.”

He drew himself up and scowled. “I do not doubt his paternity.”

“I know that.” She rolled her eyes. “I meant so there could be no question of the baby's parentage to others. Anyway, it might be a girl.”

“Yes, because the men in my family are so good at fathering female offspring.” They hadn't done so in five generations that he knew of, not in his direct lineage anyway.

She turned an interesting shade of green and started taking more rapid shallow breaths.

“Are you well?” What the hell was he asking? She was pregnant. Of course she was not well.

“Morning sickness,” she gasped between breaths.

“It is nowhere near morning.”

“The baby doesn't seem to care.”

“This is not acceptable.”

She cringed, her expression filling with too many emotions to name. “You don't want the baby?”

“Of course, I want this child. How could you ask such a thing?”

“Well, you're acting like it's the end of the world, or something.”

“Are you that naive?”

“I am not naive. Not anymore.”

“I disagree. You have not considered the complications this pregnancy will cause. It will be all over the press. After a lifetime of protecting my privacy and behaving with circumspection, I will make a bigger tabloid splash than your father and my brother combined.”

“You don't want me to have this child? You think I should terminate my pregnancy?”

“Have you lost your mind?” How had she gone from what he had said to something so reprehensible? “Do not ever suggest such a thing to me again.”

“I wasn't suggesting it. I'm not the one having a temperamental fit.”

The accusation snapped the last thread of his control.

“Did you do this on purpose?” he leaned forward and asked, memories of Elsa's betrayals freshly branded in
his brain. “Was this your way of getting back at me for my relationship with Elsa?”

“Now, who's making insane accusations?”

“Women scorned have been known to do worse.”

“You never scorned me, you arrogant ass!” Then she swallowed convulsively and scrabbled for the button that would open the sunroof.

He reached up and pressed it when she seemed unable to make the stretch. “When you were eighteen, and I refused your kiss.”

“That was five years ago.”

“Revenge is a dish best served cold.”

She took several deep breaths before saying, “I can't believe this.”

“Join my world.”

“Oh, get over yourself.”

Fresh air came in through the opening in the roof and Angele leaned back in her seat, seemingly breathing easier. Good.

He mentally ran through a list of things needed doing. Consulting an eminent obstetrician was top of the list. “You are not taking this seriously, what this pregnancy means.”

“Oh, I'm taking it seriously all right. I know exactly what it means.”

“Oh?” She certainly had not shown proper understanding so far.

“Yes.” She shot daggers with her usually doe-soft eyes. “It means I'm agreeing to a marriage I don't want.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” she asked, sounding genuinely confused.

“Why agree to the marriage?”

“Because I'm not a stone-cold bitch.”

“I never said you were.”

“My mother told me something a few years ago. It was after I found out about my father's infidelities. I apologized to her for having to live in the States where I could know relative anonymity, instead of her home country of Brazil where she was better known. She'd done it to protect me.”

“I am aware.”

“Well, she told me I had nothing to apologize for, that from the moment a baby is conceived, his or her needs must come first.”

“You are willing to marry me for the sake of our child.”

“Under certain conditions, yes.”

The limo pulled to a stop.

She looked at him with that same sick expression she'd had before opening the sunroof. “We're not at the restaurant. We're hours too early for dinner.”

She swallowed convulsively on the word dinner.

“No, we are at your apartment building. I originally had planned to give you time to get ready for our date.”

“More like, you intended to seduce me before dinner and hoped to cement the romantic proposal over dessert.” The words should have been mocking, but she merely sounded resigned.

“You think you know me.” She was wrong. On the proposal over dessert part.

He'd planned to woo her in person for two weeks before popping the question, so to speak.

“What?” she asked. “It would have been a good plan, if unsuccessful.”

“You do not think I could seduce you?”

“I'm positive you could. Even feeling like my stomach is a jumping board for little green men right now, but I still wouldn't have said yes to your proposal.”

“But you will now, because of the pregnancy.”

“Neither of us has a choice. This baby deserves better than to be shunted to the side as the unacknowledged offspring to a future king.”

“I would never refuse to acknowledge my child.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, in fact, I do not.”

“Never mind. This arguing is making me even more nauseated than usual.”

The sickly pallor to her skin lent truth to her claim. He mentally shook himself. Now was not the time for recriminations. What was done, was done.

He had been right earlier; she clearly needed taking care of.

“Then we will not argue.”

“Thank you.” She sighed again, letting her eyes close as she seemed to concentrate on her breathing.

When the driver opened the door, Zahir wasted no time exiting and then leaning back inside to help Angele alight from the car. Once she'd cleared the vehicle, he bent and lifted her into his arms.

She gasped. “What are you doing?”

Flashbulbs went off and he knew this picture would show up in the media sooner than later.

“I am caring for you. You clearly need looking after.”

“The papers are going to have a field day with speculation accompanying those shots.”

“They'll have more than enough juicy tidbits of truth to publish over the next weeks.”

“We're not going public with the…” She looked around and closed her mouth.

He carried her toward the building allowing his bodyguard to go inside first and the rest of the detail to bring up their rear. “These things have a way of making it to the light. Better to announce the happy event than scramble to respond when some tabloid does.”

She let her head fall onto his shoulder. “I don't want to.”

“We will talk about it later,” he said in his newly formed determination not to cause her stress with further disagreements.

 

Angele sat at the bistro-style table in her kitchen and watched with bemusement as Zahir efficiently prepared a pot of peppermint tea.

“You are awfully comfortable in the kitchen for a Crown Prince,” she observed, happy to focus on anything but recent revelations.

She'd done a lot of facing reality and growing up over the past weeks. Realizing she was pregnant at all, but much less with the probable heir to the Zohrian throne, was all the catalyst she'd needed to shed the last of her naiveté. She'd been shocked by her own joy, even in the face of all this pregnancy would mean.

Like she'd told Zahir, the baby came first, but more than that, she already loved her child and always would.

Angele would do what needed doing to make sure her child's life was all it should be, but that didn't mean she wanted to talk about it right then. She was just starting to feel something other than nauseated.

Zahir shrugged as he finished pouring the boiling water through the infuser into the teapot. “According to my mother, the inability to do something as basic as make a cup of tea is the mark of laziness rather than wealth.”

“I'm sure Lou-Belia would agree with her.”

“Your mother is an imminently sensible woman.”

“You think it sensible to stay with a man who chose infidelity over argument in the attempt to convince her to have another child?” she asked, curiosity rather than bitterness in her voice.

Between discovering she was pregnant and accepting the inevitable consequences that would have for her life, Angele had come to terms with a lot of things. Her present required all her energy; she didn't have any left over to dwell on her family's past.

Zahir carried the teapot and two mugs to the small wrought-iron table. “Life is what it is.”

“I think I'm finally learning what that really means.”

“She chose what she considered the lesser of two evils.” Zahir's tone said he knew what that felt like.

In his position, she would be surprised if he didn't. Nevertheless, Angele warned, “It's not a choice I would make.”

“You cannot doubt that things are completely over between Elsa and me.”

“No, but there are other Elsas in this world.”

“I have no interest in them.”

“I hope that's true.”

“You doubt my word?” Zahir's shock was almost comical.

She poured the tea, adding a scant teaspoon of sugar to hers. “Not exactly.”

“Then what,
exactly
?”

“The future. I doubt the future.”

“Well, don't.”

She wanted to laugh, but simply shook her head. “If only it were that easy.”

“It can be.”

“Certain safeguards would make it easier.”

“The conditions.”

“Yes, my conditions.”

“For you to marry me, despite the fact you carry my child.” He stirred not one, but three teaspoons of sugar into his tea.

She'd always found his sweet tooth endearing, something she knew about him that few people noticed. Because he didn't eat desserts. But he did drink cocoa and put lots of sugar in his coffee and tea. Seeing evidence of that sweet tooth now brought a measure of comfort, a reminder that not everything had changed.

He was still the same man she'd fallen in love with from afar, the same man she'd planned for most of her adult life to marry.