Sheikh's Mail-Order Bride Read Free Page B

after row of rich gold and earth colours, separated by elaborately carved rococo dados. On the furthest wall was something which looked rather like a four-poster bed, and which Constance assumed must be the royal throne. Though the floor immediately in front of it was covered in thick silk rugs, there was, however, not a single other seat, cushion or chair to be found.
    Prince Kadar seemed to realise this at the same time as Constance did. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said ruefully, ‘the Royal Saloon is designed to intimidate visitors, not offer them comfort. I had forgotten.’
    â€˜Forgotten?’
    â€˜I have used this room but once before. When I took my vows.’
    â€˜Your vows,’ Constance repeated, wondering if she was being obtuse. ‘Ah, I see now. This room is used for royal weddings?’
    â€˜I am not married.’ A flicker of something—pain? Sorrow? Regret?—passed over the Prince’s countenance, but it was gone so quickly Constance might well have imagined it. ‘The solemn vows I took when I assumed the crown,’ he said.
    â€˜Oh, you mean your coronation.’
    Another shake of the head. ‘No, that ceremony was postponed until after the period of national mourning for my elder brother, who died suddenly three months ago.’
    â€˜I am so sorry, how dreadful. My most sincere condolences.’
    She had reached out to touch him in an automatic gesture of sympathy. The Prince was staring at her grubby, tanned hand with its ragged nails, which contrasted starkly with the pristine sleeve of his tunic, as if fascinated. Or more likely repelled. Or simply appalled at her lack of deference. Constance snatched her hand away. ‘Were you close, you and your brother?’
    He took so long to answer she wondered if he had heard her question. Or perhaps posing it had been another breach of protocol. When he finally spoke, his tone was flat. ‘I have been living abroad for the last seven years.’
    Which was no answer, but his frosty expression made it clear the subject was closed. When he turned his back, Constance began to panic. She had offended him. The audience was over before it had begun, and she knew not a single fact more than when she had arrived. ‘Please, Your Highness, if you could...’
    He held his hand out to silence her. ‘One moment.’ The throne or divan or whatever it was, was covered in scarlet cushions tasselled with gold. Prince Kadar began to strew them on the floor. ‘There,’ he said, when the throne lay bare and the floor contained two heaps of cushions, ‘now we may both be seated in comfort.’
    He sank down with a fluidity she could not dream of imitating, crossing his legs with enviable ease, indicating that she sit opposite him. Considerably impeded by her voluminous tunic, Constance did as he bid her. The Prince tugged off his headdress, casting it carelessly, with its diamond-encrusted band, onto the stripped throne. His hair was black, silky, dishevelled, curling down over the collar of his tunic at the back, the contrast with his austere countenance adding another dimension to his allure. He really was a very, very attractive man.
    â€˜You were saying?’
    Constance started. ‘What?’ She blushed. ‘I mean, I beg your pardon.’ She pushed her wild tangle of hair away from her face. ‘I mean, yes, I was. I was wondering—that is—the other passengers on the Kent , the crew, Captain Cobb.’
    â€˜Of course.’
    Prince Kadar rested his chin on his steepled fingers. His eyes really were an extraordinary colour, like stone speckled with lichen. What was he thinking? She shifted uncomfortably on the cushions. She wished he would say something. ‘Your Highness? I cannot be the only survivor, surely?’
    â€˜No. No, of course not.’ Another pause. ‘You are anxious. Forgive me, the situation is somewhat awkward, I was trying to think how