Kitabı oku: «The Scandalous Collection», sayfa 7

CHAPTER THREE

ASH must still love Nasreen very much indeed to react to the mere mention of her as he had just done, Sophia decided.

How she hungered to be loved like that, wholly and completely, as herself and not for her royal blood. One day, one day she would find that love, Sophia assured herself fiercely, just so long as she remained free to look for it, and wasn’t forced into a marriage she didn’t want. Her passionate nature, like molten lava compressed for too long beneath unforgiving stone, pushed against the unspoken rules of never betraying any real feelings in the Santina family. Before she could stop herself she had burst out, in self-betrayal, ‘My parents don’t believe that love matters. Duty to our family name is all that counts. Especially to my father.’

The pain in her voice caught Ash’s attention. He knew her history so well that he could easily recognise the real reason for the way her voice had trembled over those telling words … my father.

What was happening to him? He had a thousand more important things on which he ought to be focusing. The negotiations he had been involved in to turn the empty, decaying palaces which had once belonged to minor, now long-dead members of his extended family into elegant hotel and spa facilities were at a vitally important stage, as was the exhibition of royal artifacts being mounted by his charity to raise money to help educate the poor of India. These should be at the forefront of his mind, not this wayward passionate and far too desirable young woman standing in front of him.

He needed to bring their conversation to an end.

‘I’m sure that your father only wants what’s best for you,’ he told her as he had done before. He knew that his words were bland and meaningless but why should he try to comfort and reassure her? Why should he care what happened to her? He didn’t, Ash assured himself.

Best for her? Wasn’t that what he had said to her all those years ago before he had walked away from her? That refusing the plea she had made to him was ‘best for her’ when what he had meant was that it was best for him.

‘The best for me?’

Ash could see the bitterness and the despair in her eyes as she shook her head in rejection of his words.

‘No!’ The second vigorous shake of her head that accompanied her denial had the dark cloud of her soft curls and waves sliding sensuously over her bare shoulders, reminding him … Reminding him of what? Of how much his body was still aching for her?

‘What my father wants is what he thinks is the best for him and for the Santina family. And as far as he’s concerned I’ve always been an unwanted and unexpected addition to the family.’ The softness of her mouth twisted painfully as she challenged him. ‘You know that’s true, Ash. You know the gossip about … about my birth as well as I do.’

It was true. He had been a boy, invited back for the school holidays with Alex after Alex’s mother had realised that he was an orphan with no family with which to spend the long holidays from their British boarding school; Sophia herself had barely started school when he had first heard the rumours that the king might not be her father.

‘You have the Santina looks,’ was all he felt able to say to her now.

‘That is what my mother said when I asked her if it was true that the English architect every one gossiped about might be my father, but doesn’t it tell you something that never once whilst I was growing up did anyone ever suggest I should have a DNA test?’

‘What it tells me is that both your parents were so sure that you are their child that a DNA test wasn’t necessary.’

‘That’s what Carlotta says,’ Sophia admitted, ‘but then with an illegitimate child of her own and her refusal to say who the father is, she would say that, wouldn’t she?’ Normally Sophia wouldn’t have been so outspoken about Carlotta’s situation. The birth of Carlotta’s son, Luca, had meant that she, too, was out of favour with the king. They both felt they were outsiders and this had bonded them together, despite the fact that Carlotta had a twin sister.

‘And Carlotta has always been very sensible.’

Sophia gave him a wry look. ‘You call having a child out of wedlock by a man who she won’t name and, according to our father, bringing disgrace on the family sensible?’

A child—a son—only he knew how atavistically he longed for fatherhood, Ash acknowledged as he felt the familiar strike of sharply savage pain burning into him.

He had assumed when he and Nasreen had married that she would be as keen to start their family as he had been. Initially, when she had told him that she wanted to delay it because she wanted to have time alone with him he had been charmed and captivated. But then he had learned from Nasreen’s own lips the real reason why she did not want to have a child—ever—and that had led to the first of many rows between them.

To outsiders, his desire for children would be seen as the natural desire of a man in his situation to have an heir to follow him. There was an element of that there, of course—he had a duty to his inheritance, after all—but his need went deeper and was far more intensely personal than that. The loneliness he had felt as a child had made him long for a family of his own in a way that had nothing to do with being royal, and it was a need he could not turn away from or deny. One day he would marry again—it would be a marriage of practicality and not emotion, but the children that came from that marriage he would love, because that love would come naturally and not have to be forced, or pretended. As he had done with Nasreen. The bitterness of his failure to love Nasreen still brought him guilt.

‘It isn’t what one would have expected of Carlotta,’ he acknowledged.

‘No, Carlotta was always the good one. Not like me. I suppose if anyone outside the family had to choose one of us to do something disgraceful to our father they would choose me.’ Sophia pulled a face. ‘Oh, don’t bother denying it. We both know that it’s true. If it had happened to me I’d do exactly what Carlotta has done and insist on keeping my baby. No matter who tried to take it away from me.’ Her face softened as she added, ‘Little Luca is so gorgeous that sometimes I almost wish he was mine.’ There was genuine warmth and tenderness in her voice. ‘Not that my father would ever tolerate such a lapse from what’s expected from me. It would be the last straw, I expect, and he’d probably completely disown me.’

‘I doubt that your father would be trying to arrange a suitable marriage for you if he himself wasn’t convinced that you are his child, especially not to a fellow royal.’

His statement was intended to reassure her, as well as bring their conversation to a halt, but instead of doing that, it had Sophia firing up again and telling him fiercely, ‘If you think that then you don’t know my father at all. It isn’t for my benefit that he wants this marriage. It’s for his own. For the Santina name. That’s all that matters to him. Not us. Just the reputation of the Royal House of Santina. It’s always been the same, all the time we were growing up. All he ever said to us was that we must remember who and what we are. He rules us as he rules the kingdom, because he believes it is his right to do so. Our feelings, our needs, don’t matter. In fact, as far as he is concerned we ought not to have feelings at all, and that applies especially to me. He doesn’t understand me, he never has. You could help me, Ash. It wouldn’t take very much. As I’ve already told you my father would drop the Spanish prince like a hot potato if he thought he had any chance at all of marrying me off to you.’

‘I doubt very much that your father would switch his allegiance, son-in-law-wise, on the strength of seeing us together for a handful of hours at a party.’

‘Yes, he would,’ Sophia told him succinctly. ‘And I’ll prove it to you if you help me.’

Sophia’s problems were nothing to him, Ash reminded himself. He was simply here as a friend of her eldest brother. The fact that he had felt a certain amount of protective compassion for Sophia as a young girl didn’t mean anything now. After all, then he had been an idealistic young man looking forward to a future filled with love and happiness, or so he’d thought. Now he was a realist—an embittered hard-hearted realist, some might say—who knew that such dreams were exactly that. Wasn’t the truth that it was his view now that an arranged marriage worked better, lasted longer and fitted the purpose it was designed for—the production of an heir and the continuation of a family name—than so-called love? Wouldn’t his own second marriage be exactly that? After all, one only had to look at Sophia’s parents to see the strength of such a union. Whether or not the rumours about Queen Zoe and the young architect were true, their marriage remained solid, as did their shared dedication to preserving the Santina family name. If Sophia thought that her father would ever sacrifice that to allow her to make a marriage of her own choice then in his opinion she was wrong. Besides, she was grown-up now, and could take care of herself. And he didn’t want to muddy the waters of diplomatic relations with a poorly timed flirtation.

‘I don’t see the point in us discussing this any further, Sophia.’ He pushed back the sleeve of his dinner jacket to look at his watch.

He had extraordinarily sexy hands and wrists, Sophia acknowledged, and the warm tone of his skin only emphasised that. For months after he had rejected her she had soothed herself to sleep at night imagining those hands on her body in a caress that was warm and loving, as well as sensually erotic. The pain of the sudden sense of loss that swept her locked her breath in her throat.

‘I have to leave soon,’ Ash told her. ‘If you spoke to your father about your feelings I am sure that he will give you more time to get to know the man he has chosen for you.’

The fierce shrug of her slender, tanned shoulders in a gesture of denial and despair caused the strapless top of her dress to slip downwards, so that the shadow of the areole of her nipples was clearly visible to him. Desire hot and feral shot through him. What was the matter with him? It was as though his body was taking delight in deliberately disobeying the orders he had given it, as though his own flesh was actively delighting in punishing him by making him … want her?

Anger gushed through him. With a figure like hers she must surely have known the risks of wearing a dress like that.

‘If you don’t want everyone here to see what I can see right now I suggest you do something about your dress,’ he warned her curtly. ‘Unless, of course, you do want every man in the room to see what only a lover should be permitted to enjoy.’

Not understanding what Ash was saying, Sophia stared at him in confusion and then took a step towards him, gasping as she stepped on the hem of the front of her dress and felt it slide down her body.

Instantly Ash moved towards her, shielding her from everyone else’s sight, his hands on her upper arms so that no one could see what she now knew must be clearly visible.

She had sunbathed topless as and when appropriate in front of any number of people, so why right now did she feel so embarrassed and self-conscious, her hands trembling as she tried to tug up the front of her dress, succeeding only in dislodging it even more. She choked, ‘You’ll have to help me—I need you to reach round and unfasten the hook and eye at the back so that I can adjust the front.’

He wanted to refuse but how could he without letting her guess the effect she was having on him, as though he was a callow youth who had never seen a woman’s naked breasts before.

It was just as well the elegant ballroom was so busy, Ash acknowledged as he reached around behind Sophia almost as though he was about to take her into his arms, deftly unfastening the hook and eye and then lowering the zip.

‘That’s too much,’ Sophia protested, her face burning as she felt the top of her dress fall away. Not, thankfully, that anyone could see that. Not with her virtually pressed up against Ash in the way that she was, his arms around her.

‘Pull the top up, then I can fasten the zip,’ he ordered her.

‘I can’t, you’re holding me too close,’ Sophia complained.

Exhaling impatiently, Ash started to step back only to have her grab hold of his arm and tell him frantically, ‘No. Don’t move, everyone will see.’

‘I thought that almost everyone already had,’ Ash felt bound to tell her grimly, and then frowned as he saw the speed with which she tried to conceal her expression from him and the hint of tears that had dampened her eyes. She was genuinely embarrassed, he recognised as she tried desperately to stay close to him and at the same time tug up the top of her dress.

‘Here, let me help.’

He had only meant to put the top of her dress back in place but somehow his hand was cupping the side of her breast, his fingertips accidentally grazing her nipple.

Fiery flames of male hunger burned at his self-control. Because his bed had been empty for too long, that was all, whilst an involuntary shudder of sensual awareness openly seized Sophia’s body.

Silently they looked at each other, and then looked away, neither of them willing to speak.

Why on earth had that happened? Sophia asked herself, still shocked by her reaction to him. She didn’t still want him. How could she when she had outgrown her foolish youthful feelings for him? It had been an involuntary reaction of her body to the unexpected intimacy of a male touch, she assured herself. And that male touch could have been any male touch? Yes, of course. Of course.

Silently Ash reached behind Sophia, his expression grim as he refastened her dress, and then stepped back.

He was on the point of walking away from her, his work done and his self-control shot to hell, when he saw that King Eduardo was beckoning them over. Impossible for him to ignore that royal command. Ash sighed and told Sophia, ‘I think your father wants us to join him.’

As they had reached the king and queen, champagne was being handed round in anticipation of a toast. Sophia’s intense focus on how to get around her father’s insistence on this ridiculous arranged marriage had momentarily made her forget that this was her oldest brother’s engagement party. His fiancée Allegra’s father, Bobby Jackson, got to his feet, albeit rather unsteadily, and made a rambling speech of congratulation to the newly engaged couple. When it finally came to an end, they all dutifully toasted the happy couple, but an uneasy rumble of chatter spread around the ballroom in reaction to Bobby’s graceless public display.

‘Ash, how lovely to see you,’ Queen Zoe welcomed him, the diamonds in the tiara she was wearing sparkling in the light from one of the room’s many chandeliers. Sophia’s mother was clearly covering her embarrassment with polite small talk.

Deprived of Ash’s presence at her side as her mother engaged him in conversation, Sophia had to fight hard not to feel alone and abandoned, emotions that were all too familiar to her growing up, despite the fact that then, as now, she had been surrounded by her siblings. The trouble was that she had never felt truly accepted or loved by them. Because she had never felt accepted or loved by her father? That was why it was so important to her to marry someone whom she loved and who loved her, someone who would share her determination to raise the children they would have in a loving home in which those children would know how much they were loved. That was her secret and deepest desire.

As her father began his toast to the happy couple, Sophia turned to look longingly towards Ash. Only a metre or so separated them but it might as well have been a mile. Listening to her father’s speech he had his back to Sophia, and she rubbed her arms in a small sad gesture of self-comfort.

Her father was still talking, and looking straight at her, Sophia realised, as he announced, ‘And Alessandro’s engagement is only the first Santina engagement we are to celebrate. I am delighted to be able to tell you all that my youngest daughter Sophia’s fiancé is shortly to arrive in the kingdom.’

The shock of what her father had said descended on Sophia like an icy wall, numbing her, reducing her to dumb, frozen shock, unable to speak or move as she was jostled by the throng of press photographers who had all been focusing on her brother and Allegra but who were now all around her, instead, their cameras flashing.

As swiftly as it had engulfed her, the numbness receded, leaving her with the reality of the full horror of her situation. Inside she felt as though she was shaking from head to foot, as she was gripped by a rising tide of nausea and furious helpless despair. This couldn’t be happening. Her father couldn’t have trapped her into an engagement without giving her any warning. But he had, and now she had no way of arguing him out of his plans. She felt so weak and helpless, so lost and alone. Instinctively she looked towards Ash but there were too many photographers in the way. Her father, on the other hand, she could see, and the cold warning look in his eyes told her what he expected of her.

Reporters and photographers surrounded her, pushing mikes and lenses in her face as they demanded a response to her father’s announcement.

‘I …’

‘My daughter is delighted to be engaged,’

the king answered for her. ‘Aren’t you, Sophia?’

Shock and a lifetime of always giving in to her father’s will couldn’t be ignored or overcome no matter how much she wanted to do so. As though someone else was speaking the words Sophia bowed her head submissively and responded, ‘Yes.’

From the queen’s side Ash watched and listened to what was happening with a mixture of feelings, the least wanted of which was the sudden savage stab of antagonism he had felt towards the unknown prince to whom Sophia was now officially engaged.

‘Such a relief that Sophia has finally seen sense and realised that her father knows what’s best,’ Queen Zoe murmured to Ash. ‘All this gossip about her in the press has made the king very angry. Marriage will do her good. The king believes that the prince shares his traditional values and beliefs on the role of a royal consort and royal children, and will soon have Sophia realising where her duty lies.’

‘Sophia …’ Sophia felt a small tug on her arm, and she turned from the throng of reporters to see the concerned face of her sister Carlotta.

‘I can’t believe what Father has done. He knows I don’t want to be engaged. I can’t stay here, Carlotta,’ she told her sister. ‘Not now. I’m going to my room.’

By the time she reached the relative sanctuary of her room Sophia’s thoughts were in such turmoil that she was trembling from head to foot as though the force of them couldn’t be contained within her body. How foolish and naive she had been to think that her father would allow her the freedom of trying to change his mind. That had obviously never been an option. Her father must have known all along that he intended to announce her engagement without her real consent. Now her plan to parade Ash in front of her father, in the hope that the king could be deceived into thinking that there could be a match between her and Ash, seemed so juvenile and ridiculous—the pointless hope of someone who didn’t recognise or understand reality. Angry, helpless, frustrated tears blurred her vision. All the things she had done to avoid marriage until she found the right man had been a complete waste of time. She might as well have remained here in her room at the palace as a good and dutiful daughter who never did anything to challenge the status quo.

How was she going to endure what would now be her future? She couldn’t, she wouldn’t, Sophia decided on the wave of panic and pain that welled up inside her, and she certainly wasn’t going to stay here and let her father marry her off. She’d run away and leave the island, cut herself off from her family, before she’d allow herself to be forced into this marriage. Her heart was hammering even faster at the enormity of what she was thinking.

Without allowing herself to think through what she was doing she ran to her wardrobe and started pulling clothes out of it and putting them into a case—something that normally one of the maids would do for her—tears running down her face whilst she did so.

Panting and out of breath she froze when her phone beeped with a text. It was from Carlotta asking if she was OK. About to reply to it, Sophia checked. She didn’t want to involve her sister in what she was going to do.

Now all she had to do was get changed and go to the airport. Then within a few hours she would be on her way to London where she had school friends who she hoped would offer her a temporary sanctuary from her father and from her unwanted marriage.

They would help her, wouldn’t they? She did have friends. Did she? Who? Those good-time, fun-loving crowds whose lives consisted of moving from party to party?

She’d make new friends. Get herself a job. Anything, just as long as she didn’t have to marry the man her father had chosen for her.

She pulled a dress out of her wardrobe and quickly put it on, grabbing a jacket to go over it, mentally checking through what she would need.

Her passport, she had that; some money, she had that. Of course, the national airline would let her board any plane she chose, and with luck it would be morning before anyone realised she had gone, by which time it would be too late for her father to stop her from leaving. By morning she would be on her way to start her new life. A life where she would be in control, and no one else.

‘The last flight’s gone?’

‘Yes, Your Highness. Several hours ago. We had to cancel most of our flights because of the number of private jets the airport has had to accommodate. The first flight to London will be tomorrow morning. I think several journalists are booked on to it.’

Sophia gave a small shudder at the thought of travelling with a curious press pack.

She was well and truly trapped on the island, just as she was going to be trapped in her unwanted marriage.

‘Maybe one of the party guests could offer you a seat?’ the young girl manning the enquiries desk suggested with a smile.

‘No. I don’t think …’ Sophia began, only to stop as she remembered Ash telling her that he was going to have to leave the party before it ended because he needed to get back to India. Her heart thumping, she asked the girl as casually as she could, ‘Do you happen to know if the Maharaja of Nailpur’s plane has left yet?’

The girl consulted a list out of Sophia’s view and then told her, ‘It’s scheduled for take-off in twenty minutes, Your Highness. His plane is waiting at the royal departure gate right now, but the maharaja is flying back to Mumbai and not London.’

Nodding her head Sophia turned away and reached for her suitcase. Ash would help her now, surely? He knew how she felt. He had seen how unfair her father was being. There was no one else she could turn to. She wasn’t going to ask much of him, just a lift in his plane to Mumbai, that was all. From there she could get a flight to London. Despite the glamorous lifestyle she lived, Sophia was very good with her allowance and did have some savings. Enough certainly to pay for a flight to London from Mumbai, and once there … Once there she would worry then about what she would do. Right now she needed to get on Ash’s plane and make sure that he allowed her to leave the island with him.

If the security guards on duty at the doors to the private royal departure and arrivals gate were surprised to see her on her own and wheeling her own suitcase they didn’t show it, bowing briefly to her as she walked past them. Their presence and the bow they had given her brought home to her the reality of what she was about to do and how her family and especially her father would view her behaviour. There could be no going back once she had broken the unwritten rules of the Santina family by defying the king. For a moment she hesitated. And then an image of her standing in church beside the stranger her father wanted her to marry filled her head, galvanising her. Her heart had begun to thump wildly just in case someone at the palace had discovered her absence and had realised that she might try to leave the island. The thought of the ignominy of being dragged back to the palace to face her father and his wrath was all Sophia needed to carry her out of the airport building and into the April night air.

In front of her, down the length of the red carpet that had been put out to welcome their guests, she could see the steps to the executive jet with Ash’s royal crest emblazoned on its side.

There was no one around to stop her as she climbed the steps to the plane, dragging her case with her. Sophia wasn’t used to carrying her own luggage, just as she wasn’t used to packing her own things. The case was heavy and she was slightly out of breath by the time she had managed to drag it behind her and into the empty body of the executive jet.

The main cabin of the plane was elegant but businesslike compared with some of the private jets on which she had travelled before. It was clear to her that Ash used his plane as an extension of his office when he travelled, but then, unlike some of the men who formed part of the smart set with whom Sophia partied, Ash was primarily a businessman, despite his title. At the far end of the cabin there was another door. Sophia went to it and opened it. Beyond it lay a bedroom fitted with a large double bed; a door next to the bed opened into a bathroom. The grey-and-white decor of the main cabin was repeated throughout.

The bedroom area of the plane was in darkness and through the window Sophia could see Ash striding down the red carpet towards the plane accompanied by a uniformed steward. Her heart skipped a beat, tension filling her. She wanted to rush to meet him and beg him for help but he was frowning and looked impatient. Sophia looked towards the bathroom. What if she simply hid herself in there and waited until they had taken off before she revealed her presence to him? That way he would have no choice other than to help her.

The bathroom was compact with a good-size shower and the usual facilities. Most of the spare floor space was taken up by her case so she had to perch on it after she had pulled the door to and taken the precaution of locking it. Presumably there was another lavatory off the main cabin of the jet for staff, so she should be safe in here until they had taken off.

As soon as the jet’s door was locked behind him, enclosing him in its cabin, Ash removed his jacket and sat down at his desk, reaching for his laptop. He had work to do ahead of the meeting he was returning to Mumbai to attend. He had planned to speak with Sophia before he had left the ballroom. His deep-rooted sense of responsibility demanded that he at least tell her that her marriage need not be as bad as she obviously felt it would be, but he hadn’t been able to find her. And if he had found her? If she had pleaded with him yet again for his help? He pushed the laptop away and stood. He had no idea where it had come from, this persistent unwanted ache of what he refused to call anything but mere male lust, but he did know that neither it nor Sophia herself could have any place in his life.

In her hiding place Sophia felt the plane start to move down the runway and then gather speed, before lifting into the sky. She had done it. She had left the island and it was too late to change her mind now. In the morning her family would know she had gone, and her father … Her father would be furious with her, but if he wouldn’t listen to her and let her tell him how she felt then she had no other way of showing him just how much she did not want this marriage.

The plane levelled off. Sophia opened the bathroom door. The bedroom was still in darkness. She looked towards the door to the main cabin and the light showing underneath it. She went towards it and then stopped. She felt so vulnerable and alone. If she went to Ash now she was afraid that she might … That she might what? Throw herself at him and beg him to hold her, to comfort her, to keep her safe? That was ridiculous and it just showed how unlike her real self she was behaving to even think such a thing. It would be better though, wouldn’t it, for her to wait a little longer before she did see Ash in order to give herself time to feel less vulnerable.

Ash didn’t much care for the new temporary steward who had been taken on while his usual man, Jamail, had gone home to look after his sick mother. The man hovered too much and too closely. There was something in his eyes that Ash didn’t like, although he told himself that he was probably being unfair to him as he shook his head, refusing the drink the steward had offered. He looked at his watch. Just gone 1:00 a.m. It was a six-hour flight to Mumbai at least and, with the time difference, it meant it would be 9:30 a.m. before they landed. He had arranged for his meeting to take place in his office in his penthouse apartment in the city, to save time and also to allow him to leave for Nailpur—the Rajasthan state of which he was the ruler and from which he derived his title—the following day to attend to his business there.

A new message from Hassan caught his eye. In it his old friend was complaining that they hadn’t had a chance to catch up at the engagement party.

It was true that Alex, Hassan and Ash didn’t get much opportunity to catch up with one another in person. They all had busy lives. Ruefully, he emailed back—Perhaps you should get engaged yourself, and throw another party—and then went back to concentrating on the key points he wanted to discuss with the consortium that was going to renovate one of Nailpur’s smaller palaces and turn it into an exclusive luxury hotel.