The Inherited Bride (17 page)

“Definitely. Education is so important.”

“I didn’t know you were so passionate about it.”

“I am. Without the schooling I had.” She tried to think of a way to explain it. “It was my escape. I learned about what I couldn’t do, places I couldn’t go. It added so much to my life. Every child … every person … should have that.”

Adham looked at Isabella, at the passion in her blue eyes as she spoke, and his respect for her grew. She was much more complex than he’d given her credit for when he’d first met her. He’d thought she was simply spoiled and immature, but that wasn’t it. She was naive, but she was smart. Innocent in the ways of the world, but savvy in social situations.

And having
his
ring meant something to her. That was an intriguing thing. He hadn’t imagined it would matter to her. It was still an arranged marriage—a marriage she didn’t want but was willing to go through with for the sake of her country, just as he was.

Now that he knew, he wanted to ensure she had a ring she would love. A ring that fit her. He had no idea why it suddenly mattered, except that it mattered to
her.
Isabella should have some happiness, should have something she wanted.

The wind blowing through the camp was hot, and they
got a blast of it when they moved away from the car and began walking toward the camp. Isabella licked her lips, and he felt the impact of it hard in his gut. He wanted her—wanted her with a ferocity that nearly drove him to grab her and haul her back to the Hummer, so he could take her in the back seat, feel the tight, wet heat of her body around him again.

His hands shook with his need. This … this desire that was so all-consuming it was like a weed. It had taken root, and now it had gone so deep he couldn’t extract it.

No. He would. She was to be his wife, and wanting her was expected—welcome. But he could not allow it to control him.

The leader of the Bedouin tribe walked out to greet them, children clustering around him, their eyes round with awe over meeting such a powerful man. Isabella imagined they had no real idea that Adham was the king, but they didn’t really need to. Adham projected power effortlessly. In a group, he would be the one others would turn to for guidance automatically, even without a title connected to him.

A rush of pride filled her as she watched him—the man she loved, the man she was going to marry—walk with the other man over to the fire and sit with all the men, talking with them, treating them like equals, listening to their concerns. She knew Adham hadn’t been comfortable at the big, formal event that had been held at the palace, but here he was in his element. Connected to his people.

One of the women ushered her into the tent where they were sitting, talking and laughing, sewing in the lantern light. She loved talking to them, finding out about their customs, hearing stories about their children.

They had so little, and yet they had so much love. It was how Isabella wanted to treat her children—the children she would have with Adham. She wanted them to have more than nannies and tutors. She wanted them to have this. Love. Acceptance. For them to know she was proud of them. She wanted them to have everything her parents had denied her.

When Adham came into the tent a couple of hours later Isabella’s heart leapt into her throat at the sight of him. He made sure he greeted all the women, even taking time to ask for each of their names.

Then he turned to her. “It is time for us to go, Isabella.”

She nodded and stood, and he placed his hand on the small of her back. The gesture was intended as a casual maneuver, and she knew that, but it still sent reckless heat blazing through her, made her feel as though she was on fire with her desire for him. Even in front of people it was like that. And he, as always, was a statue, never betraying a moment’s discomfort, not affected in the least.

When they were back in the car, Isabella leaned toward the passenger door, trying to put some distance between the two of them.

“Did you enjoy making conversation with the women?” he asked.

She nodded. “Yes. We had some time to discuss the difficulties with schooling out here …” She hesitated. “I think … I think I have an idea.”

“Do you?” He didn’t sound condescending, as her father would have, he actually sounded interested. That bolstered her confidence.

“Yes. I was thinking that we could do a simple ‘six weeks on, six weeks off’ schedule and bring teachers in on rotation. That way the children would get the education
they need, but a teacher who isn’t accustomed to living out here won’t burn out from living in the desert for so long at a time.”

“That’s a good idea.”

“You think so?”

“Yes. We had thought of boarding schools, but the more traditional people want their children home, so that they can also educate them according to their customs. But having the teachers here, on a schedule that would allow them breaks, would probably be the best solution. I’ll talk to the teachers we have out in the field and work at tailoring a schedule with them.”

Isabella couldn’t hold back her smile. She liked that she had been able to at least offer one solution to Adham. Especially since she was the cause of so many of his problems.

That thought made her smile fade again.

“We have more tribal leaders coming to the palace tomorrow. They are less … modern than some of the men we’ve met so far. They will not wish you to be present when we meet.”

“Oh.” She didn’t know what else to say to that.

“I have always been proud of my father’s legacy, of Hassan’s, of what they have done to champion women’s rights in our country, but these people … they live in the heart of the desert, untouched by technology or many other things from the modern world.”

“I see.” It hurt her feelings to be told she wasn’t wanted. Of course it did. Even if it was silly. It wasn’t as though Adham had said
he
didn’t want her around.

But he didn’t. That was why it bothered her. Because she felt as if he was using the wishes of the tribal leaders to get rid of her.

It would help if she could tell what he was thinking. But she couldn’t. She never could.

“I wish I could read your mind,” she said, not really intending to say it out loud, but not sorry she had.

“No,” he said, his voice rough suddenly. “You don’t wish that.”

“Yes. I do. You said to ask for what I wanted. I wish I could understand you. We’re going to get married. I think it would be helpful if we at least reached some sort of understanding.”

He applied the brakes, stopping the car in the middle of the desert road and turning to her, his eyes glittering in the dim light. “If you could read my thoughts you would be scandalized.”

“Maybe I’d like to be scandalized.”

“I think you and I have caused enough scandal.”

“We can’t dwell on that forever. What happened that night happened. There’s nothing that can be done about it now.”

He extended his hand, cupped her cheek, and she realized that he was shaking. His eyes were intense on hers, his mouth set into a hard line, his jaw locked tight. He stroked the line of her jaw with his thumb.

When he kissed her, it was hot and hard, fierce but short, his lips burning her, searing her soul.

Adham reveled in the touch of her soft lips, enjoyed the velvet feel of the inside of her mouth against his tongue, her taste, her smell, everything uniquely and wholly Isabella. His heart was slamming hard against his chest, all of his blood rushing south of his belt, making him hard, making him ache.

He wanted her—wanted to peel her modest dress off and reveal her breasts to his gaze, to taste those hardened tips, suck them between his lips. He wanted to see all
of her, touch all of her, sink into her tight body and lose himself in her, give up the battle he was waging against his own desire.

He wrenched his mouth away from hers, his hands unsteady, his stomach tight, his heart beating in a chest that felt too small to accommodate it.

This was a madness that could not be endured. If he were another man—a man with less responsibility, a man who didn’t have two nations of people depending on him—he would take Isabella away and spend however long it took—weeks, months—exorcising her from his system. As it was, he didn’t have that time. He was a man who could not afford to have any weakness in him, a man who needed to be strong, who needed to have dominion over his every fleshly need.

And that meant he couldn’t afford to give in. Not to any desire that had the power to control him, that had the power to overshadow his good sense. That had the power to make him forget his loyalty to his brother, the only family he had left. Family he had betrayed so easily.

If he could break those bonds of loyalty with his brother, what would prevent him from breaking his vows to Isabella? Breaking the vows of service he’d made to his country?

He had to find his strength again. Find his control.

“This will not happen again until after the wedding,” he ground out, satisfied that he had made a decree, that he had set a timeline. One he would follow. One she would follow.

She settled back into her seat, her head tilted back, exposing the smooth line of her elegant throat. Lust gripped him hard, challenged him. He squashed it ruthlessly, shutting off all feeling, all thoughts of anything except for the passing desert.

He was the High Sheikh of Umarah. Ultimate control belonged to him. He would not give in to temptation. She was only a woman—one in a long line of many. He would not allow her to get beneath his defenses again.

A
DHAM
was a cold stranger the next morning at breakfast, although the servants and aides were still moving around, talking. It would die down, she supposed. It wasn’t so chaotic at the Turani palace, but then, unless it was a formal occasion her father didn’t often eat meals with the family. Perhaps if he had there would have been more activity in the dining room.

She wondered if Adham would always take meals in here, with her. With their children. She could be pregnant. It was unlikely, but possible. She wanted Adham’s child, but she hoped she hadn’t conceived yet. They had way too many issues to work through before adding a child into the mix.

Adham was either hot or cold with her. That was an understatement; he was either blazing or completely frozen. As he was this morning.

When the staff left, only the two of them remained. She hated the awkwardness. At least they’d had some sort of relationship before all of this. It had been tense at times, and they’d often been working toward opposing goals, with the undercurrent of attraction always there, making things difficult, but it hadn’t been like this.

He was so closed off, all of his defenses up, his walls
thick around his soul. Keeping her out. Keeping everyone out.

“Do you want children?” she asked, blurting it out before she had a chance to censor herself.

“I need children. An heir.”

“But do you
want
them?”

“Do you?”

She thought about it—really thought about it for the first time—about what she would choose if there was no one involved but herself and the man she loved. What it would be like to hold a child in her arms, a baby. The only baby she’d ever held was her niece. She was so perfect, a little mix of Max and Alison. Would their baby be the same? A mix of the two of them? It made her heart tighten, made tears well up in her eyes.

“Yes,” she said, knowing it was true. “I had always taken it for granted before that I would but … yes, I do. Even if I weren’t in the position I’m in, I would want them.”

He didn’t respond, he only lowered his eyes to the documents that were in front of him.

“You wouldn’t, would you?” she asked, feeling a heavy sickness settle in her stomach.

“I do not want a wife. Why would I want a child?” His voice was hard, cold.

“So if we do have a baby … you won’t love him?”

“I will give what I have, Isabella. No child of mine will be neglected.”

“Of course,” she said slowly, hearing the bitterness creeping into her tone. “You would do your duty. As you always do.”

“At least I will do that. Many men do not.”

“But is it enough if your relationship with your father is
only there because he feels he has to give it to you?” She knew it wasn’t enough from a fiancé, from a husband.

“You’re borrowing trouble. There is no child yet.”

“But there will be, Adham. We’re going to have a family together, and I have a right to know how you see that family in your mind.”

He said nothing for a long moment, clenching his fists tightly, like he did when he was grappling with his control. “I wish that I could offer you more.”

“You could.”

“No, Isabella. I lost that ability long ago. That’s what life experience can do to you. It hardens you. You simply haven’t been through enough to know that yet.”

“You’re doing a wonderful job of making sure I reach that point,” she said acidly, rising from her chair and exiting the room, her heart pounding in her chest.

She wanted to scream, wanted to run into the solitude of the desert and hurl obscenities at the sky. Why did there have to be such a painful distance between herself and the man she was supposed to marry? The man she loved.

It seemed cruel that in a room full of strangers she could connect, could laugh with them, talk with them, and yet the one man she could not reach was Adham. There was a war raging inside him. She felt it—felt the struggle, the tension in his body whenever they were near each other. She didn’t know what he was fighting, and she had even less of an idea of who would win.

But if she could have nothing else she would find a connection with him again. She couldn’t stand him being a stranger anymore. She couldn’t stand that moment of connection, that moment when he’d been inside her, been one with her, to be nothing more than a distant memory.

She needed more than that. From her marriage. From life. There were choices in her life that had been made for her, things that were out of her control, but she would not let her relationship with her future husband be one of them.