The Sheikh's Secret Son Read online

  How many times did a person’s self-esteem have to be stamped into the ground before they were forced to admit defeat and walk away?

  ‘We should take you into the house so that we can make some arrangements for your care,’ Dr Eden added, his grey eyes flicking towards his impressive employer for confirmation.

  The first man to help her reacted first, quickly assuming what must be his esteemed position as the Sheikh’s chief security guard. ‘I will go and get a stretcher, Your Highness.’

  ‘That won’t be necessary, Rashid,’ Zafir flashed, his icy gaze irritably scanning Darcy as she sat hunched on the new-mown lawn, massaging her ankle. ‘I will carry Miss Carrick over to the house myself.’

  Her immediate declaration of indignation at being treated like some extraneous piece of baggage died on her lips. In her more forgiving moments, when she’d flirted with the unlikely idea of somehow meeting up with Zafir again and having a frank conversation with him about what had really happened back then, it hadn’t been like this. No, never like this... The warm, funny, erudite man she’d once worked for and fallen in love with was a very different person from the cold, embittered stranger she was faced with now.

  Biting her lip, she murmured, ‘I think I’d rather crawl.’

  She didn’t know if he’d heard her, but to add insult to injury he easily dropped down to lift her into his arms.

  ‘I hope you don’t have an accomplice in this little escapade of yours? If you do, no doubt he is long gone. Perhaps he found out that you were not so bewitching after all, and sensibly took the opportunity to flee when he had the chance?’

  Swallowing down her hurt that he so naturally assumed she’d been with another man and up to no good, Darcy schooled herself to stay silent instead of reacting. But her senses were awash with pain, and a regret that thundered like a raging river in her blood.

  Could he not see beyond his own prejudiced beliefs and realise the truth? Clearly not...

  Without further preamble, he swept her up and marched towards the house, with the effete doctor in front and Rashid following behind—no doubt his gaze diligently sweeping the area in case anything else untoward threatened. She didn’t dwell on that for long, because now her senses had to contend with the unexpected intimacy of being pressed firmly against the Arabian’s chest, knowing that he took no pleasure in the sensation and that all he must feel for her was contempt.

  * * *

  Zafir’s heart was beating double time as he carried Darcy over to the sumptuous couch in the drawing room. In his wildest dreams he’d never thought to have the opportunity to hold her again like this. When he’d banished her from his sight over four years ago he’d sworn he wouldn’t even think of her. But something had told him even then that he was lying. The beautiful face that he’d always likened to his vision of an angel was etched on his heart, whether he wanted it to be or not.

  As he helped lower her gently onto the sofa’s plumped-up cushions it was no easy task, when her bewitching perfume kept infiltrating his senses and he noted that her extraordinary blue eyes still had the ability to dazzle him more than ever.

  But he would be a fool if he forgot for even an instant that this woman had cruelly betrayed him. If their relationship had progressed he would have given her everything—not least his undying love and devotion—but she had thoughtlessly ruined it all by fooling around behind his back and making a play for his own brother.

  Her behaviour was beyond belief. Pretending devotion was clearly just a game to her. With her angelic face and no doubt practised feminine wiles, likely she could twist any man who took her fancy round her little finger and have her way. His brother Xavier had warned him more than once what she was capable of—although Zafir knew his notoriously charming sibling was apt to bend the truth from time to time.

  But blood was thicker than water, he told himself and how could he not believe what he’d seen with his very own eyes?

  In the aftermath of that shocking incident Xavier had wasted no time in giving him further details of what Darcy was really like, saying he’d seen the way she operated at the bank the family owned long before Zafir had appeared to run the head office in London.

  The cruel scene he’d witnessed had brought an end to all his hopes. He’d found Darcy in a heated embrace with Xavier.

  Her features had radiated her shock and dismay when he’d suddenly surprised them by coming into the room, and immediately she’d denied any wrongdoing. Instead she’d insisted that she’d been trying to get away from Xavier, not willingly embracing him! That in truth Zafir’s brother had been harassing her—had been doing so for months. It was he who should be penalised, not her...

  ‘Tell the housekeeper to get a drink for my unexpected visitor.’ After addressing Rashid, Zafir turned back immediately, to keep Darcy in his sight—although under the circumstances it would take nothing less than a miracle for her to be able to run away. ‘What is your preference, Miss Carrick? Tea or coffee?’

  The glance he gave her was neither friendly nor particularly polite. He wasn’t going to grant the woman any dispensation—that was for sure. Aside from her previous misdemeanours, she had now made an unbelievable attempt to break into his house.

  ‘Neither.’

  It was hard not to be moved by the look of anxiety he saw reflected in the blonde’s vivid blue eyes and, strangely, it bothered Zafir more than it should have. Was she honestly not concerned that he might call the police and prosecute her for trespass? There was no reason why he shouldn’t, he told himself. No matter what had gone on between them in the past, he certainly didn’t owe her any allegiance.

  ‘I—I just want to know what you intend to do about all this,’ she said nervously.

  ‘Forgive me for interrupting, Your Highness,’ Dr Eden interjected firmly as he came and stood by the sofa where Darcy was lying. ‘But, whatever you decide to do, I’d advise that we get Miss Carrick to the hospital first, so that her injury can be X-rayed.’

  Coming out of the stupor he’d fallen into while gazing at Darcy, Zafir nodded abruptly. Retrieving his mobile phone from the inside pocket of the Arabian khandoura he wore, he accessed the number of one of London’s most exclusive private hospitals to which he had a direct line. Glancing back at his visitor as he requested an ambulance, he had a sudden notion that she might be going into shock. She was definitely looking a little flushed, and her eyelids had fluttered closed as though she barely had the strength to keep them open.

  ‘Dr Eden.’ He authoritatively addressed the medic. ‘I must ask you to take Miss Carrick’s temperature. It is my opinion that she looks more than a little unwell.’

  ‘Do not be too concerned, Your Highness,’ the doctor reassured him. ‘It is quite a natural reaction for a person to feel faint after an accident, but I will gladly do as you ask.’

  ‘Good.’

  A short time later, satisfied with the doctor’s assurance that Darcy’s rise in temperature was not significant enough to be worried about, Zafir waited impatiently for the ambulance to arrive. In turn, their patient had become particularly quiet. She was clearly lost in a mysterious landscape of her own.

  He had no idea what she might be thinking. Once upon a time he wouldn’t have had to speculate. He had been as intimately attuned to her thoughts and feelings as any man in love could be, and he still carried the grief of her betrayal like a suppurating wound that would never heal.

  The sound of an ambulance siren pierced the room’s growing preternatural stillness, and it had the same impact as a lightning bolt flashing outside.

  As Zafir hurried across the oak floor, with Rashid behind him, he called out over his shoulder to the doctor. ‘Keep a watch on Miss Carrick. Don’t let her out of your sight!’

  ‘What do you think I’m going to do? Perform some kind of magic trick and make myself disappear? I wish,’ Darcy grumbled sarcastically.

  Zafir didn’t waste time with a response. He was already at the door, throwing it wide in order to h
urry out into the hallway. Addressing the man at the front door, who introduced himself as the chief paramedic, he guided him and the two other crew members into the drawing room. Darcy was resting her back against the curve of the elegant couch, as though it had taken the strain off of the accident, but in spite of her little outburst just now she wasn’t able to hide the fact that she was worried.

  So was Zafir. Right then, he honestly didn’t know what he was going to do about the consequences of her fall from his garden wall or her startling reappearance into his life. In truth, he was still knocked sideways at seeing her again. And as yet he hadn’t decided whether to prosecute her or not. Most people in his privileged circle wouldn’t hesitate to throw the book at her.

  Hadn’t he learned that she wasn’t to be trusted? people would say. That she was nothing but a sly opportunist...a Jezebel.

  He could almost hear the condemning words echo round his brain. Wasting no more time in deliberating—that would have to wait until they had the X-ray results—he instructed the paramedics to do what they had to do and transport her into the ambulance.

  She was wearing jeans, a deep blue woollen sweater and a short mustard-coloured jacket. And as the paramedics expertly lifted her slender frame onto a stretcher Zafir observed that she’d grown a little thinner since he’d seen her last. Had she been eating properly?

  He remembered that she’d often lose her appetite when she was stressed, and even though he knew he shouldn’t give a jot if something was troubling her, knew that Darcy was nothing to him any more, he gruffly declared, ‘I will accompany my guest to the hospital.’

  ‘Of course, Your Highness,’ the paramedic responded. ‘Just to reassure you, I think it’s going to be a very straightforward procedure. The young lady will soon be as right as rain again—you’ll see.’

  He was a slightly overweight, cheerful-looking man of forty-plus, with a receding hairline—one of those dependable sorts that the great British public would probably describe as ‘the salt of the earth’. And, oddly, Zafir was reassured—at least for a minute or two.

  * * *

  When the attentive medical staff at the hospital stretchered Darcy into an examination room, Zafir came with her. Before they’d entered Dr Eden had given them his own efficient assessment and, in deference to his colleagues, told his employer that he would wait for him outside.

  All of these events hardly reassured Darcy. The familiar scent associated with anything medical, along with the forbidding-looking examination couch, made her feel queasy, and Zafir’s daunting aristocratic presence even more so. But the most pressing thing of all on her mind was her son. At present Sami was in the care of her mother, because she was babysitting him, but what if she had to tell her that she needed to stay in hospital for the night?

  Darcy had never told her mother who Sami’s father was, and she contemplated how she would couch her words in order to cause the least anxiety. She knew her mother would think she’d lost her mind—climbing the walls of the Sheikh’s home in an attempt to speak to him. Especially when she’d ended up spraining her ankle.

  Was it worth it? She could hear her mother ask. You should have gone down the proper route of arranging a meeting with him, no matter how long it took. Look at what you’ve risked!

  Darcy’s heart suddenly felt as heavy as a boulder inside her chest.

  And that would be before she conveyed to her mother the fact that her ex-employer had been furious at her finding him even before she’d told him that he’d left her pregnant and that he now had a son.

  Seeing as he was now engaged to be married, the news would hardly be the best he could receive. But, at the same time, what would the repercussions be for her? What if he immediately demanded custody of Sami? Or...worse still...wanted to take him back to Zachariah, away from her and all he had known for the past four years? That didn’t bear thinking about.

  CHAPTER TWO

  DARCY HAD A splint and a crepe bandage fitted round her injured ankle. Thankfully, the X-ray had revealed no broken bones, but Darcy had badly torn the ligaments and would need at least three weeks’ complete rest to help them start to heal—beginning with one full night at the hospital so that the medical staff could keep an eye on her.

  That was the part that alarmed her the most. The swish, luxurious medical facility was clearly private, and there was no way on earth she could afford to spend any of her hard-earned cash on a stay here. It was essential she get home.

  Zafir had gone to consult with the doctor and her need to talk to him was growing ever more urgent. The tension she was feeling was near unbearable. But just then he returned, and his arresting presence stirred the air. There was no sign of Rashid or Dr Eden.

  The impact Zafir made in his impressive garb hit her anew. With his chiselled, strong-boned features and flowing dark hair his commanding appearance was enough to render anyone speechless. He was simply magnificent.

  Propped up by a couple of plump pillows in the hospital bed, with her ankle elevated, Darcy felt her heart bump nervously against her ribs. She couldn’t help feeling a little intimidated. Instinct told her that with all the drama of her fall perhaps now wasn’t the right time to tell him about Sami, even though it was the sole reason she’d gone to his house.

  Perhaps her confession should take place under more conducive circumstances? If she could arrange such a scenario, might he view her sudden unsettling appearance in his life more favourably?

  Impulsively, she reached for his hand. Having not told her mother that she’d be back late, she felt her fears about spending the night away from her young son escalating.

  ‘I can’t possibly stay the night here, Zafir. I need to get home. There—there’s something important I have to do.’

  Mesmerised, he stared down at the slender hand clasping his as if he couldn’t quite believe it was hers. Then he lifted his head, and where previously his dark eyes had been entranced, they were now hard with suspicion. Obviously he wasn’t going to be extending an olive branch to her any time soon.

  ‘What do you have to do that’s so important?’ he demanded. ‘Is it that you want to tell your accomplice you were unsuccessful in breaking into my house? Is that what you need to do, Darcy? Will there be repercussions for you if you don’t get home tonight?’

  Wrenching back her hand, she flushed indignantly. ‘For goodness’ sake—once and for all, I wasn’t trying to break in and I don’t have an accomplice. Do you think I’ve become so desperate and vengeful since you fired me that I’d resort to breaking in to your house when I learnt you were there?’

  ‘I cannot attest to knowing what you’d resort to, Darcy. Once upon a time I thought I knew who you were,’ he said soberly, ‘but clearly I didn’t. As for your reasons for turning up at my residence in such a dramatic way—I am his Royal Highness Sheikh Zafir el-Kalil of Zachariah, and naturally my wealth and position draws attention...not all of it innocent.’

  Distraught that he clearly still thought she was a liar, when all she’d ever done was stay loyal to him and give him her devotion, she found his words hard to bear. But suddenly part of his statement registered more emphatically.

  ‘I’ve just realised... That was your father’s title, wasn’t it? I mean...he was the Sheikh of Zachariah, wasn’t he? Are you saying that he’s passed away and now you’re the...?’

  ‘Sheikh of the kingdom... Yes, I am.’

  It was as though a shutter had slammed down over his enigmatic gaze and rendered his feelings impossible to read. Was he still grieving? He must be. Darcy knew that father and son had been close.

  As she twisted her hands together she felt genuine sympathy, unsullied by the turbulent waters that flowed between them. She knew only too well what it meant to lose a devoted father. And once upon a time Zafir had told her how much he loved and admired his esteemed parent, and one day hoped to display some of the wisdom and knowledge he was revered for himself.

  ‘I’m sorry... I mean I’m sorry for your loss,’ she added
softly.

  For a brief moment it looked as if the mistrust and suspicion in his eyes had lessened. But very quickly his expression was stony again, and it brought her firmly back to the present.

  Raising his chin, he remarked, ‘As I was saying, my position inevitably draws attention and not all of it is welcome. I am fully aware that those who are unscrupulous might try and steal from me from time to time.’

  ‘Well, I’m not one of those.’ Her brilliant blue eyes didn’t hide her dismay. ‘And there’s nothing I want that I would be prepared to steal from anyone...certainly not anything material. If I couldn’t buy it for myself then I’d just as soon forget it.’

  ‘Then what is this urgent need you have to see me? The reason for all the messages you say you left at my office...messages that I never received?’

  ‘I wanted to tell you about that in private. Somewhere we can speak freely.’

  The expression on his face told Darcy that she was sorely testing him. His glance impatiently swept the room before returning to rest on her. ‘This is private enough. You might not get another chance.’

  ‘Why? Do you despise me so much that you can’t bear the thought of seeing me again?’

  Hearing the disturbing catch in her voice, Zafir was alarmed. Could any man despise a woman who looked like she did?

  He remembered the day she’d walked into his office, having been assigned to him as his PA. He had arranged that the bank’s administrative manager would select someone for him, as it would be one less thing for him to do on his arrival from Zachariah, and the man who had selected Darcy from the pool of highly qualified secretaries the bank employed had assured him that she was one of the best. Having read her credentials, Zafir had agreed.

  When he’d finally met her, his heart had stalled in surprise and pleasure. Her beauty had been the ethereal kind that romantic poets wrote the most exquisite accolades to...

  All thoughts of work and the demanding schedule he’d had ahead of him had been instantly forgotten. Being a red-blooded, virile male, all he’d been able to think about was what it would be like to seduce her.