SECRETS OF A PREGNANT PRINCESS Read online

  After all, he was merely a servant in her life, a peasant farmer turned bodyguard, with humble beginnings. Nobody knew the secret of his birth, a secret he had learned upon his mother's death.

  Their conversation about her parents had made her sad. Farid struggled to find something to say to alleviate the haunting shadows in her eyes, but before he could say anything a little girl careened into them, tears streaming down her plump little face.

  "Sweetie, what's wrong?" Samira bent down on one knee, unmindful of the dusty cobblestones beneath her pale beige dress. She drew the child against her. "Why are you crying, honey?"

  "I want my mommy," the little girl said amid sobs of tears.

  "Is your mommy lost?" Samira asked. The child nodded her head. "Sweetheart, it's all right." She pulled the girl into her arms and gently patted her back. "We'll find your mommy for you." She looked up at Farid, beseeching him to do something.

  The little girl had stopped crying and now clung to Samira as if they were new best friends. Farid reached down and plucked the child from her so she could rise from the dusty ground.

  The girl's eyes widened, but she didn't cry. "Tell me, little one," he said, keeping his voice soft and gentle. "What does your mommy look like?"

  "She's big. But not big like you," she said, her eyes wide and filled with misery.

  Farid was conscious of Samira standing right next to him, her body heat radiating outward. The scent of her stirred his senses. He focused on the child in his arms. "And what color is her hair?"

  She pointed to Samira's dark, shining hair. "Like that."

  "That narrows it down," Farid muttered. Practically every woman on the piazza had dark hair.

  The little girl placed a tiny hand on Farid's cheek. "You look like my daddy." Her bottom lip quivered ominously. "I want my daddy. I want my mommy." Farid looked helplessly at Samira as the girl burst into tears once again.

  At that moment they heard a woman's voice frantically calling above the din of the piazza. "Tamara! Where are you, baby?"

  "That's my mommy!"

  "I guess she's not lost anymore. Let's go find her," Farid said and smiled at the little girl. He looked at Samira, then nodded in the direction of the woman's voice. Together they walked through the crowd to find her.

  Within minutes a happy reunion had taken place between mother and child, and Samira and Farid were seated at a table in the Red Dragon Pub to enjoy some lunch.

  Samira had been curiously silent since Farid had handed the young Tamara back to her grateful mother. As they'd walked along the cobblestones toward the pub, he'd felt her gaze lingering on him.

  He now sat across from her, the scent of the fresh-cut floral centerpiece in the middle of the table mingling with the savory smells of browning meats and steaming vegetables. She cast him surreptitious glances above the menu she held in her hands.

  He wasn't sure why, but he somehow felt as if she were judging him, taking his measure not only as a bodyguard but as a man. It set him on edge.

  It wasn't until after they'd ordered that she leaned forward in her chair and gazed at him intently. "You're good with children," she said, more than a touch of surprise in her voice.

  "You thought perhaps I ate children for breakfast?" He was aware of the irritation in his own voice.

  Her face brightened with a blush. "Of course not. I just … I just…" Her voice trailed off and she stared into her water glass. "It surprised me, that's all."

  "I like children," he said.

  She sighed, and when she looked up at him again, the dark shadows of unhappiness were back in her eyes. "Desmond told me he loved children. When I told him that my heart's desire was to be a wife and a mother, he told me he'd always wanted a family."

  She shook her head and once again averted her gaze from his. "I still can't believe I was such a fool where he was concerned."

  Her unhappiness not only darkened her lovely eyes, but also wafted from her, a cloud of despair that seemed to settle on his shoulders.

  Again an uncharacteristic protectiveness rose inside him, and he wanted to hunt down Desmond Caruso and put enough fear in the man that he would never again take advantage of a sweet-natured, vulnerable woman.

  "Princess," he began softly.

  She held up a hand. "Please, at least for the time we're away from Tamir, please call me Samira."

  "Samira," he said, her given name feeling strange on his lips. "As I told you last night, you don't have to face this alone. We will marry and nobody will have to know the truth about your pregnancy. Everyone will just assume the child is mine."

  That is, nobody would know until the child was old enough to handle the truth. Then the truth would be told, for Farid knew more than anyone how lies, even ones of omission, could hurt and grow bitterness in the heart.

  * * *

  It was the smile that had made Samira reevaluate Farid. It had been the warmth of his eyes, his gentle tone and that darned smile as he'd spoken to the lost little girl.

  A grim-faced, arrogant Farid was handsome, but a smiling, tender Farid was positively breathtaking. The sight had shaken her for most of the afternoon.

  She now stood beneath the shower, washing off the dust from the day spent in the bustling piazza. They had eaten a silent but leisurely lunch at the Red Dragon Pub, then had shopped the rest of the afternoon.

  She had insisted that Farid buy some casual clothing for the days they would remain in Montebello. She wanted nobody on the street to recognize her, and she prayed nobody would mention to Desmond that she was here in Montebello. If he didn't know already. She wasn't ready to see him, wasn't ready for any sort of confrontation with him.

  All throughout the afternoon, Farid's marriage proposal had never been far from her mind. She wanted to do what was best for the child she carried, wanted to do what was best for her parents and the good of her country.

  She knew accepting Farid's marriage proposal would solve a lot of problems, but there was a small part of her head … of her heart, that clung to the notion, to the promise of marrying for love.

  And that was what she'd be giving up in marrying Farid.

  She shut off the water and grabbed one of the thick, fluffy towels. It seemed odd not to have a maid waiting with a heated towel ready, but she had dismissed all the staff, preferring nobody around while she tried to make a decision about her situation.

  The day spent with Farid had brought her no closer to making a final decision, but his surprising pronouncement that he liked children had underscored just how little she knew about the man who had proposed to her.

  All she knew for certain was that he was thirty-two years old and had worked for the crown in one capacity or another since he was twenty years old.

  She knew nothing of his life, of the experiences that had made him the man he was at this moment in time. And for the first time since he'd become her personal bodyguard, she wanted to know these kinds of things.

  She left the bathroom and returned to the bedroom where she stood before the closet and tried to decide what to put on for a leisurely evening. She thought to spend the evening hours doing some needlework and trying to make a final decision concerning her future.

  Opting for traditional rather than Western wear, Samira chose a vivid green jalabiya elaborately embroidered around the neck and wrists with silver thread. The material was light, almost gauzy … perfect for a balmy evening.

  Beneath the jalabiya she wore the traditional pants, gathered at the ankles. Harem pants, as people in the Western world would describe them. For the first time since her arrival in Montebello, she wished for the presence of her personal maid, Saarah. Saarah was a sweet young woman who accomplished magic with Samira's thick hair. She brushed her hair and caught it with a large gold clip at the nape of her neck. Not exactly Saarah's magic, but adequate.

  The moment she was dressed in the comfortable, familiar clothing, a burst of homesickness swept through her. While she wasn't prepared to return home yet, she wanted
– suddenly needed – to hear the sound of her mother's voice.

  She stretched out across the bed and picked up the phone receiver on the nightstand. It took her only seconds to punch in the number that would ring her mother's private line in the Tamir palace.

  Salima Hadi, Alima Kamal's favorite maid, answered the phone and a moment later Alima's strong voice filled the line. "Samira, is everything all right?"

  At the sweet, loving concern in her mother's voice Samira felt tears spring to her eyes. How she hated to disappoint her mother, who had been such a well of love and support all of her life.

  She swallowed hard against the tears, not wanting her mother to know she was in emotional turmoil. "And what could be wrong?" she replied with a forced lightness.

  "I'm just surprised that you called. You've been away from home less than twenty-four hours." There was a pregnant pause, and Samira realized that calling her mother had probably been a mistake. Alima Kamal had unerring instincts where her children were concerned.

  "Silly me, I came here to visit with Princess Anna, but when we arrived here we learned she wasn't here. She's in America."

  "Then you will be returning to Tamir?" Alima asked.

  "Not until later in the week. I'm going to take some time to explore the sights of Montebello. I shopped in the piazza today and bought you a present."

  Alima laughed, the rich, robust laughter that had captured the heart of a sheik when she'd been a young woman. "Ah, that's one thing my three daughters have in common … their love of shopping." Her laughter faded. "Samira, are you sure everything is all right?"

  "Everything is just fine. I have a lovely guest house on the palace grounds, and King Marcus and Queen Gwendolyn were quite gracious when they welcomed me."

  "There must be much happiness in Montebello right now with Prince Lucas returned and with the announcement that he will be officially declared crown prince in January."

  Happiness in Montebello? Samira had been too wrapped up in her own misery to notice the mood of the people of the small country. "Yes," she replied vaguely. "People seem very happy that he's well and back where he belongs."

  Once again there was silence between the two women and Samira had to fight with herself not to blurt out the whole miserable truth about Desmond and her pregnancy. "Well, I'd better let you go," she said, afraid to speak to her mother any longer, afraid she might blurt out the entire horrible truth.

  "Samira, you know I love you and your father loves you as well. If there's something wrong, or you're unhappy about something, you know you can come to us."

  "Of course," Samira replied quickly, aware that her impromptu phone call had only managed to worry her mother. "Everything is fine, really," she said in a last attempt to soothe her mother's concern. "I just had a few minutes and thought I would give you a quick call."

  After murmuring loving goodbyes, the two women hung up and Samira left the bedroom.

  Farid stood at the window, staring outside, and the moment she entered the living room she could smell his masculine scent. It was obvious that while she had showered and changed clothes, he had done the same.

  His raven hair was still damp and instead of the navy slacks and white shirt, he was clad in some of the clothes he had bought that day, a pair of casual tan slacks and a tan pullover polo shirt.

  She had never seen him dressed in anything other than his uniform of dress slacks, white shirt and jacket. His official uniform had made it easy for her to think of him simply as her bodyguard.

  But now, with the polo shirt stretching across his impossibly broad shoulders and the slacks riding his slender hips and clinging to his muscular thighs, she was struck by the fact that he wasn't just a formidable bodyguard, but an extremely handsome, physically appealing man as well.

  He turned from the window and his gaze swept the length of her. She wondered if he found her attractive. Certainly she knew she wasn't exotic and beautiful, like her two sisters. Against her volition, she felt a blush sweep over her cheeks at her crazy thoughts.

  "I just spoke with my mother," she said and sat on the sofa. Why should she care what Farid Nasir thought of her? She knew what had motivated his proposal of marriage and it had nothing to do with love or lust. It had everything to do with duty.

  "All is well in Tamir?" he asked and stepped away from the window.

  She nodded. "Although I think calling my mother was a mistake."

  He sat in the chair opposite the sofa. "And why is that?"

  Samira frowned. "My mother seems to have a sixth sense where her children are concerned. She always seems to know when something is wrong. By calling her, I think I awakened that sixth sense of hers."

  "Then perhaps it's time to go back to Tamir and talk to your parents."

  "I'm not ready to return yet," she said and touched her stomach reflectively. And with these words she also realized she was not yet ready to give up on her dreams of marrying for love.

  The path she chose to walk suddenly became clear to her. "I need to stay here for a little longer. I need to get strong."

  One of his dark eyebrows quirked upward. "Strong?"

  She nodded and stood, unable to sit while her mind worked to become comfortable with the decision she'd made in the past few moments. "I'm not exactly the rebellious type," she said as she paced across the exquisite Oriental rug beneath her feet. "I've always been the daughter who gave my parents no grief, who always abided by their wishes and tried to please them."

  For the second time in the past twenty-four hours she thought she saw a whisper of a smile curve the corners of his lips. "For as long as I have worked at the palace, from all the gossip and reports I've ever heard, you have been a good and dutiful daughter."

  She tore her gaze from him, finding the hint of the smile that touched his full, sensual lips far too appealing. How would those sensual lips feel pressed against her own? She shook her head to dispel the image and focused on the conversation at hand.

  "Yes," she agreed. "I've always been a dutiful daughter and I've never rocked the boat in any way. But now I must choose a path that is right for me and the child I carry. Somehow I have to become strong enough to resist my father. I know he'll try to get me to tell him the name of the father, but I won't." She looked at him once again. "And you must promise me that you won't tell him, either."

  She could tell by the grim expression on his face that he didn't want to agree to what she'd asked. "If we marry, then there's no reason for your father to question who the father of your child is," he countered. "It will be implied that the child is mine."

  "I'm not going to marry you, Farid," she exclaimed. "And I'm not going to let my father force me into marriage with any other man. I've decided not to marry anyone." She raised her chin another notch. "I'm perfectly capable of raising my baby alone."

  Farid stood, his eyes darkened by deep disapproval. "That is the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard in my life," he exclaimed, his voice radiating an anger she'd never heard there before, an anger that seemed to have sprung from thin air.

  She stared at him in stunned surprise. "Excuse me?"

  "You heard me," he replied curtly. He drew a deep breath as if to steady himself, and Samira sank back down on the sofa, shocked by his unexpected, impassioned reaction to her announcement.

  "I thought this was all settled," he continued, "that we would agree to have a marriage in name only and that would solve everything."

  "Then you thought wrong," Samira replied with a rising anger of her own.

  What did he think? That she wasn't capable of raising a child by herself? Was he afraid that somehow she couldn't be a good mother? That she was incompetent? "Nothing was settled, and I told you last night that marriage to you wasn't a solution."

  "I know what you said last night, but I thought you needed some time to get used to the idea." The lips she'd thought so sensual-looking before were now a slash of grimness, and his eyes were cold depths of darkness.

  "I have agreed to
be your husband so you can save face with your parents, with your countrymen. There will be a little gossip because I was your bodyguard, but certainly not to the extent that there will be if you don't marry at all and bear a child out of wedlock." His dark gaze bore into hers. "You have few alternatives."

  "I don't care about gossip and I don't need you," she retorted.

  "Yes, you do," he countered. He walked to stand directly over her, and she had the feeling he was subtly trying to intimidate her.

  "You yourself said that there is no other man in your life, and few men would be willing to step in and raise a child who is not their own," he exclaimed.

  "That doesn't mean that I'm positively desperate to accept your marriage proposition," she exclaimed. She raised her chin defiantly, refusing to be intimidated either by his hulking nearness or the harsh glare of his eyes.

  "You should be desperate to accept, if not for yourself, then for your baby. Children need fathers, and you are being selfish if you deny your child that."

  Despite her wishes to the contrary, his last words struck home. She frowned and eyed him for a long moment. "What about love?" she asked in a small voice. "Isn't that important, too?"

  He snorted in obvious disgust. "Giving your child a father is what's important. It's time to put away your foolish dreams of silly, romantic love and make the best possible decision for the child you carry. Besides, isn't it your silly notion about love that got you in this predicament?"

  She gasped, appalled by his words and the hateful reminder of her own stupidity. She jumped up off the sofa and shoved past him, unsure if it was anger or hurt that tightened painfully in her chest.

  She clung to the anger. "I am thinking about the child I carry," she said, even more angered when tears filled her eyes. "Why on earth would I subject my child to a father like you? A cold, arrogant man who believes love is nothing more than a foolish dream?"

  She didn't wait for him to reply, but instead ran into the bedroom and slammed the door behind her.

  * * *