black wedge of his lashes to a bright glimmer.
Tilda wondered whether he meant the language or how to kill stone-dead the sort of emotional scene that she knew he found excruciating. ‘I think I’d like to take the opportunity to see my mother while we’re here,’ she informed him prosaically.
‘An excellent idea.’
‘Both of us should visit,’ she added, in case he had not yet got the message she was trying to give.
‘Of course.’
The silence rushed back round them again.
‘So, are we having a honeymoon?’ Tilda heard herself ask rather loudly in the hope that he would comprehend the meaning of that less-than-subtle query.
Rashad stayed very still and then a charismatic smile flashed across his beautiful mouth, all the strain there put to flight by that query. ‘It was already planned. Why do you think I’ve been working so hard in recent weeks? I needed to free up some time.’
That smile made Tilda’s heart flip and the inside of her mouth run dry. That smile had sufficient pulling power to make her run up a mountain. She wanted to race across the room and fling herself at him like an eager puppy. She thought it fortunate that just at that moment the announcement that breakfast awaited them prevented her from embarrassing him to that extent.
When Tilda and Rashad visited her mother’s home later that day in what Tilda felt was a welcome distraction after all the drama, they found Evan Jerrold cosily enjoying afternoon tea and home-made scones. Beth was overjoyed by the arrival of her daughter and son-in-law and Evan quickly excused himself. But Rashad spoke to the older man at some length, while Tilda talked to her mother. She was very pleased when the older woman confided that Evan had persuaded her to walk out of the front door and sit in his car just a few feet away for a few minutes the previous day.
‘And you managed to do that without having a panic attack?’ Tilda was amazed, because all Beth’s children had made repeated efforts to coax their mother into trying to fight her phobia rather than totally surrendering to it.
‘Evan’s so confident. It did take me nearly two weeks to work myself up to walking out the front door. But I have to learn how to manage now that you’re married to Rashad. Aubrey will be leaving home soon, as well,’ Beth pointed out. ‘I need to be more independent.’
The older woman passed her daughter several letters that had come for her. While Beth made fresh tea, Tilda went through her post. The final envelope was addressed in unfamiliar handwriting. She tore it open and withdrew a sheet of paper. It bore a poor quality photocopied image of a blonde woman dancing in a cage. A pulse started beating very fast at the foot of Tilda’s throat. She peered at it in horror. It could have been her, or just as easily it could’ve been someone else. It was impossible to tell. Below the image, a mobile phone number was printed.
‘I’ve made more tea!’ Beth called as Tilda ducked into the dining room to make a call in private.
‘I’ll only be a couple of minutes.’ Tilda closed the door and rang the number.
She recognised Scott’s voice the moment he answered. Her tummy gave a sick lurch and she snatched in a steadying breath. ‘It’s Tilda. Why did you send me that picture?’
‘I’ve got some actual photos of you doing your little dance.’
Her fingers tightened round her mobile phone. ‘I don’t remember anyone taking photos that night. I don’t believe you.’
‘It’s up to you what you want to believe. But now you’re royalty, those photos must be worth a packet. I reckon Rashad would pay a tidy sum to keep them all to himself.’ Her former stepfather loosed a seedy chuckle. ‘Of course, if you’re not interested, just say. A half-naked blond princess in a cage would go down a treat with the gutter press.’
Tilda felt sick. Scott Morrison was blackmailing her. Had someone taken photos of her? His creepy mate, Pete, perhaps? She had no idea. A half-naked blond princess in a cage would be a much bigger source of humiliation to Rashad and his family than a runaway wife. She cringed at the prospect of such pictures appearing in print. ‘How much do you want for the photos?’
‘I thought you’d see it my way and keep it in the family. I want fifty grand.’
Although she was as white as a sheet, Tilda decided to call his bluff. ‘Then I’ll have to go to Rashad for the money because I don’t have access to that kind of cash.’
‘Leave him out of it,’ Scott hastened to tell her, his agitation at the suggestion that she involve Rashad audible. ‘Keeping you on a shoestring, is he? How much cash can you raise in a hurry?’
‘Maybe five thousand,’ she mumbled shamefacedly for she knew she was doing the wrong thing. Everyone knew it was stupid to give way to blackmail. She knew it, too, but just the idea of Rashad seeing a photo of her in that cage again made her feel physically ill. She was convinced it would mean the end of her marriage. She had not spent any of the allowance that Rashad had put in a bank account for her. She told herself that using Rashad’s money to get the photos back was a lesser evil than embarrassing him with the pictorial proof of her teenaged mistake.
Scott argued volubly, and then finally said he’d accept the payment if that was the best she could offer.
The door opened and Tilda gave a nervous start. Rashad was framed in the doorway. He quirked a sleek dark brow that questioned her obvious tension.
‘I’ll send you a cheque,’ Tilda told Scott gruffly and hurriedly finished the call.
‘Is there something wrong?’ Rashad enquired, beautiful dark golden eyes welded to her pale, anxious face.
‘No, nothing…just a stupid bill I forgot about. Embarrassing,’ she mumbled, her teeth near to chattering at the very thought of him finding out what she was planning to do.
‘My staff will take care of it. Let me have the details,’ Rashad instructed.
‘No, I’ll see to it myself. When are we flying back to Bakhar?’
‘Only when you wish.’
Tilda studied his gold silk tie with fixed attention. She did not dare meet his gaze, for he was far too keen and clever an observer. After that nasty little chat with Scott, Bakhar somehow seemed to shine like a safe haven on a wonderfully distant horizon. ‘Could we leave tonight?’
When Rashad spoke, his surprise at that request was patent in his dark deep drawl. ‘I thought you might prefer somewhere more cosmopolitan for our honeymoon…Paris, Rio-’
‘The Palace of the Lions. You never did get around to showing me the harem,’ Tilda reminded him, feeling that that remote desert location would be comfortingly out of reach of Scott and his machinations.
CHAPTER TEN
‘GOOD heavens…you and your grandfather might have been identical twins!’ Tilda studied the photo of the long-departed Sharaf in his ceremonial robes with fascination, because she could see from where Rashad had inherited his classic bone structure.
Rashad splayed a possessive hand to her stomach to angle her back into connection with his lithe, powerful body. ‘My father says his father’s genes skipped a generation and turned up in me. Although I would like to believe that the likeness is only skin-deep, I definitely didn’t inherit my father’s mild temperament.’
‘Have you abducted any women?’ Tilda teased a little unevenly, physical contact with his lean, masculine frame stirring her into immediate awareness. Her nipples were pinching into tingling tension beneath the light cotton dress she wore.
‘No. But if you hadn’t agreed to give our marriage another chance I would have abducted you.’
Her eyes rounded in disbelief. ‘Are you serious?’
Above her head, Rashad was trying not to smile. Nothing would have persuaded him to let her go. He bent his handsome dark head and his even white teeth gently grazed the tiny pulse point just below one soft feminine ear lobe. She shivered helplessly, warmth pooling in the pit of her tummy.
‘Are you?’ she repeated less evenly.
‘I told you I wouldn’t let you go in London.’
Cooler air brushed her breasts as he undid her wrap and stripped it gently down over her arms. She stood
