His Defiant Desert Queen(32)
“Damien hurt me, but he didn’t break me. And my father hurt me, but he didn’t break me. And you, Sheikh Karim, might intimidate me, and bully me, but you will not break me, either.”
“I do not bully you.”
“Oh yes, you do. At least, you try to.”
He leaned farther back into the pillows surrounding the low table. The corner of his mouth curved. “You really aren’t afraid of me?”
“Why should I be afraid? You’re Drakon’s friend. You came to his wedding. You saved me from seven years of jail.”
He must have heard the ironic note in her voice because the corners of his mouth quirked, and that faint lift of his lips made her heart suddenly do a strange double thump.
The man was extremely intimidating, and yet when he smiled, even this faint half-smile, he became dangerously attractive.
“Ah, yes, I saved you from jail. And you, my queen, are so very grateful.”
She didn’t miss his sarcasm. “I would have been more grateful if you’d put me on a plane back to London. That would have been nice.”
“Indeed, it would have been. But terribly weak on my part. A man must have morals, and principles, and a king even more so.”
She stood up and paced restlessly around the pavilion. She knew he watched her. She glanced at him and saw the same, faint smile playing at his lips, eyes gleaming. He seemed amused or entertained. Maybe both. “You’re in a good mood,” she said, facing him from across the pavilion.
“Would you prefer it if I were in a bad mood?”
Jemma didn’t need to think about that one too much. “No, but surely you didn’t anticipate taking a Copeland daughter for your wife?”
“That is correct. But you are easy to look at, and I am quite certain, a pleasure to hold.”
“That sounds terribly shallow.”
His broad shoulders shifted. “It’s not a love match. I don’t have to like you, or love you. I just need you, as my first wife, to be good, obedient and fertile.”
She stiffened and looked at him askance. First wife? There would be others? “Multiple wives, Your Highness?”
“Traditional Islamic law allows men four wives, but a man must be able to treat them equally. And not all men choose to have multiple wives. It’s really an individual decision.”
She couldn’t help laughing. It struck her as terribly wrong, and yet also, terribly funny. This wasn’t her life. This couldn’t be happening. He might as well have plucked her from the photo shoot and locked her in his harem. “Do you intend to take more wives?”
“I haven’t thought that far, but my father had four wives. My grandfather, his father, just had two.”
But two wives was still one too many.
She shot him a swift glance, trying to decide if he was joking. She hoped he was. Or hoped he’d come to his senses and let her return home. “I thought the practice of polygamy had been outlawed in modern Arab countries,” she said, leaning against one of the columns supporting the pavilion arches.
“Tunisia did, yes,” he agreed, “But most other countries have focused on reform. In Iraq, a man can take a second wife if he obtains permission from the government, while Morocco and Lebanon have added a clause in the premarital contract, allowing a woman to divorce her husband if he takes a second wife without her consent.”