If possible, she angled her chin higher. ‘To London?’
‘Not quite. But I admire your humour.’ He opened the door and beckoned for her to precede him.
She walked over to kiss their daughter before speaking to Maab. ‘If she cries at all then you’ll come and get me?’
‘Na’am, My Lady.’
‘Immediately?’
‘Na’am, My Lady.’
Her gaze looked troubled when she neared him. ‘I notice they say that a lot,’ she whispered. ‘Can I trust her?’
God, she was breathtaking. ‘Nothing will happen to Nadeena. Relax.’
* * *
Relax? Impossible. She was too acutely aware of the way Nadir’s regal robes brushed against the skirt of the amazing dress he had provided for her and the sense of power he effortlessly exuded. Walking beside him, it was hard to remember that none of this was real and that she didn’t want it to be real.
Or did she?
The moment Nadir had leant forward and kissed the top of Nadeena’s head as he played with her jumped into her consciousness and her heart lurched inside her chest. It had been identical to the thousands of kisses she had deposited on her daughter’s head herself—an instinctive and unconscious gesture of love. Was it possible she was wrong about Nadir? Was it possible he might one day love their daughter as deeply as she did?
Feeling confused and out of her depth, her steps faltered as they entered a grand atrium with exquisite inlaid arabesque carvings on the ceilings and walls and highly polished bronze flooring. Six elaborately dressed Bakaani guards stood to attention with guns strapped to their hips. One of the men glanced briefly at Nadir and stepped forward, his hand poised on a gilt-edged doorknob.
Imogen swallowed heavily, aware that she had no experience of this kind of thing, and insecurity and a deep sense of inadequacy fought it out for top position in her mind.
Stopping beside her, Nadir delved into a hidden pocket in his robe, muttering something about ‘earlier’ under his breath. Then he turned towards her and held out a ring with a stone the size of a small grapefruit—an oval-shaped diamond grapefruit that was exquisitely hand-crafted and the most divine piece of jewellery Imogen had ever seen. Both her heart and her mind did a double-take.
‘Before we go in you’ll need to put this on.’
Momentarily blank, she stared at it.
‘It’s an engagement ring.’
She knew what it was. Sometimes as a young girl she had imagined receiving one from a man she loved. She and her friends had even gone engagement ring shopping once when they had been bored after school. They had then dreamed up elaborate ways their future beaus might pop what had felt like the biggest question of their lives back then. At no time had any of them come up with the man of their dreams saying, ‘You’ll need to put this on.’
And how many times was she going to get her hopes up over this man only to have them dashed by the reality that he was here because she was the mother of his baby and for no other reason?
‘That’s not necessary,’ she said huskily, instinctively snatching her hands behind her back.
A frown drew down his brows as if her reluctance hadn’t occurred to him. ‘Of course it is. Many of the guests at the dinner are Western. They will expect to see you wearing my ring.’