‘We’re going to do the right thing by this baby and the right thing is marriage.’
‘There will be no sex in this marriage,’ Leila hurriedly told him, sure that would put him off.
‘Pity.’ James shrugged. ‘Because despite the terrible deflowering of precious maiden Leila, despite the fact your brother seems to think I forced you, that you were some poor little martyr lying there as big bad James coaxed you, the fact is you loved it, you wanted it and you pleaded for it.’ He watched the colour burn on her cheeks. ‘But you know what, Leila? Don’t worry about sex—it’s the furthest thing from my mind right now.’
He lied.
At the start of the sentence it had been, but recalling that night, even with bitterness, he wanted her again.
‘Well,’ Leila coolly responded, ‘your behaviour in recent weeks means it is the furthest thing on my mind for the rest of my life, so know that before you take me as your bride.’
‘We’ll kiss for the cameras,’ James said. ‘We’ll hold hands in public and we’ll share a bed for the sake of the servants.’
‘They are your servants,’ Leila said. ‘Surely you can pay for their silence.’
‘Oh, my,’ James laughed in her face. ‘You know nothing about hourly rates, do you? Poor princess...’
She slapped him.
A little unmerited perhaps—he’d only called her by her title—but it felt so good. It felt better in fact than kicking a tree. She slapped him not just for that though, but for telling her he would shame her again by leaving her in seven years. For admitting that it would be a loveless marriage. It was the nightmare she had run from and she had no desire to live with a man void of feelings for her.
‘If you weren’t pregnant I’d slap you straight back,’ James warned, and then he saw her gold eyes and acknowledged to her he lied. ‘Actually, I wouldn’t. It would seem that I come from slightly more modern stock than you.’
She went to slap him again but he caught her wrist.
‘Savage lot the Al-Ahmars,’ James said. ‘But don’t worry, dear Leila, because I’m not. You might not be familiar with them but I’m actually a gentleman.’
‘You are no gentleman, James. Ask your sharmotas.’
Inexplicably he was almost smiling. Leila was like no one he had ever met, but instead of smiling James went and poured a very large drink of whisky and then went to pour her one but stopped. ‘I guess you can’t have one.’
‘No,’ Leila said, and her lips pursed when he took his drink and went to the bed. He kicked off his shoes and lay on top of the bed. ‘I think that is rude,’ Leila said. ‘I can’t have a drink and yet you do.’
‘I do,’ James said, and grinned as he took a sip. ‘I’m not going to go on the wagon for the next six months.’
‘So, you’re just going to carry on as before...’
‘And so the nagging starts.’ James sighed and stretched out on the bed, propped up on one arm.
‘Why did you bring me here and not to your home?’ Leila asked. ‘There we could have separate rooms.’