The Sheikh's Sinful Seduction(66)

                “Maternity wear is so tricky, but if you feel comfortable in those, they’ll do,” she said about a pair of low silver pumps. “We’ll have more choices when we’re not worrying about swollen ankles. Now lie down and rest while I tailor that dress and set up to do your hair and makeup.”

                Fern did as she was told, partly out of genuine exhaustion, partly to escape what was happening to her. This morning she’d woken in Miss Ivy’s flat, gone to work for a few hours, caught her regular bus and wondered if there was enough of last night’s chicken to make a sandwich for lunch. In the last few hours, her entire life had spun into chaos and she needed to be still for a few minutes to let the pieces settle.

                She didn’t expect to sleep, but crashed hard and woke to the click of the lamp.

                Vivienne smiled. “I let you sleep as long as I could. Rest is the ultimate beauty enhancer. But it’s time to dress.”

                Fern submitted to makeup and hairpins and a fitting for a new bra, one in ice-blue lace with matching bottoms that she was thankfully allowed to change into privately. When she looked at the final result, she blinked at the stranger in the mirror.

                Her eyes popped like freshly minted shillings from a face where her freckles had been downplayed with a layer of light powder. Her mouth was coated in a shiny nude gloss and her hair was gathered like an Edwardian maiden’s with a pearlescent blue ribbon woven through it. She looked as modest as she usually did, but sweetly maternal and, she had to be honest, quite pretty.

                When she moved into the lounge, she was both anxious and excited to see Zafir’s reaction.

                He wore black pants and a white shirt closed at the throat with a black bow tie, and he shrugged on a white dinner jacket as she emerged. He looked her over as he buttoned his jacket, his gaze incredibly thorough, but dispassionate and assessing.

                “No?” she prompted uneasily. Behind her, Vivienne was zipping and clipping things back into bags and cases. She’d taken such care and shown such enthusiasm for the result, but maybe Fern was a lost cause.

                “Honestly?” he asked.

                Bracing herself, she nodded. “Yes.”

                “Don’t cover your freckles. And I prefer your hair loose. But you look very lovely.” He moved close to brush his lips against her cheek. Something flashed in his eyes as he drew back. Pride or possessiveness. Maybe both. When he showed her what he was holding, his expression shifted from a hard stubborn set to something less implacable. Appeal. “Will you wear this? Please?”

                A ring.

                “Oh,” she breathed.

                “It was my English grandmother’s. My first wife wore one that belonged to my father’s mother.”

                Another heirloom from some yesteryear when jewelers were romantic enough to set a blue sapphire in white gold and encircle it with diamonds like petals on a flower. A pair of green stones off either side played the part of leaves.

                It was elegant and priceless. Fern could only stare.

                “In my country, wedding rings are worn on the right. Do you mind?” He held up his palm, inviting her to place her hand in his.

                “Zafir, are you sure...?”

                He picked up her hand himself, but just held it as he said, “I can’t see into the future any better than you can, Fern. But right now, yes, I’m sure this is what I want. I’m sure you are what I want. Do you want me?”