The sheikh's chosen wife(3)

But that surveillance had been put in place for her own protection. This felt different-sinister. She even shivered.

'Something wrong?' Ethan questioned.

Leona shook her head and began walking again, but her frown stayed in  place, because it wasn't the first time she'd experienced the sensation  today. The same thing had happened as she'd left the resort site this  afternoon, only she'd dismissed it then as her just being silly. She had  always suspected that Hassan still kept an eye on her from a distance.

A car and driver had been hired for the evening, and both were waiting  in the courtyard for them as they left the house. Having made sure she  was comfortably settled, Ethan closed the side door and strode around  the car to climb in beside her. As a man she had known for most of her  adult life. Ethan was like a very fond cousin whose lean dark  sophistication and reputed rakish life made her smile, rather than her  heart flutter as other women would do in his company.

He'd never married. 'Never wanted to,' he'd told her once. 'Marriage  diverts your energy away from your ambition, and I haven't met the woman  for whom I'm prepared to let that happen.'

When she'd told Hassan what Ethan had said, she'd expected him to say  something teasing like. May Allah help him when he does, for I know the  feeling! But instead he'd looked quite sombre and had said nothing at  all. At the time, she'd thought he'd been like that because he'd still  been harbouring jealous suspicions about Ethan's feelings for her.

It had been a long time before she'd come to understand that the look had had nothing at all to do with Ethan.

'The Petronades yacht looks pretty impressive.' Ethan's smooth deep  voice broke into her thoughts. 'I watched it sail into the harbour  tonight while I was waiting for you on the

Leandros Petronades was the main investor in San Esteban. He was hosting  the party tonight for very exclusive guests whom he had seduced into  taking a tour of the new resort, with an invitation to arrive in style  on his yacht and enjoy its many luxurious facilities.

'At a guess, I would say it has to be the biggest in the harbour,  considering its capacity to sleep so many people,' Leona smiled.

'Actually no, it wasn't,' Ethan replied with a frown. 'There's another yacht tied up that has to be twice the size.'

'The commercial kind?' Leona suggested, aware that the resort was fast becoming the fashionable place to visit.

'Not big enough.' Ethan shook his head. 'It's more likely to belong to  one of Petronades' rich cronies. Another heavy investor in the resort,  maybe."

There were enough of them, Leona acknowledged. From being a sleepy  little fishing port a few years ago, with the help of some really  heavyweight investors San Esteban had grown into a large, custom-built  holiday resort, which now sprawled in low-rise, Moorish elegance over  the hills surrounding the bay.

So why Hassan's name slid back into her head Leona had no idea. Because  Hassan didn't even own a yacht, nor had he ever invested in any of her  father's projects, as far as she knew.

Irritated with herself, she turned her attention to what was happening  outside the car. On the beach waterfront people strolled, enjoying the  light breeze coming off the water.                       
       
           



       

It was a long time since she could remember strolling anywhere herself  with such freedom. Marrying an Arab had brought with it certain  restrictions on her freedom, which were not all due to the necessity of  conforming to expectations regarding women. Hassan occupied the august  position of being the eldest son and heir to the small but oil-rich Gulf  state of Rahman. As his wife, Leona had become a member of Rahman's  exclusive hierarchy, which in turn made everything she said or did  someone else's property. So she'd learned very quickly to temper her  words, to think twice before she went anywhere, especially alone.  Strolling just for the sake of just doing it would have been picked upon  and dissected for no other reason than interest's sake, so she had  learned not to do it.

This last year she hadn't gone out much because to be seen out had drawn  too much speculation as to why she was in London and alone. In Rahman  she was known as Sheikh Hassan's pretty English Sheikha. In London she  was known as the woman who gave up every freedom to marry her Arabian  prince.

A curiosity in other words. Curiosities were blatantly stared at, and  she didn't want to offend Arab sensibilities by having her failed  marriage speculated upon in the British press, so she'd lived a quiet  life.

It was a thought that made Leona smile now, because her life in Rahman  had been far less quiet than it had become once she'd returned to  London.

The car had almost reached the end of the street where the new harbour  was situated. There were several large yachts moored up-and Leandros  Petronades' elegant white-hulled boat was easy to recognise because it  was lit up like a showboat for the party. Yet it was the yacht moored  next to it that caught her attention. It was huge, as Ethan had  said-twice the length and twice the height of its neighbour. It was also  shrouded in complete darkness. With its dark-painted hull, it looked as  if it was crouching there like a large sleek cat, waiting to leap on  its next victim.

The car turned and began driving along the top of the harbour wall  taking them towards a pair of wrought iron gates, which cordoned off the  area where the two yachts were tied.

Climbing out of the car, Leona stood looking round while she waited for  Ethan to join her. It was even darker here than she had expected it to  be, and she felt a distinct chill shiver down her spine when she  realised they were going to have to pass the unlit boat to reach the  other.

Ethan's hand found her arm. As they walked towards the gates, their car  was already turning round to go back the way it had come. The guard  manning the gates merely nodded his dark head and let them by without a  murmur, then disappeared into the shadows.

'Conscientious chap,' Ethan said dryly.

Leona didn't answer. She was too busy having to fight a sudden attack of  nerves that set butterflies fluttering inside her stomach. Okay, she  tried to reason, so she hadn't put herself in the social arena much  recently, therefore it was natural that she should suffer an attack of  nerves tonight.

Yet some other part of her brain was trying to insist that her attack of  nerves had nothing to do with the party. It was so dark and so quiet  here that even their footsteps seemed to echo with a sinister ring.

Sinister? Picking up on the word, she questioned it impatiently. What  was the matter with her? Why was everything sinister all of a sudden? It  was a hot night-a beautiful night-she was twenty-nine years old, and  about to do what most twenty-nine-year-olds did: party when they got the  chance!

'Quite something, hmm?' Ethan remarked as they walked into the shadow of the larger yacht.

But Leona didn't want to look. Despite the tough talking-to she had just  given herself, the yacht bothered her. The whole situation was  beginning to worry her. She could feel her heart pumping unevenly  against her breast, and just about every nerve-end she possessed was  suddenly on full alert for no other reason than-

It was then that she heard it-nothing more than a whispering sound in  the shadows, but it was enough to make her go perfectly still. So did  Ethan. Almost at the same moment the darkness itself seemed to take on a  life of its own by shifting and swaying before her eyes.

The tingling sensation on the back of her neck returned with a  vengeance. 'Ethan,' she said jerkily. 'I don't think I like this."

'No,' he answered tersely. 'Neither do I.'

That was the moment when they saw them, first one dark shape, then  another, and another, emerging from the shadows until they turned  themselves into Arabs wearing dark robes, with darkly sober expressions.

'Oh, dear God,' she breathed. 'What's happening?'

But she already knew the answer. It was a fear she'd had to live with  from the day she'd married Hassan. She was British. She had married an  Arab who was a very powerful man. The dual publicity her disappearance  could generate was in itself worth its weight in gold to political  fanatics wanting to make a point.                       
       
           



       

Something she should have remembered earlier, then the word 'sinister'  would have made a lot more sense, she realised, as Ethan's arm pressed  her hard up against him.

Further down the harbour wall the lights from the Petronades boat were  swinging gently. Here, beneath the shadow of the other, the ring of men  was steadily closing in. Her heart began to pound like a hammer drill.  Ethan couldn't hold her any closer if he tried, and she could almost  taste his tension. He, too, knew exactly what was going to happen.