The Sheikh's Ransomed Bride by Annie West - The Sheikh's Ransomed Bride

ruefully as he dressed in his ceremonial robes.

    What a woman he had chosen! He smiled at the memory of her last night, determination glittering in her eyes as she refused him. She’d protested and argued well into the early hours of the morning, finding so many reasons why their wedding was unnecessary.

    If she didn’t have such a passion for marine archaeology she’d have made a fine career as a lawyer, doggedly putting her case. But of course the marriage was necessary, and so, eventually, she’d agreed.

    Mother man might have lashed out at her, his pride wounded at her initial rejection. But Rafiq saw beyond the surface. Saw it was the circumstances she railed against, not him.

    Who wouldn’t fight against a fate that ordained immediate marriage to a virtual stranger? Hadn’t he, at the age of thirty-one, deliberately avoided marriage to any of the women who’d been so carefully brought forward for his approval over the years?

    Belle was distressed at having her freedom curtailed. At having the decision taken out of her hands by necessity. Women wanted to be wooed and courted, to be made love to by a passionate man who promised them romance.

    But Belle couldn’t conceal the way she felt about him, he thought with satisfaction. Her body’s responses mirrored his own desire for her: urgent, instant, undeniable. And in all the protests she’d made last night she hadn’t once mentioned physical incompatibility.

    His lips curved again into a slow smile as he thought of claiming her as his bride. Anticipation hummed through him, a palpable force. Just the thought of her did that to him.

    It would be his duty to ensure Belle found pleasure in this union.
    As much pleasure as he intended to take from it.

    He adjusted his wide ceremonial sash, embroidered with the twin al Akhtar emblems of falcon and peacock, as he contemplated the woman who waited for him. There was a spring in his step when he strode from the room.

    Belle stood statue still as the women clustered around her, chattering and adjusting her delicate silk robes with a tweak here and a stitch there. Surely it didn’t take so many to dress her? But she didn’t have the heart to spoil their pleasure.

    It was clear that preparing the affianced bride of the Sheikh for her first public event was a great honor. And they were so genuinely happy for her, wishing her good fortune and pressing tiny personal gifts into her hands a vial of rose perfume, a carved trinket box inlaid with mother of pearl, a posy of flowers.

    But, despite the luxurious trappings, being the Sheikh’s betrothed was anything but a fairytale.

    She felt cold as ice. She’d barely slept, tossing and turning in her huge bed as she recalled last night’s argument with Rafiq. His insistence that their marriage was a necessity.

    Nothing she’d said had swayed him from his purpose.

    Her whole life had been turned upside down. She would be tied to a man she barely knew. Would become a citizen of a country she’d been in for just four weeks.

    And, despite his assurances, she doubted she could continue her career, exploring and mapping ancient shipwrecks, when she was a royal princess.

    A bubble of hysterical laughter rose in her throat. She could just imagine it her in a dive suit with a couple of ladies-in-waiting up on the expedition vessel getting seasick while she worked. Their idea of treasure would be something golden and glittering and ornamental. Hers was a newly discovered style of amphora, or perhaps some tiny detail of ship construction and navigation gleaned from an ancient wreck.

    And she’d be so far from home. Rafiq had been quick to promise her trips to Australia, visits from her family on his private jet. Yet there was a huge difference between living overseas to pursue a career and accepting that her new home would be thousands of kilometers from her family.

    She’d almost hoped her mother would be so upset about the news that she’d have an excuse to