His royal highness, Prince Jasim bin Hamid al Rais, frowned
when his aide told him that his brother's wife was waiting
to see him. 'You should have told me that the Princess was
here. My family always have first call on my time,' he
admonished.
Jasim was renowned in financial circles for the astute speed
and strategy he utilised in the pursuit of profit in the
Rais international business empire, and his employees had a
healthy respect for their chairman. He was a tough employer
who set high standards and accepted nothing less than
excellence. His natural survival skills were honed to a fine
cutting edge by a challenging family and palace politics. He
was a tall, powerfully built man in his early thirties and
he was possessed of a degree of dark, devastating good looks
and potent masculinity that women found irresistible.
His French-born sister-in-law, Yaminah, was a small, rather
homely brunette with a strained set to her rounded face that
warned him that she was struggling to control her emotions.
Jasim greeted the older woman with warmth and concern. To
see her he was keeping a government minister waiting, but
his smooth sophistication was more than equal to the task of
hiding that fact and he ordered refreshments and asked her
to sit down as if time were of no object.
'Are you comfortable at Woodrow Court?' His elder brother,
Crown Prince Murad, and his family were currently using
Jasim's country house in Kent while they had a brand new
English property built to order nearby.
'Oh, yes. It's a wonderful house and we are being very well
looked after,' Yaminah rushed to assure him. 'But we never
meant to put you out of your own home, Jasim. Won't you come
down this weekend?'
'Of course, if you would like me to but, believe me, I am
very comfortable in my town house. It is not a sacrifice to
stay in the city,' Jasim responded. 'But that is not why you
are here to see me, is it? I believe something may be
troubling you?'
Yaminah compressed her lips, her anxious brown gaze suddenly
flooding with tears. With an exclamation of embarrassment
and a choked apology, she drew out a tissue and mopped at
her overflowing eyes. 'I shouldn't be bothering you with
this, Jasim—'
Jasim sat down in the sofa opposite her in an effort to make
the older woman feel more at ease. 'You have never
bothered me in your life,' he reproved her. 'Why
are you worrying about such a thing?'
Yaminah breathed in slow and deep. 'It's… it's our
nanny.'
His dark brows drew together in a satiric quirk that
questioned her tragic tone of voice. 'If the nanny my staff
engaged to take care of my niece is not to your liking, sack
her.'
'If only it were so simple…' Yaminah sighed,
shredding the tissue between her restless hands and staring
down at it. 'She is an excellent nanny and Zahrah is very
fond of her. I'm afraid that the problem is… Murad.'
Jasim immediately became very still. His self-discipline was
absolute and his lean, strong face betrayed nothing of his
exasperation. His brother had always been a womaniser and
his lifestyle had got him into trouble more than once. Such
a weakness was a dangerous flaw in the future ruler of a
small oil-rich and very conservative country like Quaram.
Even worse, if Murad was targeting a member of his household
right beneath his loyal and loving wife's nose his behaviour
had reached a new inexcusable low in his brother's opinion.
'I cannot sack the girl. It would infuriate Murad if I was
to interfere. At present I believe it is only a flirtation
but she is a
very beautiful girl, Jasim,' his
sister-in-law murmured shakily. 'If she leaves our employ it
will only drive the affair out into the open and, you know,
Murad really cannot afford to be involved in another scandal.'
'I agree. The King has no patience left with him.' His
handsome mouth settling into a grim line, Jasim wondered in
angry frustration if his parent's weak heart would even
withstand the stress of another upsetting outbreak of bad
publicity and scurrilous gossip about his firstborn's
morals. Would his elder brother
ever learn sense
and restraint? Why could he never put the needs of his
family first? The older man seemed unable to withstand
temptation and, this time around, Jasim felt unnervingly
responsible. After all,
his people had hired the
wretched nanny! Why hadn't it occurred to him to order an
embargo on appointing a young and beautiful woman?
His brother's wife studied him anxiously. 'Will you help me,
Jasim?'
Jasim dealt her a wry look. 'Murad will not accept advice
from me.'
'He is too stubborn to take advice from anyone, but you
could help me,' Yaminah told him urgently.
Jasim frowned, believing that she overestimated his
influence with his brother. Murad had not been the heir to
the throne of Quaram for over fifty years without acquiring
a healthy sense of his own importance. While Jasim was very
fond of the older man, he knew his brother was equally fond
of getting his own way, even if doing so meant trampling on
other people. 'In what way might I help?'
Yaminah worried at her lower lip with her teeth. 'If you
were prepared to show an interest in her yourself, the
problem would disappear,' she declared in a sudden burst of
enthusiasm. 'You're young and single and Murad is
middle-aged and married. There can be no comparison and the
girl is certain to turn her attention to you instead—'
Distaste at such a suggestion slivering through his lean,
well-built frame and cooling his eyes to the darkness of a
wintry night, Jasim raised his hands in a gesture that urged
restraint and calm. 'Yaminah, please be sensible—'
'I am being sensible. Furthermore, if Murad thought you had
a fancy for the girl, I'm convinced that he would step
back,'Yaminah asserted doggedly. 'He has often said how much
he wishes you would meet a woman—'
'But not one on whom
he has set his heart,' Jasim
was moved to insert drily.
'No, you are wrong. Since that… er… unpleasant
business with that Englishwoman you were with a few years
ago, Murad has been sincerely troubled by the fact that you
are still unmarried. He mentioned it only yesterday, and if
he believed that
you were interested in Elinor
Tempest he would leave her alone!' the older woman forecast
with a vehemence that betrayed how desperate she was to win
him round to her state of thinking.
His lean, strong face clenching, Jasim was tense. Indeed his
bronzed skin had paled across his hard cheekbones, for the
episode in his life that she was referring to was one he
preferred not to recall. When the tabloid press had exposed
the sleazy past of the woman he had planned to marry three
years earlier, Jasim had experienced a degree of rage and
humiliation over his own lack of judgement that he was in no
way eager to recall. Ever since he had remained resolutely
single and he now chose women only to warm his bed and
entertain him. Lower expectations had led to much greater
satisfaction, he acknowledged inwardly.
Although he had immediately discounted Yaminah's dramatic
request for his assistance, however, he remained troubled
enough by her visit to want more information about the woman
who was the cause of her distress. He instructed his aide to
check out the nanny by questioning the staff who had hired
her. The initial facts he received later that same morning
were disturbing enough to fix his ebony brows into a
brooding frown. He studied the small photo of Elinor
Tempest: she had long hair that was a particularly vibrant
shade of red, a creamy English rose complexion and exotic
green eyes. Certainly, even though Jasim had never found
that strange colour of hair attractive, his brother's nanny
was at the very least unusual and strikingly pretty.
Worryingly, however, Elinor Tempest had not won an interview
for her job by appearing on the select list of trusted
nannies advanced by the employment agency engaged for the
purpose. Indeed, it was unlikely that the girl would ever
have made it on her own merits as she was only twenty years
old and had had little work experience. Evidently, Murad had
personally put forward the girl's name and insisted that she
be interviewed. That startling fact put his brother's
relationship with the young woman onto an altogether more
questionable level. Jasim was taken aback and angered by
what he was finding out. How could Murad set up such a
situation beneath his own roof? And what sort of young woman
accepted a position from a libidinous married man and
encouraged his advances? Was Yaminah wrong? Was Murad
already sexually involved with his daughter's nanny?
Repugnance engulfed Jasim. His strong principles revolted
against such a sordid association in the vicinity of his
innocent sister-in-law and niece. He had already learnt to
his own cost that the royal status and oil wealth of the
Rais family made both him and his brother targets for the
most unscrupulous gold-diggers, eager to use their guile and
their seductive bodies to enrich themselves. Murad had
already suffered several blackmail attempts that had
required police intervention. Yet, once again, his brother
was recklessly running the risk of an explosive scandal,
whose aftershocks would reverberate all the way home to
Quaram and rock the very foundation of the monarchy.
There and then, Jasim reached a cool and snappy decision.
When a crisis arose he liked to deal with it quickly. His
firmly modelled lips compressed, he lifted his dark
imperious head high. He would spend the weekend at Woodrow
Court and size up the situation. One way or another, he
would rid Yaminah's household of this calculating little
slut who was threatening everything that he held dear…
'My word, what came over you?' As Louise took in Elinor's
fashionable appearance her pale blue eyes rounded with
surprise below her brown fringe. 'You usually dress like
somebody's granny!'
Elinor winced at that blunt condemnation, her bright green
eyes veiling. She supposed her lifelong reluctance to be
bold in the fashion stakes dated back to her father's
poisonous attacks on any garment that outlined her curves or
showed her knees. A university professor and an unrepentant
intellectual snob, Ernest Tempest had always been a
ferociously critical parent to his only child. Only now that
she was living away from home was Elinor able to spread her
wings and relax, but she was the first to admit that, but
for the encouragement of a shrewd and attentive saleswoman,
she would not even have dared to try on the garment, never
mind buy it.
Elinor strove to recall the mirror reflection that had
reassured her earlier that evening. The dress's neat fit had
seemed to emphasise her willowy curves but it did display a
generous length of her shapely legs. Beneath her companion's
critical gaze, Elinor raised an uncertain hand to its
glittering beaded neckline. 'I just fell in love with it.'
Louise rolled her eyes and said drily, 'Well, you can
certainly afford to lash out in the fashion stakes these
days. How
is life in the royal family of Quaram?
You must be stacking up the cash in an offshore account by now.'
'You must be joking,' Elinor hastened to declare. 'And it
isn't money for jam. I
do work extremely long
hours—'
'Nonsense! You've only the one kid to look after and she's
at nursery school,' Louise protested as she thrust a tumbler
full of liquid into Elinor's hand. 'Drink up! You're not
allowed to be a party-pooper at your own twenty-first
birthday bash!'
Elinor sipped at the sickly sweet concoction even though it
wasn't to her taste. She didn't want to get off on the wrong
foot with hot-tempered Louise, who was quick to see any form
of alcoholic sobriety as a personal challenge. Both women
had trained as nannies at the same college and remained
friends afterwards, but Elinor was uneasily aware of the
undertones in the atmosphere. It had taken months for Louise
to find a decent job and she had very much resented Elinor's
good fortune in the same field.
'How is work?' Louise prompted.
'The prince and his wife often go abroad or spend weekends
in London and I'm left in full charge of Zahrah at Woodrow,
so time off—or the lack of it—is a problem. In
fact sometimes I feel more like her mother than her nanny,'
Elinor confided ruefully. 'I attend everything on her
behalf… even the events at her school.'
'There's got to be some drawback to all that lovely cash
you're earning!' Louise commented tartly.
'Nothing's ever perfect.' Elinor shrugged with the easy
tolerance of someone accustomed to an imperfect world. 'The
rest of the staff are from Quaram and speak their own
language, so it's quite a lonely household to live in as
well. Shall we get going? Our transport awaits us.'
When Prince Murad had realised it was her birthday, he had
presented Elinor with free vouchers for an upmarket London
nightclub and had insisted that she make use of a
chauffeur-driven limousine to travel into London. The same
vehicle would also waft her home at the end of the evening.
'A twenty-first birthday only comes once in a lifetime,'
Zahrah's father had pointed out cheerfully. 'Make the most
of being young. Time moves cruelly fast. On my twenty-first,
my father took me hawking in the desert and instructed me on
what I should never forget when I became King in his place.'
A wry expression had crossed the older man's visage. 'It did
not occur to me then that thirty years on I would still be
waiting in the wings. Not that I would have it any other
way, of course; my honoured father is a very wise ruler and
any man would struggle to follow his example.'
Prince Murad was a benevolent man, Elinor acknowledged
reflectively. She admired the older man's strong sense of
the family values of love, trust and loyalty. After her
mother's death when she was ten years old, Elinor's
upbringing had conspicuously lacked such sterling qualities
and she was still feeling the pain of that loss. If only her
own father had had an ounce of the prince's warm and kindly
nature!
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