A Whisper of Disgrace(13)
For a moment, Kulal was silent as he considered the options which lay open to him and forced himself to acknowledge that there were remarkably few. He thought about Rosa Corretti and her soft pink lips. He thought about her magnificent breasts and waterfall of dark hair and he felt a corresponding pang of pure and frustrated lust. Surely there was something he could do to remedy a potentially explosive situation?
And then an idea began to form in his mind, an idea so simple that he was surprised it had taken him so long to come up with it.
‘I suppose I will have to marry her,’ he said.
Hazail stared at him. ‘Marry her?’
Kulal shrugged. ‘Why not? A short-term marriage would suit both parties very well. It would rescue her “honour,” silence any overprotective brothers and it might work in our favour. Think about it, Hazail. We sell the story as some kind of love match and Princess Ayesha will be seen as magnanimous for agreeing to cancel her wedding to me. And just think how the press will seize on it!’ He gave a mocking smile. ‘The Arabian version of Romeo and Juliet!’
The king’s mouth fell open. ‘You’re serious, aren’t you?’
‘Entirely serious.’ Kulal smiled as he allowed his body to anticipate the pleasure of reuniting with his little Sicilian firecracker. ‘I shall go to Rosa Corretti and ask for her hand in marriage.’
There was a pause as the king looked at him. ‘This is remarkably good of you, Kulal,’ he said quietly.
‘Ah, but I am not doing it to be “good,”‘ Kulal corrected silkily. ‘I am doing it because I can see no feasible alternative. Look on it as an act of supreme patriotism, if you will. Let’s just say I’m doing it for the sake of my country.’
CHAPTER FOUR
ROSA HAD BEEN crossing the room towards the bathroom when the sudden rap on the door halted her in her tracks. She could feel a sudden clamminess on her forehead and her heart began to pound with something which felt very much like fear. Who on earth was that knocking at this time of night? She wasn’t expecting any visitors and this wasn’t the kind of hotel which offered room service. More importantly, nobody knew she was here.
Or at least, only one person did and she doubted she’d ever see him again.
But her heart began to race as a series of ghastly possibilities began to crowd into her mind. What if Kulal wasn’t the only person who knew of her whereabouts? What if her brothers who she must now refer to as her half-brothers had discovered she was here? They might have been horrified to find out that she didn’t share their father—and that their mother had brought shame and disgrace to the family with her behaviour. Their eyes may have deadened with anger on discovering that she was not their true blood sister, but surely twenty-three years of guarding her as fiercely as a lion might guard its cubs could not be forgotten overnight?
Mightn’t they have decided to bring her back to Sicily themselves? Wasn’t that the gist behind the text which she’d received? The one which had simply said, Come home, Rosa.
She had ignored the text, just as she had ignored the one which had followed shortly after. In fact, she’d hurled the phone at the wall so that it had fallen in shattered and useless pieces on the carpet. But she planned to get herself a new, cheap one tomorrow morning and then none of the Correttis would have her new number. Which meant that none of them would be able to contact her.
And in the meantime, why was someone still knocking on her door like that?
She stayed rooted to the spot, praying that it was a case of mistaken identity. A drunken reveller, perhaps—for there were enough of them in this part of the South of France. She felt her skin redden. Because hadn’t she been one of those drunken revellers herself the other night, when she’d made such an awful fool of herself in front of that arrogant man, Kulal? It was ironic, really. She’d grown up surrounded by arrogant men and seen the heartbreak they could wreak on women, so why hadn’t she chosen someone softer and easier as the man she had decided she wanted to take her virginity?
Briefly she shut her eyes because the most humiliating thing of all was that he hadn’t wanted her. He’d put her to bed after too much champagne and the disdain on his face the following morning had been clear. It was only when she’d practically thrown herself at him that he had deigned to kiss her. She wondered if they would have gone all the way had the kiss not been interrupted by that other man, the one who’d started talking about a king.