Page 40 of The Lady and the Desert Scoundrel

Her maid knocked on the door an hour after breakfast saying her father had summoned her to his study. Fine, she thought dully, the day had come when she’d have to discuss her choice of suitors. Exactly at this minute, she didn’t know where she stood. If she was pregnant, tragedy announced itself in her life. A cold wash of fear ran through her. She’d have to buy time with courtship in order to be sure. And severe her bounds with Tariq for good. The daunting task hurt bitterly, for pity’s sake!

With a quick look at the cheval mirror to check her ocean-green day dress and her hair tied in a low bun on the nape of her neck, she decided it should be enough to face whatever lay ahead.

At the study door, Lucinda knocked softly. At her father’s word she opened the door. And froze, like lightning had struck fast. Her worst nightmare and her most fantastic reveries stood in the middle of the austerely decorated room. Tariq.

His attire impeccable and he, magnificent in it. His face turned to her father’s massive desk, he didn’t acknowledge her. She came in, shutting the door, realising that her mother sat on one corner. What the deuce was he up to, she wondered irritably. Her parents and he had met that one occasion at Duchess of Gosforth’s ball. Why would the darned man call on them now? She posted herself the farthest possible from him, in front of the desk.

“My dear,” her father started without preamble, “this gentleman claims he has compromised you.” Lord Lancefield didn’t look at her in the eye as he became visibly shocked by what he’d heard.

Lucinda’s temper bubbled as if it a volcano expelled bitter fire through her. She flushed and stared at Tariq, who stood impassible in the middle of the room. She’d fusilladed him with her fiery green eyes. She’d do more than that if one of his muzzles was at hand. What did he expect to achieve with this? “He lies!” She affirmed stonily.

Tariq then snapped his head towards her and darted his reproaching cognac eyes to her. It was not like she told a falsehood. The very word ‘compromise’ implied she’d be treated as a manipulated, inanimate doll. Passive, incapable of making her own choices. And if there had been a conscious decision she’d made in her entire life, it was to give herself to him.

“I compromised her.” He said in a flat tone. “Thoroughly and repeatedly.” This brought a crimson colour to her already flushed face.

“You ravished her!” Lady Lancefield accused haughtily.

“With all due respect, my lady, it was quite the opposite on occasion.” He said with a drop of amusement.

Her mother’s eyes widened, agape, totally astounded. “Lucinda!” Came her mother’s horrified voice.

Lucinda’s and Tariq’s eyes clashed again and she remembered exactly to which occasions he referred. When she bathed him in one of the desert villages; their interlude in his bath in Tunis, the night in the manor. A hot shower of sensation crossed her body.

“He is the man who abducted me.” She disclosed, and even her father shot his gaze at her now.

“Is that so, Mr Al-Fadih?” Her contemporizing father asked.

“Yes.” Tariq voiced unwavering. “We travelled across the desert with my caravan.” Naturally, news that he descended from a dynasty of wealthy merchants had hit the ton, being this one of his many qualities.

“He did not—” She tried again.

"Oh, yes, I did. And quite recently, by the way. She might be with child.” He crossed his arms on his broad chest, legs apart in that typically autocratic posture of his. He wasn’t the slightest sorry to interrupt her

Lady Lancefield covered her agape mouth with her hands and gasped.

“What I mean to say,” Lucinda imposed, “is that he didn’t compromise me!” She rose her chin in defiance to whoever dared contradict her. “I’ve had a choice in every action I took.” A diamond hard tone.

A bomb not even Tariq could disarm. He had to accept he’d never be the owner of her destiny, the manipulative rogue. He threw the dices with absolute certainty he’d win the game this time.

“This is curious indeed.” Her father interjected. “These lines are switched. Usually, the gentleman denies everything.” He lowered his head pensively.

“What are we going to do now, Alfred?” A distressed Lady Lancefield asked.

“Well, I suppose there’s only Gretna Green on which to count.” He answered matter-of-factly.

“Gretna Green?” Lucinda questioned confused. “But they don’t accept couples from different backgrounds!” Her brows pleated, eyes narrowed, lips apart.

“That’s where you’re mistaken, my dear daughter.” Came Lord Lancefield. “They marry any couple who will pledge themselves to each other.

Her legs gave as she sat on a robust armchair in front of her father’s desk. They could get married after all, despite her fears. Her eyes ventured to Tariq, and he glared at her with a triumphant expression on his cognac-against-fire magnificent eyes.

Lucinda did not deem herself happy with this, despite the good news. Not at all! So the possibility of marrying the love of her life stood within reach. Except he didn’t love her and would shun her aside as soon as he’d got his fill. And she’d be in a strange country, without all her familiar settings about her.

“I refuse to marry him!” She stated without a shadow of uncertainty.

“I beg your pardon?” Her indignant mother interposed, angry brows furred.

“Of course you’ll marry me!” Tariq commanded. When he designed this strategy to lead her into his life forever, he’d pondered carefully about British customs, usages and laws. He’d even counted on her expected rebelliousness. Here he stood, on the verge of marrying the one woman he would never forget. Profound happiness and satisfaction overtook him. But she wouldn’t make it easy for him, would she?

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