Beholden to the Throne - By Carol Marinelli Page 0,42

guards opened the door as she approached, and reminded her to bow her head until the King spoke.

She discarded that advice.

Amy walked in with her head held high, determined she would leave with grace. Except the sight of him, standing tall but so remote, made her want to be his lover again, to salvage what little they had. She opened her mouth to plead her case, but his eyes forbade her to speak and it was Emir who spoke first.

‘You will leave late this afternoon. I have arranged all transport. That gives you some time to spend with the girls. I have a new nanny starting. She will assist Fatima.’

Yes, she’d wanted to do this with grace, but at the final hurdle she faltered—could not stand the thought of yet another woman taking care of her girls. ‘No! You know the girls are better off with me—you said it yourself.’

‘I did not realise then that they were learning only to speak in English, that they knew nothing of our ways …’

‘They would know a whole lot more if you spent more time with them. They don’t need another nanny!’

‘She will be more suitable. We must hold on to the ways of old.’

‘What about London? What about their education and all Queen Hannah wanted for them?’

‘This is their land.’

She really would never see them. Amy knew this was a goodbye for ever, and she forgot to be brave and strong. ‘What you said before … about me being your lover …’ She could not bear to leave—would give anything, even her pride, if it meant that she could stay. Because it was three times her heart was being broken here. She was losing three of the people she most loved. ‘What you said about me raising the girls in London …’

‘It is the type of thing men say when they want a woman in their bed. It is the type of thing a man says when his thoughts are not clear.’ Completely devoid of emotion, he threw the most hurtful words at her, a round of bullets shot rapidly straight to her heart. He didn’t stop firing. ‘You really think I would choose you for that role?’ He let out an incredulous laugh at the very thought. ‘Here a mistress is a man’s respite—a woman he can go to to relax and not be bombarded with everyday trivialities. You would be most unsuitable.’

He was right.

Amy felt the colour flood back to her cheeks, and she felt the fire in her soul return too—a fire that had been doused by the accident, that had flared only on occasion in recent times. But it was back now, and burning even more brightly, fuelling her to stand up to him.

‘I would be a most unsuitable mistress.’ She gathered her dignity and held on to it tightly, determined that she would never let it go again. She could hardly believe the offer she had made him just a few moments before and she told him why. ‘I’d be a terrible mistress, in fact. I’d bombard you with news about your daughters. Every achievement, every tear I would share with you. I would busy your distinguished brain with my voice and my opinions, and …’ She walked over to him—right over to where he stood. He lifted his jaw, did not look at her as she spoke, but it did not stop her. Her words told him all he would be missing. ‘And there would be no relaxing.’

‘Go!’ Emir said, and still he could not look at her.

Amy knew why. He was resisting his need for her, refusing the comfort that was within his grasp.

‘Go and spend time with the twins.’

‘I’m going now to pack,’ Amy said. ‘I’ll spend the afternoon at the airport.’

There was nothing left to say to him, no point pleading with him, nothing she could do for the twins. She was an employee, that was all.

But she had been his lover.

‘We both know why you need me out of here today, Emir. We both know you’d be in my bed tonight, and heaven forbid you might show emotion—might tell me what’s going on in the forbidden zone of your mind. You can stop worrying about that now—I’ll be gone within the hour,’ Amy said. ‘All temptation will be removed.’

‘You flatter yourself.’

‘Actually, I haven’t for a while. But I will from now on.’

Amy had once read that people who had been shot sometimes didn’t even know, that they could carry on, fuelled by