Bride Behind The Desert Veil (Mills & Boon Modern) (The Marchetti Dynasty, Book 3) by Abby Green (free e reader .TXT) 📕

and broader. The cream silk of his royal robes, with gold thread piping, enhanced his dark skin tone. He wore no headdress. But Liyah noticed that his hair had been trimmed since last night. And his jaw was clean-shaven.

She remembered the graze of his stubble against her inner thighs...

She slammed a door on that incendiary memory.

The shock that had hit her like a body-blow as soon as she’d recognised him still gripped her, keeping her in a sort of paralysis. The only thing that had given her the time to absorb that shock was the fact that he hadn’t yet recognised her. But he was about to...

The women came forward—her sister Samara was one of her attendants today—and they deftly and far too quickly removed the elaborate face shield that was a traditional part of weddings in Taraq, and had been for hundreds of years.

Liyah blinked as her eyes adjusted to the brightness of the throne room in the royal palace. A grand description for what was really a modest fortress.

She looked up at her husband with dread lining her belly and saw the expressions chase across his face as if in slow motion. Recognition. Confusion. And then shock, disbelief. Anger.

And then his mouth opened and he uttered one word. ‘You!’

Somehow—miraculously—no one seemed to have caught Sharif’s exclamation of recognition, and the ceremony finished as Liyah’s hand was placed over his—the moment when she was deemed to be his wife.

Her hand was covered in the dark, intricate stains of henna. The red swirls swam a little in front of her eyes and she had to suck in a breath, terrified she might faint. The heavy robes and headdress she wore weren’t helping.

Her gaze had slid away from his as soon as he’d spoken, but she could feel those dark eyes on her, boring into her, silently commanding her to look at him.

She felt numb, and she welcomed it, because if the numbness wore off then she knew she would be subjected to an onslaught of sensations and memories.

When she’d returned to the palace earlier, and undergone the pre-wedding bathing ritual, she’d lamented her mystery lover’s touch and smell being washed from her body, even though she knew how inappropriate it would have been to go to another man while his imprint was still on her.

But he was no longer a mystery. He was her husband. And that fact filled her with so many conflicting feelings that she felt dizzy all over again.

They were led in a procession with the guests and both families into another formal room. The ballroom. Where a lavish feast had been laid out.

Normally weddings in Taraq would be three and four-day affairs—but, as her father had told her, this was to be a much briefer celebration.

Liyah and Sharif were seated at the top table, side by side. She took her hand from his and sat down, studiously avoiding looking to her right, where he sat. The ring that had been placed on her finger during the ceremony felt heavy. She’d barely looked at it—a thick, ornate gold ring, with a bluish stone in a circular setting surrounded by diamonds.

The King of Al-Murja, a man as tall and dark and handsome as Sharif, sat nearby, looking austere. As austere as her husband.

Husband. She felt dizzy again, even though she was sitting down.

Liyah cursed herself now for not having looked him up. If she had, she would have known who he was at the oasis.

And would that have changed her behaviour?

Liyah couldn’t say how she would have reacted last night even if she’d known who he was. It was all too much to process.

And then, from her right, came a low and steely tone. ‘Look at me, wife.’

Liyah gulped and slowly turned her head to meet those far too memorable dark eyes. She noticed now that there were gold rings around his irises. So not totally dark. Golden. Molten.

‘So what was that last night? Were you trying out the wares before you committed to marriage with a stranger? Should I be flattered you deemed me suitable?’

His voice was cold enough to make her shiver—a big difference from how he’d sounded last night. The mid-Atlantic twang mocked her now. As did her instinct last night that he was not just anyone.

‘No,’ she croaked. ‘It wasn’t like that. I had no idea who you were.’

He made a rude sound. ‘I find that hard to believe.’

His accusing tone broke Liyah out of her shocked paralysis. ‘Wait... Did you know who I was?’

‘No.’

A dart of hurt lanced her. He’d been equally disinclined to know about her. But she shouldn’t be surprised—after all her sister had told her. He just wants a wife. He doesn’t care who that is.

‘Then I could accuse you of the same—maybe you did know who I was and you wanted to make sure I was suitable.’

‘You weren’t a virgin. That would make you very unsuitable to some.’

Liyah flushed at that. In this part of the world he would be within his rights to reject her on those grounds... Except the time to do it would have been the moment he’d recognised her.

‘Are you going to say something?’ Liyah immediately thought of the potential repercussions for her younger sister, who might be denied the husband she wanted to punish Liyah.

But Sharif shook his head slowly. ‘No. I’m not a hypocrite. I’m far from a virgin. I don’t expect my wife to be. Anyway, that’s not what this marriage will be about.’

Liyah looked at him. She frowned. ‘What’s that supposed—’

But she was cut off when the music started, drowning out what she’d been about to say. She had to face forward to watch the traditional dancers.

Her brain was racing, wanting to know what Sharif had meant. She cursed herself again for not having looked him up. She would have been better prepared. But it was too late to dwell on regrets. Or on reckless decisions made in the heat of the moment.

She’d never expected to see him again but now