The Sheikh's Pregnant Bride
Sheikh, Husband, Father! Idris Delacour never expected to be king of Dalmaya, but his cousin's sudden death changes all that. And that's not all—there's a royal baby on the way, too!Being a surrogate mom should've given Saskia Harper and her little brother Jack a new start. Only, for her unborn child to inherit the throne she must now marry the new king—the man whose kisses she's never forgotten. Saskia wants to trust Idris—but can she ever find a way into her sheikh's guarded heart?
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Sheikh, Husband, Father!
Idris Delacour never expected to be king of Dalmaya, but his cousin’s sudden death changes all that. And that’s not all—there’s a royal baby on the way, too!
Being a surrogate mom should’ve given Saskia Harper and her little brother Jack a new start. Only, for her unborn child to inherit the throne she must now marry the new king—the man whose kisses she’s never forgotten. Saskia wants to trust Idris—but can she ever find a way into her sheikh’s guarded heart?
A king’s life wasn’t his—he knew that all too well. His own needs, his own desires, his own likes would always be second to duty.
And Idris saw his duty all too clearly. All of it.
His mind raced as he ruthlessly ousted all emotions from his mind, concentrating on the cold, hard facts, looking for the path ahead. First, it was clearly in the baby’s best interests to have a mother’s care right from birth. Secondly, he—Idris—was the legal heir, whether he liked it or not. But, thirdly, at the same time the unborn baby was the rightful heir. Fourthly, he was said baby’s guardian.
The pieces began to fall into place one by one.
What had the lawyer said? That if a man was married to the mother when a child was born then he was automatically that child’s legal father, regardless of actual paternity?
He looked over at the other man. ‘Let me get this straight. If I marry Sayeda Saskia then the baby will be my child, my heir, both in law and in the eyes of the world?’
The lawyer’s answer was drowned out by Saskia’s indignant voice.
‘There is no way I would marry you, Idris Delacour, not if you were the last man alive!’
But Idris saw the lawyer’s nod and knew what he had to do. For Fayaz, for the country, for the baby.
He had to marry Saskia Harper.
A former au pair, bookseller, marketing manager and seafront trader, JESSICA GILMORE now works for an environmental charity in York, England. Married with one daughter, one fluffy dog and two dog-loathing cats, she spends her time avoiding housework and can usually be found with her nose in a book. Jessica writes emotional romance with a hint of humour, a splash of sunshine and a great deal of delicious food—and equally delicious heroes!
To Rufus.
All these years I thought I was a cat person—turns out I’m all about the canine. Thank you for letting me talk plots through at you, for all those head-clearing walks and for keeping me company through long hours at my keyboard. xxx
Contents
HE’D SAID HE’D be there in twelve hours, but in the end it was barely eight hours after he’d received the earth-shattering phone call when Idris Delacour strode into the cool, dark Council Chamber, his eyes still shielded against the harsh sun that had greeted him at the airport despite the still early hour. Grimly he stood by the empty seat at the end of the long table and, taking off his sunglasses, regarded the four sombre men who had stood at his entrance. They were all dressed in the customary long white robes and headdresses worn by traditionalists in Dalmaya and Idris’s dark trousers and grey shirt looked both drab and shockingly modern by contrast.
He nodded at the men and waited until they took their seats before seating himself in the ornately carved wooden chair. He was aware of every curve, every bump in the ancient seat. A seat that should never have been his. A seat he was all too willing to relinquish. He cleared his throat. ‘Salam.’
They repeated the greeting back to him, the words barely uttered before he continued, ‘There can be no mistake?’
‘None, Your Highness.’
He flinched at the title but there was more pressing business than his own unwanted and tenuous claim to the Dalmayan throne. ‘They are both dead?’
‘The King and Her Majesty, yes.’
‘Terrorism?’ Idris already knew the answers. He had asked the same question during the shock call that had shaken the entire chateau just eight hours before and had been extensively briefed and updated both whilst travelling to the airport and again once on the private jet that had awaited him there.
‘We’ll have to investigate further obviously,’ the grey-faced man to his right answered. Idris recognised him as Sheikh Ibrahim Al Kouri, Dalmaya’s Head of Security. ‘But it doesn’t seem so. It looks like it was simply a tragic accident.’
Simply? Such an odd way to describe the annihilation of an entire family. The better half of Idris’s own family. ‘And what? The car simply ran off the road?’
The General shook his head. ‘The King and his wife were returning from a day’s excursion and I believe His Majesty may have challenged the guards in the accompanying car to a race.’ He paused. ‘It would not have been the first time.’
Of course not. Fayaz loved to compete, always wanting to prove he was a winner in his own right, not just because of the privilege of his birth.
