Jessica Gilmore - 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?

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.

The Sheikh’s Pregnant Bride

Jessica Gilmore

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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

Cover

Back Cover Text 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?

Introduction 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.

Title Page The Sheikh’s Pregnant Bride Jessica Gilmore www.millsandboon.co.uk

About the Author 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!

Dedication 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

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Extract

Copyright

CHAPTER ONE

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.

Sheikh Ibrahim continued in the same monotone voice, shock seemed to have flattened all his usual military pomp. ‘The road was flat and empty and should have been quite safe but it would seem that either His Majesty or the other driver lost control of the wheel and crashed into the other car with a loss of all lives. We have experts on the scene and should have more information for you imminently.’ He looked down at his notes. ‘Four of my agents were in the crash.’

Idris pinched the top of his nose, the words spinning around in his head. He could see the scene so clearly: Fayaz laughing as the open-topped four-wheel drives wove in and out of each other’s path on the wide, sand-covered road, encouraged by the screams of Maya, his wife and Queen. At what point had those screams become real—or had it all been over too fast for any of the party to be aware of how the game would end? He hoped so. He hoped they were laughing right until the end; it would be how he remembered them. Happy and so full of life it hurt.

‘I’m sorry. Please pass on my condolences to your agents’ families and take care of any outstanding pension and compensation arrangements.’

The General nodded and Idris turned to the man on his left, Minister of the Interior and his own great-uncle. ‘What happens next?’

Sheikh Malik Al Osman pushed his tablet to one side. His eyes were heavy, his shoulders slumped as if he couldn’t bear the burden that had fallen upon him. ‘We’ve kept news of the accident under wraps while we made sure of no hostile involvement, but now you’re here we’ll brief state media and Parliament. The funerals will take place this evening and the official mourning period will commence then.’

Idris nodded. ‘And then?’

Sheikh Ibrahim jumped in. ‘Your Majesty. You know the terms of your grandfather’s will. His Highness Sheikh Fayaz Al Osman and his line inherited the throne of Dalmaya, but if he died without issue then the kingdom passes to you and your line.’

Of course Idris knew this. Technically he had always been aware he was Fayaz’s legal heir. He remembered the shock—a shock mingled with the warmth of acceptance—when his grandfather’s will had been made public, cementing him firmly into the family. But the prospect of actually becoming King had been so far away he had never considered he would actually be called to do so. Fayaz had already been married at the time of their grandfather’s death and his wife was young and healthy. There was no reason to believe they wouldn’t soon have many children of their own to take precedence over Idris.

Besides, despite his grandfather’s decree, Idris knew how unorthodox his claim was. ‘My claim to the throne is through my mother. No King has ever inherited through the maternal line before.’ Not only that but his mother’s name was a byword for scandal in Dalmaya and, possibly even more unconventionally, his father was French—would the people of this proud kingdom accept the son of such a pair as their ruler?

The point was moot. His vineyard, chateau and his wine export business were all the kingdom Idris needed. He was fond of Dalmaya but he had no intention of living and ruling there. He didn’t belong.

‘Your grandfather’s will...’ the General repeated, but from the corner of his eye Idris saw a speculative look pass over his great-uncle’s face and turned back to him.

‘What do you think, Sheikh Malik?’ Hope twisted in his chest, mingling with the fatigue and grief already consuming him. He knew how hard his grandfather had worked to keep the kingdom safe, to modernise it, to introduce universal healthcare and education. He couldn’t just walk away from that legacy, not if there was no other option. But the Al Osman family was extensive. Surely there must be someone qualified and near enough the ruling branch for Idris to be able to hand over the crown with a clear conscience?