Cinderella and the Sheikh. NATASHA OAKLEY
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narrowed eyes. âWe agreed. Itâs time you left Shelton.â
They had agreed that.
âAnd way past time you did a job for which youâre being properly paid.â
Also true. Her head agreed. It was her heart that was more difficult to control.
âYouâve got no savings, no pension, no career structureââ
âI know.â And she did. It wasnât something that kept her awake at night, but she did know sheâd allowed herself to drift for too long.
And she knew Amrah could be the answer. The first real attempt sheâd made to cut the umbilical cord that tied her to the castle.
âWell, then, be nice to Sheikh Rashid and Iâll have you on a plane within twenty-four hours of getting the paperwork through.â
âBe nice to Sheikh Rashid.â That was easier said than done. There was no getting near the man. Polly moved back to conceal herself behind an extravagant white floral display of alstromeria, lisianthus and roses so she could watch him more easily. Or, more accurately, so she could watch him without anyone noticing that was what she was doing.
Sheikh Rashid sat facing out across the ballroom. As heâd done all evening. His long legs stretched out in front of him, a look of faint boredom on his face. Silent. Arrogant. And rude, if she was honest.
From the very first moment heâd arrived heâd been permanently surrounded by women who looked as if theyâd stepped out of a Bond movie, but they could have been invisible for all the attention he paid them. Perhaps he was so used to it he didnât notice they were there?
But it was rude all the same. And, speaking as someone whoâd often been all but invisible, she didnât like it.
Of course, they should have moved away rather than continue to try to attract his attention. That would have been classier, but they didnât. Of course they didnât. They hovered about, smiling and laughing. Hoping he might notice them.
All of which made Mintyâs cunning plan just that little bit more difficult to bring to fulfilment and left Polly stuck behind a large floral arrangement completely uncertain what to do next.
Polly bit her lip. Minty would have powered her way across the ballroom and flicked aside all competition like flies off a trifle, but she wasnât Minty.
And he wasnât the kind of man sheâd ever be comfortable approaching. Contact lenses in, she was able to confirm her initial assessment of His Highness Prince Rashid bin Khalid bin Abdullah Al Baha as sex on legs. Or would be, if you liked that kind of thing. Which she didnât.
He was all too much. Too tall. Too handsome. Tooâ¦powerful. He looked like the kind of man who could crack a nut with his bare hands and wouldnât hesitate to do the same to people if he had to. And, from all sheâd read, he came from a long line of men whoâd had to. Centuries of tribal disputes, years of colonial occupation and violent coups had shaped Amrah into the country it was. Theyâd shaped the men who ruled it, too.
It was strange to think her great-great-grandmother had been an active participant in all that history. Or a small slice of it at least.
âSomething wrong?â
Polly turned to look down at her mother. âNo. Why?â
âYouâre frowning. I wondered if the ice sculpture was melting or the fireworks had got damp,â she said, bringing her wheelchair into line. âItâs not often I see you frowning.â
âNothing like that. As far as I know.â Polly smiled and set her glass of untouched champagne down on the window sill behind her. âBut I ought to stop standing about and check.â
âPollyââ
She stopped.
âI just wanted to say youâve done a beautiful job tonight. Again.â Her mother reached out and lightly touched her hand. âI know Anthony doesnât appreciate the work that goes into something like this, but I do.â
âI know.â Polly spontaneously bent down and placed a kiss on her motherâs cheek. âHave you got everything you need? Can I get you a drink?â
The dowager duchess laughed. âIâm fine. Any more champagne and Iâll be arrested for being drunk in charge of a wheelchair. You do what you need to do, darling.â
âGet someone to come and find me if you want to go to bed,â she said, taking in her motherâs tired face. âThereâs no need for youââ
âStop fussing. Iâll be fine.â Then, her attention snagged, âWhoâs that man? I donât recognise him.â
Polly followed the direction of her motherâs eyes.
âWith the Duke of Aylesbury? Front table, beneath the Mad Duchess oil painting?â
âThatâsââ She stopped as Rashidâs eyes met hers. The sensation was akin to how she imagined it would feel if you stuck a wet finger into an electrical socket. He was quite, quite stillâ¦and, heaven help her, he was definitely watching her.
What was more heâd probably seen her watching him. Polly straightened her spine and summoned up her âperfect hostessâ smile, resisting the temptation to check that her hair was still firmly pinned in its chignon. Then, abruptly, he leant forward and spoke to the Duke of Aylesbury sitting immediately to his left.
She forced her chin that little bit higher as Sheikh Rashidâs blue eyes locked with hers once more. It had to be pure imagination that made her stomach clench inâ¦
God only knew what. The word that had sprung into her mind had been fear. Except that didnât make any sense.
âHe looks so angry.â
âThatâs His Highness Prince Rashid bin Khalid bin Abdullah Al Baha.â His formal title came easily from her lips, absolutely no trace of the uneasiness she felt appearing in her voice. She dragged her eyes away. âWhy do you think heâs angry?â
âI just did,â her mother said slowly, and then smiled. âFor a moment. He has a very uncompromising face.â
That was one way of putting it. It seemed to Polly he had an uncompromising everything.
Her mother released the brake on her wheelchair, apparently having lost interest. âI hope Anthony isnât intending to do business with him. I donât think that would be a good idea at all.â
On that slightly obscure observation the dowager duchess moved away, her gloved hands moving lightly on the wheels of her chair. Polly watched her for the shortest of moments and then, deliberately not looking back at the Amrahi prince, walked towards the Long Gallery.
Or tried to. Every step she felt as though his eyes were boring into her back. All of a sudden it became difficult to walk in a straight line. She felt conscious of how her arms swung in relation to her legs. Wondered what would be the best thing to do with her hands. She hadnât felt so self-conscious since sheâd left puberty.
Polly slipped out into the Long Gallery and pulled the door shut behind her with a satisfying click. She rubbed a hand over the goose bumps on her forearm. What was the matter with her? Surely if sheâd learnt one thing in the last six years it was not to let these people get to her. They could look down their long patrician noses any which way they wanted. It didnât touch her. Couldnât, if she didnât let it.
Butâ¦
Still the words she needed to put a frame around what