He shifted in his seat, drawing her attention back to him as much by that as his voice. ‘Centuries old, but its current incarnation is only forty. It has become a financial centre and brought a great deal of wealth to the country.’
She’d known that. Only that wasn’t part of Elizabeth Lewis’s story and she’d not focused her attention on what that would mean. ‘Amrah doesn’t have oil, does it?’
‘Some, but the reserves are fast running out.’
Polly turned again to look out of the window. She watched as the buildings sped past, unwilling to miss anything.
If they’d arrived by sea, she knew from guidebooks she’d have been met with fortified ramparts dating back centuries. A testament to its troubled history. But this…was all so newly constructed.
‘Are you disappointed?’
‘Stunned.’
‘We have the camels and the Bedouin tents, too.’ His voice was laced with humour.
Polly turned her head to look at him and smiled. Her first since getting into the car. She settled back into her seat. ‘Do you spend much time in the desert?’
‘Like most of my countrymen I return at least once a year to reconnect myself with my heritage. A tradition, if you will. Something you English seem to understand.’
He said it as if she were a different species. ‘You’re half English.’
‘My mother is English, but I am entirely Arab.’
How did he manage to turn his voice to flint? Polly adjusted her scarf, tucking one end carefully over her shoulder.
‘I’m flattered you have so obviously researched me,’ he continued, his voice slicing through the silence.
Polly glanced up at his calmly arrogant face. Did he honestly think that? That she’d consciously sat down and ‘Googled’ him?
She had. But she’d infinitely prefer it if he didn’t think it. ‘Merely read the magazines in the hairdresser’s,’ she corrected. ‘You’re often featured. Being royalty.’
‘Then I should be the one asking the questions, perhaps.’
‘There’s nothing particularly interesting about me—’ She broke off as she caught sight of the Majan International Hotel. ‘Isn’t that where we’re staying?’
‘There’s been a change.’
Polly looked at him sharply. ‘What kind of change?’
‘I have decided to offer you the hospitality of my home while you are in Samaah. You and your colleagues,’ he added as blandly as though he hadn’t seen her quick glance through the back window to make sure they were still being followed.
She wasn’t particularly reassured. Why was he doing this? He might have given them permission to film here, but even Minty hadn’t imagined he’d wanted them here.
‘Is that a spontaneous decision?’
‘Not at all. How else could I have arranged for cars to be here to meet you?’
Quite. And Polly had the definite feeling very little in Rashid’s life was left to chance.
‘My sister is waiting to receive you. I was to have joined you later.’
His sister?
‘Is it far from the airport?’
‘No.’
Through the window to her left Polly could see they were still flanked by motorcycle outriders. It deflected her interest. ‘Are they necessary?’
‘It is wise.’
‘Because we might be attacked?’
‘Because I might be,’ he returned coolly.
Rashid watched the blond Englishwoman process that. He could sense her uncertainty, see the questions she wanted to ask but felt she couldn’t. For now that suited him perfectly well.
He stretched. ‘It is a minimal threat but a significant one, particularly while there is uncertainty about Amrah’s political future.’
‘I’ve read about that.’ Her blue eyes met his. ‘I was sorry to hear your father’s ill again.’
Just that. No spurious sympathy in her face. He’d spent much of last week receiving condolences from men he knew would be pleased to hear his father had died and one of his more conservative uncles named as successor. Words meant nothing, but her quiet statement felt genuine.
It was that dichotomy again. The difference between what he knew and what he felt. She seemed genuine—but there was no one as plausible as someone who was making it her business to appear so.
‘His doctors have been able to buy him a few months, but I think he will shortly be in paradise.’
‘I’m so sorry.’
‘I think your sympathy should be reserved for the people he is to leave behind.’
Pollyanna clutched at her scarf as it threatened to slide off her head. ‘That’s what I meant. It’s incredibly hard to lose a parent.’ Then, ‘Are you sure this is the right time to have visitors like us? We would be perfectly comfortable at the hotel. And we only mean to stay in Samaah for a couple of nights.’
‘I’m aware.’
‘Wouldn’t you rather be with your family?’
‘If I’m needed I will be called.’
He watched her hesitate and then bite back whatever observation she had been tempted to make. That was just as well. He’d given more away in that single sentence than he’d intended.
Her perfume, light but exotic, swirled around him like a wisp of smoke. It seemed to drug his mind, pull truths from his lips he’d prefer left unsaid. And the truth was she was probably right. This wasn’t the best time to have visitors in his home.
And certainly not this one.
Despite the dossier he’d read on Miss Pollyanna Anderson he remained uncertain of her motives in coming here. And, until he was, he’d every intention of controlling everything about her visit.
‘Your family is well?’
Her blue eyes widened slightly. ‘My mother’s well enough.’
‘And your brothers?’
‘I don’t have any brothers.’
It was very convincing. Yet she presumably chose to live in the home of her mother’s stepson, a man he knew for a liar and a cheat, because she wanted to.
‘I should have said stepbrothers,’ he corrected smoothly. ‘Your mother’s late husband had three sons, I believe?’
‘Yes. Anthony, the current Duke, is well, but I haven’t seen Benedict or Simon for months. They rarely come to the castle.’
Did he believe that? All three brothers were directors of Beaufort Stud Farm with a financial stake in its success. It was inconceivable one brother should act alone in what was a family business.
Polly twisted her gold chain bracelet with long, slender fingers. She was nervous. He had to be wary of her, yet when he looked at her he found himself wanting to reach out and place a kiss on the inside of her wrist.
He wanted more than that if the tightening of his body was anything to go by.
Another time, another place. Rashid let the silence stretch between them. His brother had asked him to act as his right arm and Hanif couldn’t afford negative publicity in the West. Not now. Not when his grandfather was looking to him to keep Amrah’s financial markets steady and praying for an easy handover of power.
For now there was no choice but to keep this film crew close. Time enough to decide how much freedom he could allow them. Plenty of time to reach a conclusion about Pollyanna Anderson.
The cavalcade approached the outer gates of his home. He felt Pollyanna stiffen beside him and she turned to look at him with wide eyes.
‘Welcome to my home,’ he murmured.
‘I-it’s so beautiful.’
‘Shukran.’
The gates opened seamlessly and the cavalcade moved forward, coming to a gentle stop. Polly unfastened her seat belt and adjusted her scarf once again, wrapping it tightly round her hair and letting both ends fall down her back. Even through the heavily tinted windows the magnificence of the place they’d been brought to was immediately obvious.
And it was old. How old she couldn’t possibly judge, as the architectural style was completely unknown to her. Her door was opened and Polly accepted the wordless invitation to get out of the car. She stood, speechless, looking up at the white marble columns and the huge carved wooden doors, as intimidating as they’d surely been designed to be.
So incredibly beautiful. Breathtaking, really.
‘Not bad, is it?’ Pete remarked, coming up to stand beside her. ‘I’m sorry you had to travel with Sheikh Rashid alone. You were there one minute and not the next. I’m not sure how that happened.’
Didn’t he? Polly was in very little doubt. She watched as Rashid paused to speak to one of his staff. She had no doubt he’d orchestrated everything that had happened. Nothing at all was left to chance.
Which meant he’d intended to ride with her alone. Intended to talk to her.
‘Better be a bit careful about that. He’s got a reputation. Probably because he’s not allowed to play at home, if you know what I mean.’
Polly’s eyes involuntarily wandered over to where Rashid was.
‘But those rules might not extend to you since you’re English. I can’t believe this,’ Pete said, looking about the palace with professional interest. ‘It’s incredible. I wonder if we can wangle filming here.’
Rashid walked towards them, an Amrahi prince to the ends of his fingers, Polly thought. And, for the first time in her hearing, he spoke in Arabic she didn’t understand.