Desert King, Pregnant Mistress(5)

       
           



       



Beth grimaced as she caught sight of herself  clattering along the  fabulous corridor in her five-inch heels. There  were floor-to-ceiling  mirrors set into the golden walls, so there was no  escaping the truth.  No escaping her bodyguard, either! They had sent a  fierce-looking woman  to collect her. Did she wear a gun too? Beth  wondered as she struggled  to keep up. Shoes that had seemed such a good  idea back at the store  were killing her now. She might be short, but she  always wore flats so  she could scoot around finding things for her  customers. Heels this  high demanded the skill of a tightrope  walker-skill she definitely  didn't possess. 'Can you slow down a bit,  please?' she begged as her  stern-looking companion put on a spurt of  speed.

The woman didn't answer, and as she had introduced herself  as one of  the Dowager Sheikha's personal attendants Beth thought she  had better  not push it. Personal scary person, Beth decided-definitely  not someone  you'd want to get on the wrong side of. The woman couldn't  have made  it clearer that she was used to escorting royalty.

'While  I feel like a chicken in a bandage,' Beth muttered, using her  head to  propel herself along. Graceful didn't come in to it. Majestic?  Forget  it. She was a shop assistant at the palace under sufferance, and  the  Sheikha's attendant wasn't going to let her forget it any time  soon.

The  pace they were walking at made Beth's heart beat even faster. Her  hair  had started to fall down, and fronds of it were sticking to her  face. As  if that wasn't bad enough, she had chatted up the Sheikh of  Sheikhs as  if he were a beach boy. And she had seen him naked! What  would the  Dowager Sheikha make of that? How was she supposed to look at  His  Majesty now? What if she couldn't control herself? What if she  started  giggling?

As they stopped in front of two gigantic doors, men  dressed in flowing  robes opened them. Beth acknowledged them both with a  smile and a  cheery greeting, which only brought a stony look of  disapproval to her  chaperon's face. That was the least of Beth's  worries. The ballroom was  crowded, and was she imagining it or had it  gone utterly silent at the  sight of her? No, she wasn't imagining it.  Everyone had turned to  stare. There must be spies everywhere in a  palace, Beth thought,  noticing servants whispering together. This was a  real international  gathering with 'high and mighties' from every land,  and enough diamonds  flashing to sink a ship. Had one of these people  seen her on the beach  with the Sheikh, or had their servants reported  her? Did they think  there was an ulterior motive to her being here? Did  they think her win  was a fix, just a ruse, to bring her to Q'Adar so the  Sheikh could  enjoy her?


Beth shivered at the thought of what  must be going through people's  minds. But as the woman swept ahead of  her she knew she must pull  herself together fast. Tossing back her  ruined hair, she firmed her  jaw, sending the fresh flower the maid had  so carefully fixed tumbling  over her eye. She brushed it back and tipped  her chin, and started  forward again. Beth couldn't know that a keen  black gaze was fixed on  her with interest from behind a gilded screen.



She  had been sitting at a dark table in a forgotten corner of the  ballroom  for nearly an hour. And she wanted to chat with someone. She  didn't want  to be stuck away like this, like last week's dirty washing,  as if she  was something to put out of the way and forget-and with the  Dowager's  Sheikha's sidekick glaring at her if she so much as crossed  her legs.  She needed to chat. If she was going to work off her nerves,  she needed  to move about. Why had they invited her if the organisers  couldn't even  be bothered to check up on her and see that she was okay?  She would have  arranged things differently in Liverpool-everyone would  have got a  proper welcome.

As yet another waiter studiously ignored her Beth  decided enough was  enough; she was parched, and if she didn't have a  glass of water  soon … She was not going to sit here a moment longer and be  ignored. She  was an ambassador too-for the Khalifa stores-and as such  she had no  intention of hiding in the shadows feeling sorry for herself.                       
       
           



       

Beth  would have carried off her intentions brilliantly had she been   accustomed to wearing five-inch heels, but as it was she tripped at the   edge of the dance floor, right in front of an amazingly tall and pretty   princess. At least, Beth assumed the girl must be a princess, judging  by  the group of people standing around her tutting, and the fact that  Beth  was blinded by diamonds when she looked up. 'I'm so sorry … ' She  tried  scrambling to her feet, but only made it to all fours with her  rump  sticking high in the air because her stiletto heels stubbornly  refused  to find purchase on the marble floor. Meanwhile the princess  and her  attendants skirted round her, as if she was a dog's doodle,  before  sweeping off. It took a young girl who had been watching all  this to  help her to her feet.

'Thank you,' Beth said gratefully, brushing herself down as the girl steadied her.

'Are  you sure you're all right? You're more than welcome to join us at  our  table … ' The girl pointed to where a group of young people were  sitting.  'We've been watching you,' she admitted. 'We hated the way  everyone  stared at you when you came in-'

'Don't worry about me,' Beth  said, pretending her nose wasn't stinging  with the threat of tears. 'I'm  fine … ' I can do this, she was thinking,  though her ballgown was ripped  now, and the flower from her hair was  lying crushed on the floor. 'But  thank you for coming over to help me,'  she said, finding her customary  grin.

'Well, if you change your mind … ?'

'I'll remember,'  Beth promised. 'And thank you, again … ' Composing  herself, she looked  around, and this time no one returned her gaze. It  was as if she had  become invisible. No one wanted to get involved with a  nobody, Beth  gathered, except for her new friend. They shared a smile  before the girl  sat down again with her companions.

Blowing the hair out of her  eyes, Beth wondered what to do for a  moment, and then decided that  watching would probably teach her more  than anything. Her first thought  was that the scent of wealth was  stifling, and she could tell that  Khal's guests had really gone to town  on the platinum-and-diamond theme  of the ball. But strip all the glitz  and glitter away and they were just  people the same as she was,  probably with many of the same worries and  concerns. At least that was  what she thought, until she noticed people  talking behind their hands  and jostling for position in the final  minutes before Khal arrived.  Some of the women were licking their bottom  lip and adjusting their  dress to show more cleavage in preparation for  His Majesty's  arrival-which made weird feelings jostle inside her,  almost as if she  was feeling protective of Khal.

Which she did,  Beth realised. What did Khal see in all this? What did  it mean? What did  it add up to? As far as she could tell everyone was  after him for  something, and this ball was just another opportunity for  people to  advance themselves.

Being an outsider, even of this shallow  group, wasn't nice. There was  only one table where people were having  fun for its own sake, as far as  Beth could see and that was the table  where the young girl who had  rescued her was sitting. Beth wished now  that she had accepted the  invitation to go and sit with them. As it was,  she felt like leaving to  start packing for her return home. But she  wouldn't, because she was  here to represent her colleagues at the  Khalifa stores. She would hold  her head up high and remember that the  owner of those stores might be  the Sheikh of Sheikhs in Q'Adar, but he  was also her boss-as well as  the driving force behind the Khalifa  brand-and this employee had no  intention of letting Khal or her  co-workers down.





CHAPTER THREE




HAVING  surveyed the ballroom from his private viewing-area and seen  what he  wanted to, he dismissed his entourage and walked alone in the  gardens.  He always centred himself before an appearance, and tonight he  craved  that inner calm more than ever. Because he had allowed himself  to be  distracted by some young girl newly arrived from England, and  however  hard he tried to concentrate his thoughts kept returning to  Beth Tracey  Torrance.