Governess To The Sheikh. Laura Martin
with purpose and vitality. It was the walk of a man who always got what he wanted. His back was straight, his eyes focused, and Rachel knew immediately he would be a hard man to deny anything.
He started to move towards her and Rachel found herself momentarily frozen. His eyes were still locked on hers and for a second she was mesmerised. It was only when he came to a halt before her that Rachel remembered herself and dropped hastily into a low curtsy, lowering her eyes to the floor.
As she rose from the curtsy she couldn’t help but look up at the Sheikh, but as she did so she felt her mouth go dry and her lips quiver slightly. Up close he didn’t just have a regal bearing, he was also disconcertingly handsome. Rachel thought it was probably his eyes that made most ladies swoon—they were a deep, dark brown, inviting and forbidding at the same time. Rachel felt herself swallowing nervously as she took in his perfectly shaped lips, caramel-coloured skin tone and short black hair. The Sheikh was a handsome man and a powerful one—it was a potent combination.
‘Miss Talbot, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.’ The Sheikh’s voice was smooth and confident and Rachel was surprised to find he spoke English with only the mildest hint of an accent. ‘I hope your journey was not too arduous.’
‘You have such a beautiful country,’ Rachel said with a smile. ‘It was a wonderful opportunity to see so much of it.’
The Sheikh studied her as she spoke, and Rachel had to suppress a shiver that ran over her skin. Confidence and power emanated out of him and Rachel felt her pulse begin to quicken as he moved in closer towards her. She had an inexplicable urge to reach out and place a hand on his chest, to feel the hard muscles under her fingers and the heat of his body on her fingertips.
‘We do not have many visitors to our small kingdom, but most who do come cannot see past the barrenness of the desert and stifling heat. They do not see the beauty in the rolling sand dunes and the fortitude of the people who can live under such a burning sun.’
Even though Rachel had only just met the Sheikh, there was enough passion in the few sentences he had spoken to her to show her he truly loved his country. She could tell he was proud of Huria and wanted everyone to view his kingdom with the same love and respect as he did.
‘But enough of that for now,’ the Sheikh said with a small smile that lit up his face. ‘Wahid is always telling me I am far too serious when I speak about the merits of our country.’
‘You cannot browbeat people into loving Huria as you do, Your Majesty,’ Wahid said.
Rachel looked at the two men with interest. Everyone else in the chamber stood back from the Sheikh out of respect, but Wahid was at his side, more like an old friend than a subordinate.
‘Please, come through to the courtyard. I will have someone fetch you some refreshments and once you are rested you can meet the children.’
Rachel followed the Sheikh through the archway and into the courtyard she had glimpsed beyond. If she had thought the first chamber was beautiful, then the courtyard was even more so. The whole area was bathed in brilliant sunlight, although there were a few strategically placed trees in case shade was required. There was a bubbling fountain in the centre, surrounded by a small pool of water, and the rest of the courtyard was filled with plants and trees of so many varieties Rachel wondered if they could all be native to Huria.
As they walked Rachel took the opportunity to compose herself. Inside she was a jumble of nerves, her normal confident demeanour shattered by the Sheikh. She wasn’t sure if it was his royal status or the intensity of his dark eyes that was making her feel a little shaky, but there was something about the Sheikh that made you notice him.
‘Please sit,’ the Sheikh said politely, indicating a small table under a tree.
Rachel sat and to her surprise the Sheikh took the chair opposite her. His manner was a little imperious, but there were flashes of normality beneath. Rachel had imagined him to be much more stern and haughty, but she supposed he was in truth just a man, born into a noble family.
Immediately a servant was by his side, setting two glasses down on the table. He served the Sheikh first, but Rachel noticed the ruler of Huria waited for her to take a sip before he picked up his own glass.
Rachel closed her eyes and sighed. She couldn’t help herself. The drink was delicious; it looked like lemonade, but when you took a mouthful there were so many more flavours.
‘This is divine,’ Rachel said.
As she opened her eyes she realised the Sheikh was staring at her and she felt a blush start to creep to her cheeks as he did not drop his gaze. He looked as though he were seeing every bit of her laid bare before him. The air between them hummed with a peculiar tension and Rachel found she was holding her breath, wondering if he might reach across the gap and touch her. She wanted him to, she realised. She wanted him to trail his fingers over her skin or run his hands through her hair.
Hastily Rachel forced herself to return to reality. She wondered if it was the heat, or exhaustion after such a long journey—there must be some explanation for these strange thoughts. The Sheikh was a handsome and charismatic man, but that was no reason to start behaving like one of the airheaded heroines in the novels her friend Isabel liked to read. Luckily the Sheikh didn’t seem to notice the inappropriate way her body was responding to him.
‘You will find it all over Huria, every household, rich or poor, serves lemon and mint to their guests.’
He was still looking at her and Rachel had to stop herself from fidgeting. His eyes were so dark they were almost black, and Rachel thought she glimpsed a hint of wistfulness behind his expression.
Suddenly his manner changed and instantaneously he became the solemn leader Rachel knew most of his subjects would see.
‘I am sure you are eager to meet the children,’ he said, motioning to a servant who was hovering nearby. ‘Then I suggest you rest this afternoon before commencing your duties tomorrow.’
Rachel nodded, glad to focus her thoughts away from the attractive Sheikh and on to an area she felt a lot more comfortable with: her work.
There was a clatter of shoes upon stone and Rachel turned to see three young children filing out of one of the numerous archways that led into the courtyard. Even at first glance there was no mistaking that these three grave-faced children were related to the Sheikh. All had his dark, probing eyes and caramel skin tone, and the eldest had even perfected the slightly haughty look Rachel had glimpsed on the Sheikh’s face.
Rachel had received a few sparse details about the Sheikh and his family before taking the job in Huria. Miss Fanworth, a teacher at Madame Dubois’s School for Young Ladies, had known of Rachel’s desire to travel and see the world, and when she had heard Sheikh Malik bin Jalal al-Mahrouky was looking for a new governess for his children she had acquired all of the information necessary for Rachel to apply for the position and had then encouraged her to do so. Rachel’s correspondence with the palace had been brief and her application accepted almost immediately. The details about the children a palace secretary had sent in a letter had been functional and succinct. She knew the children were aged eight, six and four, and that their mother had died about a year ago. As to their likes and dislikes, strengths and weaknesses, she was in the dark.
Aahil, the eldest of the three children, stepped forward. Rachel could already see he was a Sheikh in the making. His back was straight as he gave a little bow to greet her, and his face unsmiling. From what she remembered he was only eight years old and already he was acting like a man. Her heart squeezed a little, surely there was still time for him to be a child for a few more years.
‘Welcome to Huria, Miss Talbot,’ he said, his English almost as perfect as his father’s. ‘We look forward to starting our lessons with you.’
Rachel’s eyes roamed over the other two children, wondering if they, too, would be so formal at such a young age. Ameera, the young Princess, stared mutinously at her and Rachel got the impression she was trying hard not to stick out her tongue. Hakim, the four-year-old Prince, looked shyly at the ground.
‘I