She wriggled her shoulders a little awkwardly. ‘It’s the Granchester’s promise, Your Royal Highness. They like us to reinforce the group’s core message.’
‘Well, I’ve got the core message loud and clear so don’t bother saying it to me again, understand?’
She pursed her lips together. ‘Yes, Your Royal Highness.’
Kulal took another sip of coffee. He’d been awake until the early hours, fine-tuning the announcement which he planned to make to the world very soon—a dramatic development about cheaper solar power, which would inevitably stir up envy among his competitors. His time here on Sardinia was almost over and tomorrow he would return to Zahristan and the inevitable affairs of state which had been piling up in his absence. But before that happened, there was the little matter of an invitation to a party on the other side of the island, a party he could have easily given a miss, were it not being thrown by one of his oldest friends.
He stifled a sigh because he was in no mood for entertainment and not just because he could do with a good night’s sleep. Parties were predictable and tedious. The same boring small-talk and disingenuous asides. And the more elevated your status, the more predictable they became. He scowled, for his recent break-up would only exacerbate the rush to pair him off with someone new. People spent far too much time contemplating his marital status and it was none of their damned business. Sometimes he thought he should put the world straight by openly stating his intention to defer marriage for as long as possible, but why fuel speculation?
He thought about the women who would doubtless be in attendance because his friend Salvatore believed that a vacancy in a man’s bed should be filled as quickly as possible. And Salvatore had connections to some of the most desirable women in the world. The kind of women most men drooled about, with their gym-honed bodies and diamonds which some adoring daddy had probably bestowed on them for their eighteenth birthday. Women who would slip him little pieces of paper with their cell phone number written above a line of kisses.
Kulal yawned, because the idea of being hit on was failing to heat his blood and he allowed his gaze to return to the chambermaid who was self-consciously straightening cushions. As she straightened up, her cheeks automatically flared when she noticed her gaze on him and he could not resist a slow smile. When was the last time he’d seen a woman blush like that?
‘You don’t say very much, do you?’ he observed.
‘My role here is to attend to your needs, Your Royal Highness, not to converse,’ she said primly.
‘You’re English?’
She surveyed him with a suspicious blinking of her eyes. ‘I am, Your Royal Highness.’
‘So what brings you to Sardinia?’
She hesitated, as if she was surprised he was asking. She should be, he thought wryly—because he was pretty surprised himself.
‘I usually work for the Granchester in London,’ she explained falteringly. ‘Which is one of the finest hotels—’
‘Yes. There’s no need for any more corporate-speak,’ he said sardonically. ‘I know the chain well. And the owner, as it happens.’
Her eyes widened. ‘You know Zac Constantinides?’ she questioned breathlessly.
‘I do. I’m currently doing some business with his cousin—Xan. He was here at the conference earlier in the week. You didn’t realise? No. You probably didn’t. He likes to keep a low profile.’ His mouth twisted into a wry smile. ‘He’s lucky he’s able to.’
Hannah frowned. Xan Constantinides. The name rang a bell. Had her sister mentioned it, or had she imagined that? ‘Yes, Your Royal Highness,’ she said, which was her default answer when she couldn’t think of anything else to say.
‘Continue with your story,’ he instructed. ‘About how you came to be working here.’
Hannah hesitated, because she didn’t realise she was actually telling him a story. And why was he so interested in her all of a sudden? Was he planning to make a complaint—telling Madame Martin she’d been muttering to herself and flinging her duster at imaginary cobwebs? Or that she’d been stalking him, hanging around the place when she was supposed to have gone home in order to see him emerging half-naked from the shower? Hannah bit back a smile. No. Nobody would believe that. She strongly suspected that another reason why she’d been chosen for this job was because she was exactly the kind of person who wouldn’t ogle the royal guest, despite the fact that nobody could deny his drop-dead gorgeousness.
She realised he was still fixing her with that carelessly questioning look and so she shrugged. ‘They’ve been short-staffed here,’ she explained. ‘I’m not quite sure why. They needed someone to fly out here and join the chambermaid staff, and I was the one they picked.’
‘Because?’
She shrugged. ‘I suppose because I’m considered very reliable.’
His mouth curved into a smile. ‘Reliable?’
‘That’s right.’
‘You don’t sound too happy about it.’
Hannah never knew what made her come out with it. What made her blurt out the truth to him, of all people—but she did. ‘I’m not,’ she admitted, with a slight rush of heat. ‘Especially as I’m also known as steady and sensible.’ She thought about the things people always said about her.
‘Good old Hannah.’
‘You want someone to fill in on New Year’s Eve? Ask Hannah. She’ll have nothing better to do.’
‘But surely these are positive things?’ the Sheikh was saying.
‘I’m sure they are,’ she answered stiffly. ‘But they’re not really what someone my age wants to be known for, are they? They’re the sort of traits which are better suited to a woman of middle age.’
‘And how old are you, Hannah?’ Kulal questioned kindly, finding himself suddenly engrossed in the kind of conversation he could never remember having before.
She lowered her lashes to shade her magnificent eyes. ‘Twenty-five.’
Twenty-five.
He had thought she was older. Or younger. Actually, when he stopped to think about it—and why would he have done that until a few moments ago?—she was of an indeterminate age. Her plain uniform dress was timeless and the high ponytail was like a flashback to those nineteen-fifties rock ’n’ roll films one of his tutors had once smuggled into the palace before being sacked for his libertarian attitude. It was only after the tutor had left that Kulal had realised how much he had protected him and his twin brother against the realities of life in the royal residence—and once he had gone, how the scales had fallen from their eyes. Suddenly, there had been no filter between them and their warring parents, who had turned the gleaming citadel of the palace into a gilded battlefield.
Was that why Kulal was overcome by a feeling of benevolence towards this humble soul, who stood before him? By a sudden curiosity to see what the chambermaid looked like as a real woman, rather than a drab servant who was old before her time? She had spoken with a certain resignation—as if her life up until then had been short of fun, and something about the submissive set of her shoulders told him his assessment was probably accurate. Kulal had never experienced poverty, but his powers of observation had been well honed and he noticed that her ugly black shoes—although carefully polished—were decidedly thin and worn.
So couldn’t he show her a little kindness? Wave a magic wand and introduce some glamour into her life? What if he took her as his guest to Salvatore’s party? His eyes narrowed in silent calculation. Such an action would ward off the attentions of hungry women who might have heard he was single again. And wouldn’t