Reclaimed by the Powerful Sheikh

Why had she given him her real name?

She hadn’t even reached the ballroom yet and already she’d blown her cover. And with Giannis Basinas of all people!

She was supposed to be Amelia Coulter, the name on the invitation in her hand.

She should have turned Mrs Coulter’s incredibly generous offer down but she’d been caught up in the moment, her head turned by the beautiful dress, her heart aching for one night, just one night, of freedom from the unrelenting drudgery of a life spent scrubbing bathrooms and cleaning rooms.

This was the sort of ball at which, if her father had lived, she could have been a real guest. She would have been here by right, not deception.

If Giannis suspected for a moment that she was a lowly hotel employee she would be fired on the spot.

But there was no hint of recognition.

But then, he’d never looked at her before. And why would he? He employed hundreds of people at this hotel alone. Chambermaids came bottom of the pecking order, a faceless army who flitted unobtrusively through the corridors and cleaned the rich guests’ rooms.

The thought calmed her a little but it was with a heart that raced that she slipped her hand through his offered arm, then found it racing even harder.

Tall, with dark brown hair cut short at the sides and long at the top, Giannis had a nose that was too long and his chin was a little too pointed for him to be considered traditionally handsome. But there was something about him, whether it was the high cheekbones, the clear blue eyes or the full bottom lip, that drew attention.

It had drawn her attention from her first glance.

His was a face that had lived and had the lines etched in his forehead and around the eyes to prove it.

He might not be traditionally handsome but in the black leather swallowtail suit and black leather eye-mask he wore as his masquerade costume, which gave him an almost piratical air, he was devastating.

‘Which part of England are you from?’ he asked as they strolled down a wide corridor.

‘Oxfordshire,’ she answered cautiously.

‘A beautiful county.’

It was, she thought wistfully. She’d avoided the entire county since she’d been thrown out of her home. It hurt too much to think of everything she’d lost and everything she missed.

However, she smiled, nodded her agreement and prayed for a change to the conversation.

What would be even better would be an increase to the pace Giannis had set. They were walking so slowly a tortoise could have overtaken them.

Her mind raced as to how she could slip away from him before she had to hand over the invitation written in the name of a woman who was not Tabitha.

If she had left Mrs Coulter’s room a minute earlier or later she wouldn’t have bumped into the one person she’d really needed to avoid.

‘I went to university in Oxford,’ he said. ‘Boarding school at Quilton House in Wiltshire. Do you know it?’

That explained his flawless English.

‘I know of it.’ Quilton House was one of the oldest schools in the world and certainly the most expensive. Only the filthy rich could afford to send their children there. A few of her school friends’ brothers had attended it.

‘What school did you go to?’ he asked.

‘Beddingdales.’

He laughed, a deep, rumbly sound that played melodically in her ears. ‘My first girlfriend went to Beddingdales. I would ask if you knew her, but I suspect you’re a lot younger than me.’

‘Probably.’

He laughed even louder. ‘You don’t waste words, do you?’

‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean...’