Sheikh's Scandal. Lucy Monroe

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      “Yes?”

      The housekeeper nodded with a smile. “Oh, yes. We do not travel with glassware as it is too easily broken.”

      “Naturally.” Liyah waited for the housekeeper to take a sip before following suit, enjoying the sweetened warm beverage and the bittersweet memories it evoked.

      Her mom had insisted on beginning and ending each day with a cup of mint tea augmented by a touch of honey.

      “Nevertheless, the Chatsfield is the first hotel on the emir’s current European travel itinerary to have thought to provide the traditional tea service.”

      “They will only be found in your room, the emir’s suite and that of his fiancée, I’m afraid.”

      The older woman smiled. “Your grasp of our culture is commendable. Most hotel staff would have put the tea set in the room for the emir’s secretary.”

      Liyah did not shrug off the praise, but neither did she acknowledge it. She was more aware of the Zeena Sahran culture than the average Brit or American, but anyone observant would have taken note that the housekeeper had been booked in the most deluxe room beside the emir’s fiancée’s suite.

      “His secretary is actually junior office staff, I believe,” Liyah observed.

      “She is. The emir follows the old ways. By necessity, his personal administrative assistant is Duwad, a male.”

      “Because your emir cannot work late hours in his suite with a woman, married or otherwise,” Liyah guessed.

      “Precisely.”

      “So, this is a business trip?” Very little had been said in the media about the nature of the emir’s current travel plans.

      “For the most part. Melech Falah insisted Emir Sayed enjoy a final European tour as it were before taking on the mantle of full leadership of our country.”

      “The king intends to abdicate the throne to his son?” She’d read speculation to that effect, but nothing concrete.

      “One might consider that a possible course of events after the royal wedding.”

      Liyah approved the other woman’s carefully couched answer and did not press for anything more definite. “Our head of housekeeping was scandalized at the thought of booking a separate floor for a sheikh’s harem.”

      “Ah. She assumed he would be bringing a bevy of belly dancers to see to his needs, no doubt.”

      “That may have been her understanding, yes.” Liyah herself had assumed something similar, if not quite so fanciful when first told of the harem.

      The Zeena Sahran housekeeper laughed softly. “Nothing so dramatic, I am afraid. The emir is ever mindful of his position as a betrothed man.”

      Not sure she believed that, but having very little practical experience with men and none at all with their sex drives, Liyah didn’t argue. She did know the rooms she’d prepared had all been for different female staff members of the prince’s entourage.

      Most of the rooms that would ultimately be occupied were slated to house the emir’s fiancée and her mostly female traveling companions. Her brother was supposed to be accompanying her, as well, and had booked a suite on the presidential level near the emir’s.

      Not quite as grand, it was nevertheless impressive accommodation.

      After a surprisingly enjoyable visit with Hasiba—as she insisted on being called—in which the housekeeper managed to convey unspoken but clear reservations toward the future emira of Zeena Sahra, Liyah left for a meeting with the concierge.

      He and his staff expected her input on a finalization of entertainment offerings to make to the sheikh over the next two weeks.

      * * *

      Liyah came out of the royal suite, pleased with the care the chambermaid assigned to the emir’s rooms had taken.

      The vases of purple iris―the official flower of Zeena Sahra―Liyah had ordered were fresh and perfectly arranged. The bowls with floating jasmine on either side of the candelabra on the formal dining table did not have a single brown spot on the creamy white blossoms.

      The beds were all made without a single wrinkle and the prince’s tea service was prepped for his late-afternoon repast.

      She headed for the main elevator. While staff were encouraged to use the service elevator, she was not required to do so. The busiest time of day for housekeeping and maintenance usually coincided with light use on the guest elevators.

      So, as she’d done at her hotel in San Francisco, Liyah opted to use them when she wasn’t carrying towels or pushing a cleaning cart. Something she rarely had to do in her position as lead chambermaid, but not outside the realm of possibility.

      The doors slid open with a quiet whoosh and Liyah’s gaze was snagged by espresso-brown eyes.

      The emir stared back, his expression a strange mixture of surprise and something else she had very little experience interpreting. “Miss Amari?”

      “Emir Sayed.” She dipped her head in acknowledgment of his status. “I was just checking on your suite.”

      “The service has been impeccable.”

      “I’m glad you think so. I’ll be sure and pass your kind words on to your suite’s housekeeping staff.”

      He inclined his head in regal agreement she doubted he was even aware of.

      She waited for him to step out of the elevator, but he did not move. His security detail had exited first with a smooth precision that came off as a deeply ingrained habit, followed by the emir’s administrative assistant and the junior secretary.

      They all waited, as well, for their sheikh to move.

      Only he didn’t.

      He pressed a button and the doors started to close. “Are you coming?” His tone implied impatience.

      Though she didn’t know why. Her brain couldn’t quite grasp what he was doing on the other side of the doorway. If he was going back down again, wouldn’t his security be on the elevator with him?

      One thing she did know: she wasn’t about to commit the faux pas of joining the emir. “Oh, no. I’ll just go to the service elevator.”

      “Do not be ridiculous.” He reached out and grabbed her wrist, drawing shocked gasps from his staff and an imprecation in the Zeena Sahran dialect of Arabic from his personal bodyguard.

      Liyah had little opportunity to take that in as she was pulled inexorably into the elevator through the shrinking gap between the heavy doors.

      They closed behind her on another Arabic curse, this one much louder and accompanied by a shocked and clearly disapproving, “Emir Sayed!”

      “Your Highness?”

      “There is no reason for you to take another elevator.”

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