Marrying the Scarred Sheikh Read online

  Throwing it down in disgust, she paced the room for a long time. If she had to leave, where would she go? She studied the cream-colored walls, the soft draperies that made the room so welcoming. Just beyond the dark windows was a view of the gardens. She loved every inch of the cottage and grounds. Where else would she find a home?

  The next morning Ella was finishing her breakfast when one of the maids from the main house knocked on the door. It was Jalilah, one who had also served Alia al Harum for so many years.

  “His Excellency would like to see you,” she said. “I’m to escort you to the main house.”

  So now he summoned her—probably to discuss her leaving. “Wait until I change.” She’d donned worn jeans and an oversize shirt to work around the studio. Not the sort of apparel one wore to meet with a sheikh. Especially if doing battle to keep her home.

  Quickly she donned a dress that flattered her dark looks. It was a bit big; she’d lost weight over the last few months. Still, the rose color brought a tinge of pink to her cheeks.

  Her dark eyes looked sad—as they had ever since losing Alexander. She would never again be the laughing girl who had grown up thinking everything good about people. Now she knew heartache and betrayal. She was wiser, but at a price.

  Running a brush through her hair, she turned to face the future. Was there a clause in the lease that would nullify her claim if the estate was sold? As they walked across the gardens, she tried to remember every detail about the terms Madame al Harum had discussed.

  She entered the house and immediately remembered her one-time hostess. Nothing had changed since the last time she’d visited. It was cool and pleasant. The same pictures hung on the walls. Her first vase from her new studio still held a place of honor on the small table in the foyer, holding a cascading array of blossoms. She’d been so happy it had been loved.

  The maid went straight to the study. Ella paused at the doorway for a moment, her eyes widening in shock as she got a good look at Sheikh Khalid al Harum. He looked up at her, catching the startled horror in her expression. His own features hardened slightly and she felt embarrassed she’d reacted as she had. No one had told her he’d been horribly burned. The distorted and puckered skin on his right cheek, down his neck and obviously beneath his shirt, disfigured what were otherwise the features of a gorgeous man. She’d been right about his age—he looked to be in his prime, maybe early thirties. And he was tall as she noted when he rose to face her.

  “You wanted to see me?” she said, stepping inside. She held his gaze, determined not to comment on the burn, or show how sympathetic she felt at the pain he must have endured. She’d had enough burns herself in working with molten glass to know the pain. Never as big a patch as he had. What was a fabulously wealthy man like he had to be risking his life to fight oil fires?

  Her heart beat faster. Despite the burn scar, he was the best-looking guy she’d ever seen. Even including Alexander. She frowned. She was not comparing the two. There was no need. The sheikh was merely her new landlord. The flurry of attraction was a fluke. He could mean nothing to her.

  “Please.” He gestured to a chair opposite the desk. “You’re considerably younger than I thought. Are you really a widow?”

  She nodded as she slipped onto the edge of the chair. “My husband died April a year ago. What did you wish to see me about?”

  He sat and picked up a copy of the lease. “This. The lease for the guesthouse you signed with my grandmother.”

  She nodded. It was what she expected. He held her future in his hands. Why didn’t she have a good feeling about this?

  “How did you coerce her to making this?” he asked, frowning at the papers.

  Ella blinked. “I did not coerce her into doing anything. How dare you suggest such a thing!” She leaned forward, debating whether to leave or not at his disparaging remark. “She offered me a place to live and work and then came up with the lease herself so I wouldn’t have to worry about living arrangements until I got a following.”

  “A following?”

  “I told you, I blow glass. I need to make enough pieces to sell to earn her livelihood. Until that time, she was—I guess you’d say like a patroness—a sponsor if you would. I rented the studio to make my glass pieces and she helped out by making the rent so low. Did you read the clause where she gets a percentage of my sales when I start making money?”

  “And if you never sell anything? Seems you got a very cushy deal here. But my grandmother’s gone now. This is my estate and if I chose to sell it, I’m within my rights. I don’t know how you got her to sign such a lopsided lease but I’m not her. You need to leave. Vacate the guest quarters so I can renovate if necessary to sell.”

  Ella stared at him. “Where does it say I have to leave before the end of the five years?” she asked, stalling for time, trying to think about what she could do. Panic flared again. It has seemed too good to be true that she’d have a place to live and work while building an inventory. But as the months had gone on, she’d become complaisant with her home. She couldn’t possibly find another place right away—and she didn’t have the money to build another studio. And not enough glass pieces ready to sell to raise the money. She was an unknown. The plans she and his grandmother had discussed had been for the future—not the present.

  “I do not want you as a tenant. What amount do you want to leave?”

  She didn’t get his meaning at first, then anger flared. “Nothing. I wish to stay.” She felt the full force of his gaze when he stared at her. She would not be intimidated. This was her home. He might see it as merely property, but it was more to her. Raising her chin slightly, she continued. “You’ll see on the last page once I begin to sell, she gets ten percent of all sales. Or she would have. I guess you do, now.” She didn’t like the idea of having a long-term connection with this man. He obviously couldn’t care less about her or her future. Madame al Harum had loved her work, had encouraged her so much. She appreciated what Ella did and would have reveled in her success—if it came.

  Sheikh Khalid al Harum saw her as an impediment to selling the estate.

  Tough.

  “I can make it very worth your while,” he said softly.

  She kept her gaze locked with his. “No.”

  “You don’t know how much,” he said.

  “Doesn’t matter. I have the lease, I have the house for another four years. That will be enough time to make it or not. If not, I’ll find something else to do.” And she’d keep her precious home until the last moment.

  “Or find a rich husband to support you. The estate is luxurious. You would hate to leave it. But if I give you enough money, you’ll be able to support yourself in similar luxury for a time.”

  She rose and leaned on the desk, her eyes narrowed as she stared into his.

  “I’m not leaving. The lease gives me a right to stay. Deal with it.”

  She turned and left, ignoring her shaky knees, her pounding heart. She didn’t want his money. She wanted to stay exactly where she was. Remain until those looking for her gave up. Until she could build her own future the way she wanted. Until she could prove her art was worth something and that people would pay to own pieces.

  Khalid listened to the sound of her hurried footsteps, then the closing of the front door. She refused to leave. He glanced at the lease again. As far as he could tell, it was iron tight. But he’d have the company attorneys review. There had to be a way. He did not want to sit on the house for another four years and he suspected no one would buy the place with a tenant in residence. What had his grandmother been thinking?

  He leaned back in his chair and looked at the chair his unwanted tenant had used. Ella Ponti, widow. She looked like she was in her midtwenties. How had her husband died? She was far too young to be a widow, living alone. Yet the sadness that had shone in her eyes until the fire of anger replaced it, showed him she truly mourned her loss. And he felt a twinge of regret to be bringing a change to her life.

  Yet
he couldn’t reconcile her being in the cottage. Had his grandmother been taken in? Was Ella nothing more than a gold digger looking for an easy way in life? Latch on to an old woman and talk her into practically giving her the cottage.

  He was on the fence about selling. He remembered his grandmother in every room. All the visits they’d shared over the years. Glancing around the study, he hated to let it go. But he would never live in such a big house. Which left selling the estate as the best option.

  He should have visited his grandmother more often. He missed her. They’d had dinners together in Alkaahdar when he was in town. Sometimes he escorted her to receptions or parties. But long weekends at the estate doing nothing were in the past. And in retrospect she’d asked after him and what was going on in his life more than he’d asked after hers. Regrets were hard to live with.

  Though if she’d seen Ella’s reactions, maybe she would have stopped chiding him that he made too much of the scar. Ella’s initial reaction had been an echo of his one-time fiancée’s own look of horror. He knew it disgusted women. That was one reason he spent most of his time on the oil fields or in the desert. He saw the scar himself every morning when he shaved. He knew what it looked like.

  Shaking himself out of the momentary reverie, he picked up the phone to call the headquarters of Bashiri Oil. The sooner he found a way to get rid of his unwanted tenant, the better.

  Ella stormed home. She did not want to be bought out. Why had Khalid al Harum come to the estate at this time? He’d never visited in all the months she’d live here, why now? She had her life just as she wanted it and he was going to mess it up.

  And how dare he offer her money to move? She was not going anywhere. She needed this tranquil setting. She’d gradually gotten over the fierce intensity of her grief. She owed it to Alia al Harum. The older woman had such faith in her talent and her ability to be able to command top money for her creations. She had strongly encouraged Ella to prove it to herself. And she would for the memory of the woman who had helped her so much.

  And no restless grandson was going to drive her away.

  She shrugged off the dress and tossed it on the bed. So much for dressing up for him. He only wanted her gone. She pulled on her jeans and oversize shirt. Tying her hair back as she walked, she went to the studio. The glass bowl she’d created yesterday still had hours of graduated cooling to complete before she could take it from the oven. She was impatient to know if it would be as beautiful as she imagined. And flawless with no cracks from irregular cooling, or mixing different types and textures of glass that cooled at different rates. Fingers crossed. Patience was definitely needed for glasswork.

  In the meantime, she picked up her sketchbook and went to sit by the window. She could do an entire series in the same technique if the bowl came out perfect. She stared at the blank page. She was not seeing other glass artwork, but the face of Khalid al Harum. What a contrast—gorgeous man, hideous scar. His grandmother had never mentioned that. She’d talked of her grandchildren’s lives, her worry they’d never find happiness and other memories of their childhood.

  When had the fire happened? He could have been killed. She didn’t know him, nor did she care to now that he’d tried to bribe her to leave. But still, how tragic to have been burned so severely. She looked at the couple of small scars on her arms and fingers from long-ago childhood scrapes. Fire was dangerous and damaging to delicate human skin. Every burn, no matter how small, hurt like crazy. She shivered trying to imagine a huge expanse of her body burned.

  Had it happened recently? It didn’t have that red look that came with recent healing. But with all the money the al Harums had, surely he could have had plastic surgery to mitigate the worst of the damage.

  Impatient with her thoughts, she rose and paced the studio. She needed to be focused on the next idea, the next piece of art. She had to build a collection that would be worthy of an exhibit and then of exorbitant prices. Had Madame al Harum spoken to the gallery owners as she had said she would do when the time was right? Probably not. Why speak of something that was years away from happening.

  “Great. It’s bad enough he’ll try to get me off the property. I truly have no place to go and no chance of getting a showing if I don’t have someone to vouch for me,” she said aloud. She could scream.

  But it would do no good.

  “Deal with it,” she said to herself. She’d take the advice she’d given him and make sure she made every moment count. He might try to evict her, but until she was carried kicking and screaming from the studio, she’d work on her collection.

  The day proved interminable. Every time she’d start thinking about Khalid al Harum, she’d force her mind to focus on designing pieces using the swirling of blues and reds. It would work for a few moments, then gradually something would drift in that had her thinking about him again.

  She didn’t like it one bit.

  After dinner, she debated taking a walk on the beach. That usually cleared her mind. But after the last two nights, the last thing she wanted was to run into him again.

  She sat on her terrace for a while, trying to relax. The more she tried to ignore his image, the more it seemed to dance in front of her. She was not going to be intimidated by him. Jumping to her feet, she headed down the path to the beach. She’d been walking along the shore for months. Just because he showed up was no reason to change her routine.

  When she stepped on the sand, she looked both ways. No sign of anyone. Slowly she walked to the water, then turned south. If he did come out, chances he would head north as she had the last two nights. She’d be safe from his company.

  It didn’t take long for the walk to begin to soothe. She let go of cares and worries and tried to make herself one with the night.

  “I took a guess,” a voice came from her right.

  Khalid rose from the sand and walked the few yards to where she was. “I thought you might go a different way tonight and I was right.” The smug satisfaction in his tone made her want to hit him.

  “Then I’ll turn and go north,” she said, stopping and facing him. She’d tried an earlier time and a different direction. Had he come out to the beach a while ago to wait for her? She ignored the fluttery feeling in her stomach. So he came out. It probably was only to harangue her again about leaving.

  “I am not stopping you from going in either direction,” he said. He stood next to her, almost too close. She stepped back as a wavelet washed over her feet. The cool water broke the spell.

  “You are of course welcomed to walk wherever you wish,” she said. She began to walk again along the edge of the water.

  Khalid walked beside her.

  The silence stretched out moment by moment. Ella had lost all sense of serenity. Her nerves were on full alert. She was extremely conscious of the man beside her. Her skin almost tingled. She could see him from the corner of her eye—tall, silhouetted against the dark sky. She didn’t need this sense of awareness. This feeling of wanting to know more. The desire to defend herself to him and make him change his mind and want her to stay in the guesthouse until the lease expired.

  She kept silent with effort, wondering if she could outlast him. It grew harder and harder to keep silent as they went along.

  “I called an attorney,” he said at last.

  She didn’t reply, waiting for the bad news. Was there an escape clause?

  “You’ll be happy to know the lease is airtight. You have the right to stay as long as you wish. The interesting part is, you have the right to terminate before the end but my grandmother—and now me—didn’t have the same right.”

  She’d forgotten. Madame al Harum had insisted Ella might wish to leave before five years and didn’t want her to feel compelled to remain. At the time Ella had not been able to imagine ever leaving. She still didn’t want to think about it. Would four more years be enough time?

  “So if you wished to leave, I’d still make it lucrative for you.”

  “I don’t live here for t
he money,” she said.

  “Why do you live here? You’re not from here. No family. No husband. What holds you to the guesthouse, to Alkaahdar?”

  “A safe place to live,” she said. “A beautiful setting in a beautiful country. I also have friends here. Quishari is my home.”

  “Safe? Is there danger elsewhere?” he countered, focusing in on that comment.

  She stopped to look at him. She wanted to get this through to him once and for all. “Look, I came here at a very hard time in my life—just after my husband died. Your grandmother did more for me than anyone, including making sure I had a place to live, to work, sheltered from problems and a chance to grieve. I will forever be in her debt. One I can now never repay. It hit me hard when she died. I grieve for her, as well. Now I’m coming to a place of peace and don’t wish to have my life disrupted because you want to get rid of a home she loved and left to you in hopes you’d use it. Do not involve me in your life. I have no interest in taking a gazillion dollars to leave. I have no interest in disrupting my life to suit yours. I want to be left alone to continue as I have been doing these last months. Is that clear enough for you?”

  “Life changes. Nothing is as it was last year. My grandmother is dead. Yes, she left me the estate in hopes I would settle there. You saw me this morning. You know why I’ll never marry. Why should I hold on to a house for sentimental reasons, visiting it once or twice a year when some other family could enjoy living in it daily? Do you think it is easy for me to sell? I have so many memories of my family visiting. I know I’ll face pressure from others in the family to hold on to it. But it’s more of a crime to let it sit vacant year after year. What good does that do?”

  “Why will you never marry? Did the fire damage other parts of you?” she asked, startled by his comment.

  “What?”

  She’d surprised him with that question.

  Oh, this was just great. Why had she opened her mouth? Now she had to clarify herself. “I mean, can you not father children or something?”