The brilliant crimson carpet was something of a shock, but even more surprising was the sheer number of people gathered on the tarmac.

There were rows of robed men, and then rows of armed men, and even a couple of men with what looked like musical instruments.

Dal, for his part, did not look pleased by the welcome. From the set of his shoulders and the rigid line of his back, she knew he was tense and angry. She fully expected him to step onto the carpet and proceed toward the helicopter. Instead, he turned to her and offered his hand, to aid her down the last few steps.

She felt a little silly accepting his help when she was wearing jeans and tennis shoes, not the staggeringly high heels Sophie preferred. But his fingers closed around hers, and he gave her hand a quick, reassuring squeeze as she stepped from the stairs onto the carpet.

And then he let her hand go and he started walking down the carpet, which stretched from the plane to the side of a huge black helicopter with a gold emblem on the helicopter’s door. The same gold emblem filled the middle of the crimson carpet, and two rows of men in long white robes and headwear stood on either side of the carpet.

It was intimidating as hell, she thought, swallowing nervously, picking up her pace to catch up to him. “Dal,” she whispered, taking in the men farther back, the armed ones, with their big guns and vests and helmets. “Who are all these people?”

“The welcoming committee,” he answered.

Well, the welcoming committee was bowing now to Dal, every head nodding as he passed. A shiver coursed through her as she trailed after him. It was the strangest greeting she’d ever seen, and beyond formal, reminding her of the ceremony reserved for England’s royal family.

Poppy didn’t know what Randall had done to earn such a welcoming, or what the emblem of sword, lamb and crown represented, but clearly the government of Mehkar was aware of his arrival today, and clearly the government of Mehkar wanted Dal to know they respected him.

At the helicopter Randall stopped and clasped hands with a robed man that looked close to Randall’s age. The man said something to Randall in a foreign language, and Randall answered in the same language, and then they shook hands, and the handshake became a swift hug, and then the hug became a longer, warmer embrace.

When Randall stepped back, there was a sheen in his golden eyes, and a flicker of emotion that Poppy had never seen before. But then the emotion was gone and Randall’s features were hard, and his expression remote. He assisted Poppy into the helicopter and she glanced back at the men Randall had called a welcoming committee, and it was only then that she noticed the rows of cars farther back, black limousines with tinted windows.

“That was quite impressive,” she said, sliding into the seat by the far window and reaching for the harness.

“It was,” he agreed as the pilot shut the helicopter door.

She felt dazed by the pomp and ceremony. “Who do you have to know to get a welcoming like that?”

“The king.”

Her eyes widened. “He’s one of the men you work with?”

“In my international work? No. My relationship with King Hamid is personal. I’ve known him my whole life.” Randall hesitated. “King Hamid is my mother’s father.”

It took her a second to put the pieces together. “He’s your grandfather.”

Randall nodded once. “My mother’s father.”

“That’s why you received such a royal welcome.”

“Here in Mehkar I am not Randall Grant, the Sixth Earl of Langston, but rather Sheikh Talal bin Mehkar.”

It had been a day of shocks and surprises and this one was just as stunning. Poppy stared at him, bewildered. “You’re a...sheikh?”

CHAPTER FIVE

POPPY’S HEAD THROBBED, the thumping at the base of her skull making her feel as if her head would soon explode. He was a sheikh and an earl? How was it possible?

Furthermore, how could she not know? Did anyone know?

It was one thing not to know that he had a private jet stashed in London, but another not to know his mother was a princess from Mehkar!

But thinking about it, Poppy realized she’d never read anything in the papers about his mother’s family. There was very little in the society magazines about who she was, or where she came from, and Poppy knew because she used to read everything she could on Dal, and there were stories about his father, and his father’s family, and lots of stories about Langston House itself, but very little about his mother. Some articles did briefly mention the tragic car accident that took the life of his mother and brother, but that was all that was ever said.

Now Poppy wondered if it was the Fifth Earl of Langston who’d kept his wife’s name from the papers, or if it had been the royal family of Mehkar?

Poppy glanced at Dal. He was giving that impression of stone again, the same look he’d had this morning in the chapel. Detached. Immovable. It wasn’t really a good look. It made her worry even more.