At the Sheikh's Bidding
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Chantelle Shaw
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HarlequinCHAPTER ONE
The Royal Palace in the desert kingdom of Qubbah.
PRINCE ZAHIR BIN KAHLID AL MUNTASSIR swept through the palace towards King Kahlidâs private quarters, the expression on his handsome face so grimly forbidding that the guards quickly jumped aside to allow him to pass. âHow is he?â he demanded, when his fatherâs servant Aâwaan greeted him with a bow.
âSleeping, sireâthe doctor gave him a sedative and instructed that His Highness should be allowed to rest,â Aâwaan murmured, hovering anxiously in front of the door leading to the Kingâs bedroom.
âItâs all right, Aâwaan, I have no intention of disturbing him,â Zahir assured the servant. âThe news of Prince Faisalâs death has been a great shock to all of us, but especially to my father.â
âHis Highness is deeply saddened. He is not properly recovered from the virus he contracted recently, and I fear that the news will prove too much for him,â Aâwaan said gravely. âYour fatherâs one glimmer of joy is the discovery that he has a grandsonâa child who is now an orphan.â
Zahirâs jaw clenched as he fought to control his emotions while Aâwaan continued.
âIt is His Highnessâs dearest wish that you should travel to England and bring the child back to Qubbah.â
âI am well aware of my fatherâs wishes,â Zahir said tightly. He crossed to the window and stared out over the stunning formal gardens and the ornate fountains that splashed into an azure pool. Within the grounds of the palace the desert had been tamed, but beyond the walls of the twelfth-century fortress it stretched outward in an endless sea of scorching golden sands.
The setting sun was suspended like a huge golden orb, the sky around it streaked with shades of pink and red. He remembered the times he and Faisal had raced their horses across the sands, or released their falcons and watched them soar across the dense blue sky. More than brothers, they had been the best of friends, but the bond between them had been brokenâand all because they had both fallen in love with the same woman. Zahirâs brows drew together in a slashing frown. Love, he had discovered, was a destructive emotion and he would never allow it to rule his heart or mind again.
Aâwaan spoke again. âAs you know, your father always hoped to be reconciled with his eldest son, and that, on his death the Prince would return to Qubbah to rule. But now Prince Faisal is dead, and there is unrest in the kingdom while the people wait for the King to announce his successor. Forgive me for my presumptionâŚâ the elderly servant shifted nervously beneath Zahirâs narrow-eyed stare ââŚbut I know His Highness longs for you to appoint a deputy to head your business interests in America, so that you can settle permanently in Qubbahâand take a wife. Now, more than ever, it is your duty, sire.â
Zahir threw back his head proudly and glared at the servant. âI do not need lessons from you on my duty,â he snapped coldly. âYou forget your place, Aâwaan.â He understood only too well that his brotherâs death meant that from now on his life would no longer be his own. He would not shirk his responsibility to the kingdom his family had ruled for generationsâbut marriage was a different matter. âIf you remember, I was about to be married six years ago, to a woman of my fatherâs choosingâand what a debacle that turned out to be. I will marry when I am good and ready.â He swung abruptly away from the window and strode across the room, pausing briefly to glance back at the servant. âWhen my father wakes, tell him I have gone to England.â
Ingledean HouseâNorth Yorkshire Moors
âErin! Thereâs a Gordon Straker here to see you,â announced Alice Trent, cook and housekeeper at Ingledean House, when Erin walked into the kitchen. âHe says heâs Faisalâs solicitor, and he mentioned something about the will.â
âOh, yes.â Erin nodded. âI spoke to him on the phone a couple of days ago and he said he would be travelling up from London.â
âWell, heâs waiting in the library.â Alice paused in her task of peeling potatoes and stared at Erinâs dishevelled appearance. âWhat on earth have you been doing? You look as though youâve been down a coal mine.â
âClearing out the big spare bedroom.â Erin glanced ruefully at the streaks of dust on her jeans. âKazimâs nursery is too small to store all his toys now that heâs sleeping in a proper bed. The spare room will make a perfect playroom. I need to keep busy,â she added defensively, when Aliceâs brows lifted.
It was fine when Kazim was awake, keeping a lively three-year-old entertained took up all her time, but she had come to dread his afternoon napâan hour of peace and solitude that gave her time to think.
It was almost three weeks since Faisalâs funeral. His death had been expectedâhe had told her a year ago that the tumour on his brain was inoperableâand she was glad that he was now at peace, perhaps reunited with his beloved Maryam. But he had been her friend; she missed him, and she could not stem the feeling of panic that regularly swept through her whenever she thought about the future. Kazimâs well-being was totally her responsibility now, and she was terrified that she would somehow let him down.
She turned to watch the toddler, who had preceded her into the kitchen and was now busy pulling open the cupboards and investigating their contents. Kazim was singing âThe Wheels on the Busâ, and Erinâs heart clenched at the sound of his innocent, high-pitched voice. Heâd asked for Faisal a few times, but had seemed to understand when sheâd gently explained that Daddy had fallen asleep for ever.
It had been the hardest thing she had ever had to do in her life, and the memory of Kazimâs grave little face as he had sat on her knee still brought tears to her eyes. But, although he had been a little more clingy than usual, he seemed to have accepted the news remarkably wellâperhaps because he was too young to comprehend that he was now totally alone in the world.
But he is not alone, Erin thought fiercely. True, he had no living relatives, but he had her, and she would love him and protect him for as long as he needed herâjust as she had promised his father.
âIâve made some tea.â Aliceâs voice broke into her thoughts. âIf you want to take it up, Iâll keep an eye on Kazim.â
Erin glanced at the tray. âWhy have you set out three cups, Alice?â
âMr Straker has brought someone with him. Gave me quite a turn, actually, when he walked through the front doorâfor a moment I thought he was Faisalâs ghost.â The cook gave a self-conscious laugh. âI expect it was just a trick of the light. Heâs obviously from the Middle Eastârather gorgeous; you know, tall, dark and indecently handsome. And his features did remind me of the master,â she added slowly. âDo you think he could be a relative?â
An inexplicable feeling of unease settled in the pit of Erinâs stomach. âFaisal had no family,â she explained quickly. âI donât know who this man is, but heâs probably one of Faisalâs business associates. Iâd better go up and meet them,â she said, picking up the tray.
Alice cast a disparaging look at her old clothes. âI would suggest you go and change first, but thereâs no time. Itâs snowing again, and I know Mr Straker is anxious to get back to town before the weather closes in.â
Erin hurried out of the kitchen, and as she crossed the oak-panelled hall she caught sight of her reflection in the mirror and grimaced. Her faded jeans and tee shirt were grubbier than sheâd realised, and her hair, which she had secured in a long plait, had worked loose, so that riotous stray curls were framing her face. But it was unlikely that Gordon Straker or his companion would have any interest in her appearance, she told herself as she balanced the tray on one hand and opened the library doorâcoming to such an abrupt halt that the delicate bone china cups rattled precariously on their saucers.
A man was standing by the window, staring out over the bleak view of the moors. For a few seconds her heart seemed to stop beating, and she understood what Alice had meant when sheâd said she had thought she seen Faisalâs ghost. The strangerâs profile was achingly familiar, as was his silky black hair and olive-gold skin. But then he turned his headâand common sense replaced her wild flight of imagination.
This man was no spectre, he was very much alive. And his resemblance to Faisal was simply due to his dark colouring and exotic looks, she told herself impatiently. He was wearing a superbly tailored dark grey suit that accentuated his lean, hard body, and Erin was immediately struck by his height, estimating that he must be five or six inches over six feet tall. Impressive broad shoulders indicated an awesome degree of strength and power, but it was his face that trapped her gaze and caused her heart to thud painfully beneath her ribcage.
His hair was cropped uncompromisingly short, and his eyes were as dark as midnight beneath heavy black brows. His nose was slightly hooked, but that did not detract from the perfection of his sculpted face with its sharply delineated cheekbones and square, determined jaw. He was the epitome of masculine beauty, she thought helplessly, her breath catching in her throat. He was so gorgeous he was almost unreal, as if he had been airbrushed to perfectionâbut he wasnât an image from a magazine. He was a flesh-and-blood man, and she was startled by the effect he had on her.
The man subjected her to a long, cool stare and Erin felt herself blush. âHello, Iâve brought some tea. Youâre probably freezing. The central heating system here at Ingledean is antiquated.â
Black eyebrows winged upwards and her cheeks burned hotter. The manâs resemblance to Faisal could not be deniedâbut her feelings for Faisal had been based on friendship and affection. Neither he nor any other man had ever evoked this shocking, wildfire sexual desire that was coursing through her veins. She felt unnerved by the strangerâs raw masculinity, and she realised that she was gaping at him. Forcing herself to breathe normally, she walked across to the desk and set down the tray.
âIâm Erin.â She smiled hesitantly, half extended her hand and waited for him to return the introduction, her smile fading when he made no reply.
âYou may pour the tea and then go. Your presence will no longer be necessary,â he informed her dismissively, in a clipped, haughty tone, before he swung round and resumed his contemplation of the snow that was now swirling outside the window.
Erin stared at the rigid line of his back, shocked into silence by his arrogance. Just who did he think he was? And how dared he speak to her in that high and mighty manner, as if she was some lowly scullery maid from a Victorian melodrama?
Shock gave way to anger. Sheâd spent most of her formative years feeling worthlessâuntil her foster parents had rescued her from a life that had been rapidly going into free-fall and insisted that she was a valued member of society, rather than a nobody from the gutter. But the fragile self-confidence sheâd gained while living with John and Anne Black was easily dented, and inside she was still the unloved child and rebellious teenager who had been dumped in a care home after her motherâs final and fatal heroin fix.
She bit her lip and picked up the teapot, torn between the urge to slink from the room and the temptation to tell the stranger exactly what he could do with the damn tea. But before she could speak the library door swung open, and the spare, grey-haired solicitor she had met once when she had visited London with Faisal hurried into the room.
âAh, Erin, teaâwonderful.â Gordon Straker greeted her enthusiastically. His brief smile encompassed both Erin and the man at the window, but the sight of the thickly falling snow caused him to frown, and he glanced at his watch as he sat down and picked up the sheaf of documents on the desk in front of him. âTake a seat, both of you, and weâll begin, shall we?â he said briskly, oblivious to the strangerâs harsh frown. âI wonât keep you long. Faisalâs last will and testament is very straightforward.â
Zahir remained standing, his eyes narrowing as he watched the maid pull out a chair. He was again aware of the same hollow feeling in his stomach and the uncomfortable tightening sensation in his chestâas if he had been windedâthat had gripped him when she had first entered the room.
She was quite possibly the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, he acknowledged, irritated by his bodyâs involuntary reaction to her as sexual awareness flooded through his veins. The perfect symmetry of her face was riveting, and he stared at her, drinking in every detail of her high cheekbones, the wide, clear grey eyes that surveyed him from beneath finely arched hazel brows, her small, straight nose and the mouth that was a fraction too wide, the lips soft and full and infinitely kissable.
A thick braid of auburn hair fell down her back, almost to her waist, the colour reminding him of the rich red hues of leaves in the fall. Years ago, when he had been a student at Harvard, he had been entranced by the stunning palette of colours that Mother Nature used to herald autumn in New England. Now he felt an overwhelming urge to untie the ribbon that secured the womanâs hair and run his fingers through the mass of rippling red-gold silk.
His eyes slid lower, skimmed the small, firm breasts outlined beneath her tee shirt, and then moved down to her slender waist, narrow hips and long legs, encased in faded denim. Even at the end of his life Faisal had clearly not lost his discerning eye for gorgeous women if his domestic staff were anything to go by, Zahir thought sardonically. Although he would have expected the household staff to wear some sort of uniform rather than a pair of sexy, tight jeans.
But why had the solicitor asked this womanâwhom he assumed from her appearance to be a member of the household staffâto stay while he discussed Faisalâs private affairs? Could she be a beneficiary in Faisalâs will? She was very lovely, and Faisal had been aloneâŚBut the idea that his brother had bequeathed her some token payment for favours rendered was curiously unpalatable, and he silently cursed his overactive imagination.
His gaze locked with hers, and for a second something flared between them, some indefinable chemistry that clearly shocked her as it shocked him. But almost instantly the flash of awareness in her eyes dulled and was replaced with confusion. The silence in the room was broken by the solicitorâs discreet cough. The sound reminded Zahir that he was not here to eye up members of the domestic staff. Smothering a curse, he strode over to the desk, seized a chair and sat down, at the same time as the maid subsided into the seat next to him.
Gordon Straker cleared his throat and began to read. âI, Faisal bin Kahlid al Muntassir leave my entire estate, including Ingledean House and all its contents, to my wife.â
From the corner of her eye Erin saw the unknown man jerk even more upright in his chair, and his voice was sharp with impatience when he spoke. âI understand that my sister-in-law died three years ago. This will is invalid. There must be another updated one,â he snapped haughtily.
Gordon Straker glanced at him steadily over the wire rims of his spectacles and said, in a wintry tone, âI assure you that this is the most recent will. My client asked me to draw it up ten months ago.â The solicitor hesitated, his gaze moving between the two shocked faces staring at him across the desk. Comprehension slowly dawned, and he shook his head.
âForgive me. I did not introduce you because I assumed that the two of you already knew each otherâŚthat you had metâŚat the wedding.â His confusion and embarrassment deepened. âBut clearly not,â he added slowly, when they continued to stare blankly back at him. âMy apologiesâŚit never occurred to me that you were unaware of each otherâs identityâŚErin, may I introduce Sheikh Zahir bin Kahlid al MuntassirâFaisalâs brother. Sheikh Zahir, this is ErinâFaisalâs second wife.â
The book-lined walls of the library seemed to tilt alarmingly, and Erin gripped the edge of the desk as she struggled to comprehend Gordon Strakerâs words. âBut Faisal told me he had no family,â she mumbled, her gaze swinging frantically from the solicitorâs genial face to the man beside her, whose expression was so coldly arrogant that ice slithered down her spine.
âThere must be some mistake.â Zahir addressed the man seated opposite him, his clipped tones shattering the tense silence. Shock ricocheted through him, and with it a fierce and inexplicable bolt of fury that overrode the grief that had consumed him since he had learned of Faisalâs death.
What bitter irony that once again he had lost out to his brotherâjust as he had done six years ago, he brooded grimly. This woman, with her slumbrous, woodsmoke-coloured eyes and sensual, pouting mouth, had been Faisalâs wife. Faisal must have released her glorious hair and watched it tumble down her back. He would have stroked his hands over her milky-pale naked fleshâŚjust as he, Zahir, had fantasised about doing from the moment he had laid eyes on her.
And even the knowledge that she had been his brotherâs widow for little more than two weeks did not lessen his awareness of her, or diminish the primitive urge he felt to crush her mouth beneath his and then strip the clothes from her body and spread her across the desk, ready for his possession.
His lip curled in self-disgust, and he could not bring himself to look at her while he exerted iron will-power over his rampaging hormones. What did it matter who she was or what her relationship had been with Faisal? he asked himself impatiently. His wealth, combined with the good-looks that he acknowledged were a fortunate accident of birth, meant that he could take his pick from a limitless supply of beautiful womenâand he did so, frequently. He did not need his brotherâs leftovers. There was only one reason why he was here, only one thing he was interested in.
He stood up and walked back over to the window, needing to put some distance between himself and the woman who was having such a disturbing effect on him.
Erin jumped to her feet and glared at him. âItâs no mistake, I assure you,â she said hotly. âI was Faisalâs wife, and I have a marriage certificate to prove it.â
Zahirâs brows lifted. âMy apologiesâI had no idea. Your attire hardly befits your position as the wife of a sheikh. I assumed you were a menial domestic.â
Hot colour flooded Erinâs face as she felt his eyes trail over her in a scathing assessment of her appearance, and she silently cursed the fact that she hadnât taken the trouble to change into more presentable clothes for her meeting with Gordon Straker. But, to be fair, she had not expected to be confronted by an arrogant, devilishly sexy sheikh who, astoundingly, happened to be Faisalâs brother.
Her temper, which had been simmering ever since he had spoken to her so dismissively when she had brought in the tea tray, flared into life. She recalled how he had looked at her when she had first walked into the library, the way his eyes had slid boldly over her as if he were mentally undressing her. Presumably he thought it acceptable to take a servant to bed, but not for her to marry his brother, she thought furiously.
She lifted her chin and met Zahir bin Kahlid al Muntassirâs gaze, her grey eyes stormy and belligerent. But the undisguised sexual heat in his dark depths sent an answering quiver of awareness down her spine, and it was only when he finally broke eye contact that she realised she had been holding her breath.
âMy brother was estranged from his family for the past six years,â he explained coolly.
Erinâs insides churned at the word âfamilyâ. What family? Faisal had insisted that he had no relatives, and yet not only did it seem that he had a brother, but from the sound of it other family members also existed. Why had he lied to her? And if Faisal had been estranged from his family how had his brother known about his death? Her unease intensified, and solidified into fear when Zahir spoke again.
âI was unaware, until I received the letter Faisal instructed Mr Straker to send after his death, that my sister-in-law died three years ago. Faisal made no mention in that letter that he had remarried,â he added pointedly, his eyes flicking briefly over Erin. âI was also unaware until two weeks ago that my brother had a sonâa child who is now an orphan.â
He flicked his gaze to Erin once more, his eyes as black and hard as polished jet. âAs Faisalâs sole beneficiary, you are now a very wealthy woman,â he drawled. âBut I am not interested in the money, and you are certainly welcome to this draughty monstrosity of a house,â he added disparagingly, casting a brief glance around the library, where the fire burning in the grate did little to raise the temperature of the room.
âMy only interest is in my nephew, Kazim. I assume he has been well cared for since Faisalâs death?â He overrode Erinâs attempt to speak and announced coolly, âI have come to take him to his fatherâs homeland, Qubbah, so that he may be brought up by his family. Please inform his nanny, or whoever is in charge of him, that I wish to meet him, and ask them to pack his personal possessions as quickly as possible. I want to leave before the weather gets any worse.â
Erin gaped at him, her heart thumping erratically in her chest. âYouâre not taking Kazim anywhere,â she snapped, disbelief and outrage at his high-handedness causing a red mist of anger to swirl in front of her eyes. âWhen I married Faisal, I adopted Kazim as my own child. I am his legal parent, and he is staying right here at Ingledean. This is his home,â she finished fiercely, refusing to feel intimidated by Zahirâs furious expression.
Black brows lowered in a slashing frown. âIs this true?â
Once again heâd addressed the solicitor, but Erin was fed up with being treated as if she was part of the furniture, and she glared at him, her hands on her hips and her eyes blazing.
âDamn right, itâs true. Kazim is legally my son, and I wonât allow you to take him. You have no rights to him.â
âWeâll see about thatâor rather my lawyers will,â Zahir snapped icily.
His jaw tightened. In all his thirty-six years he had never been spoken to in such a disrespectful mannerâand certainly not by a woman. Under his fatherâs rule Qubbah had gradually become a more liberal kingdom, and he himself had spent much of his life in the US and Europe, where he accepted that men and women were equals, but he was a prince and he was used to being treated accordinglyâto being fawned on, he admitted honestly, and to the unashamed adoration of women from both cultures.
He was not used to being yelled at by a flame-haired banshee, and the fact that Erin looked even more gorgeous when she was angry was no help at all. She was breathing hard, and he found himself fixated by the frantic rise and fall of her small breasts. Irritation, and another far more primitive emotion surged through him. He could not remember ever wanting a woman with such shaming urgency, but this woman was definitely out of boundsâFaisalâs widow and, apparently, the adoptive mother of his son.
Zahir spun round and raked a hand through his hair. Hell, she was an unforeseen complication he could do without, he thought furiously. On the other side of the world an old and heartbroken man was waiting to greet his grandson. He had promised his father he would bring Faisalâs son to Qubbah, and he would not fail him. But clearly the situation was not as straightforward as he had assumed. He knew without conceit that he was a brilliant businessman and a shrewd tactician, feared and revered in the boardroom, but for the first time in his life he was at a loss to know what to do next, and he hated the feeling.
âI canât believe you thought you could just turn up here and whisk a three-year-old child off to another country, when he doesnât even know you,â Erin threw at him. âKazim is little more than a baby, for heavenâs sake, who has just lost his father. Didnât it occur to you that he would be terrified at being dragged off by a complete stranger?â
âI was not going to drag him anywhere,â Zahir snapped, stung by her criticism. âI came here alone today, rather than with my usual team of staff, so that he would have a chance to get to know me. My brother must have known I would come for him once I learned of his existence,â he added harshly. âI assumed Kazimâs nanny had been instructed to continue caring for him until I arrived. I have already employed a highly qualified and experienced nanny to take charge of him in Qubbah.â
Fear gripped Erin, and her confusion intensified, but she hid both emotions. âWell, Iâm sorry youâve had a wasted journey,â she said, forcing herself to sound calm. âBut Faisal made it clear that he wanted Kazim to grow up in Englandâwith me. He asked me to adopt Kazim, and I was happy to do so.â
âIn that case, why did he make no mention of you in his letter?â
Zahir had voiced the question that Erin could not answer, but she was saved from having to try when Gordon Straker stood up.
âIâm sorry to interrupt, but it looks as though the weather is getting worse, and I have a train to catch,â he said apologetically. He was already pulling on his coat, glancing worriedly out of the window at the heavy sky that warned snow was likely to continue falling for many hours yet. âErin, if you need my advice at allâŚâ He hesitated and turned his eyes briefly to Zahir before moving them back to Erin. âPlease contact me at my London office, any time.â He walked towards the door, but paused when Zahir spoke sharply.
âAre you sure there is nothing in the will about the child? No clause stipulating who should care for Kazimâno financial provision made for him?â
âNo,â the solicitor replied simply. âYour brother left everything to Erinâin the expectation, I imagine, that she would provide for Kazim.â
âWhich I will,â Erin burst out fiercely, infuriated at Zahirâs plainly sceptical expression. âI love Kazim as if he was my own child.â
âReally?â Zahir swung away from her and gave a harsh laugh. Erin sounded convincing, but he found it impossible to believe that she was prepared to devote her life to a child who was not her own flesh and blood out of love. Not when his own mother had abandoned him.
He had barely given his mother a thought for the past decade, Zahir realised with a jolt. Georgina had been his fatherâs second wife, an American who, according to his three older half-sisters, had found it difficult to settle to the life of strict protocol demanded of wife to the King of Qubbah. Zahir had not known that, and as a young boy he had simply accepted her frequent trips back to the US and waited impatiently for her to return to the palace. But when he was eleven she had not returned, and heâd never seen her or spoken to her again.
His father had explained that she was busy looking after her sick mother and couldnât come back. Zahir had missed her desperately, and for a long time after she had gone he had kept her silk robe hidden beneath his pillow and wept into it every night. But when he was fourteen he learned the truthâthat she had refused to live in Qubbah any longer and had accepted a huge financial settlement from his father in return for not seeking custody of her only son.
She had sold himâand he had never cried again after heâd found out, nor spared her another thought. But he had learned a valuable lesson about love and trust, Zahir conceded bitterlyâa lesson that had been reinforced six years ago, when he had been betrayed by the only other woman he had ever loved.
Noises from beyond the library door catapulted him back to the present: the sound of a child crying mingled with a distinctive, broad Yorkshire accent. A moment later the door was flung open and a woman appeared with a hysterical toddler her arms.
âSorry to disturb you.â She addressed Erin, oblivious to the tension in the room. âBut Kazim has banged his head on the kitchen table. You know how he runs everywhere. Look, thereâs a lump the size of an egg come up on his forehead, but he wonât let me console himâhe wants you.â
Quickly Erin held out her arms and took the sobbing child from the cook, her heart clenching when he wrapped his arms around her neck and burrowed close. âShh, itâs all right, darling. Let me look at your head.â She brushed his dark curls off his brow and inspected the livid bruise, before applying the ice pack Alice had handed her. âThatâs quite a bump youâve got there, but thereâs no real harm done.â
Kazimâs sobs gradually subsided as she cuddled him. He smelled deliciously of soap and baby powder, and the intensity of her love for him squeezed her heart like a giant fist. She had adored him since he was three months old, and nothing would ever make her give him up, she vowed fiercely. But when she glanced up and saw Faisalâs brother watching her, with his dark, forbidding gaze, she was filled with a sense of foreboding.
Alice heaved a sigh of relief. âKazimâs a little daredevil,â she cheerfully informed the two men. âHeâs always running and climbing, and heâs constantly getting into mischief. Erin has her work cut out, looking after him.â
Erin saw Zahir frown and groaned silently. Thanks, Aliceâthatâs a real help.
âShouldnât you seek medical advice for his head injury?â he queried coldly.
Kazim was squirming in her arms, wanting to get down and clearly none the worse for his accident. âHeâs fine,â Erin said tersely. âHeâs a lively three year-old, for goodnessâ sake, I canât keep him wrapped in cotton wool. Iâm a fully trained nanny and qualified in first-aid,â she continued, when Zahir looked unconvinced. âIâm perfectly capable of looking after him.â
She lifted her chin and her eyes clashed with his cold, faintly contemptuous gaze. She hated his arrogance, but she could not look away from him. As she watched heat flared in those dark depths, and for a split second raw, sexual hunger gleamed beneath his heavy brows before his thick lashes fell, concealing his thoughts.
Shaken, she glanced at Gordon Straker, who was edging towards the door. âErin, Iâm sorry, but I really mustâŚâ
âYes, of course.â Making a swift decision, she set Kazim down and turned to Alice. âWill you keep an eye on him while I see Mr Straker out?â
She hurried across the hall after the solicitor, and stopped him as he was about to open the front door. âMr Straker, when did Faisal give you the letter he instructed you to send to his brother after his death? Was it when he married me?â she queried huskily.
âOh, no, it was about a month before he died. Until then I hadnât known Faisal had any family, and I see that the revelation has come as a shock to you too,â he added gently.
Erin bit her lip, feeling a sudden urge to confide in the kindly solicitor. âFrom the moment Faisal learned that he was dying he was desperate to secure Kazimâs future,â she explained urgently. âIâve cared for him since he was three months old. Faisalâs wife died as a result of complications while giving birth, and when Faisalâs illness was diagnosed a year ago he asked me to marry him to make it easier for me to adopt Kazim. He told me he had no other family and he didnât want Kazim to grow up in careâlike I had.â
She hated talking about her past, and dropped her gaze from Gordon Strakerâs face as she continued in a low voice, âMy mother was a drug addict, who died when I was ten, and I spent the rest of my childhood in the care of Social Services. I was a troubled teenager, and I donât know where I would be now if I hadnât been fosteredâmaybe working the streets to pay for my next fix like my mother,â she confessed thickly. âMy foster father worked here at Ingledean, as a gardener, and when Faisal came here with his baby son he employed me as Kazimâs nanny. Despite my background he knew I would love and protect Kazim as if he was my own child.â
She was hurt that Faisal had not been honest with her. He did have a family, and just before heâd died he had made the decision to tell them he had a son. Had he done so because he had begun to doubt her abilities to be a good mother to Kazim? Had he decided that he wanted his estranged family to be involved in the little boyâs upbringing after all?
All her old doubts and insecurities rose up inside her, but Gordon Straker opened the front door and a blast of icy wind whipped into the hall, snapping Erin out of her reverie.
The solicitor gave her a sympathetic smile. âYou are Kazimâs adoptive mother, Erin,â he said gently, âand no one can take him from you. Only you can decide if it would be in his best interests to have some contact with his family in Qubbah.â
He turned up the collar of his coat and stepped into the snow, but paused to glance back at her. âIâve done a little investigating, and from what Iâve heard Sheikh Zahir bin Kahlid al Muntassir is an astute businessman and a risk-taker, respected on the world markets for his brilliance and daring. He is a man who is used to having his own way, and who pursues his goals with a ruthless determination, yet at the same time many people find him incredibly charming and persuasiveâparticularly women.â He gave a faint smile at her sudden heightened colour. âAll Iâm saying isâtread carefully, Erin,â Gordon Straker warned softly, âand donât let him bully you, my dear.â
âDonât worry, I wonât,â Erin replied fiercely.
But as she flew back across the hall to the library, where she had left the Sheikh with her son, a shiver of trepidation ran through her. The moment she had seen Zahir she had been mesmerised by his spectacular looks and powerful sexual magnetism. The man spelt danger, and the predatory gleam sheâd glimpsed in his dark eyes warned her to be on her guard.
