Chapter Forty-one
Derek gently cradled the infant in his arms. It was getting easier. He could even smile now about how nervous and out of his element he had felt the first time he had held one of the babies, and there were three still in swaddling.
Rather than disrupt the harem as he had done today, over the past weeks he had had Jamil’s children brought to his apartment in groups of two and three at a time.
Getting to know his nieces and nephews had relieved the tedium of the long afternoons when his lack of activity was most acutely felt, but he surprised even himself by how much he enjoyed the time spent with them.
The little girl in his arms had flaming red hair like her mother’s, and bright emerald eyes.
She was adorable, but then all of Jamil’s children were.
And what was so fascinating about them was that Derek could see himself in each one.
His own children would look like this, especially like those who most resembled Jamil.
And if he had been born first, instead of a few minutes after Jamil, he would likely have just as many children by now, instead of none.
It was ironic and lamentable that he was being coerced into marriage to get just one great-grandson for Robert Sinclair when Jamil had given him sixteen great-grandchildren, four of them sons, but none of which the Marquis could officially acknowledge without bringing the scandal of Melanie Sinclair’s enslavement down on his name.
England thought that Lady Melanie was dead.
Rahine had long since given up that name.
But that was beside the point, and he was experiencing a moment of bachelor’s indecision, was all.
It was time he married. “Lamentable” was much too harsh a word for it, and only his long years of delightful lechery making a last protest. And he hadn’t truly been coerced.
He hadn’t even protested overmuch, not with Caroline as the obvious, compatible choice.
With his copper-haired Caro as the mother, his own daughters could look exactly like the infant he was holding.
In a complete reversal of mood, he decided he couldn’t wait.
And then he wondered what his and Shahar’s children would look like, and he frowned.
Jamil possessed no blond concubines, so he could make no comparisons for likeness.
And he shouldn’t have had the thought in the first place.
“Are you still worried about her?”
Derek glanced up to find Sheelah staring at him, and he quickly smoothed out his features. “Not at all.” He handed the baby back to her nurse. “I have been assured Shahar will make a complete recovery.”
“I’m glad.”
She was sincere, he realized. What an amazing difference between her and his little English, who stubbornly denied her jealousy even as she seethed with it. Sheelah truly accepted Jamil’s other women. She would accept anything if it made him happy.
Bloody hell. He should never have let Omar convince him that he couldn’t continue to ignore Sheelah without arousing suspicion.
She would expect him to stay and make love to her tonight.
He wasn’t about to get anywhere near her.
Nor could he allow the two of them to be left alone together, even for a moment.
That was why her three children were present, as well as their nurses.
He refused to let them leave. He wanted witnesses so that Jamil could have no doubts that Derek had stayed here only for dinner.
But Sheelah wasn’t going to understand. She knew Shahar was unavailable tonight. He was here. To her way of thinking, he had no reason to leave. So when he did leave, she was going to be hurt.
Damn Omar for putting him in this situation. “Sheelah, I thank you for the superb dinner, but I—I must go now.”
“No, wait!” She came around the table so quickly, she was practically in his lap before he could stop her. “Let me help you, Jamil. Your distress is my own.”
“I know that,” he replied, gently taking her hand from his cheek and returning it to her lap. “But I cannot—”
She pressed her lips to his. He drew back instantly, panicking in the worst way. The nurses giggled across the room. Sheelah misunderstood.
“I’ll send them away—”
“No! What I mean is—” He collected himself with an effort. “I don’t want this, Sheelah, not tonight.”
“Not to—”
She didn’t finish, her large sapphire eyes widening, her mouth dropping open. What the devil had he said, Derek wondered, to get this reaction? And it was worse than he thought.
“You are not Jamil,” she said in an incredulous whisper. “Who are you?”
Bloody hell. “Are you mad, woman?”
Sheelah bowed her head, contrite. “I’m sorry, my beloved. Forgive—” Her head snapped up, her eyes narrowing. “No, you are not Jamil. I know the man I love with all my heart too well. He comes to me for comfort. You refuse—”
“Be quiet,” he hissed. “Do you know what kind of rumors you could start with such nonsense? Look at me and tell me who else I could be.”
“I don’t know.” Tears were gathering in her eyes. “Just tell me—tell me he is not—”
Derek put a finger to her lips. He glanced at the others in the room, but they were still far enough away not to have overheard. He looked back at Sheelah, his expression softening. Damn women’s intuition. He couldn’t leave it like this.
“You have nothing to be distressed about. Nothing. Will you believe that, Sheelah?”
She nodded and rose with him to walk him to the door. “I do not understand.”
“You will. Just be patient and all of your questions will have answers.” And then he gathered her close for a moment. She was his sister-in-law after all. “You know you are loved, Sheelah. Have faith in that.”
She gave him a hesitant smile in parting, enough to convince him he had relieved her mind, if not her suspicions.