Silver Angel

by Johanna Lindsey

  "Let me summon Sheelah, my lord. She will ease—"

  "No," Derek cut in bitterly. "My desire is for this one." He flung a hand in Shahar's direction, following it with another look at her relaxed body, which only served to increase his frustration. "So she didn't even wait this time until she was here to let loose her stubborn defiance? Did you know the English were so stubborn, Haji?" He glanced back at the old eunuch and gave a harsh laugh at his bemusement. "Of course you know. You've lived all these years with the most stubborn Englishwoman of them all, haven't you?"

  Haji knew better than to defend Rahine to Jamil. "Shahar's presence annoys you, my lord. Let me remove her."

  "She stays."

  Haji didn't dare argue with that tone. "Of course, my lord."

  "But you may go—as soon as you tell me exactly what my little ikbal did that you feared would cause her harm."

  Haji was incredulous to hear Shahar called his lord's favorite still, but he wished the question hadn't been worded exactly that way. He had a reprieve, however, when several bottles of the very potent kan-yak arrived on a tray with a single glass, which the servant quickly filled before scurrying out of the room. Then Haji's eyes bulged to see the glass drained and Jamil refill it himself this time.

  "Well?"

  Haji cleared his throat. There was no help for it. "She fought most violently the moment she learned you had summoned her."

  "Who did she fight?"

  "My slave, Kadar, and he bears the marks of her resistance. But I swear he was as gentle as it was possible to be in restraining her, my lord. She simply refused to give up the fight."

  "Didn't you think to inform me instead of drugging her? If she's going to fight anyone, I prefer it to be me."

  "But, my lord!" Haji was appalled by the suggestion. "You would then have been forced to punish her-"

  "Like hell I would!" Derek snapped, forgetting himself. And then he sighed. "Never mind. You may go, Haji. And compensate your Kadar for his trouble."

  "He would never accept, my lord," Haji protested, explaining, "He likes the girl."

  Derek had to remind himself that it was a eunuch and not a whole man who liked his Shahar, though why he should even think of this annoyed him. "Does he?" he grunted, but after a moment added, "Send him here, Haji."

  "Now, my lord?" Haji questioned, afraid his slave would receive the brunt of Jamil's displeasure tonight, since he was obviously determined to direct it away from the girl.

  "Yes, now."

  "As you wish."

  Derek had finished yet another glass of the brandy-wine combination before the younger eunuch knocked for admittance. The door opened hesitantly to his growled command to enter, but the giant black man who stepped inside displayed no fear, though his eyes refused to focus on Derek. He bowed with a measure of dignity, rather than prostrating himself. Derek couldn't have cared less, for he was too fascinated with Kadar's battered face.

  "By Allah, she's a regular little wildcat, isn't she?"

  And he burst out laughing, surprising Kadar enough that their eyes met now.

  "The little English, my lord?"

  "Yes, the little English," Derek replied, a smile settling on his lips even as he shook his head incredulously. "Did she really give you that black eye?"

  "She did not mean to," Kadar protested quickly.

  "Oh, I'm sure, just as she didn't mean to leave those gouges on your cheek."

  "Truly—"

  Derek stopped him immediately. "You don't have to protect her with excuses, Kadar, not to me, but I'm glad to see you try. In fact, I'm going to make it your sole responsibility, protecting her."

  "I don't understand, my lord."

  "I believe I can persuade Haji Agha to give you to Shahar. Would you like that?"

  "To serve the little English?" Kadar beamed. "It will be my greatest pleasure, lord. Thank you!"

  "I wouldn't thank me. I doubt it will be an easy job, serving such a contrary female, but that wasn't what I had in mind. She'll have others to serve her. Your job will be to see that she comes to no harm when she's not with me."

  And when she is with you? Kadar wanted to ask but didn't dare. "I will protect her with my life," he said instead.

  "That's all I can ask. But see that you protect her from herself as well."

  "My lord?"

  "She panicked tonight. I don't want that to happen again. The sooner she accepts me, the sooner she will accept life here and find a degree of happiness. Do we understand each other?"

  Kadar was afraid they did, though he didn't know how he could persuade the little English to accept her lord when no one else had been able to, including Jamil Reshid.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Derek came awake slowly to a tickling on his chest and an unfamiliar weight resting against him. He reacted badly for a moment, with no memory coming forth for an explanation until he raised his head and saw the platinum locks spilling across his chest. He relaxed back into his pillow, a strange contentment settling over him.

  At least in sleep Shahar didn't hate him. She wasn't exactly curled up next to him, but she was using his chest as a pillow, her knees bent and braced against his hips, one hand pressed flat against his side, the other somehow tucked under his back. His hand had been resting on her side, too, just beneath her breast. He didn't move it, didn't move at all, afraid she would wake up and pull away.

  He hadn't meant to sleep with her. At some time during the evening he had placed her under the covers, removing only the jewels she wore. Removing anything else had been out of the question with how he had been feeling. She hadn't wakened then, and he had sat on the bed a long time just gazing at her, until he'd remembered that he wasn't alone with her.

  The ever-present Nubians had been in their customary positions on each side of the bed, so silent it was no wonder he had forgotten their presence in the room. They might not hear his conversations with Shahar, but they had eyes, and they were able to communicate with anyone who knew their silent language of hand signals and body movements, which meant

  just about anyone raised in the palace. Which was also why he had concluded he would sleep with Shahar. It was either that or send her back to the harem, for Jamil would never give up his bed, even if it was occupied with a passed-out concubine. And Derek had been loath to have her carried away, regardless of how disturbing her presence was to him.

  But it had been a long time before he'd been able to bring his body sufficiently under control, enough to trust himself to lie next to her. The kanyak certainly hadn't helped, and he had given up on it when he was still cold sober, after the first bottle had been emptied. Which was fortunate now, for he felt no aftereffects, but hadn't been fortunate last night, for it had taken a hell of a long time for him to finally fall asleep, as well as to will away the tumescence that had sprung to life again with his proximity to the sleeping beauty.

  He could feel it happening again, more strongly than ever. Derek groaned, unaware that he squeezed Chantelle's side, enough to waken her.

  Her reaction was much worse than his had been upon waking. She was frankly horrified at the sight of bare skin beneath her cheek, and she didn't have to wonder whose it was. She knew instantly. She just couldn't account for how it had gotten there.

  "So you are awake?"

  Had she moved? She thought she was too paralyzed to move a muscle. Or had the fact that she had stopped breathing given her away?

  His hand left her side to glide into her hair. "I know you are awake, Shahar. It is no use pretending otherwise."

  She raised her head just enough to turn it toward him. She found no answers in his expression. Did we—did you—"

  "When I do," he interrupted, lips twitching, "you won't have to ask."

  "I don't believe you," she said daringly, chagrined that she couldn't remember.

  "You are still wearing your clothes, if you care to notice. Do you really think I would bother to redress you after I had made love to you? I assure you I wouldn't.
"

  She glanced down at her chest. Every button was still closed on the little blue vest, and now she could feel the material against her legs under the cover. She looked back at him, her eyes still narrowed accusingly.

  "Then what am I doing here?"

  He smiled at her. "In my room, or in my bed?"

  "Oh, God!"

  His laughter caused her chin to bounce against his chest. She sat up immediately, glaring back at him.

  "I don't see-"

  In a second, Chantelle was flat on her back with him leaning over her, though not so close that she panicked—yet. "You don't see anything, Shahar, because you don't remember anything, do you? What the devil were you doing yesterday that so exhausted you?"

  As if he didn't know. No, she had to be fair. He might have sent her to the kitchens, but it was his second wife who had seen to it that she'd had no rest yesterday. The day before, she had been able to take several short naps to make up for her sleepless night. But yesterday . . . She wondered if Noura had known that Jamil would send for her last night, or if Noura

  had just been spiteful. What did that matter, however, in light of what had happened in the baths?

  It was slowly coming back to her, and with the memories, a bone-chilling fear. If she hadn't been so tired, she never would have reacted the way she had when she reached the hammam and was told why she was there, but that was no excuse. She had actually balked and fought against being brought to Jamil again. Good God, she could have been really hurt for such behavior, beaten or worse. Gone completely had been the logical conclusion she had reached before, that her virginity wasn't worth her life.

  What had been his reaction? He must have been furious. He had to have demanded an explanation for her condition. So why hadn't she awakened chained to a whipping post instead of lying comfortably in his bed, using him for a pillow?

  She had been staring at him with wide eyes, trying to glean something of his thoughts, anything, but there was nothing, just those dark green eyes watching her. Such a look brought to mind the way he had been when she had first met him, and when he was like that, he was capable of anything. But she reminded herself that he had smiled earlier, and laughed, too. His mood couldn't be that dangerous, although his last question had been rather harsh. And she wasn't going to answer him. Even if he wasn't aware of why yesterday had been particularly grueling for her, he did know she had been working these past two days, so he had no business questioning her fatigue. She wasn't about to bring up the subject of her last punishment when she didn't know yet what her new punishment would be.

  "Were you angry?"

  It was as if he had only been waiting for her to speak for his expression to relax and his eyes to warm. "Extremely."

  "I don't feel as if I've been beaten."

  Derek chuckled. "Perhaps because you haven't been."

  "Yet?"

  "No, little moon." He was smiling, his voice low-pitched, a soothing timbre. "It would be a crime to mar this tender skin."

  As he said it, his hand smoothed a path down her arm. On reaching her wrist, he picked it up and brought her fingers to his lips. He kissed one and gently bit the next one. Gooseflesh shot up her arm and spread down her back.

  "Do you remember what I taught you about kissing? Put your finger in my mouth, Shahar."

  He didn't wait for her to do it but caught the third finger with his lips and sucked it inside his mouth. The strangely pleasant sensation was immediate and alarming, making her snatch her hand away.

  "I agree," he said, leaning toward her. "Tongues are much better."

  Her hands came up to stop him, lodging against his shoulders, but she needn't have bothered, for his mouth reached hers anyway. His tongue pressed against her lips, which she refused to open. He leaned back, his expression half chagrined, half amused.

  "I see you have forgotten after all," he allowed, instead of mentioning her resistance. "But remember where you are, sweetheart, and that I can just as soon amuse myself with other things quite easily."

  One hand slipped behind his neck to draw his lips back to her now-open mouth, but he could barely oblige her for chuckling at this swift reaction to his not-so-subtle threat. "I am . . . delighted by . . . your . . . enthusiasm, but . . ."

  The thought was lost when her other hand tentatively touched his cheek. Derek groaned, claiming her mouth completely for a long dueling of tongues that left him burning with need. Her innocence was the farthest thing from his mind. This flame had consumed him once too often. It took control now, throbbing in his groin until he thought he would die if he couldn't have more of her.

  Chantelle was melting under his gentle attack. Her limbs seemed to have liquefied, her strength flowing away, leaving a fire behind that frightened her, and yet she had no desire to halt its course. Far from it. What she was feeling was so delicious, so intoxicating, she couldn't question it. She just wanted it to go on forever.

  Senses reeling in discovery, she was barely aware of the hand that had slipped beneath her vest to squeeze the flesh there. It was warm, but so was the belly pressed to hers, so was the leg that covered her own, so was the mouth that had taken control of her will. Then that mouth left hers and exploded in white-hot heat against her breast.

  It was too much, one new sensation too many, especially when this one was the most powerful. His mouth enclosing over her nipple, his tongue softly stabbing at it, was a violent shock that brought her hands flying to his head to jerk him away.

  "Don't."

  The low growl stopped her in an instant. It also stiffened her body. Fear was all she felt now, but still she would stop him again if his mouth returned to her breast.

  It didn't. He was aware that the desire he had ignited in her had disappeared. He had gone too far too fast again for such an innocent. But realizing that didn't ease his pain.

  Derek dropped his forehead to her chest, desperately fighting the urge to ignore the fact that she had become cold and unyielding, to simply take her and end his torture. It was going to happen eventually. Why the bloody hell should he wait and suffer like this?

  Because he didn't want her to hate him any more than she already did. Because he wanted her soft and willing and wanting him with equal fervor. Anything less and he would feel cheated. But knowing that didn't cool off his body any quicker either.

  He felt her hands at his shoulders, pushing very gently but insistently. She wanted a distance between them. He only wanted to get closer. He considered for a moment that in the role he was assuming, his wishes were the only ones that mattered. The trouble was, he couldn't play that role without alienating her further. With anyone else it didn't matter. With her, and only her, because she didn't really know the true Jamil, he could be different, more himself. But not too different. Women gossiped and compared notes, after all, and every other woman in the harem knew Jamil intimately. He couldn't have Shahar wondering about her deferential treatment or mentioning it to anyone.

  "I am trying very hard to ignore the fact that I have you exactly where I want you, Shahar. But if you can't find some patience and be as still as possible to make it easier for me, I am going to give up the effort."

  Her hands fell away from his shoulders, but for some reason, he resented her quick compliance this time. That she would do anything to keep him from making love to her was blatantly apparent and shattering to his ego. He wondered just how far she would go to delay the inevitable. He wondered if he could withstand putting her to the test.

  He leaned back to pierce her with his emerald gaze. "I will assume that you object to being made love to in the bright light of day, rather than that you find my touch offensive. Am I correct?"

  His displeasure was so obvious to her that she was afraid to accept the excuse he offered, let alone deny it with the truth, which wasn't that his touch was offensive, just that its effect on her was frightfully disturbing. She simply didn't understand what happened to her when he touched her, why it felt so good when he kissed her, why her skin beca
me so sensitive it felt as if she burned, why he should affect her at all.

  "You don't answer."

  She groaned inwardly, hating this new mood of his that could attack with such calm deliberation. "Please, can't I just leave now?"

  "No, we are going to talk, you and I, to discuss things that interest me, such as how you can be so warm and wet for me one moment, then turn cold and unyielding the next."

  "I wasn't—I didn't."

  "Oh, but you did, and I want your secret, Shahar. Perhaps then I can control my passion as easily. I can't, you see, at least not where you are concerned. So tell me. I truly want to know."