Silver Angel by Johanna Lindsey

  "It won't work, girl."

  "You better hope it does, because she means it. She's not going."

  Kadar grunted and hurried away. He should have known the little English wouldn't remain docile for very long. She was too proud, that one, and too willful for her own good. Perhaps Haji Agha would believe that she was ill.

  "I don't believe it," the Chief Black Eunuch said after Kadar had delivered his message. "What is wrong with the girl now?"

  "I should think that is obvious, my lord."

  Haji frowned. Yes, it was obvious. Shahar was no doubt upset that she had been ignored yesterday. The Europeans always took longer to acclimate themselves to the way of things here. She would be angry and jealous, and her jealousy would probably be worse than her previous defiance had been.

  "The Dey will never believe she's ill," Haji said more to himself, for he had already concluded that he had to at least try this way. Without the use of drugs, that left only force, and Jamil would not like having her "delivered" to him.

  "Perhaps he will accept it even if he doesn't believe it," Kadar suggested. "He knows her temperament by now."

  "We can only hope," Haji grunted. "By the Prophet's beard, the girl is more trouble than she's worth," he added as he departed for the Dey's apartments.

  He should have known it wouldn't work.

  ''Is she ill?'' Derek asked suspiciously.

  Haji could only stammer, "I—I haven't seen her myself, but—but her attendants assure me—"

  "Ill or not, have her here at the appointed hour, Haji."

  And that was that.

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chantelle was the one pacing now. She was still in her bedchamber, but she was no longer calm. Kadar and Adamma both had been browbeating her for the past thirty minutes. Jamil had been told that she was ill, but he didn't care. He insisted she make an appearance. She refused.

  "If you do not go, the Dey will come here," Adamma told her.

  "No, he won't. You said he rarely bestirs himself to enter the harem because of the commotion it causes."

  "But if he does? And if he does, he will be furious."

  "Good," Chantelle snorted. "Anger loves company just as much as misery."

  Both servants grimaced simultaneously at such a sentiment. They had been warned to get results or else. It was the "or else" that kept them trying, but they were getting nowhere.

  Haji Agha waited in the outer room, too old and set in his ways to resort to mere cajolery with a concubine when so many other options were usually available to him. But all they could do was argue in this case, after the Dey had ordered no punishments for the girl.

  "Soon the Keeper of the Jewels will be here," Kadar said now. "The Mistress of the Wardrobe, too. Do you want them to think you are pouting because you weren't summoned yesterday?"

  That infuriated Chantelle. Pouting? The very idea!

  "I'll have you know—"

  "It will make no difference what you say, lalla. The harem will draw its own conclusions."

  "I don't care."

  "Don't you?" they both asked together.

  Chantelle glared at them. How the hell had they gotten to know her so well so quickly? Damn, but pride could be bloody awkward.

  "All right," she said testily. "But if I get my head chopped off tonight, you'll be as much to blame for forcing me to see him."

  "That won't happen, lalla. "

  "Won't it?" she snapped. "If he so much as touches me, I'll scratch his eyes out. We'll see how long my head holds up after that."

  Adamma paled, taking her seriously. Kadar repressed a grin. The little English was angry, not stupid. And besides, the Dey was not an insensitive man. He knew she did not want to see him, and so he would be expecting the worst.

  Derek was indeed expecting the worst, and had been even before Shahar had tried tendering an excuse of illness. The wise thing to do would be to give the girl a few days to get over her pique, which was what he had originally intended to do. But that was yesterday, when he had decided to send for Charity Woods, when he had thought he had gotten enough of Shahar to last him for a while. He realized differently last night. He had had the lovely Charity at hand, could have easily availed himself of her charms, and they were nice charms indeed, but instead he had spent the evening playing chess with her, and losing, because all he could think about was Shahar and her reaction to his supposed perfidy.

  But there had been no help for it. He had had the option of putting off summoning Charity Woods until later or getting it out of the way now. Later might have been too late, since there was no telling when Jamil would return. And unless it was recorded in the harem records that the favorite known as Jamila had been summoned to his bed, she wouldn't be released when this was over.

  If she wasn't one of Jamil's favorites, Derek could have simply asked for her release. As it was, with Omar's insisting he had to make love to at least one of Jamil's women, it had worked out ideally. But getting it out of the way now had put him back to the starting point with Shahar.

  He'd bungled the whole thing, really. Shahar wouldn't be upset now if he had seen to Miss Woods earlier. But no, he had let his body rule him then, and he was doing it again today, and why? What was it about Shahar that put him into a fervor of impatience? She muddled his thinking. She controlled his body more than he did. Why her, especially when there were dozens of other beauties available to him who would be more than willing to appease this hunger that one silver-haired blonde had created?

  He couldn't figure it out, but one thing was blazingly apparent. He had become obsessed, and he had to get over her before Jamil returned. His future was mapped out. It did not include a beautiful concubine who technically didn't even belong to him. He had the use of her temporarily, but that was all. So there was nothing for it but to wallow in her charms while he could and hope that an overindulgence would soon have him bored and free of this obsession.

  Derek dismissed the Nubian guards ahead of time, as well as his other attendants. Dinner for two was prepared and already served. Roses graced the low table set before the garden doors, an English touch for Shahar's benefit. Muted music drifted over the garden walls.

  They would be alone once she arrived. Derek wanted no witnesses to the argument he anticipated, not when he was supposed to be Jamil, and Jamil wouldn't tolerate any argument at all. Derek was going to be more than tolerant. He would do anything short of groveling to appease the lady he wanted in his bed.

  Her entrance was subdued, after he had almost expected her to be carried in kicking and screaming. But he should have known she'd have more control than that. She was in fact stiffly regal in her posture, as if she were cloaked in dignity rather than the silver tissue in which she had been dressed. From her hair to her silver sandals, she was all aglitter, with sequins banding her skimpy costume and diamonds circling her neck, wrists, and ankles. She had worn not a single jewel that he had given her, which was a telling statement. She nonetheless took his breath away with her beauty.

  She stood in the center of the room, her head held erect, her hands at her sides forming little fists. She stared straight ahead, not even bothering to locate him in the room. She looked like she would break if he spoke too loud.

  He came up behind her. "I trust you have recovered from your illness?"

  She didn't reply at once. "Actually . . .I'm feeling rather nauseated."

  Derek grinned at the bold-faced lie. "Too ill to share a meal with me?"

  It was on the tip of her tongue to refuse to dine with him, but the fact was, she was famished now that her stomach had settled itself. "A meal would be nice," Chantelle allowed.

  He moved in front of her and, with an arm, motioned her to proceed to the low table behind them. She wouldn't look at him other than to follow his direction. And once seated on a plump pillow, she stared only at the many platters of food spread out before her.

  It was disheartening that she didn't even comment on the roast beef and Yorkshire pudding
that had been obtained from the English consulate especially for her, as well as the cook to prepare them. Sir John Blake was undoubtedly wondering what Jamil Reshid was up to, but then the Dey didn't have to explain himself to the English consul, who wouldn't dream of refusing such a minor request as a raid on his larder. But Derek would have liked at least some acknowledgment, when he had gone to the trouble just to please her.

  It was not to be, however. Her manner was stiff, cold, uncommunicative, so he wisely decided to forgo conversation while they ate. Humors were generally improved on a full stomach, and by her attitude, he needed all the help he could get.

  But when he poured her tea, also acquired from Sir John's household, he finally ventured to ask, "Was the meal to your liking?"

  "The meat was a bit tough."

  Derek gritted his teeth. So it was. Mr. Walmsley, the Marquis's butler, would have been appalled. But what did she expect here in Barikah, where the main staple was sheep?

  "It was the best I could arrange under such short notice."

  She didn't reply. She sipped her tea, keeping her eyes lowered.

  Derek was becoming distinctly uncomfortable under this treatment, not to mention annoyed. He would have preferred she just lay into him and get it over with, though he still wasn't sure what he could say to her when he couldn't tell her the truth. And that, too, was annoying.

  He stood up abruptly. "Come."

  Chantelle ignored the hand he offered and stood up by herself, moving over to the couch of pillows. But she didn't sit down there. She couldn't. She stared at the setting of her seduction and experienced again the full fury of her stupidity.

  Derek came up behind her and took matters into his own hands, pulling her down onto the cushions with him and then straight into his arms. Her reaction was to immediately push away from him and scoot back several feet. He allowed this after a brief connection with her eyes. They were glittering as brightly as the diamonds she wore, but with hostility.

  "This won't do, Shahar," Derek said after a moment's indecision. "It is my right to touch you."

  "And my God-given right to fight you, and I warn you I will."

  He had her full attention now. She had come up on her knees to face him, her fists clenched on her thighs, tensely ready for any move he might make.

  Derek sighed and gave her a smile that was vaguely apologetic. "But you cannot win, so there is no point in even trying. You will only expend your energy, when we can put it to a much better use."

  She caught her breath. "No! Never again!"

  "Never?" He shook his head, as if the word were alien to him. "You are angry, but at least be realistic, Shahar. You know full well that when I want you, I will have you."

  "And I will fight you!"

  "So you have said. Shall I show you how little good it will do you?"

  There was a brief flash of fear before she exploded. "Damn you, have you so little pride that you would force yourself on a woman who despises you?''

  "Do you really think force will be necessary?"

  She bristled at the confidence in his tone. "Just try anything, and you will—"

  "Oh, I intend to, English, and soon. I will make you purr for me again. You do remember—"

  "Stop it!"

  "I see you do," he said with a devilish grin. "I do as well. So why are we wasting time—"

  "Oh!"

  Chantelle shot to her feet, only to have his arm snake around her legs and pull them out from under her. She landed half on him, half on the pillows, but in only a moment she was flat on her back, his body covering her, his hands capturing hers and stretching them far above her head. She was trapped, and no matter how hard she exerted herself to dislodge him, it did no good.

  "Don't stop," he murmured thickly by her ear. "I can feel your body's movements with every part of my own." She went still and he chuckled. "You are so predictable, English. I believe we have played this game before."

  "Let me up," she gritted out between her teeth.

  "I prefer you like this," he said, grinding his hips into her. "It brings back such wonderful memories."

  "I hate you."

  He shook his head slowly in answer. "You are angry with me. You don't hate me."

  He was amused. She saw it in his eyes, in the slight twisting of his lips. He wasn't taking her seriously. Or if he was, he felt confident he could charm her around. But he couldn't, and she was afraid when he realized that, he would finally get angry, too.

  "Don't presume to tell me what I feel, your highness," she said tightly. "You can't command feelings the way you do everything else."

  "I thought I was fairly good at it the other night."

  She gasped at this pointed reminder of how easily he had made her want him. "That was before you lied to me!"

  At last he frowned, demanding, "What are you talking about, woman?"

  "You led me to believe that you had not been with another woman since you first saw me. I know now that the very night you bought me you spent with Sheelah, and the next night you summoned—"

  "Enough!" Derek cut in sharply.

  Christ! And he thought he only had to explain away Jamila. What could he say? Certainly not that while he had lain in his empty bed thinking of her, his brother's bed had not remained so empty. He couldn't defend himself without giving up the game. He couldn't tell her the truth about Jamila either. For Miss Woods to be released, everyone had to think he had taken her to bed, including Omar—including Shahar. Bloody hell. He hadn't lied to her before, but now he would have to lie through his teeth.

  "You accuse me of lying, Shahar, when I spoke from the heart. I wanted only you. From the first moment, you excited me as no woman ever has before."

  "That didn't stop you from—"

  "You were untried, woman! You were innocent in mind as well as in body. I couldn't summon you immediately, as was my desire. You needed at least a little instruction so that you would know what to expect and not be afraid of our coming together. Or did you want to share my bed that first night?"

  "No," she replied stiffly. "And I don't care who did. Nor do I care why someone did. The point is that you told me no one did, and I believed you. It made a difference in the way I—well, it made a difference." And then, bitterly: "But that's what you intended, isn't it? That's why you lied to me."

  "Did I lie? Or did I tell you the truth, that you were all I wanted, all I could think about?" He didn't wait for an answer, taking advantage of the momentary doubt he detected in her eyes. "Did I allow you months of training? Did I listen when I was told you were not ready? Who knows better than you that I did not, that I could not wait to see you again? And then you rejected me. Do you know how that made me feel?"

  Chantelle fell silent, at a loss for words. She hadn't expected to find herself on the defensive. She hadn't expected to experience this feeling of guilt, either, that was tightening in her chest. But he was right, damn him. He hadn't actually lied to her, hadn't actually said specifically that no other woman had shared his bed. And she had thought of that, that she had simply misinterpreted his words, or that he had just phrased them wrong.

  I spoke from the heart. You were all I wanted. There was no misinterpreting those words, and damn it to hell, she believed him again. Then why didn't it give her joy?

  Derek relaxed somewhat, sensing that he had won this round. He didn't give Shahar a chance to throw up the next hurdle, hoping he might bypass it entirely with a little luck and a lot of skill, which he immediately brought into play with a kiss meant to shatter the last of her defenses. And it worked. She didn't turn her head away to avoid his lips. He could feel her arms going slack, her body fitting more snugly to his. As she yielded, he let go of her hands and felt her fingers drift into his hair. And then suddenly she yanked.

  "Ouch! By Allah-"

  "I warned you," Chantelle cut in furiously. "If you wanted a willing bedmate, you should have summoned Jamila again. She would—"

  Derek clamped a hand over her mouth. He d
idn't take into account that he had convinced her he wouldn't hurt her physically, or that he had told her he'd accepted the challenge of subduing her. It simply turned his blood cold that this anger of hers could make her so heedless of its consequences.

  Jamil would have been flattered by it, and amused, but not for long, and certainly not enough to allow her to actually fight him. Derek wasn't amused. He tnew that she had come to trust him, which was why she had finally surrendered, and now she was feeling betrayed.

  But thank God Jamil's tastes were different from his own and his brother hadn't decided to keep Shahar for himself. She wouldn't have passed a week without some serious punishments which would have eventually broken her spirit. She didn't realize how lucky she was, nor could he tell her. But what was the point, when she only had him to deal with?