Dazedly, Jasmine listened to his arrogant statement—and didn’t his attitude justify some of the tough decisions she’d been forced to make? She was about to tell him that it was a mistake to call what he had in mind making love and wondering if he would attempt to persuade her otherwise, when a distant sound changed everything. She moved away from him—not so quickly as to arouse suspicion—praying that Darius was only whimpering in some kind of happy little infant dream and would shortly go back to sleep.
But her prayers went unanswered. The whimper became louder. It morphed into a cry and then a protesting yell and she saw Zuhal’s face change. Watched the black eyes narrow as his gaze swept questioningly over her and she quickly stared down at the threadbare rug for fear that he might see the sudden tears welling up in her eyes. She thought about all the things she could say.
She could pretend that it was a peacock, because weren’t they supposed to sound like young babies? Or maybe that was babies younger than Darius which sounded like those squawking birds. And anyway, peacocks lived in the grounds of stately homes, didn’t they? They promenaded elegantly over manicured lawns—their magnificent blue-green plumage wouldn’t dream of gracing the scruffy little garden of a rented cottage just outside Oxford.
‘What was that, Jazz?’ Zuhal questioned ominously.
She knew then that the game was up. That she could attempt evasion to try to deflect his attention and send him on his way by pretending that the baby belonged to someone else and she was just childminding. But she couldn’t. Not really—and not just because the time frame would prove her a liar. No. No matter what had happened in the past or how little Zuhal thought of her now, she was going to have to come clean. And hadn’t she always wanted that anyway, on some subliminal level?
‘What was that, Jazz?’ he repeated, only now a note of something dangerous had been added into the mix to make his voice grow even darker.
Slowly she lifted her gaze to meet the accusation in his eyes and prepared for her whole world to change in the telling of a single sentence. ‘It’s my child. Or rather, our child,’ she said, sucking in a breath of air. ‘You have a son, Zuhal, and his name is Darius.’
Copyright © 2019 by Sharon Kendrick
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THE SHEIKH’S SECRET BABY
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ISBN-13: 978-1-488-05246-0
THE FAILED MARRIAGE
First published in 1983
This edition published in 2018
Copyright © 1983 by CAROLE MORTIMER
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The Failed Marriage (Presents Plus) Page 19