She and Kazim would be back at Ingledean soon, she reassured herself as the car swung out of the drive, and she turned her head for one last glimpse of the house that was the only real home she had ever known. She loved Ingledean. The wild beauty of the surrounding moors was a stark contrast to the soulless concrete tower block where she had grown up.
If Zahir's father was as ill as he'd described, then surely he would not want them to make a prolonged visit? She would stay in Qubbah long enough for Kazim to meet his grandfather and other relatives, and then she would bring him home to Yorkshire.
Kazim chattered non-stop on the drive to the airport, and his excitement grew as they boarded Zahir's private plane. Erin felt as though she had stepped into another world when she glanced around the luxurious cabin. Instead of rows of tightly packed seats there were large cream leather sofas and a plush velvet carpet. The discreet lighting created an ambience of refined luxury, and the cabin crew-two impossibly beautiful stewardesses-were charmingly attentive. Particularly towards Zahir, she noted sourly. It was little wonder that he was so arrogant when everyone he came into contact with seemed to hang on his every word. But perhaps being surrounded by yes-men-and women-was one of the perks of being incredibly wealthy.
She'd known that Faisal was well off, but he had lived simply and she had never given a thought to his fortune. Now she was forced to acknowledge that Kazim's family were millionaires-probably billionaires, she amended, as she debated the likelihood of the fitments in the bathroom being solid gold. She felt a churning sensation in the pit of her stomach. Money and power went hand in hand, and she could not forget Zahir's threat that he would hire the best lawyers and fight for custody of his nephew. But surely he wouldn't do so now that she had agreed to bring Kazim to Qubbah?
Once they were in the air Kazim quickly became bored and fretful, despite Erin's attempts to entertain him. He was over-tired, and she was relieved when one of the stewardesses escorted them to a bedroom at the rear of the plane, where he fell asleep as soon as his head touched the pillow. She had assumed that Zahir would continue working on his laptop, as he had done since they had taken off, but to her consternation he was waiting for her when she returned to the main cabin, and indicated that she should join him on the sofa.
‘Champagne?'
He handed her a glass without waiting for her to reply and settled next to her, stretching his long legs out in front of him and tucking his arms behind his head so that she was acutely conscious of his lean, powerful body. She could make out the hard ridges of his abdominal muscles beneath the silk shirt, and guessed that the dark hairs revealed where he had discarded his tie and unfastened the top couple of buttons covered his broad chest. The subtle tang of his cologne teased her senses …
In a desperate attempt to hide the effect he was having on her she took a gulp of champagne-and choked as the bubbles hit the back of her throat.
Zahir was watching her. He appeared relaxed as he sipped his own champagne, but his eyes were hooded, so that she had no idea what he was thinking. His next words threw her completely.
‘Tell me, Erin, why exactly did you marry my brother?'
‘What do you mean?' She set her glass down on the onyx table-top with an unsteady hand. It was an innocuous-sounding question, but she remembered the solicitor Gordon Straker's warning to be on her guard.
Zahir's dark eyes were coolly assessing as he said, ‘I mean, did you know Faisal was dying before you became his wife?'
If only she knew where this was leading! ‘I knew he was ill. He was undergoing tests.' That much was true; she saw no reason to explain that Faisal had been pessimistic about his prognosis right from the beginning. ‘Why do you ask?'
‘I'm curious to understand your motives. While you were packing I took a look around Ingledean House, and I saw that the master bedroom-which still contains many of Faisal's belongings-is on the third floor, but that you occupy a room next to the nursery. It's customary for a married couple to sleep together-so why didn't you and Faisal share a room?'
The silence stretched between them before Erin replied icily, ‘I really don't think that's any of your business.'
‘Oh, I think it is,' Zahir argued, in a dangerously soft tone that sent a shiver down Erin's spine. ‘The cook intimated to me that your marriage to my brother was not "normal". She also revealed that there had been gossip in the village about your motives for marrying a wealthy man who was obviously seriously ill.'
He waited for Erin to absorb his words, noting how the colour had drained from her face. She looked very young, and that air of innocence was very convincing. It was easy to see how she had fooled Faisal three years ago, when he had been a grieving widower with a baby son. Hell, she had almost fooled him, Zahir mused grimly. But the information his personal assistant had emailed him after running a data check revealed things about her that he was sure his brother had known nothing about. Things like a criminal record for shoplifting, and details of a life that had been spiralling out of control-until she had been fostered by an elderly couple who had taken her to their home in the caretaker's cottage in the grounds of Ingledean House.
There she had managed to catch up on her education, and had trained as a nanny, but more controversy had followed with her first job, looking after the children of a respected barrister and land-owner at his country estate on the outskirts of York. Omran had unearthed talk of an affair between Erin and Giles Fitzroy. It was rumoured that she had pursued her wealthy employer in the hope that he would leave his wife for her, but that eventually Fitzroy had come to his senses and dismissed her. Soon after that Faisal had bought Ingledean and taken Erin on as Kazim's nanny.
His brother must have seemed like a gift from the gods, Zahir thought darkly-a rich man without the complication of a wife. Erin had no doubt seized the opportunity to ingratiate herself with Faisal and his motherless son.
‘Shall I tell you what I think?' he queried silkily, when Erin did not reply. ‘I suspect that your marriage to Faisal was not a conventional one, and the fact that you occupied separate bedrooms reinforces that belief. I also think it's possible that you deliberately coerced my brother into marrying you.' He paused, his eyes as dark and cold as bottomless pools.
‘Faisal was estranged from his family and he was desperate to ensure that Kazim would be well cared for after his death. I'm convinced that when you learned of Faisal's illness you played on the vulnerable emotions of a dying man and persuaded him to marry you by promising to care for Kazim. What my brother did not realise,' Zahir continued harshly, ‘was that you were prepared to go to almost any lengths to gain Ingledean House and a substantial fortune-including being saddled with a small child. But if I can prove that your motives for adopting my nephew were not as altruistic as Faisal believed, I'm certain that a judge will look favourably on my custody claim of Kazim.'
‘But you're wrong,' Erin gasped, so shocked by his accusations that she could barely utter the denial. ‘The only reason I adopted Kazim is because I adore him. Ingledean had nothing to do with it-'