Notorious (Rebels of the Ton #1) - Minerva Spencer Page 0,107
cupboard, terrified and alone.
“Because all the family had fled for their lives, I took Samir. I sent men searching for any remaining relatives. Thus far I’ve received word that a few of his aunts are alive.” He turned to Drusilla and kissed each cheek, his lips lightly brushing the damp trail of tears. “I’ve been lying to myself. None of his mother’s family will take him—it would not be safe for him or them. Part of me has always known I cannot send him back to our people. As Assad’s son, he would always be in danger. And if the truth were ever known—that he might be my son—that would be a death sentence for him.” He kissed the tip of her nose and gave her a sad smile. “Don’t cry, Drusilla.”
She gave a loud sniff and wiped the back of her hand across her cheek. “But it is a dreadful situation. I know the problems you face here—the prejudice, ignorance, intolerance. Just look at Visel and what he—”
“Shhh.” This time he kissed her lips. When he pulled away, he shook his head. “We will make sure Samir has all the love and family that was taken from him.”
He paused, waiting until she nodded before continuing. “When I returned home, I found a letter waiting for me. I don’t know how she managed it, but Fatima must have sent it before matters became so bad. In the letter she told me her parents knew about Samir’s questionable parentage.”
“My God! How?”
“From her. Fatima sent them a letter when it was clear Assad would lose control of Oran. And in it she confessed the truth.”
“But why—after so much time?”
“I daresay she believed it would make Samir safer if he was not believed to be Assad’s. The political situation had become dangerous for my brother over the past few years and she must have known he could not hold onto power for long.” He shrugged. “It is my belief she hoped her parents would send the boy to me if anything ever happened. I daresay they would have if I’d not been there to take Samir.”
“But he is their grandson. No matter who his father is, Fatima is still his mother—still their daughter. Wouldn’t they have wanted him?”
“Samir is now a political liability. If he is Assad’s, then he will always be viewed as a threat by the new sultan. If he is mine, then he is a bastard and his mother has brought shame on her family.” He stared grimly. “I’m sure you can see how difficult this is. If I give him the protection of my name, I am dooming him to bastardy. If I don’t? If I tell him that he is Assad’s son am I dooming him to war—making him believe it is his duty fight for control of the sultanate—as both Assad and I did?” He shrugged. “If I tell him he is my son, then he will live knowing his father is a man who abandoned his own people to become English and helped in the attack on his very home—might have been responsible for the death of Assad and Fatima. Also, if I keep him with me, I will deprive him of his heritage.” He grimaced. “And nobody knows better than I just how unwelcome a man of mixed race often feels in this country. Even if he wishes to return to Oran one day, being raised in England will ensure he is a stranger in his homeland.” Gabriel shook his head at the tangle of problems. “No matter what I tell him or what I do, I will hurt him. You tell me, Drusilla—what should I do?”
Gabriel could see by her expression she understood the magnitude of his quandary. He also knew she would have no simple answer—because there wasn’t one.
* * *
Gabriel stayed in her bed all night, making love to her again just before dawn.
Afterward, he pushed up onto his elbow and looked down at her. “I want you to meet Samir today. Perhaps we can then make plans to bring him home.”
Drusilla was glad her face was still flushed from their vigorous lovemaking so he could not see how foolishly pleased she felt at his words.
“I would like that.”
He tucked a lock of hair behind her ear and she hated to think what a crow’s nest her hair must resemble.
“Thank you for that, Drusilla.” He cocked his head. “But I need to ask more of you.”