Her Only Desire Page 9

  “I doubt it,” he growled.

  She lowered her head. “You haven’t lived in India, my lord. You haven’t seen how the Company ruins all it touches, like cursed King Midas, destroying everything it tries to turn to gold. The Indian people have borne the brunt of this curse. They’ve watched the Company armies defeat one ancient kingdom after another, and always some corrupt, indifferent Englishman is put in charge.” She checked the note of anguish that had crept into her voice. “The Company’s administrators don’t give a fig about this land or its people. All they care about is lining their own pockets by whatever means they can devise.”

  He eyed her warily.

  “This cannot be allowed to happen to King Johar. He is a good ruler and a just man, and his people need him. And if I have to fight you to help save his reign,” she added in a harder tone, “I will.”

  “Aha.” He pinched the bridge of his patrician nose for a second, clearly striving for patience, then he let out a low, cynical sigh and his hand fell back down to his side. “So, this is the direct approach?”

  She just looked at him.

  “Why didn’t you tell me any of this before? You should have told me in Calcutta what was really on your mind.”

  “I didn’t know if I could trust you.”

  “Thus the need for subtlety….” He let out another musing sigh. “Well, perhaps we both have hidden from each other too much of what we are.”

  “I have been honest with you now.” Her expectant pause invited him to do the same.

  “Very well, since this obviously means a great deal to you, let me first assure you that I am not the Company’s lackey, nor the Crown’s.” His tone turned steely, for, after all, she had insulted his pride. “I have no interest in ‘lining my pockets’ with the wealth of the East. I did not come to India seeking profit. In fact, I was on holiday in Ceylon, minding my own business, when they called me in to deal with this. I gave up my holiday to help, and if you still don’t believe that I did not come here seeking Indian treasures, then you’ll pardon the vulgarity of my informing you that I already happen to be extremely rich. Born with the silver spoon in my mouth, if you must know, and if I lived like a profligate for the rest of my life, I would still die with more gold in my coffers than most men could spend in three lifetimes.”

  Georgie absorbed his terse chastisement with a downcast gaze. “Oh.”

  “Furthermore, if I thought our aims in this matter were unjust, I would have refused the mission.”

  She could feel him staring at her.

  “In short, I don’t do this job for the pay, Georgiana. I am here for the good of my country, in the hopes of saving lives. If there is any meaning to my life, I’ve dedicated everything to trying to make the world at least a slightly more civilized place, so I really don’t appreciate your insinuations about my character.”

  She wilted further and kept her gaze down, her cheeks turning scarlet as she began once more to recall all the admirable things that people in Society had told her he had done. Averting wars, negotiating truces…she hadn’t believed a word of it, in her general prejudice against men, learned from the pages of her aunt’s book and the injustice toward women she so often saw around her.

  Even now, that prejudice hung on like a terrier with its teeth in her ankle. “You still haven’t told me what your business is in Janpur,” she mumbled with a slight tremble. Her head down, she glanced at him warily from under her lashes.

  He laughed and shook his head. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”

  “I cannot. These people are my friends.”

  “Well, you are loyal. I’ll give you that.” He snorted to himself and sauntered off toward the window.

  Holding her ground, she said nothing, but found the strength to lift her head again and meet his gaze.

  He rested his arm along the window sill, studying her; then he looked outside, squinting against the brilliance of the light. “Once again, you leave me little choice.” He shrugged. “On the other hand, I’ve been in this business long enough to know that you women have…your ways. So, whatever mysterious back channels you are privy to, Miss Knight, if you want to see this maharajah keep his throne, then let him be persuaded to take the deal we’re offering.” Lord Griffith paused, then continued in a lower tone. “It’s not Johar who is slated for destruction, but his brother-in-law, Baji Rao. Have you heard of him?”

  She nodded, and her heart leaped with hope that he was finally going to take her into his confidence. “Baji Rao is the Peshwa, head of the Maratha Empire,” she answered, eager to display for him her familiarity with the region.

  “Well, the man has become quite a thorn in our side.”

  She leaned her hip against the sofa’s arm, considering this. “I cannot say I am surprised. Baji Rao is no Johar. He has a reputation as a coward and a bully with a cruel streak. Even his own people hate him.”

  “He does seem to have a talent for making enemies.” The afternoon sunlight haloed his dark hair as he nodded. “Governor Lord Hastings has ordered the destruction of the Pindari Horde, but now Baji Rao has gone and granted them safe haven. This puts us in a position of having to invade his kingdom in order eradicate them.”

  “He won’t cooperate?”

  “Not in the least.”

  “I guess he doesn’t trust you,” she remarked, concealing her jubilance at having wrung a proper measure of respect out of the imperious marquess at last.

  “From what I hear, the Peshwa doesn’t trust anybody.” He left the window and came closer, leaning against the table across from her. “Hard to say what he hopes to gain from all this, but he’d rather use the dispute over the Pindaris as an excuse to go to war with us. He’s been trying to summon all his usual allies. I’m here to convince King Johar to stay out of it. We’ve sent another team to Gwalior for the same purpose,” he added in a confidential tone. “Ideally, both Janpur and Gwalior will sign a treaty of neutrality with the British.”

  “Well, they are the two strongest members of the Maratha alliance,” she mused.

  “Precisely. And without them, Baji Rao and the rest of his allies will lose. It’s as simple as that.” He sighed and drummed his fingers on the edge of the table for a moment in thought. “Of course, both Johar and Gwalior are at liberty to refuse our proposal, join Baji Rao, and be destroyed along with the rest of the Marathas. But, if they go along with our wishes and sit this war out, then we expect to defeat Baji Rao in short order, and the territories stripped from him will be split between Janpur and Gwalior to rule.”

  “At least you’re making it worth their while to abandon their old treaty.”

  “First principle of diplomacy, my dear. You’ve got to give if you want to get,” he agreed with a wry half smile.

  They stared at each other for a moment too long.

  She dropped her gaze. “Still, I doubt Johar will go for it. Loyalty and honor are everything to the Marathas.”

  “I’ve noticed,” he said ruefully, looking away, as though, he, too, were disconcerted by this strange alchemy between them. “That Prince Shahu is a fine example of that. Damned fireball, all made up of overweening pride. Be careful of him, by the way,” he warned. “You really caught his eye.”

  She shrugged it off. “So, that’s the extent of your mission? I mean, isn’t there a catch? There’s always a catch.”

  He gazed at her for a moment. “No more Maratha Empire.”

  Georgie winced. “I knew it. This was what I’d feared.”

  “It’s not our doing, Georgiana. The fault lies with Baji Rao. He’s the head of their alliance and he won’t give an inch. He wants every last white person out of India—or dead. We did not want another war with the Marathas. Things were stable until Baji Rao came to power. This whole situation is unfortunate for us, too, you know,” he pointed out. “The Marathas have long been a buffer between ourselves and the Ottomans to the north. But this is the best solution for now, and I’m trying to usher it in with as li
ttle bloodshed as possible. When it’s all said and done, the Maratha people will be ruled by these two wiser maharajahs who value peace with their neighbors—men who can be trusted. Baji Rao will be dealt with, and the Pindari Horde will be gone.”

  “That does sound safer for everyone,” she admitted.

  “So, you see?” he teased very gently, leaning toward her. “I am no great snake, come to swallow Janpur.”

  “Well, maybe not.” She smiled cautiously at him. “Sorry I called you a reptile. No hard feelings, I hope? Friends?”

  “Of course we are.” He offered her his hand.

  She rose and went to him, clasping it.

  “I shouldn’t have said you were spoiled,” he murmured as he held her hand between his own. “The loyalty you bear your friends is an admirable trait.” He lifted her hand to his lips and pressed an affectionate kiss to her knuckles, watching her. “I hope some of that loyalty may pertain to me now that I’ve put my mission in your hands, and that you will not take lightly the trust I’ve placed in you. One wrong word in the right ear, Georgiana, and it could result in disaster.”

  “I won’t let you down,” she said quietly, looking into his eyes.

  He nodded. “All right.”

  When Lord Griffith released her hand from his light hold, she dropped it to his chest and playfully tugged at one of the buttons on his waistcoat, giving him an impish smile. “There, now, you see? It wasn’t so bad, was it? Trusting me?”

  “Don’t make me sorry for it.”

  “You won’t be. I’ll keep my eyes and ears open in the harem for you. If I find out anything useful, I will let you know.”

  His soft gaze turned sober. “Be careful.”

  “Relax,” she whispered with a smile. “You worry too much.”

  “With good reason. I mean it, Georgiana. If you start causing trouble again, I’m sending you back to Calcutta—”

  “I’ll be good,” she hushed him, and with a mischievous glance, suddenly unfastened the top button of his waistcoat. Before he could protest, she stepped past him and headed for the door.

  “Trying to undress me?” he called in a soft murmur as he buttoned it again.

  She glanced over her shoulder and sent him a naughty half smile. “I can’t say it hasn’t crossed my mind.”

  Mine, too, Ian thought ardently, fighting a hearty smile as he stared at her walking away. Entranced by the play of light over the lustrous silk that swathed her lithe curves, his hungry gaze slid down to contemplate her hips. At the same time, he hoped it had not been a fatal error to trust her with his information. On the other hand, she had left him little choice.

  Quickly concealing his persistent lust for the young siren, he followed her back to the courtyard, where they rejoined her brothers and her ladies.

  A female servant of the maharajah’s household was already waiting to escort Georgiana and the other women into the zenana, the harem quarters, while a captain of the royal bodyguards had come to treat Ian and the majors to a display of traditional Indian weaponry for their entertainment.

  They parted ways.

  Georgiana bade her brothers adieu and then sent Ian a wary glance of farewell from beneath her lashes. The look she gave him could have melted the iced-over Thames in a Frost Fair. He drew in his breath silently, but she had already dropped her gaze with neat discretion and turned away, following the chatelaine out of the courtyard. He stared as she was led off through a grandiose, gilded doorway that opened into some other region of the palace.

  “I hope she wasn’t too much trouble in there,” Gabriel said rather sheepishly, turning to him with a worried look. “I’m afraid our sister can be a handful.”

  “One of these years we’ve got to get that girl married off,” Derek muttered. “If only she weren’t so damned picky.”

  “No matter,” Ian said. “I think we understand each other now.” Fearing they might notice his preoccupation with their sister, he dropped his gaze and cleared his throat, then turned to the Maratha captain waiting to take them to the Hall of Arms. “Shall we?”

  “After you, sir,” Derek said politely.

  Ian nodded and walked away.

  Behind him, Derek and Gabriel exchanged an intrigued and rather sly glance, but said nothing, and strode after him.

  CHAPTER

  FIVE

  M eanwhile, Georgie and her ladies followed the chatelaine through the palace until they came to the great deodhi, the harem’s entrance, framed by giant pillars. Towering eunuchs with shaved heads stood guard on either side, blocking the giant gilded doors with their crossed spears. When the women approached, however, the husky guards uncrossed their spears and opened the doors for them.

  Down another long corridor they proceeded, until at last they came to the harem’s marble atrium and were greeted by an anxiously waiting Meena. With exclamations of joy and exuberant hugs, the three childhood friends were reunited.

  Meena was stunned to see Lakshmi. “Oh, by the tusk of Ganesha, this is a treat twice over!” The royal bride was positively glowing, and all three girls immediately began talking at once.

  While Purnima and Gita were shown away to get them all settled in for their visit, Meena proposed to show Georgie and Lakshmi the private zenana that was being built for her in another wing of the palace.

  “It’s still under construction, but at least over there we can talk without a hundred people eavesdropping,” the princess murmured.

  They agreed.

  Through a labyrinth of winding hallways, cramped passages, odd-shaped rooms, hidden galleries, and twining spiral stairs, they were able to move through the palace, unseen by male eyes.

  The women’s invisible realm formed a palace within a palace; while the men conducted their worldly business, the women were forever cloistered. Everywhere there were listening grates, peepholes, and intricately carved screens through which women were at least allowed to observe the world of men. Some rooms, however, were off-limits to the female audience.

  At last they reached the wing of the palace where the new zenana was under construction, but because of purdah, all of the workmen had to be dismissed while the princess showed her friends around.

  “My husband is extremely generous,” Meena declared as they picked their way through the various half-built rooms. “But do you know what the best part is?”

  “What’s that?” Georgie asked, smiling.

  “Queen Sujana has to live with knowing she gave Johar the idea.” Meena giggled. “She told him she can’t stand the sight of me, so this was his response! Look, this will be our bedchamber,” she informed them with a risqué smile, leading them into a soaring, vaulted room. “Ah, my sisters,” she said with a dreamy sigh, “when a man has thirty wives and a hundred concubines, I will say one thing—practice makes perfect.”

  Georgie burst out laughing at Meena’s scandalous words, but Lakshmi let out a glum sigh. The young widow’s misery about all she had missed out on by being married to an old man stopped Georgie from asking Meena a dozen questions about that subject that so frequently preoccupied her thoughts. Later, she thought, after poor Lakshmi had gone to bed, she would ask Meena what it was really like to lie with a man skilled in lovemaking…how it felt to be seduced. She could barely wait to hear what her ex-virgin friend had to say on the matter, but she kept her questions to herself for now.

  When their tour ended, they retraced their steps through the maze of corridors, but this time, the Hall of Arms rang out with a skilled demonstration by some palace guards of the ancient Indian style of wrestling, along with some traditional Maratha weapons.

  Georgie spotted her brothers and Lord Griffith among the men watching the warriors’ display of prowess. Others were examining Maratha spears, lances, and javelins, and admiring jeweled swords and colorful round shields. One of the guards was showing Gabriel and Derek the collection of razor-sharp chakras, or “wheels,” deadly, jagged, blade-edged weapons meant to be thrown at an attacker. Behind the carved wooden
screen, the girls stifled laughter and hushed each other, lingering to spy on them.

  Georgie paid her brothers little mind, focusing all her attention on Lord Griffith. Hands in pockets, casual as a schoolboy, the marquess sauntered over to study the display of huge plates of shiny armor and intricate chain mail made to protect the maharajah’s war elephant in battle. Watching him in secret filled her with a strange sort of pleasure. She bit her lip, smiling a little when he thumped the elephant armor with his knuckle and asked a guard a question about it.

  She had to admit some small corner of her heart danced at the sight of him.

  His noble words about serving his country and saving lives still haunted her. It troubled Georgie to consider the number of wrong assumptions she had made about him. Perhaps I was too hard on him. Maybe she should have given him the benefit of the doubt, especially since he had saved her from Balaram’s kin.

  She found herself wanting to know this man better.

  As the girls continued watching from behind the screen, the captain of the palace guards invited the Englishmen to participate in their exhibition.

  Gabriel declined with a cool smile. “I crave your pardon, gentlemen. I don’t pick up a weapon unless I really mean it.”

  “I will!” Derek volunteered cheerfully, always game for a challenge.

  The girls exchanged private grins as a Maratha warrior tossed a long lance to Derek. He caught it nimbly in both hands and twirled it into position like they had done, much to the Marathas’ hearty approval.

  They asked Lord Griffith if he would participate, but he waved them off with a self-deprecating laugh. “I wouldn’t dream of making a fool of myself next to you fellows,” he said smoothly. “I’m just a diplomat. I’ll leave the feats of arms to the warriors.”

  His modest answer pleased her Jainist inclinations, but Georgie wondered if his words were quite sincere.