A Duke's Wicked Kiss (Entangled Select) (5 page)

“How brave of you.”

He gave a shrug. “She would’ve died had I left her.” He wasn’t about to tell Suri he’d found the cub not three days after his wife and child had died—that he used to weep in its fur over his loss—that Shahira was what he’d clung to for months to keep from going mad. While others thought this dynamic beast, forever at his side, was a show of power and individuality, the cat was like a child to him. He didn’t know what he’d do without her. In fact, he might need her more than she needed him.

Suri wiggled in her seat. “Do you think I might feed her, then?”

A shockwave rippled through him. He could avert his regard of her no longer. Straightening in his chair, he glanced at her full plate and then to her. Her eyes were luminous and showed no hint of trepidation.

“It would behoove you to be a bit fearful of this cat,” he said.

“Why?”

His right eyebrow shot up. “Madam, she can eviscerate a goat with one swipe of a paw, so imagine what she is capable of doing to you or me. Thus, I respect her, and what her natural instincts are, at all times. It would be foolish of me not to.”

Suri’s gaze grew bold, swept his countenance with a shimmer that turned her eyes a deeper shade of emerald. “Wouldn’t we all be fools to underestimate what anything, or anyone, is capable of, Lord Ravenswood?”

He sure as hell wasn’t about to step knee-deep into that muddy conversation. He nodded toward the untouched slice of fish on her plate. “Go ahead, then. Or would you prefer I cut a piece for you?”

She grinned. “You cut. I’ll deliver.”

Those within hearing distance fell silent. Even Mrs. Abernathy grew speechless.

Picking up a slice of fish with his fingers, he handed it to Suri. “Hold it just so, and allow me to give the commands, since I’m uncertain if she will follow yours.”

Their bare hands collided, jolting him. Now he was certain that despite the investigating he had left to do, he’d excuse himself early and avoid any further contact with her.

“Easy, girl,” he said as Shahira ceased purring and raised her exquisite head to Suri’s fingers. Jesus, what if she snapped at the fish? She could take Suri’s fingers off. He lowered his voice to the slow murmur Shahira was used to hearing. “Wait. That’s it…that’s it…now take it.”

Shahira flashed long white incisors that could rip the arm off a man in a trice. Gently, the cat took the meat from Suri’s fingers. Then she blinked those large golden eyes and began to churr.

John chuckled.
I’ll be damned.

Suri laughed and clapped her hands together. “She likes me.” She leaned toward Shahira and before John could stop her, ran her hand down the cat’s head, stroking behind her ears.

John stilled.

Shahira started purring.

Good Lord, woman, do you know what could have happened?
He sat back in his chair and watched her pet Shahira, aware that all eyes were on them.

“Well,” Lady Marguerite huffed, color returning to her cheeks. “Suri, if you’ll follow me and Lord Ravenswood will follow Mr. Chatham’s lead, we ladies shall withdraw while the men smoke, and then the dancing shall begin.”

John grinned to himself. At least no one ever expected him to dance whilst holding a cheetah on a leash.

…

Suri whirled around the dance floor in Ravi-ji’s arms. Ravenswood was gone. Another twirl and she scanned the room. He’d been there one moment, holding up the doorframe with his arms crossed, head tipped back, and watching everyone in the ballroom through those heavy lids veiling his eyes—and the next moment he was gone. Her mood plummeted. Disappointment seeped through her like miasma leeching energy from her bones.

She missed a step and stumbled. “Oh, dear, sorry. Mightn’t we take a break?”

Weren’t there any rules of etiquette? Ravi-ji had danced more than his share of dances with her, to be sure. She found herself looking into eyes as emerald green as her own. So he was of the same lineage as she? Most Indians had eyes black as coal, but there were many who possessed eyes so fiercely green they glittered. He was one of them.

A frown deepened the lines across his forehead. “Do you not feel well, Miss Thurston?”

“I…no, it’s not that I feel ill, sir. It is just that I am enervated, having only arrived today and all, surely you—”

“Understand? But of course.” He held her fingertips with his, so lightly air could have passed between them. With a nod of his head, he escorted her off the dance floor.

He was a handsome man. Beautiful, really, with broad shoulders, sculpted features, full mouth, and a head of hair so black and shiny that any woman would adore running her hands through it. Any woman but her, that is. And he was mannerly. And wealthy beyond reason, so she’d been told by several ladies who’d kept their eyes fixed on the two all evening.

They didn’t understand, did they? She was still a half-caste. No matter where she went, England or India, she’d never fit in. So what did he want with her? Because it was rather obvious he was interested. Was she the untouchable he wanted to touch, if only for a night? The forbidden fruit from which to drain the juices, and leave only a shell behind? Well, she’d have none of it.

“I’d like to locate my sister, if you don’t mind. I’ve grown quite weary.”

He responded in that lilting accent that floated on black velvet. “As you wish. I believe I saw her in this direction.” His hand at her elbow guided her through the crush to Marguerite. He gave a short bow to both women. “I return your sister to you, Lady Marguerite, but with reluctance. Among many things, she is a fine dancer.”

He turned to Suri. “Miss Thurston, if I may call upon you tomorrow?”

Marguerite regarded one and then the other. “I’ll have a message sent to you in a few days. I fear my sister might require a bit of time to recover from her lengthy trip.”

He gave a short bow to both of them. “Until then.” He turned and melted into the crowd.

Marguerite stepped away from the ladies and lowered her voice. “You don’t care for Ravi Maurya?”

Suri couldn’t help glancing around the room one more time for Ravenswood. Why bother? He was gone. She could feel it in her bones. “That’s not it at all. I am so fatigued, Marguerite. If I don’t take to my bed soon, I shall faint dead away on the dance floor.”

“Of course, dear. Shall we find Harry, and have him escort you to your room?”

“I can find my own way.”

Marguerite tilted her head to the side, which she did whenever she held a strong opinion. “I think not. This may be my home, but it’s filled with guests—some of whom choose to live differently than they do in England, while others…well, suffice it to say, Harry shall escort you.”

Concern prickled the hairs at the back of Suri’s neck. “But what of my room with only shutters to the garden? Am I not safe?”

“Oh, you are perfectly out of harm’s way, dear.” She smiled. “Your wall would be impossible to climb over. Besides, there are guards stationed outside. It’s simply that everyone has an eye on you this evening and some of those eyes look a bit jaundiced, if you know what I mean, so we do not want you exiting this room on your own. Understood?”

Suri gave a quick nod of her head. “Aye, captain, let’s find Harry.”

…

She hadn’t realized how noisy the ballroom was until the din was well behind her, and the quietude in the corridor leading to her room invaded her senses. “Good heavens, Harry. Does my sister often entertain with this much pomp? My ears are ringing.”

Harry chuckled. “You know your sister. As frequently as she can get away with it.”

She slipped her hand through her brother-in-law’s arm and smiled. He still adored Marguerite as much as the day they had fallen in love. “And you let her get away with it quite regularly, don’t you?”

He shrugged and lifted an eyebrow. “She’s content.”

“That she is. At least it’s heartwarming to know her letters weren’t filled with lies to keep me from worrying. I cannot believe she is so taken with India. Not only does she continue to carry on a romance with you, she seems to do so with this country as well.”

Harry grinned. “Indeed.”

Suri shook her head. “This oppressive climate alone is enough to hasten me back to England and never give this place a second thought. I saw a bug in my room, Harry. Large enough to saddle and ride.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps my wife knows her carefree stay here is a once in a lifetime experience and intends to make the most of it.”

“Well, I shall make the most of my stay as well.”
Although you won’t like what I intend to do with my visit. Not one bit.

“Here we are.” He glanced up and down the corridor. “No lurkers, but I shall see that a guard is assigned to the entry in any case. Lock the door after I take my leave, and we’ll see you in the morning.”

She offered him a weak smile. “More likely you’ll see me on the morrow at some point, as I hope to sleep half the day away. Good night.” She stepped inside, spied Munia standing beside the bed, and locked the door.

A coconut oil lamp, burning low, sat on a commode next to her intricately carved teakwood bed. She went over to the table, ran her hand over the hammered brass and copper top, and brushed the bells attached to its lower edge with her fingers. “Tell me, Munia, why do so many pieces of furniture have all these tiny bells hanging off them? Is this some kind of religious practice?”

“No, memsahib. That is to warn of earthquakes. They ring when the ground first begins to rumble. Wakes you before the roof falls in.”

Suri’s heart skipped a beat. “Oh, my. Do earthquakes occur often?”

Munia shook her head. “No,
mem
, but if you have been through one without waking up in time, once is enough. Can I help you out of your clothing?”

“Indeed, I’m beyond fatigued. Then you may leave and go to your room. Thank you.”

Munia helped her out of her many layers and into a soft cotton night rail. “Climb in, memsahib, and I will place the mosquito netting around you before I turn off the lamp. There is water on the table, which will be inside the netting. It is best you stay put until you are good at closing the netting on your own.”

“Can you open the shutters to the garden then? Is it safe?”

“From mosquitoes or larger predators, memsahib?”

Suri sat straight up and stared agog at Munia, her heart nearly stopping. And then she saw humor dance in the
nauker
’s eyes. “You tease me?”

Munia shrugged as she walked to the shutters and opened them to the garden and dark night. “You are safe from intruders, memsahib, but from the mosquito, you must remain inside the netting.”

“But how will I leave this room tomorrow if the door is locked and you have the key? Or do I wait for you to wake me?”

“I’ll take the key you left in the door,
mem
. There’s another key in the little box on the table beside your bed.” She made her way to the door and unlocked it. “Good night, memsahib. Do not forget to turn the lamp down before you fall asleep.”

“I won’t.”

“I shall leave you then. May all your dreams come true, and may you live in peace and harmony.” She placed her hands in a prayer-like manner and bowed her head. “
Namaste
.”

“
Namaste
?”

Munia unlocked the door, stepped out and poked her head back inside. “The word means, ‘I honor the place in you in which the entire universe dwells. I honor the place in you which is love, integrity, wisdom, and peace. When you are in that place in you, and I am in that place in me, we are one.’” At that, she closed the door behind her and left Suri in silence.

A bullock lowed in the distance, reminding her of home and of the cattle that called out in the night. As she contemplated Munia’s words, a familiar melancholy seeped into her bones. She flopped back on her pillow and stared up to where the mosquito netting formed a swirl of froth. Lamplight flickered, casting long fingers that failed to reach the dark corners of the room. A sudden urge to flee the room gripped her.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” she muttered and shifted her attention to the gaping black hole leading to the garden. A sliver of fright skittered through her. She felt like a kid again, scared and alone. There’d be no running to Marguerite’s bed, like long ago. Cursing softly, she flung the counterpane aside, and sat up. She’d be damned if she’d turn every shadow, every creak of a floorboard, into some monster coming at her. She stared at the opening, trying to prove to herself that nothing was out there. Little good that did—her mouth had gone dry, her heart pummeled her chest, and she’d been listening so intently for any odd noise that a high humming sounded in her ears. Perhaps she shouldn’t have asked Munia to open the shutters, after all. If she got out of bed to close them, would she be able to gather the netting around her properly?

An odd, shuffling sound pricked her ears.

She froze.

A balmy breeze caught the netting and sent it undulating around her, swaying the flame in the hurricane lamp. Night blooming jasmine filled the air. She collapsed back onto the bed. Why, the ruffling sound was nothing more than a gentle gust of wind wafting through the foliage. What a dunderhead she could be. Soon, she’d be used to these strange surroundings. She relaxed and allowed her thoughts to stray where they may.

Ravenswood.

He was even more handsome than she’d remembered. Or perhaps it was the years that had filled him out to perfection. She smiled. He still wore his dark hair in the same casual manner, as though it needed a trim, but his face was more angular, his cheekbones more pronounced. His eyes, the same storm gray she remembered, had pierced her very soul tonight, nearly robbing her of breath whenever his gaze caught hers.

And that mouth
.

The very thought of what those extraordinary lips had once done to her, of what they could probably do even better after years of practice, shot tiny, erotic arrows of pain to the tips of her breasts and throughout her belly. She rolled onto her side, as if the movement alone would dispel the effect he’d had on her this evening.