Her Only Desire (11 page)

“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 little 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.

From behind the safety of the screen, she let her gaze travel over the marquess slowly, enjoying the sleek, elegant architecture of his tall, manly form. After her tour of Meena's chamber under construction, Georgie couldn't help wondering what Lord Griffith was like when he took a woman to his bed.

She remembered the silken strength in his touch when he had held her hand, the smooth caress of his lips when he had kissed her knuckles…the safety she had felt with his big, warm body enfolding hers as he had ridden behind her on her horse.

As her leisurely perusal of him wandered all the way down to his spotless black shoes and back up his fawn-colored trousers, climbing the muscled length of his thighs, he turned oh-so-casually, with a piercing stare straight at the wooden screen—almost as though he could feel her inspecting him!

Georgie jolted backward in guilty surprise. Her sudden motion drew her friends' notice.

“What's wrong?” Lakshmi asked.

Her face radiated such fiery heat, she was sure her cheeks must be beet-red, as if she had just eaten a spicy green chili.

“Are you all right?” Meena inquired with a puzzled look.

“I'm—fine. It's a—a little—hot in here. Maybe we should go,” she mumbled.

“Yes, come, let us go and have refreshments. Your journey has been long.” Meena linked arms with her, and Georgie did the same with Lakshmi, vowing to put the marquess out of her mind as best she could.

Continuing on their way, the girls passed the vast, sparkling banqueting hall. Here, an army of servants hurried about, busily polishing ornate candelabra and readying a sea of dining tables.

“There's to be a feast tonight in honor of the English delegation,” Meena informed them; then she nudged Georgie's shoulder fondly. “You should go,
shona.
It would give you a chance to visit with your brothers. Lakshmi and I won't be invited, of course, but there's no reason you can't attend. You're a foreigner and a guest. It's not as if you're keeping purdah.”

“Would either of you mind?” Georgie asked hopefully, refusing to acknowledge that sparring with Lord Griffith again held even greater appeal than catching up with her brothers.

“Not at all,” Meena said, and Lakshmi nodded in earnest agreement. “Though I will warn you, you may cause a bit of a stir—”

“She's used to that,” Lakshmi chimed in.

“The only women the men are used to seeing in the banqueting hall are the dancing girls. But certainly you should visit with your brothers while you can,” Meena said. “We're not sure how long their party will be staying—only until the negotiations are concluded, I should think, and who knows how soon that might be?”

“Yes, who knows…?” Georgie echoed, wondering how much Meena had been told about the substance of her husband's current wranglings with the British on one hand and Baji Rao on the other. Probably very little.

Then she followed her friends into the main harem, a place of wonder.

From its sunken gardens to its lotus-shaped pools strewn with water lilies, from its whimsical pavilions to its arched colonnades, the royal harem was an airy space dedicated to leisure, luxury, and relaxation.

There were rooms devoted to art and music, painting and dance, and courtyards for horseback riding, archery, and a lively ball game similar to tennis. There was a serene ladies' temple, small but beautiful, dedicated to Parvati, and elaborate nurseries filled with happy children. There was even a large durbar hall, where the maharani heard cases brought by the female residents of her kingdom.

There also were countless pets—little monkeys, tame deer, brightly colored parrots in cages. The birds had been taught by the ladies to perform all manner of silly tricks, but Georgie found it difficult to smile at their antics.

However beautiful it was, however peaceful and safe, this place was still a cage.

She said nothing of her thoughts, however, determined to remember that this was only her British view. It was clear that Meena was radiantly happy, and Lakshmi looked overwhelmed by the grace of this Elysian haven. No doubt it was paradise compared to the tiny prison of her marriage to strict old Balaram.

The girls were still watching some of the concubines making the parrots perform their tricks when, suddenly, across the green, a tall, slim woman of about forty emerged from the temple, a cluster of attendants and ladies-in-waiting following at her heels.

“Oh, no,” Meena whispered, paling. “It's Queen Sujana.”

“Is it?” Georgie murmured with great interest, following her gaze.

The maharani's elegantly thin frame was wrapped in a dark sari of indigo silk shot through with silver and gold thread, like a starry night sky. She was a beautiful woman, with a jeweled
bindi
gleaming on her forehead. She had sleek, jet-black hair, distinctly pale skin, and brooding kohl-lined eyes. The moment she appeared, however, a pall dropped over the gaiety of the entire harem.

Everyone in view stopped what they were doing, leaving their games, dancing, and artistic pursuits to bow down low in her presence, almost as if they were cowering before her. The music halted. Even the children stopped playing as she crossed the gardens with swift, driven strides.

“Blast, she's seen us,” Meena said under her breath as Queen Sujana paused in her arrow-like forward motion. Her dark-eyed stare homed in on them. “I'm afraid, my dears, that Her Majesty will expect a greeting in the old style.”

“Oh, bother,” Georgie muttered. But as certain diplomats had accused her of causing trouble, she was determined not to do so, especially for her friend. No, it was easier to go along with the custom of the
mujira
rather than offend Her Majesty with a simple British curtsy.

“But I'm not touching her feet,” Georgie added under her breath.

“Down we go,” Lakshmi urged them in a quiet tone.

Beside her friends, Georgie sank down onto her knees as the maharani approached, and for Meena's sake, dutifully performed the traditional bow to royalty, which required one to bend until one's forehead nearly touched the ground.

“Meena, who are these ladies?” Queen Sujana inquired as she stopped in front of them. Her crisp tone admitted a small degree of mollification by their homage.