Something Sinful (10 page)

Zachary started to say something, probably gentlemanly, about offering his assistance, and Shay trod on his toe. As he gazed at Sarala pointedly, she nodded. “With pleasure.”

“I’ll save you a seat right here, Sarah,” the girl’s mother said, patting a seat between herself and Melbourne. “Do hurry back.”

“We won’t be a moment,” Charlemagne put in, taking Sarala’s hand and putting it across his arm.

“You seem to have dried off,” Sarala whispered as they pushed to the edge of the settling crowd and Lady Franfield appeared to announce the evening’s players and their selections.

Her quiet voice sent a warm tremor down his spine. “As did you,” he returned in the same tone, coming to a halt beside the refreshment table at the back of the room. “And you found my gift.”

“Yes. Since you ignored my wishes and my warnings and pressed it on me, I thought to at least make some use of it.”

The first player, the Franfields’ daughter Hattie, took her place at the pianoforte. Using the cover of the polite applause and then the Haydn concerto, Charlemagne moved closer to Sarala, handing her a pair of glasses as he did so. “I’m glad you did. It looks splendid on you.”

“I hope you still think so when I tell you that the price of the silks remains at six thousand pounds, Lord Charlemagne.”

His mouth quirked. If she’d been a man, he would have been complimenting the size of her balls. “Call me Shay,” he said instead. “We are friendly adversaries, are we not?” The wording didn’t seem adequate, but he didn’t think words existed that could accurately describe their odd relationship.

“Shay, then,” she said softly.

Abruptly he wanted to kiss her again. Some sort of physical contact became absolutely necessary. He glanced about, to see that everyone but the footman in charge of the refreshments table had their backs turned to watch the Haydn performance. With a shallow breath he reached out to cup her cheek, brushing the strands of hair at her ear with the tips of his fingers. For the briefest of moments her eyes closed.

Just as swiftly they flew open again. “Desist as once,” she hissed, taking a step back.

“You had an eyelash. On your cheek.”

“Oh. Thank you, then.”

The queen she’d put into play earlier seemed distracted, and so he moved his knight in. “And I have no intention of paying six thousand pounds for anything. Give me back the necklace if you’re going to punish me for making it a gift.”

“I will not.” She gave an exaggerated sigh. “Very well, then. I’ll lower my price to five thousand pounds.”

“Don’t expect me to be grateful.” God, he wanted her. “Why don’t you accompany me into the morning room, and I’ll check for eyelashes again?”

“You mean you’ll kiss me again,” she whispered. “You really must cease doing that. It’s very bad business.”

“But I enjoy kissing you.” Eleanor took that moment to glance over her shoulder at them, and he made a show of handing Sarala another glass—which had the added benefit of filling both her hands. “Do you know what I think?”

“
I
think you are never going to make me a reasonable counter offer,” she said even more quietly, through slightly parted lips.

“I didn’t ask what
you
thought,” he countered, the grin touching his mouth again. “What
I
think is that you are as sensual as you are brilliant.”

“I’m not brilliant. I’m merely smarter than you.”

“And you’re blushing,” he returned, ignoring her sarcasm and using every ounce of willpower to keep from caressing her soft skin again.

“I am not. I am flushed with the frustration of waiting for you to say something meaningful. Now if we don’t rejoin our party, people will begin to talk.”

“But has it occurred to you, Sarala, that if I make you a reasonable offer, you won’t have an excuse to insult me any longer?”

She took a breath, her green gaze meeting his. “If that has occurred to you, I wonder that you haven’t taken steps to stop me from insulting you.”

Why hadn’t he taken steps? Because she’d never attended a London recital before in her life, never been presented at court, obviously never learned that while tanned skin might be exotic, it was also very improper in an English-bred chit. Because while they both might be English nobility, he was a Griffin, and she was the foreign-born daughter of a second son promoted to the peerage only by an accidental death. “I like being insulted by you,” he said instead. “I like bantering with you. And if you can tell me truthfully that you don’t enjoy it as well, then we’ll reconvene in your father’s office, which is where this negotiation should have begun in the first place.”

Sarala took a step closer, lifting her chin. “Don’t you dare threaten with pulling this affair away from me. If you do so, I will call you a coward and a cheat.”

Cinnamon crept softly across his senses. Charlemagne swallowed. “Then we’re in agreement, and we can resume our business tomorrow during our picnic—which you have to agree is the only place we can continue to meet under any circumstances.”

For a moment she stayed silent, while he concentrated on accounts that didn’t balance, tariffs that prevented fair trade, anything that kept his body from reacting to her as it badly wanted to.

“Very well,” she finally conceded. “Business will wait until tomorrow.” She maneuvered a fourth glass into her nimble fingers and started to turn around.

She had better control of herself than he did. As that dawned on him, he put a hand on her shoulder, turning her back to face him again. “Since business is put aside, we will have to be social. Tell me of a typical day for you in India.”

That seemed to surprise her. “We have to get back to the others.”

“They haven’t even noticed that we’re gone,” he decided. “Tell me.”

“Why?”

“I’m interested.”

She took a slow breath, her bosom rising and falling deliciously. Shay hadn’t been lying about his interest, nor was he trying to cajole her into liking or trusting him. Her life, what had made her who she had become, did genuinely fascinate him. Hm. If his younger brother had overheard, he would be laughing; Charlemagne couldn’t count the number of times Zach had teased him about his disdain for small talk and his lack of interest in what most women had to say.

“During the summer,” she began, her exquisite accent deepening as she spoke, “the only time to go walking was early in the morning. My friend Nahi and I would stroll along the street between the Red Fort palace and the Jama Masjid mosque—two of the most beautiful buildings in the world—on our way into old Delhi to visit the street markets.”

“Just the two of you?”

“We usually had carrying boys with us to help manage our purchases, and when Colonel White saw us he would send along a pair of soldiers to keep us company.”

“I should hope so.”

She smiled softly. “They weren’t necessary. I wasn’t afraid. Nahi is Indian, and I speak Hindi as well as anyone. Papa’s position with the East India Company was negotiating with the local growers, and I grew up as his assistant.” Her smile faded, replaced by that lonely look he’d seen when he first caught sight of her.

“Tell me about the market.”

“It was wondrous, half pirate romance and half fairy tale.” She shifted, moving a breath closer to him. “Vendors selling chickens or goats, pottery or hashish right next to stalls offering vegetables and rainbows of saris and beads. I can still smell the dust and spice in the air, and feel the warm breeze on my face.”

Charlemagne swallowed again as she tilted her face up to the imaginary breeze.
Say something before you kiss her again, you idiot.
“The chickens and goats surprise me. I thought Hindus didn’t eat meat.”

“Most of them don’t. Some eat eggs and drink goats’ milk, and a great many of the shoppers were English or worked for English families.”

“Did you ever wear a sari?”

She chuckled, covering her mouth as her mother turned around and gestured fiercely at her to return. “Once, that my mother knows about,” she whispered, starting back along the row of chairs. “She was furious, but it was for Nahi’s wedding and I was in the ceremony. When she saw my bare feet she nearly fainted.”

“Once that your mother knows about,” Shay repeated, wishing for the fourth or fifth time that night that they had the room to themselves. “How many other times that she didn’t know about?”

“Hundreds.”

They reached the families, and with a smile Sarala handed glasses of punch to her mother, Eleanor, and Caroline. Shay passed over the rest, and took the remaining seat beside his sister as Sarala’s mother in the row in front of him yanked Sarala down between herself and Melbourne.

He scarcely noted the change of performers and music as the evening wore on. After Sarala’s story, he felt transported. The yellow sun, the bird songs, the taste of saffron seemed in his eyes and mouth as if he were standing there in the Delhi market beside her. It had been almost painful to hear how clearly and dearly she loved where she’d come from, and how lost she felt to be elsewhere and probably never to return.

As the last piece ended he shook himself, joining in the applause. He stood as Sarala did, stepping forward to stand directly behind her, only her chair between them. “You make me wish to be in India,” he whispered.

Sarala turned around to look into his eyes. “You aren’t quite what I expected.”

More pleased than he would ever admit aloud, Charlemagne inclined his head. “I hope you were pleasantly surprised, then.”

“I was. I am. Thus far.”

“Perhaps tomorrow I’ll find a few encouraging things to tell you about Engl—”

“Oh, Your Grace,” Lady Hanover interrupted, “thank you so much for taking us under your wing tonight.”

Melbourne gave one of his charming smiles that didn’t touch his eyes. “My pleasure, Lady Hanover. And I hope you enjoyed the Franfields’ party, Lady Sarah.”

“I did indeed,” Sarala returned. “It was delightful to make the acquaintance of you and your family.”

“And?” her mother prompted, nudging her forward.

Sarala’s smile could have blinded. “And I would love to continue the acquaintance,” she said, all teeth and unsmiling eyes.

The duke inclined his head. “Thank you again.” With his usual charm, Sebastian then separated the Griffin brood from the Carlisles, and Charlemagne helped Zachary collect hats and cloaks and canes as they made their way outside. “Hattie’s playing is much improved this year,” Eleanor said, kissing each of her brothers and Caroline on the cheek, and then Valentine on the lips. “Thank you for coming tonight.”

“Yes, supporting friends is all well and good, but next time I say we go someplace where we can play cards and get a decent glass of sherry,” Deverill commented, lifting an eyebrow when Nell glared at him.

“You are so uncivilized,” she returned with a grin and an exaggerated sigh.

“And that is why you find me so irresistible.”

Melbourne put an arm around his closest friend. “Mm-hm. I know that’s why I do.”

“This is too sweet for me.” Zachary shook Melbourne’s free hand. Charlemagne offered his, but at the last moment Zach dodged it and leaned in to plant a kiss on his left ear instead.

“Oh, good God. My apologies, Caroline, for having to put up with him,” Shay said feelingly, rubbing his ear.

“Are you riding with us or with Zachary?” Deverill asked, signaling for his coach to approach, Zachary and Caroline’s following behind it.

“Not Zachary, obviously.” Melbourne took Caroline’s arm to help her into her coach.

Charlemagne looked from the coach to the cloudy night sky. “You know, since it’s stopped raining, I think I’ll walk home.”

“I’ll join you, then,” Melbourne said promptly, turning around again.

“Nonsense. The moon’s nearly out, and I may detour to the Society Club. I haven’t decided yet.”

He knew Sebastian would want to return home in time to read Peep a bedtime story. Besides, he needed to clear his head and decide on a strategy for tomorrow, and he couldn’t do it with his nearly omniscient brother accompanying him. India still seemed to surround him, and if he ever wanted to get to sleep, he needed to distance himself a little from it—and from the Indian princess who intrigued and aggravated him more with each passing moment. Yes, a brisk walk would be just the thing.

He nodded. “It seemed prudent to gain their acquaintance.”

His sister’s hand remained. “And why is that?”

So Nell knew something about Shay’s interactions with the daughter. “Why are you asking?”

She withdrew her hand. “No reason.”

“I have the same nonreason.”

“Don’t interfere, Sebastian. For goodness’ sake.”

Zachary stepped in. “What the devil’s going on?”

Caroline cleared her throat. “We think Shay may have an interest in Lady Sarah.”

“Shay, interested in a chit?” Zachary’s surprise folded into a frown. “Then we’re not interfering, are we? If you do step in, Melbourne, I’ll inform Shay about it.”

“I didn’t say anything about anything,” Sebastian put in, mindful that both siblings present had accused him of meddling in their affairs—which he had. “Gaining knowledge is not interfering.”

“That’s right,” Eleanor put in thoughtfully. “And so inviting Lady Sarah to my luncheon at the end of the week wouldn’t be interfering, either.” She turned back to Melbourne. “Not that I’ll tell you a whit about what we might discuss.”

“Do as you will,” Sebastian said, lifting his hands in mock surrender. And so without taking any steps at all, he’d gotten the rest of his family to meddle for him. Not a bad night’s work.