The Golden Leopard (39 page)

After a lengthy silence, Shivaji inclined his head. “I see no purpose to delaying what must be, nor do I expect you will use the time wisely. But up to the day and hour when your sentence was pronounced, I shall permit you to live. I will not, however, tell a falsehood.”

Relief drained the blood from Duran’s face. For a while there, he’d been sure he had miscalculated. It wouldn’t have been the first time.

“A direct lie is not required,” he said. “She is looking for reassurance and will want to believe you. Just serve up one of those delightfully inscrutable pronouncements you’re so good at, the ones that sound like they mean one thing and really mean another. Or mean nothing at all.”

“I shall consider it. For now, I must secure the leopard. If I may—”

“Oh, permit me,” said Duran, rising. “A little ceremony is in order, don’t you think?” He picked up the leopard, dusted its muzzle with his sleeve, and held it out. “With my compliments, sir. I confess myself amazed that I did, as you predicted, find the damn thing, and even more amazed that I am giving it to you.”

Templing his hands, Shivaji bowed. “It was written, Duran-Sahib. You have always questioned that such a thing could be. Refusing to accept your destiny, you have sought to create your own. But this world, says Krishna, has no significance unto itself. It is no more than a play that God acts within himself.”

“Is that so? Then God must be partial to farces. Here’s your cat. And I hope it’s written somewhere that your beastly little nizam chokes on his own tongue.”

With a degree of reverence that surprised Duran, Shivaji accepted the leopard and stood for a time, looking down at it like a man who had come to the end of a long journey. Then he turned and started for the door.

He was halfway there when Jessica burst into the room, an open letter in each hand, a worried expression on her face. She stopped just short of colliding with Shivaji, backed up a few steps, and looked a question at Duran.

“You’re just in time,” he said. “This gentleman and I have come to terms. All is precisely as I told you it would be.”

“Oh.” She visibly brightened. “What excellent news. Will you be returning then to India, sir?”

“As soon as arrangements can be made,” Shivaji replied gently. “My countrymen must first be located, and passage booked.”

“Oh,” she said again. And appeared to forget him. “Duran, Gerald sold the le—the item we lent him, to the Marquess of Wallingford, who quickly discovered it to be all but worthless. He demanded his money back, but since Gerald already disposed of it, he is laying charges. Fraud, probably, but Helena isn’t altogether sure. Wallingford is tenacious. He’ll pursue Gerald until he gets him.”

It was good news, but her blushed skin and the taut hands clutching the letters carried a different message. “It worked, then,” he said, watching her eyes. Why was she overset?

“Yes, except that Gerald went to the town house, looking for us. When Helena refused to tell him where we were, he struck her. She is bruised, but otherwise intact. Those are her words, but from the shaky handwriting, I suspect he hurt her rather badly.”

Anger tightened his voice. “And the other letter?”

“From Colonel Pageter. Gerald showed up at High Tor, but the messenger Helena dispatched got there before him and Mariah was safely smuggled off to Mrs. Bellwood’s cottage. It was, from the colonel’s account, something of a scene when Gerald arrived. Papa is frantic, Mariah terrified, and Colonel Pageter uncertain what to do. I must return home, Duran.”

“We were going there in any case.” He glanced down at his filthy clothes and the filthier skin showing through the holes in them. “You wish to leave immediately, I suppose.”

“Yes. But we no longer have a driver. Unless you can manage a team, we’ll need to hire someone.”

Shivaji moved forward a step. “Ghiya will remain in service until you are delivered to your home,” he said. “And if it pleases you, I shall provide escort.”

“There’s no need for—”

“A capital idea,” said Duran, acknowledging the inevitable. Wherever he went, Shivaji was sure to follow. “While you are waiting for your compatriots and arranging transportation to Alanabad, you can earn your room and board as my valet. Don’t count on a salary, though.”

“I will not. You have never paid me.”

“And you were worth every penny. What say you, Jessica? For old time’s sake, shall we take him in?”

She looked back and forth between them. “I don’t think that would be a very good idea.”

Duran heard the uncertainty beneath her words. She did not altogether believe the execution had been called off. “In the normal run of things,” he said, “I’d be glad to see the last of him. But I cannot deny that he is remarkably efficient, gives a decent shave, and has certain other skills that might prove useful.” He crossed to her and placed his hands on her taut, resistant shoulders. “Gerald will come for us now, you know. And he will punish Mariah as well, or try to. He won’t succeed. I mean to draw his fire. But he is a treacherous son of a bitch, and I wouldn’t mind having Shivaji at my back.”

Silence. “I suppose so,” she conceded at length, but the doubt was back in her eyes. And the fear.

“If you will pardon me,” Shivaji said, “I shall arrange a change of horses and the restoration of your luggage to the coach.”

She withdrew from Duran’s light grasp and crossed to the assassin, who waited for her calmly, the leopard cradled in his hands. “We can see to all of that,” she said. “You should go.”

“As I will, when I can no longer be of service.” Raising the leopard like a votive offering, he regarded her solemnly. “I now have what I sought. Be at peace,
memsahib.
In the time of miracles, even a sword can find itself with legs.”

Jessica’s face lit up with a dazzling smile, and when Shivaji had left the room, she turned it on her husband.

He marveled. What Shivaji said had clearly turned the trick. But
—swords with legs?

That was, he thought, welcoming Jessica into his arms, as inscrutable as it got.

“I expected that he would.”

“You are to join him in the study. I shall wait here with wine and bandages.”

All things considered, the meeting with his father-in-law did not go badly. After a stiff greeting, a brief scolding, and a sorrowful lament about being denied the privilege of seeing his daughter wed, Sothingdon poured out two glasses of brandy and turned the conversation to guns and shooting.

By the time Duran, pleasantly foxed, made his way upstairs again, Jessica was stretched out atop the counterpane, still dressed and sound asleep. He peeled off his clothes and joined her there, his fingers busy at her bodice.

Two days, perhaps three, before his quarry returned to High Tor. Six days before Shivaji’s quite literal deadline. “Gather ye rosebuds,” he murmured, his lips trailing down a smooth white throat and over a creamy breast to the sunrise pink of her nipple, already puckering as she awakened to his touch. His lips closed over the tip and his hand began its slow voyage up her thighs, already falling open to welcome him, to the soft curls and slick dampness that marked his goal.

With time’s winged chariot at his back, he rode her harder and faster than death could chase him, all his world concentrated between her legs and in the twining dance of their tongues. He let her feel him everywhere he could reach.

“More,” she said when he was finished.

“Soon,” he said when he could catch his breath.

Very soon he gave her more. And after a longer time, even more.

That evening, leaving Jessica
to finish her interrupted nap, Duran joined the leftover shooting-party guests, the ones who would stay as long as they could because they had nowhere else so pleasant to be. Most had toddled off to bed before Duran and Pageter settled at a small corner table in the drawing room for a game of piquet.

“I have secured passage for you on three ships,” Pageter said, shuffling the cards and setting the pack on the table. “The first departs on Thursday from Bristol to Newfoundland, the second on Friday from Plymouth to Jamaica, and the third, leaving Saturday, is a coaster from Dartmouth to Southampton, where you will transfer to a ship bound for Caracas.”

“You have been remarkably efficient,” said Duran, cutting the deck.

“Not at all. Helena Pryce took care of everything but the payment, which was covered by your winnings. There is plenty left over for expenses and a good start wherever you choose to go.”

Duran watched Pageter deal. The blunt fingers were uncommonly agile, and to his surprise, three ship-boarding vouchers appeared among the cards dealt to him. He gathered up his hand and sorted it, squirreling the vouchers under the table. “An admirable fabrication, although I doubt there was a sou left over. I probably owe you for the tickets as well.”

“But you cannot prove it,” said Pageter with a smile. “You haven’t been keeping track. And besides, you’ll be cashing them in now that you mean to stay in England. The ring arrived, by the way. I did not expect you to return it.”

“Another of my unfortunate impulses. I don’t suppose I could have it back?” Duran played a card. “Thursday is too soon, I think. Talbot is unlikely to return before tomorrow or the day after, and when I’ve done with him, there’s the small matter of getting to the ship. On the other hand, Saturday is a trifle too late, at least for my comfort. Shivaji is always on guard, but the closer we come to Sunday’s deadline, the more cautious he will be.”

“You still mean to go? But Lady Jessica told me he’d got his leopard back.”

“Nevertheless,” said Duran.

“I see.” After a long hesitation, Pageter made his play. “I am sorry to hear it. Keep all the tickets then. But I will continue to hope they will not be needed. Circumstances may change.”

“They generally do, just when you wish they wouldn’t. I want you to make preparations as well, John.”

At the use of his Christian name, a sand-colored eyebrow lifted. “To do what?”

“To transport your lady love to the port of your choice and from there, far as you can from Talbot’s reach. We haven’t the luxury, either of us, to put off hard decisions. Talbot will come first for me, and if he doesn’t get here in time, I shall do my best to go after him. But Shivaji may prevent me. And in that case, Jessica will be the next target. I am making provision for her.”

“And the third target will be his wife.”

“Without question. He’ll not rest until someone pays for his inadequacies. What I’m telling you, John, is that you are Mariah’s last, best hope. It’s obvious you are mad for her, since before you went out to Africa, I expect. But as she was already married, you gave up hope of ever having her.”