The Tiger's Lady (4 page)

“Why?” Only one word, but it pulsed darkly, raw with violence.

“Arrrrrr!”

The Indian loosened his grip, allowing his captive to speak.

“P-paid.” He swallowed audibly. “Told me to snatch ’er.” He jerked his head at Barrett, who was watching wide-eyed a few paces away.

The dagger rose fractionally. “Paid by
whom,
English dog?”

“Dunno. Din’t care t’ ask the gent’s name, if yer knows what I mean,” her pursuer added nervously.

“Describe the man.”

“Din’t see nothin’—’e were ’id behind a curtain when we talked. Couldn’t even ’ear ’is voice proper.” Then, as the knife pricked his throat again, “Yer—yer gotta believe me!”

“Where were you to take her?”

“Over Wappin’ way—a little inn on Ratcliffe ’ighway near the London dock. Someone to meet us there. I were to get my two ’undred pounds there, too.”

Two hundred pounds!
Barrett’s breath caught. Such a sum to kidnap her? It was a veritable fortune! Who would pay so much?

But already she had a fair inkling. To such a man two hundred pounds would mean nothing, nor even two thousand.

Suddenly the Indian’s fingers stripped away the man’s hat and scarf to bare his gaunt, pockmarked face. “Do you know him?”

Barrett shook her head.

The Indian said something low and cold in the man’s ear, something that Barrett could not quite make out. But she saw her attacker’s face bleed white, saw his lips thin and his eyes widen with fear. “No, guv—never that! Lemme go—I’ll be off before yer can even blink yer bleedin’ eye. No ’arm done to the little miss after all,” he whined.

His captor’s lips curled in disgust. He glanced at Barrett. “Shall I kill him for you?” He asked coolly, flatly, as if it were a question one might raise every day.

“Wait!” The man in his grip twitched in terror. “There
were
somethin’ else—I remember now. Saw it when the fellow got up to leave. The little finger—part of it were gone, cut away like. Not much, but it’s all I saw, I swear it!” His voice was raw with panic.

Just as Barrett’s had been only minutes before. But the thought gave her little pleasure.

“Well?” the man in the turban repeated, frowning. “Say the word and I shall see it done.” His blade climbed to the man’s chin.

“No!” she said quickly. “He—he’s not important. Surely this one can be of no further help—or harm.”

“I fear you are right. He is nothing but a worthless jackal that yaps at the heels of the tiger.” With a dark oath, the Indian tossed his captive roughly out into the street. “Go then, heart of a jackal. And if you should see your tiger, tell him to mind his back.”

Staggering, the man made for the far side of the building. After that he did not stop running until he’d melted into the maze of alleys behind the auction rooms.

“So, little falcon, I have released him. Were the choice mine, this hireling would not run so carefree right now.” Sapphire flashing, the man turned back to Barrett. When he saw that her features were once more hidden behind the veil, his face hardened. “So quickly you cover yourself? Do you fear me still?”

Something about that low, rough voice made Barrett shiver. But she stiffened, raising her chin in defiance. “I fear no one! I do not mean to be careless, however.”

Strong fingers rose to cup her chin, and the giant emerald ring flashed before her eyes. “Why are you followed? Because of an angry husband? A jealous lover.”

“I
have
no lovers—jealous or otherwise,” Barrett said flatly.

“Then why—”

“I can tell you no more. Thank you for your assistance, but now I
must
go. Soon he will send others to—” With a smothered gasp, she bit back the rest of her sentence.

“Who?”

“Just—others. Men as you have described—jackals who yap at the tiger’s heels.” Her lips quivered slightly as the Indian’s strong fingers brushed the underside of her chin. His thumbs circled the soft swell of her lower lip. “Stop! I can’t think when—when you do that.”

The man’s mouth curved slightly, his teeth bright against the darkness of his face. “And I cannot think if I do not,
meri jaan.
Not with such beauty to entrap me.”

“Meri jaan?”
she repeated unsteadily, desperate to think of anything but the fire of his fingers.

“My soul. My world.” His eyes glittered. “It is no more than you could be,
Angrezi.
With such a voice. With a body of such fire and sweetness.”

Barrett’s breath caught. She had no time for weakness, nor for wild flattery. “I must go,” she said, forcing her voice to coldness. “I regret that I have nothing with which to repay you for your assistance.”

Her captor did not move. “Ah, but there you err, little falcon, for you do have it in your means to repay me. And I fancy I shall collect my price before I let you fly free.”

Barrett’s fingers opened, shoving furiously against his silk-clad chest. Her struggles wrenched his cloak open, and she gasped as a score of jewels winked back at her, sewn with stiff embroidery to the top of his satin tunic.

Wild laughter trembled on her lips.
Repay him
? Sweet heaven, the man had wealth beyond measuring! One jewel alone would have seen her secure for life. What use would he have for her pathetic few shillings?

Slowly his hands slid to her shoulders. He pulled her against him, all warm, taut muscle against her softness. Heat leaped between them in the dark cocoon of night.

“This
is my price,
Angrezi.”

His face slanted down. Barrett watched, hypnotized, her heart hammering as his fingers captured her black veil and slowly drew it away from her face.

Already she felt his heat, knew how he would taste against her. Perhaps that was why she didn’t struggle, but only waited, breathless, to learn if the beauty of their earlier kiss had been simply an imagined thing.

His large hand splayed open against her neck. His black cloak whirled and danced in the wind. Suddenly the night was warm, alive with sound and sensation.

Her head fell back, and his followed it down, one hand buried in her hair, tugging the silken strands free of their confining combs. His breath was a raw whisper at her throat as he inhaled her scent, then tongued her neck, pulse point by pulse point.

And then his lips found hers. He covered her, possessed her, rough with an unspoken urgency.

Barrett’s breath caught in a gasp as he swept her down smooth, glossy corridors of pleasure.

Until she wanted more. Much more.

The ground seemed to shudder beneath her feet, the sky to flash with jagged lightning. Yet all the while the night hung frozen around them, caught in midnight silence.

Their contact points became the world, the only world, and the pleasure went on forever, born and dissolving in wave after wave of sensation.

“Who—who
are
you?” she gasped at last, when some fragment of reason helped her pull free of his drugging touch.

“Would it help to have a name? Can you trust a word more than what you feel,
Angrezi?”
His eyes glittered. “Some know me as the faithful hand of the Lord. To others I am the devil’s own spawn. But you, sweet falcon, may call me by a different name.” His voice hardened. “And that is Rajah of Ranapore.”

Barrett’s breath caught. “But—but that means you’re the one who has come to sell the ruby!”

The Indian’s eyes narrowed. “What do you know of the Shiva’s Eye?” There was a sudden curtness to his tone.

“All London speaks of the stone. That was what I saw in the window, was it not?”

He nodded, his eyes hard.

“The Eye of Shiva,” she whispered. “It is beautiful beyond describing, but…”

“But?” One sable brow rose in a questioning slant.

Barrett hesitated. “But there is danger in its beauty, I think. Perhaps there is always danger in beautiful things. And in this particular stone there is something more. Something that feels almost—evil.” She laughed unsteadily. “You’ll think that foolish of course.”

“Not I. Nor would anyone who has ever lived in the East. There such powers are understood and rightly feared. Only the fool mocks that which he cannot see or touch.”

For long moments he studied her shadowed face, engaged in some interior argument. Finally he seemed to reach a decision. “Come with me,
Angrezi.
I will see that neither jackal nor tiger vexes you. With me you’ll wake to lavender skies and the sound of rushing water. To windblown jasmine and the chatter of restless monkeys every day of your life.”

Barrett’s teal eyes darkened. It was tempting—far too tempting. But she must not even think of it. Not while her grandfather remained behind to pay the price for her defection.

She frowned, wishing she could see the man’s features clearly, just once. Her slim fingers opened, tense upon his chest. “I—I cannot. If things were different, perhaps. If I were free…”

“I see.” It was a flat, cold dismissal. “There is absolutely no need to explain, I assure you.”

Barrett saw the narrowing of his eyes, the hardness that gripped his jaw. Her hands rose, capturing his cheek, fear of being misunderstood making her bold. “No, you do
not
see,” she said sharply. “It is not because of who you are, but because of who I am. Because of what I must do. Maybe … oh, maybe when that is done…”

If it is ever done,
a bitter voice mocked.
But you know they will never stop. Not until they have all the knowledge you carry hidden in your head.

“I leave tomorrow,” the rajah said flatly. “You have only this night to decide.”

“Then…” Barrett’s voice was rough with regret. “Then I fear my answer must remain the same.”

She felt his jaw clench beneath her fingers. Black and glittering, his strange eyes probed her face, testing her resolve and the honesty of her answer.

A strange wordless sharing flowed between them. Their eyes met, haunted teal to hungry jet. There in the darkness measures were taken, questions asked and answered, all in urgent silence. It was a strange interval, dreamlike and yet of a piercing clarity that neither had ever known before.

Perhaps that is why they didn’t hear the muffled hoofbeats sooner. By then the carriage was nearly upon them.

By the time the tall Indian turned, the carriage was at the crossing, Careening wildly toward the sidewalk where they stood. And they were caught helpless between the street and a wall of iron grillwork.

Cursing, the rajah snared Barrett’s arm and dragged her toward a narrow doorway half hidden by shadows.

Behind them came the nightmare stamp of angry hooves and the wild, urgent cry of a coachman. The man must be mad, or else three sheets to the wind!

With a cold wave of certainty, Barrett realized this was no runaway team, nor an accident that found them in its path. This, too, was by design. The design of men who would stop at nothing to possess her secrets.

The doorway seemed a universe away, the metal fence a mere blur. She plunged forward, urged on by the rajah’s strong hand about her waist. But she was only slowing him down, while the great wheels surged ever closer.

With a curse, the Indian caught her up into his arms and pounded on toward the shallow recess. Beneath his cloak Barrett heard the thunder of his heart, along with the wild answer of her own.

Behind them came the crash of the great hooves, the deafening clatter of iron wheel-rims against cobblestone.

With an agonizing burst, he swept her into the narrow alcove just as the coach thundered past.

Barrett felt the Indian flinch. Half hidden by shadows, he lowered her slowly to the ground, held taut against his body all the while. Down the street the team lurched off without a break in stride, a hail of sparks flashing off metal axles where they ground against a row of wrought iron spikes.

But for this man, it would have been me there,
she thought.
It could have been my bones gnawed by those awful iron teeth, my flesh lying trampled beneath those flashing hooves.

She shuddered convulsively, reaching blindly for the wall. Instead she found the iron line of the rajah’s shoulder and gripped it tightly, grateful for its strength.

“Will he never let me go?” But she knew she must find a way to escape. Her knowledge—and her grandfather’s discoveries—were too great a prize to fall into ruthless hands.

Yet how much longer could she go on running?

Suddenly Barrett felt the rajah’s shoulders tense beneath her hand; his fingers clenched at her waist, rough with demand. “Why,
Angrezi?
Why does this jackal pursue you with such deadly determination?”

Barrett’s lips thinned to a flat line.

“Stubborn woman! I could help you if—”

“You
have
helped me. But now I must go.” Why did he make it so hard?

“I could make you go with me,” the dark-faced man beside her said fiercely, his fingers digging into her slender waist. Without warning he turned, pulling her close. “I could
force
you to go—to do anything I wanted. There is no one here to stop me.” As if to prove his point, he drove her roughly to the wall and lifted her against him as if she were no more than a toy.