The Wedding Bed (The Sun Never Sets, Book One) (3 page)

“
On the contrary,” she returned. “As I mentioned, my family was financially devastated by the scandal. My eldest sisters, Rose and Violet, had already married. But the rest of us lost our home, our dowries, my mother’s pension, everything. So when your mother offered a bride price for me, you can imagine how difficult it would have been to refuse.”

A bride price
.

The words se
nt a chill down Derek’s spine as an awful understanding set in.

Rarely was the confluence of Eastern and Western traditions a smooth one,
but that was particularly true when it came to the matter of matrimony. British brides brought dowries with them into marriage. Just the reverse was customary for upper-caste Hindu woman from the south, like his mother. Their tradition demanded the groom’s family pay for the privilege of taking a woman in marriage. It was considered an essential sign of respect to the bride’s family for their willingness to part with a beloved daughter, as well as demonstrated proof of sufficient financial means to care for a wife and children. 

“How much?” he
asked baldly.

She named the
sum, and it was only with concerted effort that Derek was able to keep his jaw from dropping open. Still, his shock must have been visible, for Miss Staunton arched a delicate brow in a look of wry acknowledgement. “Apparently you’ve been very generous in the funds you’ve been supplying your mother.”

“Too generous, it would seem.”

Derek set down his untouched teacup and stood, dragging his fingers through his hair.
Bloody hell
. While he had relegated the whole business of marriage to an unpleasant event that would occur in some vague, distant future, his mother obviously saw it as a sacred duty that demanded her immediate attention.

As marriage in
India was treated as an alliance between families, rather than a union between individuals, it did not take a great deal of intelligence or foresight to imagine that his mother (whose friendship with Mrs. Charles Staunton had only deepened with time), might hope to one day link their families. In other words, he’d been an idiot not to have seen this coming sooner and taken pains to stop it.

But now? The
timing couldn’t possibly be worse.

The throbbing headache he had experienced earlier became a piercing spike through his skull.
He could send the Staunton girl away, of course. Refuse her. But that action, while relieving him of his obligation, would bring nothing but shame and humiliation to his family.

Bloody, bloody hell.

A soft metallic tinkling sound caught his attention. He turned to see a cluster of thin silver bangles, each studded with an assortment of tiny cabochon stones, wrapped around Miss Staunton’s right wrist. The bracelets, traditionally worn by the women of Delhi, jangled softly together as she fussed with the tea service, creating a juxtaposition that was oddly disconcerting—formal British porcelain and common Indian trinkets. 

“You would do this?”
he demanded curtly.

Miss Staunton, who had obviously been engrossed in thoughts of her own,
flinched as though suddenly startled. She drew in a deep breath to compose herself, then slowly let it out. Turning to face him, she said, “I understand you don’t wish to marry me. Nor, frankly, do I wish to marry you.”

“
You’ve traveled halfway around the world to deliver that edifying piece of information?”

"May I speak plainly, Lord Keating?"

He arched his brows in an expression of mock astonishment. "Do you mean to say you haven’t been?”

Her small, lopsided smile returned, but it was clear by her distracted manner that her thoughts had taken another direction. “I’ve watched my sisters turn themselves into empty-headed nitwits, intellect and pride forgotten, dissolving into tear
s if a particular man didn’t compliment their gown or ask them to dance.” She gave a light shudder, followed by a wistful sigh. “Yet they’re all so eager to marry, to fall in love and assume the role of wife and mother. It would be horrible of me to deny them that opportunity if it was within my reach.” She lifted her shoulders in an elegant shrug. “If I enter this arrangement, the bride price will provide a generous dowry for each of them. My mother will spend her remaining years in some degree of comfort, and my sisters will marry men of their choosing.”

“
Surely you have other options. Women marry without dowries all the time.”

Her smile faltere
d. “Yes, they do.”

But not gently bred young women of a certain station
, Derek finished for her.  Bereft of funds and burdened by debt, Miss Staunton and her sisters would be relegated to living out their lives on the barest fringes of society, working as governesses and chaperones, or playing some other menial role just to survive.

“And you?” he said.
“You would settle for marriage to a complete stranger?”

“I’m quite prepared to make that sacrifice.”

“How very flattering.”

“I didn’t mean—”

“Didn’t you.” He paused, letting the silence stretch out as he regarded her curiously. “You don’t long for a love match of your own?”

“No,” she replied, with
far more vigor than the question warranted. Then, perhaps conscious of his curious stare, she forced a light note of laughter. “Even if I did, I’m certain it wouldn’t happen. I’m too outspoken, too brash, too assertive, too tall, too plain, too Indian.”

“Indian?”
He released a harsh bark of laughter. “Ridiculous. I’ve never seen a more English-looking woman in my life.”

“Ah. But not in my heart.”

Her words were softly spoken, no more than a husky whisper, yet they seemed to convey a wealth of lost joy and shattered promises. Then she caught herself. Clearly embarrassed she’d revealed more than she’d wanted to, she stood abruptly and spun away from him. She toyed with the folds in her skirt. Once satisfied she’d adequately composed herself, she lifted her eyes to his and continued briskly, "But that’s neither here nor there, is it? I've given the matter considerable thought, and I fear this is my only solution."

“And if I say no?”

To her credit, the woman didn’t falter. Instead she managed a light, almost disinterested shrug. “I have other business to see to in London. I will attend to it, after which Mrs. Singh and I will return home, content in the knowledge that I have done all I could to rectify my family’s financial difficulties. I may have failed, but at least I tried.”

Her
little speech had the stilted ring of too much rehearsal. Despite that, Derek couldn’t help but admire her bold initiative and family loyalty. Miss Calla Lily Staunton had not meekly surrendered to her fate, but bravely strove to change it.

The wild one.

The troublemaker.

He had thought her plain when she first entered the room, having judged her by the severity of her hairstyle and the drabness of her gown. Now he allowed himself a moment to reassess that initial impression
.

She was attractive, but not in a way that w
as fashionable. The current darlings of London society were petite, simpering blondes. Miss Staunton was dark-haired, tall and slim. Unlike his latest string of mistresses, with their pretty pouts and vapid eyes, clinging to his arm as though he were a life raft at sea, she radiated cool intelligence and confidant grace. Furthermore, there was an athletic fluidity to her movements that he liked, a supple strength nicely coupled with natural elegance.

There remained, however, the problem of
Miss Staunton herself. His preferred condition when dealing with women—sexually aroused but emotionally distant—had been thoroughly trampled upon her arrival. In the short time they’d been together, he found himself directly challenged, irritated, and reluctantly intrigued. Furthermore, he couldn’t entirely dismiss his admiration for her determination to confront her family’s problems head-on, rather than shrink back and play the victim.

He watched as she
wandered the room, tilting back her chin to take in an enormous canvas that encompassed nearly the entire southern wall. As she did, a strand of her dark hair loosened from the thick knot at the nape of her neck and fell forward, brushing against her cheek like a silken caress. Derek found himself wondering what that hair would feel like tumbling against his chest, how that rich chestnut would look against the pale linen of his sheets. Before he could pursue that fantasy further, she glanced up and softly said, “Impressive, isn’t it?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The painting.”

She gestured toward the canvas.
Britannia Receiving the Riches of the East
. The painting depicted two naked, dark-skinned women—representing India and China—on their knees. They offered up platters of precious gems, pearls, and baskets of assorted goods to a majestic male figure representing England. The prize possession of the Board of Directors, it had cost the Company a small fortune.

Derek
nodded. “You like it.”

“I didn’t say that,
” Calla corrected. “I said I was impressed. I thought nothing could be more offensive than that screeching monkey in the ballroom. Apparently I was wrong. This painting is every bit as insulting, isn’t it? That’s quite a feat.”

As their gazes locked and held
, understanding passed between them, an understanding that surpassed the need for words. The moment was intensely private, conspiratorial, even. Time shifted, stretched. He searched her face. Reflected within her expression was none of the quiet rage he so often found himself suppressing. No shame at her circumstances, no need to defend the country she’d left behind. Instead, her lips quirked and undisguised merriment danced in her gaze. In that instant, her eyes reminded him of the sea. Not the dull gray of the Atlantic, but the rich, deep blue waters of the Bay of Bengal. How…remarkable.

Her ability to
mock the blind arrogance of the Board of Directors evoked a response in him that was primal, purely physical. An unanticipated rush of desire surged through him, nearly knocking him off-balance with its intensity. He wanted to take her. Right then, right there. On the rich Persian carpet of the East India Company’s finest reception room, with all of London’s preening, parading sycophants just one room away.

He wanted to undo each tiny, prim little button that ran from her chin to her waist, s
hed her god-awful traveling costume, and discover what lay beneath. He wanted to unpin her hair and drag his fingers through the thick, chestnut masses. He wanted the brush of her tongue against his teeth, the soft pressure of her breasts against his chest. He wanted to be serenaded by the soft jangle of her bracelets as her hands moved over his skin.

And he wanted it
now
.

Apparently m
isreading his expression, irritation flashed across her face. "This entire episode has been demeaning enough. If you intend to say no, I would appreciate your doing so without dragging this out any further."

“And if I say yes?”

Her eyes flew open wide.

"Oh. I hadn't considered… that is . . ." Her voice faltered and came to a stumbling stop. A
wild range of emotions, veering from astonishment and apprehension, from thrilling victory to abject dismay, flashed across her expressive face. “Oh.”

Derek
certainly hadn’t been looking for a bride. But now that one had been deposited on his doorstep, the practical merits of her proposal slowly became clear. He knew he would marry eventually. She offered an expedient solution to the chore. And getting the task accomplished with a minimum of effort on his part was not without appeal. No tedious courtship or emotional drudgery required. The woman needed no false promises of undying love and devotion. It was, in nearly all respects, a business proposition. That was a realm in which he was entirely comfortable.

Besides, h
e could do worse. From what he could tell, she was passably attractive. Moreover, she displayed intelligence, dry wit, and familial loyalty, all commendable assets. She had shown an abundance of courage and daring—perhaps too much, but not so much that a firm hand could not lead her in the right direction. And as a final incentive, their families approved the match. The timing of her arrival in London was deplorable, but he could hardly fault her for that.

There was only one additional matter that needed addressing.

“You will share my bed.”

She gave a sharp gasp and her hand flew to her throat. Her eyes widened and her lips parted. She looked like a delicate, exotic bird that had mistakenly flown into a cage and was startled to find itself trapped. But she quickly rallied and boldly returned her gaze to his. "We would need to make some…arrangement for that, wouldn't we?"

He crossed his arms over his chest, studying her coolly.
"Yes."

To his considerable
surprise, she met his challenge with cool aplomb. "I am familiar with the ways of intimacy between a man and a woman," she replied, with barely a blush marring her skin. “I understand what the marital act entails.”

So she wasn't
entirely unschooled. That was helpful.