A Duke's Wicked Kiss (Entangled Select) (19 page)

Suri focused on her surroundings to try and take her mind off the dismal events. For the first time, she noticed how bright and colorful everything in Delhi was. Parrots, some a dazzling green, others a brilliant red, flew from tree to tree. A bullock, with a string of fresh white flowers adorning its neck, meandered across the street. Tanush slowed the carriage to allow the sacred beast passage. What a different world from England. Beautiful in its own right, but how grateful she’d be when gone from here—for far different reasons now.

Tanush drove the carriage onto the Chatham property, beyond the proper drive and to the front door. The turbaned sepoys lining the passage may as well have been sightless for the way they looked beyond her.

“You’ll be fine from here on, memsahib,” Tanush said when they reached the door leading to the family quarters. “I’ll stand guard.” He turned from her, positioned his ramrod-straight back against the wall, and stared over her shoulder like the guards out front.

“All right then.” She shrugged and made her way down the hall to her room. Trying the door’s handle and finding it unlocked, she swept inside, removed the length of sari from her head, and draped it over her left shoulder.

Munia stood in the middle of the room, her face an unholy mask.

“Good morning, Munia. Prepare a bath for me, if you will.”

A muscle strained along the maid’s taut jaw. Her fists clenched and unclenched as though she wanted to strangle Suri.

Despite their differing ranks, a foreboding shiver crawled along Suri’s spine. Well, this wouldn’t do. “Fetch my sister for me.”

The maid turned her back to Suri and headed for the garden.

“Munia!”

She paused mid-stride.

“See to collecting my sister. Now. The bath can wait.”

Munia turned, spine rigid, and strode past Suri. The chill she left behind could have cooled a palace. The door she slammed could have rocked a boat.

A trunk lay open in the middle of the room, filled with the trappings Ravi-ji had sent Suri’s way. On a table beyond stood a smaller coffer. This, too, was open, exposing the expensive jewels he’d sent. So, Munia was making preparations.

Suri moved to the smaller chest and sifted through the sparkling strands of precious stones. How would she know if anything went missing? Could she trust Munia? After all, these were only lent. Weren’t they?

Marguerite swept in, Munia a step behind. Marguerite stopped so fast the maid nearly ran into her. “Oh my. You’ve had a night of it, I see. Munia, you may leave us.”

The maid scooted around Marguerite and headed for the garden. “I’ll see to memsahib’s bath, if you please.”

Suri’s jaw dropped at Munia’s insolence.

With one finger planted against tight lips, Marguerite signaled for Suri to comply. “She won’t hear us from there. I’ll keep an eye out.” She raised her chin and, with lips pursed, studied Suri.

Suri knew that look. Marguerite was as readable as a child. “I suppose you are curious as to—”

“Oh, stuff the nonsense,” Marguerite whispered hoarsely. “Condense your facts. Details later.”

Suri began unwrapping the yellow silk around her. “You are so transparent, sister.”

“As are you. Out with it.”

“Tea?”

“No!” Marguerite’s multi-colored sari drifted about her as she paced. “Does Ravenswood intend to make things right by you?”

“He’s asked me to marry him if that’s what you mean,” Suri responded. “Before you and I leave for Bombay.”

A wonder Marguerite didn’t suck all the air from the room with the way she took in a breath. A wonder her eyes didn’t fall out of their sockets for as wide as they grew. “Oh, my. You said yes, of course.”

“I said no.”

Marguerite’s brows furrowed. “You can’t mean that.”

“I have no intention of marrying and becoming someone’s chattel. But you already knew that.”

Dropping the sheer silk to the floor, Suri stepped clear of it, the act reminding her that John had collected the piece of fluff they’d left in a heap in his office. How things had changed from the dropping of the garment to the gathering of it.

She drew in a breath and let go a heavy sigh. If only Marguerite and the maid would leave her so she could curl up on her bed and sort out the strange hollowness mingling with the afterglow of her night with John. Despite knowing their rendezvous had to be a one-time fling, a part of her wanted more—more of being held in those strong but gentle arms. More of John’s sinful mouth which had tasted every inch of her skin. More of both the tender and wild lovemaking that even now sent a quiver of need shooting through her. She hadn’t got enough of him, not by any measure. A knock sounded. Munia scurried in from the garden and opened the door to Tanush who handed her a small box and a sealed letter. “For Miss Thurston,” he said. Placing the items in Munia’s hand, he turned with the precision of a trained soldier and marched off.

Munia padded over to Suri and shoved the box and letter her way. Suri opened the missive first. With a start, she saw it was written in Urdu, something she could read but must feign ignorance of, even to Munia. It held Ravi-ji’s signature. Why in the world had he sent the note in his own tongue?

“Can you read?” she asked Munia.

“Yes, memsahib.”

“Then please read this to me, for I cannot make sense of it.” She handed the note to Munia and opened the small box. Inside sat an exquisite bracelet. “Oh, would you look at this.”

She lifted the bracelet from the box and held it up for her and Marguerite’s inspection. It was a thick coil of filigreed gold, set with chips of emeralds and diamonds. Two tiny gold elephant heads with diamonds for eyes sat at each end, their trunks touching where the bracelet sprang open. She fitted it to her wrist. “Read the note, Munia.”

“It is from Ravi-ji,” Munia said.

“She knows that,” Marguerite barked. “Just read the blasted thing.”

“He writes that this bracelet is very old, passed down from mother to daughter within a family that might be of great interest to you.”

Shivers rippled through Suri. She shot a speaking glance toward her sister. “Go on, Munia.”

“He asks that you wear the bracelet at all times during the wedding festivities so people will know to whom you are connected.”

A wave of excitement nearly stole Suri’s breath. This was far better than anything her mind had conjured over the years.
My family.
She closed her eyes briefly to collect herself.

“He asks that your things be packed and sent over to the palace today. That you should retain only what you will wear when he comes for you in the morning. However…” Munia paused.

“However?” Both Suri and Marguerite said in unison.

Munia’s dark cheeks flushed. “He said to leave the yellow sari behind. It is most likely soiled.”

A foreboding snaked through Suri, running her blood cold. Color drained from Marguerite’s face.

Munia dropped the letter on the table and stomped back into the garden.

Marguerite rushed to Suri. “I don’t like this at all. Not one bit. The man’s having you watched.”

Suri rubbed her fingers against her temples as she paced. “How did he know? Why would he care?”

“Because he has designs on you. Why else would he go to this much trouble escorting you to a wedding?” She stalked over to the trunk holding the silks, lifted a corner of the top sari, and flung it back down. “Why else would he send over such finery?”

She moved to the smaller chest and lifted out a string of perfectly matched pearls. “Why send a fortune in jewels as though he could care less if you returned them? Suri, stay away from this man. He wants you for himself.”

Suri shook her head against Marguerite’s accusations and against a headache coming on. “He isn’t interested in me the way you’re thinking.”

Marguerite paced. “He may be helping you find your grandmother, but any fool can see he wants you for himself.”

The frustration building in Suri felt as though it was about to explode through her every pore. She clenched her jaw and spoke through her teeth. “He. Does. Not. Have. Designs. On. Me. Leave things be, Marguerite.”

“Don’t play the fool,” Marguerite hissed. “Good Lord, being a half-caste in England is one thing. And something your duke-in-shining-armor can make right, but in India? Being a half-caste here is far worse. Look what they tried to do to you. Look how they left your mother to die without benefit of a physician. You cannot let that man close to you. Cancel tomorrow.”

Tears stung Suri’s eyes. “I will not.” She wrung her hands. “I am too close.” She swung around to face her sister. “Can’t you see how much this means to me?”

Marguerite came forward, took Suri by the shoulders. “Listen to me. Ravi-ji is after you. He has something in mind. Don’t fall into his trap.”

In a fit of frustration, Suri slapped Marguerite’s hands away. “Oh for heaven’s sake. He’s my cousin.”

“What?” Color mottled Marguerite’s face and her hand flew to her mouth. “Your…your cousin? How? When?”

“I contacted a solicitor in London who deals with India’s royalty. He had connections. He found Ravi-ji for me.”

“Are you certain he is your cousin? Are you certain the solicitor was honest with you?”

Suri spun around, beseeching her sister. “Please, Marguerite. Don’t plant seeds that will only grow poison. Ravi-ji will protect me. He sent these things out of compassion. He feels I’ve been wronged and is willing to give me a chance at seeing my grandmother. Let me have this one moment, and when I return I’ll leave Delhi with you and Jeremy and never look back.”

Marguerite scowled. “Oh all right.” But then she brightened. “Only if you promise to marry Ravenswood before you leave.”

Suri’s nerves were in shreds. She needed to get rid of Marguerite. “For heaven’s sake. Don’t think for one minute I’d ever wed someone on the slim chance I might be carrying his offspring. Please, I’d like some privacy.”

With a tilt of her head, Marguerite gave Suri a pensive look. “You’ve rejected Ravenswood, yet the possibility of bringing an illegitimate child like yourself into the world has, up ’til now, been entirely unacceptable. Forgive me, but you aren’t making much sense.”

This talk of John had to end before Suri got careless with her words. “I am touched by your concern, Marguerite, but things are more complicated than that.”

“Really, dear? You’ve spent your life watching others’ lives unfold and never feeling as though you belonged anywhere or to anyone. How can you think to heap the same burden onto a babe? What’s got into you?”

A terrific pain swirled in Suri’s chest. “Far better in my estimation to raise an illegitimate child who is well-loved in a school full of the same than to wed a man whose sole purpose in marrying is to keep from begetting a bastard. What happened last night is the last I shall see of Ravenswood. He will soon be nothing but a memory, so let’s end this discussion.”

“And yet, your instincts never allowed you to forget him,” Marguerite said softly. “He’s a good man. He’s walked a rough road, but he’s a decent, responsible fellow who’ll stand by you. Just like Harry stands by silly little me. And since you’ve turned several shades of pale these past few moments, something tells me there’s more to this than what you are telling me, so out with it, dear sister.”

Suri’s composure was about to fail her altogether. She turned her back to her sister. “Our father loved me, Marguerite. He
loved
his bastard daughter. All of a sudden, that fact carries an entirely new meaning for me. Ravenswood loved his wife and was content in his marriage. Laura gave birth while in her death throes—to a child John desperately wanted. He’s grieved over his loss of both for three years. I’ll not have a child reared in a loveless home by a father who cares not a whit for it or for the child’s mother.”

“How do you know he doesn’t care for you, Suri? I’ve seen the way he can’t seem to take his eyes off you. The concern he displays over this risky matter of you hying off to a wedding with Ravi-ji.”

Suri bit down on her lower lip. “Lust and love are two different things, so don’t go exchanging one with the other just to try and make things right in your mind. I’m perfectly able and mature enough to make the distinction. John sated a carnal appetite, is all. We both did, for that matter.”

Marguerite scoffed. “I think he cares for you, and you’re afraid to admit it, afraid to take a chance that he might want you for more than a night of debauchery.”

She reached out and gave Suri’s hand a squeeze. “You’ve endured a lot in your short life,” she said quietly. “I urge you to take a chance with him, Suri. I’m certain he cares for you, and in a good marriage, love will continue to grow. That’s certainly the way it’s been with Harry and me.” An old grief invaded the periphery of Suri’s heart. At its sudden speeding, she bent her head and plucked at a loose thread on her choli. “You know marriage has never been a consideration in my life. Unlike you, I’ve never much believed in it. Now, please, leave me be.”

…

The next day arrived in a flurry of activity. By sunrise, both Munia and Marguerite had invaded Suri’s room.

Munia insisted Suri take another bath, this one in water scented with avatar of roses. More’s the pity. Ravenswood’s scent no longer clung to her. Had Munia done that on purpose? At least the maid’s mood was somewhat lighter this morning.

Suri was clad in a purple
lehenga
and choli, the turquoise beading on the top so thick as to weigh her down. Next came the sari, a froth of purple silk fringed in turquoise beads and shot through with silver threads. Suri had never seen such finery.

The dressing of her hair came afterward, and Suri learned how some of the fine jewelry would be worn. Parted in the middle, her hair was pulled back into a chignon at the nape of her neck. Down the part, and against her forehead, rested a strip of glittering diamonds. Swags of turquoise beads were draped along the sides of her head and attached to the back of her hair with thick pins. Heavy turquoise and silver ear bobs hung from each lobe while seven layers of matching beads hung around her neck. Thin silver bangles—fifteen for each arm—were strung on her wrists, with the bracelet Ravi-ji had sent her the night before settled beneath those on her left wrist. An ornate ring was slipped onto her middle finger, and a thin gold chain attached the ring to the bracelet.