Something Sinful (17 page)

“‘Straighten things out?’” she hissed back through a tight smile. “Are you mad? Your brother just said that we’re to be married!”

“I know. I was here, too.” He took a deep, shaking breath she could feel through his hand on her arm. “Thank you, Sebastian,” he continued in a normal tone.

His brother clapped him on the shoulder, none too gently. “You are a careless idiot,” the duke muttered darkly.

Sarala wanted to hit someone. At the same time, she felt like fainting. This was far worse than having an audience looking at her in the theater. Oh, goodness.

Someone else’s hand took her free arm, and she looked around to see Lady Deverill. “Come, my dear,” she said with a smile, drawing Sarala away from Shay.

Charlemagne tightened his grip again, looking between the two women. “This was my fault, Nell.”

“I know, you big oaf. Let me take her to get a breath of air.”

“Keep her here, send someone for her parents, and get rid of your guests,” the duke said quietly, briefly catching his sister’s free arm.

Eleanor nodded. “It’s being taken care of.”

Numbly Sarala allowed herself to be led into the empty library. Shay’s own siblings had just called him an idiot and an oaf. She could only imagine what they must think of her. Or what she would think of herself as soon as her mind regained a grasp on some sanity. And then it would only get worse.

“What do you mean, ‘apparently’? You told me days ago that you’d taken possession of those silks! What the devil does mauling the virginal daughter of a marquis have to do with buying back some bolts of material? Please explain it to me, Shay!”

“It began as a game, to see who could out-negotiate whom.” He shrugged. “We got carried away. She’s sharp as an arrow point, you know.”

“Obviously, if she managed to maneuver you into matrimony.”

“She didn’t maneuver me into anything, and I think you know that.” For the first time since Melbourne had broken in on them, anger rolled down Charlemagne’s spine. “And I’m the one who just got leg-shackled, so I would suggest that you step back a little, Sebastian.”

“You should have been giving yourself that same advice. You said this was all business. I don’t…kiss my business rivals.”

With effort, Charlemagne kept his stance relaxed. “I should hope not. This would be a first for me, as well.”

“This is serious, Charlemagne. I have a dozen armed servants at my home guarding my daughter at the moment, you tell me you don’t even own what that Chinese fellow wants, and then you rush off to acquire it and end up ruining Lady Sarah instead. I am not amused.”

“I’m attempting to explain, if you would shut up for a minute and listen, Melbourne.” Charlemagne took a steadying breath. “The night before I was to meet with Captain Blink, I bragged about my coup to Sarala. The next morning when I arrived at Blackfriar’s, she’d made the purchase out from under me.”

“So I’ve come to assume, though why you didn’t just say you lost the deal back then, I have no idea.”

“Because I don’t lose deals,” Charlemagne said flatly, “and definitely not to chits. But at the moment, that’s not the point. What I didn’t know—until this morning, actually—was that apparently Blink stole the silks.”

“Stole them? From whom?”

“From Emperor Jiaqing of China.”

Melbourne blinked. “
The
emperor of China.”

“Yes.”

“That’s a bit of a stretch, to go from a thrown rock, a missing sea captain, and a Chinese mercenary to an emperor, Shay.”

“I didn’t just imagine it, if that’s what you’re implying. On the way to Carlisle House to make certain Sarala was safe, I was…confronted by
three
Chinese swordsmen informing me that I needed to return the stolen silks and to deliver myself to Emperor Jiaqing for his justice. I would say they’re some sort of soldier or royal guard, not mercenaries.”

The duke paled, straightening. “Merely saying ‘three Chinese swordsmen’ is enough to get my attention. This is the nineteenth century, Shay. They can’t actually think a high-ranking British nobleman would hand himself over to the emperor for a beheading because of a misunderstanding.”

“Sarala didn’t believe me, either. I went to find her because I was worried that Blink might have given her name out, as well, so I pursued her to make sure that
I
was the one in possession of the silks. Apparently I offered too generous a price for them, because it made her suspicious.” A half smile touched his mouth. “The kisses, I can’t…quite explain.” Not except to say that they’d become as vital to him over the past few days as talking with Sarala was.

“If you’re still so amused by all this, let me ask you a question: How certain are you that these so-called Chinese swordsmen were telling the truth?”

Charlemagne began a quick retort, then snapped his mouth closed again. The ramifications of what his brother had just said stunned him like a blow to the gut. Just as quickly, though, he knew it couldn’t be true. “No,” he said, shaking his head. “Firstly, Sarala hasn’t been in London long enough to arrange such a farce, and secondly, she’s…honest. I mean, she values her skills at business. She would consider it cheating to attempt something so underhanded.”

Melbourne continued to gaze at him. The anger had left his expression, but that didn’t necessarily mean anything. Shay knew him well enough to realize that the family couldn’t be at all pleased by what had happened. Under the best of conditions Sarala was barely English, barely nobility. And these were not the best of conditions.

“Besides,” he continued into the silence, “if this was all for show or to raise the price I would pay for the silks, then why did she refuse to sign them over? She had me up to eight thousand quid.”

His brother walked to the window. “My guess would be because while eight thousand pounds is well and good, marrying a much larger fortune is even better.”

“No. Aside from the honesty, she didn’t kiss me. I kissed her.”

“That wouldn’t be difficult to arrange.”

“Now just a—”

“You’re obviously besotted with her, Shay.” Melbourne approached him again. “A damned business deal never had you this twisted around before. If you’d given me a bloody minute to sort through things, if you’d taken a bloody minute to let me know what was going on, we could have avoided any nastiness. You were caught in an intimate embrace with the unmarried, virginal daughter of a peer.”

Wonderful. Now they were back to the beginning once more. “Seb, I won’t be shouted at again. Why don’t you tell me what ‘matters’ you’ve been staying out of?”

Melbourne narrowed his eyes. “Beg pardon? We’re discussing you at the moment.”

“You said you had been staying out of matters, because you thought I was courting Sarala. I remember quite clearly.”

“Shay, you—”

“You know, I thought it was odd that you’d asked the Carlisles to join us at that recital, and then when you invited them to share your box at Drury Lane, but it coincided with what I wanted, so I didn’t delve.”

“Neither did I,” Melbourne said sharply. “I’m not a fool, unlike some of us in this room. I saw your interest, or what I perceived as your interest, so I took steps to become acquainted with the chit’s family. That’s all.”

“No meddling?” Charlemagne asked, deeply surprised that his brother had confessed to anything at all.

“None.” The duke blew out a harsh breath. “Until I saw you with her a few minutes ago, that is. Haven’t you grasped what’s happened, Shay? You are betrothed. Chinese swordsmen or stolen silks or whatever else you’ve been mishandling,
you are marrying Sarala Carlisle.
And honestly, if you wanted to marry, you might have chosen better.”

“Since I am to be married,” Charlemagne interrupted, the fog clearing from his mind as what Melbourne was saying sank in, “I suggest you not continue in that tone when you are referring to my future wife.” He pushed upright. “Where did Nell stash her? I want to see her.”

“Don’t promise her anything else until we’ve come to an agreement with the parents,” Sebastian returned, going to the door and pulling it open. “I imagine this mistake of yours will be a costly one, as it is.”

With Melbourne continuing to eye him and the entire afternoon still rattling about in his brain like a loose cannon, he couldn’t even be certain which way was up, much less determine whether the…satisfaction that kept attempting to burrow its way into his heart was the appropriate reaction or not.

“My ‘mistake,’ as you call it, won’t cost you a pence, Melbourne. I—”

“I didn’t mean in terms of money. You’re logical. Think about it.” His brother gave him a last look, then headed for the door. “I have meetings I need to postpone. I’ll be in Valentine’s office, waiting for Hanover. Do as you will, Shay. Just remember that your actions will continue to affect the rest of us.”

“I know that.”

Charlemagne let him leave. He and Sebastian hadn’t come to blows since they had been children, but if his brother had made one more disparaging remark about Sarala, the loose tether on his ragged temper would have snapped.

The argument did make one thing clear, however—his ignorance about his sudden bride-to-be. What did he really know about Sarala—other than that she liked to be barefoot and knew how to charm cobras and missed India? And that she enjoyed business and negotiating, of course.

“Time to find out,” he said, making for the hall door.

“I know. I blame Shay.”

Considering the marchioness’s choice of words, Sarala didn’t feel very reassured. For heaven’s sake, what had happened? She and Shay had been arguing, kissing, and then Melbourne had appeared like the personification of Doom. Everyone began congratulating her, and then it had sunk in—married. She and Charlemagne were betrothed. But she couldn’t marry him. He was a Griffin, and she was…She didn’t know what she was, but she certainly knew that she couldn’t marry Shay Griffin.

“Sarala.”

She jumped at the sound of his low voice. He stood at the edge of the rose garden, his gaze on her and his expression unreadable.

“Go away, Shay,” Eleanor stated, dropping her pruners into a bucket. “You’ve done enough damage for one afternoon.”

“This from the chit who eloped to Scotland,” he retorted. “You go away. I want to speak with Sarala.”

The butler appeared behind Charlemagne. “Begging your pardon, Lady Deverill, Lord Charlemagne, but Lord and Lady Hanover have arrived. I’ve placed them in the morning room, as you instructed.”

“Thank you, Hobbes,” Eleanor said. “Where is Melbourne?”

“His Grace is in the library, awaiting Lord Charlemagne.”

Shay nodded. “Nell, you stay here with Sarala. Sebastian and I will see to this.”

Sarala blinked. They were going to take care of everything, make it smooth and proper and pleasant, face the sting of her parents’ anger while she remained elsewhere. “No,” she broke in.

“Beg pardon?”

She strode up to Shay. “I said, no.
I
will speak to my parents first. I do still have some say in all of this.”

“Of course you do. But the mistake was mine. You needn’t face them—”

“‘Mistake’?” she repeated, a bit shrilly. “The ‘mistake’ was mutual. And
I
will explain it. When my parents have all the facts, then you may speak with them, if you still wish to.”

“Sarala, I misspoke. Don’t—”

“Excuse me,” she said, and walked past the butler into the house.

Once she’d made her way down the hall, for a long moment she stood outside the closed morning room doors. It was the first time she’d been alone since…it…the “mistake” had happened, and in truth she still had no idea what to make of it all.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” she muttered. For all the pride she had in the abilities of her mind and of her intellect, she’d made the most simple and obvious of errors—she’d allowed herself to be discovered alone in a room with a man. A man whom she happened to be kissing. Yes, in that sense, Shay had been correct; they
had
made a mistake. Perhaps that was all he’d meant, but his blasted word choice could have been better.

She groaned, rubbing her temple. What she wanted to do was run and scream and punch something very hard, but that would have been as unacceptable in Delhi as it was in London. What she needed to do was tell her parents before Melbourne and Shay appeared and took over everything; took over her life.

With a deep breath she pushed open the door. Her parents, seated on the couch, immediately stood. Lady Hanover looked a bit frazzled, while her father, merely puzzled.

“What’s happened?” her mother said, hurrying forward. “You aren’t hurt, are you?”

“No, I’m not injured,” Sarala said hastily.

“Thank heavens. That footman appeared on our doorstep and practically demanded that we get into the coach and come to Corbett House. I was in the middle of making up a dinner menu.”

“Why are we here?” her father asked in a calmer voice.

Oh, she wished she’d been in the room alone with him. Her father, she understood. He could be reasoned with. But that obviously was not going to happen.
Just say it, Sarala,
she ordered herself.
Don’t be such a coward.
“As you know, I came here to attend Lady Deverill’s luncheon.”

“Yes,” her mother returned. “And it was good of her to ask you. But what—”

“I should probably mention something else, first.” She faced her father. “Charlemagne Griffin is the one who wanted those silks that I purchased. We’ve been negotiating.”

“You went up against Charlemagne Griffin? I’ve heard about his success at business. His reputation is earned, I presume?”

“That is not the point,” the marchioness interrupted. “You were engaged in business with a man. Shame on you, Sarah. I warned you about such things. Lord Charlemagne? Have you angered the Griffins? Oh, heavens. What are we to do? We’ll be pariahs in London, now. No one will—”

“He kissed me,” Sarala stated.

Her mother sank into a chair.

“He what?” her father asked very quietly.

She lowered her head, then lifted it again. Calm and logical. It was the way she tried to approach everything. She couldn’t change that now. “Actually, we kissed each other.”

“For God’s sake…” Slowly the marquis seated himself, as well. “You haven’t…He hasn’t…”

“He came to see me here. He had some story about the silks being stolen, but that’s not important. What is important is that we kissed, not for the first time, and the duke saw us. And the rest of the guests saw us.”

“Oh, dear Lord.” Her mother sank her head into her hands. “You’re ruined. We’re ruined. What are we to do, Howard?”

“Melbourne announced to everyone that we were betrothed. That we’d been planning it, and simply hadn’t been able to contain ourselves.”

Her mother’s head lifted again. “Just—for clarity’s sake, which one are you betrothed to? Melbourne, or Charlemagne?”

“Charlemagne. Apologies. I should have stated that more clearly.”

For a moment she stood there, watching the emotions play across the faces of her parents. Her father was angry and disappointed, her mother horrified and then ecstatic. As for herself, she still couldn’t quite believe what had happened.

The marchioness stood and threw her arms around Sarala. “Oh, my dear, you’re to marry a Griffin! Not
the
Griffin, but still,
a
Griffin! And that’s far better than anyone else.”

“This is all very strange,” her father put in. “Where is Lord Charlemagne? And Melbourne?”

“I insisted on speaking with you first. They’re waiting.” She cleared her throat. If she didn’t speak now, she would have very little recourse later. “I think you should know, though, that I don’t want to be engaged.”

“You don’t want to marry a Griffin?” Her mother released her again. “That’s mad.”

“Shay and I were negotiating a business deal. Improperly, I admit, but I hardly consider any of this grounds for a marriage.”

“Of course it is! Would you see yourself ru—”

“You like him though, don’t you, daughter?” Lord Hanover interrupted.

“Yes, of course I like him. He’s very intelligent.” And handsome, and efficient, and clever, and good-humored. But their betrothal hadn’t been for any of those reasons. And that was what mattered.

“If you like him, then I’m not certain what you think we should do about it.”

“Nothing,” her mother said, stomping one foot. “We will accept Lord Charlemagne’s very gracious offer of marriage, and that’s that.”

“But Shay didn’t offer. Melbourne offered Shay.”

“That doesn’t matter!”

Yes, it did. “I will do whatever you think is best for the family, Pati,” Sarala said, concentrating on the more reasonable of her parents. “But I still think there must be something we can do.”

Looking older and more frail than she’d ever seen, the marquis sat back in the chair. “We’ll wait for the duke to make the next step. I suppose as the head of the Griffin family, ultimately what happens is up to him.”

At that moment a strong rap sounded on the morning room door. It opened, and the Duke of Melbourne walked into the room, Charlemagne at his heels. “Excuse us,” the duke said in a low, even tone, his gaze passing over Sarala and going to her father. “I assume you know now what’s happened?”

“Yes, we do.” Belatedly the marquis stood, his glare at Shay. “How dare you, sir. Sarah is my daughter.”

“No, Sarala is your daughter,” Shay countered, his own attention on her.

“That is not—”

“Obviously tempers are a little high at the moment,” the duke interrupted. “I want to assure you that whatever happened and may happen, Charlemagne will do the gentlemanly thing.”

“I should hope so,” her mother huffed.

“Shouldn’t we be having this conversation with Charlemagne then?” Sarala asked, not entirely certain she’d spoken aloud until Melbourne faced her.

For the briefest of moments his jaw worked. “I am head of the family,” he answered slowly, “but you will both have a say in the proceedings.”

“‘Proceedings’?”

“Sarah,” the marchioness hissed. “Behave.”

“I think ten o’clock tomorrow morning at Griffin House will suit us all better. You may bring whomever you wish to see that your best interests are addressed. Is that acceptable, Lord Hanover?”

“Yes, completely,” the marquis answered.

“Very good. We shall see you then.”

“I still need to discuss something with Sarala,” Shay put in.

The duke glanced at his brother. “Tomorrow.”

“I am not—”

“Good day.” Melbourne bowed to the room in general, turned on his heel, and left the room. For a bare moment Shay hesitated, his gaze still on Sarala, before he followed.

“That was interesting.” Lord Hanover took Sarala’s hand. “And he’s correct. Obviously nothing productive will be said today. Let’s go home, and I need to contact Warrick and Mr. Dailey.”

The solicitor. Of course. Slowly Sarala followed her parents out of the room, through the foyer, and into the carriage in which they’d rushed to Corbett House. Shay hadn’t said much, but what he
had
said had been in her defense. The thought intrigued her. Whatever his brother might say, she couldn’t imagine him doing something completely against his wishes, and yet he’d let the situation stand.

She’d begun to think she knew him, but after what had happened, she wasn’t willing any longer to wager as much as a shilling that she knew what would happen next.