He stalked out, heading down the cramped companionway and taking the steps at the far end two at a time. Julian was waiting for him on deck.
“I’m sorry, Sax. I should have—”
“Stow it, Julian. It’s too late for regrets now.”
They walked to the rail together, threading their way among the sailors who were preparing the Valor for departure. The sky in the east had already lightened to gray.
Julian leaned on the rail and hung his head. “She just seemed so…so—”
“Vulnerable? Innocent? You’re too easily taken in by a pretty face.”
Julian’s head snapped up. “And you weren’t?”
“That is a mistake I don’t intend to make again. I know her for what she is now—deceptive, clever, and willing to use her harem training for nefarious purposes.” Saxon tore a strip of cloth from the bottom of his shirt and dabbed at the wound on his head. “I won’t turn my back on her for a second, but I intend to get the full truth out of her.”
Julian looked concerned. “Sax, go easy—”
“Easy?” Saxon eyed his brother with disbelief, holding up the blood-stained cloth in his hand. “After she almost killed me?”
Still looking distressed, Julian changed the subject. “A servant brought her belongings down from the palace. One of the men said they arrived while we were gone. They stowed them below—”
“Fine,” Saxon interrupted, his mind on more pressing matters. “I need you to see if you can track down this mysterious stranger. If he exists, if there’s even a chance—”
“We have to get that jewel back.” Julian nodded.
Saxon exhaled, clenching his jaw. “Without that sapphire,” he said slowly, “we have no chance of saving Max’s life.”
They both fell silent, neither of them wanting to imagine the possibility of losing their little brother.
“The Rising Star is still in Bombay for repairs,” Julian said after a long moment. “I can’t sail home until she’s finished. That gives me a good excuse to stay here in Daman until I find out something.”
“I don’t care what you have to do or who you have to bribe. If our sapphire is here, find it and get it back.”
“I will, no matter what it takes.”
Saxon tossed the cloth in his hand over the railing. “And I’ll get to the Andamans before Greyslake and secure the other eight. We can rendezvous back here—”
“And finally reunite all nine of the blasted things and end the curse.” Julian straightened, turning to face his brother.
They stood awkwardly for a moment, neither reaching out to shake hands or embrace as they usually did when parting for an extended time. Some barrier had sprung up between them—and Saxon sensed with irritation that it had to do with a certain beautiful harem girl.
Too damned bad, he thought stubbornly. Julian had always been the most soft-hearted of the four D’Avenant brothers, always eager to see the best in people, to find the bright side in any situation. Well, there sure as hell was no bright side to this accursed mess.
As for Ashiana, she was Saxon’s problem to deal with. In whatever way he saw fit.
He glared into the line of blue that rimmed the rapidly brightening horizon. “I have to take a look at that keelson. See you when we return, Julian.”
Without another word, he turned and strode across the deck.
Trapped.
Her heart hammering, her back pressed against the locked door, Ashiana glanced from the unyielding windows to the wall picked clean of weapons. From somewhere below her feet, she heard and felt a heavy, metallic clanking. A long-forgotten memory stirred, from her days aboard the Adiante: the anchor was being hauled aboard.
They were leaving already!
Her stomach knotted. The Englishman apparently planned to interrogate her when he returned to his cabin—and she wasn’t sure what he intended to do with her after that. She was still alive, but the reprieve might be only temporary.
Or he might mete out a different sort of punishment.
As dawn’s first rays shimmered through the windows, her gaze was drawn to the thick-hewn bed, the white sheets and fat pillows, the geometric designs stamped in white on the dark-blue Tijara coverlet.
Her breath caught in her throat. In the epic tales told by Ajmir storytellers, this was the point at which the brave princess usually threw herself into a blazing pyre to avoid being defiled by the enemy.
Ashiana had never understood why the women of the clan always applauded that ending or why a princess would do such a thing. Once, she had asked it aloud: as long as one had life, did not one also have hope? The women had turned and stared at her, their eyes expressing their disapproval: feringi. Outsider.
She had instantly regretted her boldness and withdrawn the question, wanting so badly to be one of them. Over the years, she had become accomplished at keeping her true opinions and her true feelings hidden.
Now she would face the ultimate test of that skill. There was no way out of this cabin. And no pyre conveniently at hand.
She was Saxon D’Avenant’s prisoner.
And regardless of the epic tales, she had already made her choice: as long as she still lived, she was still the sworn protector of the Nine Sapphires of Kashmir. Never would she willingly desert them or her duty. Never.
Her only hope was to keep trying to convince the Englishman that she had merely been a pawn in all this, an innocent dancing girl threatened by a terrible “European stranger.” He had seemed to latch onto that part of her story.
She did not know where the ship was going or how long she might be aboard, but her survival depended on keeping her true identity secret. If Saxon discovered that she was an Ajmir spy, her mission and her life would be over.
The bright sun of full morning blazed on the quarterdeck. Along the distant shoreline, the spires of Daman stretched into the sky, no larger than needles at this distance.
Saxon took off his shirt to mop the sweat from his chest and shoulders. Inspecting the damaged keelson and working alongside his men to shore it up had taken longer than expected, but he felt satisfied that it no longer posed a danger.
He leaned against the mizzenmast, staring out across the open sea. It had been a full year since he had stood on this deck and seen nothing but blue in every direction. The Valor had always been his haven, the one place he could trust everyone around him and let down his guard.
But not this voyage.
He found no pleasure in the familiar rhythms of his ship, in the brilliant sun and crashing waves and foamy white spray cresting along the hull. His crew was in a jovial mood, but they kept their high spirits tamped down while in his vicinity.
Saxon bent his head and rubbed at the lingering ache in his temples. Tupper was at the wheel, his most experienced helmsman, while Simmons, the third mate, kept a keen eye on their latitude with a backstaff. The crew was ably handling the complicated tracery of spars and halyards that controlled the sails and drew power from the wind. The Valor wouldn’t vary a degree off course. There was no need for him to be here.
Straightening, he pushed himself away from the mast. The exertion of working on the keelson had taken the edge off his anger, leaving behind only a slow burn. He felt in command of himself again, ready to deal with his other hazardous problem—the one waiting for him in his cabin.
“South by southeast, Tupper,” he ordered as he swung down the steps to the main deck. “Hold her steady.”
“Aye, sir.”
Still carrying his damp shirt in one hand, Saxon went through the aft hatch and down the companionway into the darkness belowdecks. He hadn’t entirely decided what to do with the maddening little thief, but he could deal with her more coolly and rationally now. Time and the sea were on his side. He had five weeks. And she had nowhere to run.
Sooner or later, she would tell him the truth—all of it.
Reaching his cabin, he looked at the lock with approval. Wyatt had done well. Not even a clever, agile dancing girl w
ould be able to sneak her way past that. He slid the heavy bolt and pushed the door open cautiously, half-expecting to be greeted with either a desperate attack or an equally desperate volley of tears.
Instead, she was standing calmly at the windows beside the bed, hands clasped, eyes dry. For a moment, they regarded each other warily. Then he shut the door behind him and went to the washbasin in the corner, dropping his shirt on the floor.
Despite her outward show of calm, he could hear her breathing, short and shallow. The tension of awaiting his return had obviously frayed her nerves. Good.
He poured a small amount of water into the basin and sprang a question on her. “This ‘stranger’ in the preet chatra—was his hair brown or black?”
“Neither, sahib,” she said quickly. “As I told you before, he wore the white false hair.”
Saxon splashed his face and chest and ran his wet hands through his hair. He had hoped to catch her off guard with that trick question. He tried another. “You said he threatened you with a knife. What was it like?”
“Nahin, no, not a knife. A pistol. It was small, so that it just fit in his hand, and plated with silver metal.”
It sounded like a dueling pistol, but that detail didn’t mean she was telling the truth. She might have seen a European pistol somewhere before. He gingerly dabbed at the cut on his temple. The pain hadn’t lessened, but the bleeding had stopped. Taking a towel from its peg on the wall, he turned toward her, drying his chest and arms.
“Sahib?” Blinking, she kept her attention on his face. “Are…are y-you not going to ask me any more questions?”
He toweled his hair dry. “No.”
She looked startled. “Why not?”
“Because you expect me to. You’ve had time to think about your story and anticipate what I might ask.” He folded the towel and set it aside. “I’m obviously not going to get the truth from you at the moment, but our voyage will last more than a month. I can wait. Eventually,” he said with low promise, “you will tell me everything, chura.”
Uncertainty filled her eyes. “Does…does that mean you are not going to kill me?” she asked hopefully.
“No, I’m not going to kill you.” He leaned back against the bulkhead, crossing his arms. “But don’t think that you’ve escaped punishment for your theft. I’ll be putting you ashore as soon as we arrive at our destination.” He paused to add impact to his next words. “We’re sailing for the Andaman Islands, present home of the clan Ajmir.”
She gave a quick, wide-eyed gasp and dropped her gaze to the floor. “But—”
“Don’t bother to remind me that they treated you harshly when you lived among them as a child, or that they gave you to the emperor because they couldn’t stand the sight of you. I’m sure there will be a cart-maker or a goatherd somewhere among them who might like a new serving maid and won’t mind your English looks.”
When she raised her face to his, her expression had changed to one of utter despair. “Krupiya, not the Ajmir,” she pleaded. “You cannot be so heartless!”
Saxon clenched his jaw. She had begged for his protection before, in the preet chatra, and he had let it soften his heart toward her—and almost lost his life. “When we reach the Andamans, you’ll be getting your shapely little arse off my ship. You can fend for yourself among the Ajmir.” He came away from the bulkhead, moving toward her. “Until then, if you cause harm to anyone—anyone—aboard the Valor, you’ll find yourself swimming for shore or locked in the brig.”
“Wh-what is the ‘brig’?”
“You don’t want to find out. The important point you need to remember is that I am the captain of this ship. Everyone aboard obeys my orders—and that includes you, chura.”
“You do not need to keep calling me ‘thief’.” She glanced away as he drew near. “I know what I did, and I know it was wrong.” She met his gaze again. “Saxon, I had no choice.”
This close, he could see the smudges of tears on her cheeks. In the morning light, he also saw the ruined condition of her clothes—her bodice torn, the pockets of her salwar ripped open, much of her delicate silk garments shredded. He hadn’t exactly been careful during his search for his sapphire.
Guilt knotted in his gut. Never in his life had he treated a woman so roughly.
Or threatened a woman with a sword at her throat.
As he came to stand in front of her, towering over her, he was surprised she wasn’t shaking and sobbing for mercy.
Instead, she looked up at him calmly, without flinching.
For a dancing girl, she had unexpected courage.
She held up her empty hands. “If I am a chura, a thief, then I am the most woeful excuse for a thief in all of India. I have gained no valuables. I have been made a prisoner. And I do not even know what it was that I stole.” She tilted her head, her expression puzzled. “What was in the leather pouch you wore?
Saxon arched one brow. He was not about to disclose any secrets to her. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he said dryly. “It was something of great value to my family.”
“Oh.” She looked surprised at that, lowering her hands to her sides. “I…I am truly sorry.” She looked at the floor. “I know it does not change what I did, but I am sorry.”
Was that genuine regret in her eyes, in her voice? Was she being honest with him, or only playing another game?
He reminded himself that this lady was not only brave, but smart—and dangerous. “Is Ashiana even your real name?”
“Han, yes.” She looked up again. “All that I told you in the preet chatra was true. My father was a Portuguese sea captain. I was orphaned when I was very young. I have lived in the harem since I was six. I swear on my life, all of it is true.”
He didn’t reply, distracted by the fragrance that surrounded her—the warm scent of sandalwood in her hair, the spiced oils rubbed into her skin. Their gazes met and a flush of color stole across her pale cheeks. Memories suddenly swirled in the humid air between them—memories of heated kisses in the preet chatra last night, her body melting in his embrace, her lips parting to welcome the thrust of his tongue, the soft sound of pleasure she had made when he touched her, intimately.
Hunger heated his blood and deepened his breathing. Against his better judgment, against all common sense, he still wanted her.
Ashiana’s gaze traced lower, only to snap back to his, as if she had just become uncomfortably aware that he was naked to the waist, every muscle of his shoulders, chest, arms and abdomen on view.
All at once, the air in the cabin felt much hotter than it had only a moment ago.
Saxon reached out to touch her, his thumb brushing away the smudges on her cheek left by her tears.
She shivered, her voice a whisper. “Am…am I to be kept prisoner in your cabin the entire voyage?”
“I need to keep you from causing any further trouble, so this would seem the safest place for you. But as to whether you are my prisoner…” He caught a strand of her dark hair in his fingertips. “That is your decision to make. The Valor has a crew of only ninety. There are no unnecessary hands aboard an Indiaman. Everyone has a station and a duty.”
“Han, I-I could be most useful. I could help with…with cleaning, and I could…I could…”
“Tidying up is not what I had in mind.” He eased closer to her, bracing one hand against the wall beside her head. “Only hours ago, you wanted to make love with me, Ashiana. You were rather insistent about it.”
“B-but I have never b-been with a man.” She placed a hand in the center of his chest. Her touch felt like a brand against his bare skin. “That was also the truth.”
“Yes, but you asked me to be your first. ‘The emperor gave me to you earlier, but I am giving myself to you now,’ you said.” His gaze locked with hers. “But that little performance was all just part of your scheme, wasn’t it? Just a trick to keep me from leaving—so you would have time to drug me and take what you really wanted.”
“I w-was not…I neve
r meant to…” She scowled up at him, but somehow the dire expression only looked winsome on her. “How can you still want me when you do not even trust me?”
“I don’t have to trust you to bed you. One has little to do with the other,” he explained with a cynical chuckle. He lowered his cheek to nuzzle hers, nibbling at her earlobe. “You wanted me last night, Ashiana—just as much as I wanted you. That was not a lie. The way you responded to my kiss, my touch…” His voice became a husky whisper. “You were wet for me. There was no deception in that.” He brushed his lips over hers, lightly, gently. “And now, instead of one night to spend together, we have many nights…dozens of nights.” Another kiss. “Why not make the voyage more pleasurable for us both?”
A rain of light, arousing kisses brought a sound from her throat—and it was not a sound of protest. Instead of pushing him away, her hand slid from his chest up to the nape of his neck, her fingers curling into his hair.
Groaning, he pulled her against him and kissed her deeply. His tongue claimed the hot velvet of her mouth and she trembled in his embrace—and kissed him back. Her moan was a softer echo of his, her body melting against him, both of her hands now tangled in his hair. Wrapped in each other’s arms, they stumbled backward into the wall, neither of them aware of the impact, both swept into a whirlwind of memory, heat, hunger.
His body burning with need, Saxon broke the kiss. “You still want me,” he breathed against her throat. “Say yes, Ashiana. Say yes and we will enjoy pleasures beyond any you can imagine.” He kept one arm around her back, sliding his other hand down to press her hips against his, letting her feel how much he wanted her. “Say yes, jaanii.”
She went still in his arms, blinking, the passion rapidly clearing from her eyes. “You call me ‘dear one’ but…but that word has no meaning to you. You care nothing for me—you do not even trust me!” Her gaze turned accusing. “You chastise me for schemes and tricks, but you would say anything to persuade me to share your bed!”
Saxon buried his face in her hair, muttering a curse. “Why must women always complicate the simple pursuit of physical pleasure by cluttering it up with unnecessary emotions?” Still breathing unsteadily, he lifted his head, trying to explain this to her. “Ashiana, I am merely pointing out that you would enjoy the next several weeks far more as my mistress than you would as my prisoner. And at the end of our voyage…” He shrugged. “I would offer you payment of some sort, to give you a secure future.”
One Night with a Scoundrel Page 10