Her eyes were wide with shock, but her blood was pulsing with excitement. This cold and correct husband of hers was the most sensual man she had ever encountered. Even her beloved Caynan Reis had not been so strongly animalistic. India shivered, and pulled the finger from her mouth.
“Are you cold, India?” he asked her solicitously, drawing her finger from his mouth and kissing the palm of her hand ardently.
“Why do you taunt me, Deverall?” she whispered.
“I am attempting to make up for my crude behavior of last night,” he said innocently. “I am trying to make love to you, India, but perhaps you preferred being thrown on your back and roughly fucked.” Leaning over, he nuzzled her ear. “Do you like being taken that way?”
“No.!” she managed to husk out as his tongue made circles in the shell of her ear.
“I imagine you thought I had no manners suitable for a lady’s chamber,” he almost purred at her.
“Aye,” she quickly answered, “I did!”
“Then let me prove otherwise to you, India,” he said, pressing her back into her pillows and kissing her, his lips warm and firm against her own.
To her surprise, the kiss was a tender one, but then it began to deepen, and his tongue was pushing into her mouth to meet with hers. She trembled. His mouth. The kisses he kissed her. Why did they touch a chord somewhere within her? She wanted to weep again.
He was startled to feel the wetness on her cheeks, the salty tears against his mouth. Why was she crying? He knew instinctively not to question her. Instead, he took her face between his two hands and kissed the tears from it, pretending he believed her emotions stemmed from his passion toward her. “Do not weep, India,” he said. “I will never be rough with you again,” he said. “Would you prefer if I left you now?”
“I want to be a good wife to you,” she half sobbed. Ohh, God’s blood, she was behaving like a perfect ninny!
He took her declaration to mean that he was to stay. He let his kisses move down her throat and across her chest. She murmured, and calmed. He kissed her breasts gently, and then he took a nipple into his mouth, suckling upon it, gently at first, and then harder.
Her fingers dug into his shoulder as his mouth worked her. She remembered once telling Caynan Reis that she wondered what manner of woman she was to enjoy his attentions so avidly when such pleasure should be reserved for a husband and wife. This man, his dark head lowered to her bosom, was her husband, yet he was making her feel like a perfect wanton. She did not truly know him, and yet his attentions were arousing her to a frenzy. She murmured, and caressed his hair.
Bitch, he thought. Wanton bitch! She responded to his attentions eagerly, although she struggled to hide her feelings. How quickly she had forgotten Caynan Reis. Now she murmured, and moaned with her rising arousal as he stroked and petted her. He could have killed her did he not love her so damned much. He began to kiss her again, his lips wandering across her torso. Her belly was sweetly rounded, and he licked the quivering flesh, causing her to cry out softly with her pleasure. She needed to be punished, he thought irrationally. Spreading her, he drew her slender legs with their silken thighs over his shoulders, and, sitting back upon his haunches, he drew her to him.
India shrieked her surprise as his mouth made contact with the most intimate part of her. He gripped her buttocks firmly in his two big hands, and his head buried itself in her sweetness, his lips mashing themselves against her nether lips, his tongue running up and down her slit before pushing through to find her pleasure place. Her head spun with her rising passion, and she panted like an animal. “Deverall! Dev! Oh, God, my lord, you are killing me!” The first wave crashed into her. She could feel his teeth, gently, oh so very gently, nibbling on her flesh. She cried out, shuddering violently. The second wave raised her up. His flickering tongue teased, and teased, and teased at her sensitivity, and then plunged as deeply as it could into her sheath. “Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!” she cried. Then he released her but a moment before pressing his body against hers and plunging into her. She screamed her pleasure as the third wave flung her down, and down, and down.
He thrust again and again into the hot, honied sheath welcoming him. There had never been a woman like India, and there would never be one like her no matter she was a lying and deceitful little bitch. He could feel himself swelling, then breaking, his love juices flooding her womb. He lifted his dark head a moment to kiss her lips, and saw that she was practically insensible with his passion. He brushed his mouth across hers, whispering softly, “Je t’aime seulement, ma bijou! Seulement toi, India. Ma femme precieuse. Seulement toi!”
In her half-conscious state she heard his voice. “Mon seigneur Caynan, she whispered, “Je t‘aime aussi. Ahh, retournez-moi! C’est un rêve.” Then she fell into an exhausted sleep.
I love you also. Return to me. This is a dream. Her soft words slammed into him with violent force. What did she mean by such words? She had deserted him. Or had she? Both Baba Hassan and Azura had insisted India would not leave him willingly, yet he had thought otherwise. During most of her time with him she had been defiant, and eager to be free. When she had disappeared, he had assumed that she had been but feigning her love for him and run off with her cousin.
Why had he even thought such a thing? Because in his heart he had not trusted her. He had never trusted women since the time his stepmother had seduced him, and then laughingly rejected him when another lover took her fancy. She had made a man of him, MariElena told him, but he quickly realized she had done it in order to have a wedge to drive between him and his father. Worse, he was bitterly ashamed of having betrayed his sire. Then she had warned him mockingly that he must never trust a woman again. He had taken her advice to heart.
But suddenly he was beset by his own doubts that he might have been wrong about India. What if she had indeed been kidnapped by her cousin, the sea captain? What if she had not gone willingly, and been forced to return to her family in Scotland? He had renounced her as dey of El Sinut. If his rule had not been overthrown, and he returned to England, what would have become of her? The duke of Glenkirk would obviously have accepted any decent offer for her, believing he was doing the right thing by his stepdaughter. But what of their child? Had she had the baby, and what had become of it?
Deverall Leigh arose from the bed, and returned to his own bedchamber. He slipped his nightshirt over his long, lean body, and began pacing the room. How was he to reveal himself to India? How could he face her having believed her so unworthy of his trust? He knew India. She was going to be furious. Had she not once taken his own dagger to him in a rage? And this situation was much, much worse. He needed time to think. He would shut himself off from her for a few days and try to decide how to get himself out of this disastrous mess he had so easily gotten himself into thanks to his overweening pride.
India did not see her husband for several days. He sent word the following morning that he must ride out across his estates for the next few days. She was free to pursue her own interests. After the furious passion of the previous evening, India was relieved. This strange, intense man was a puzzle she needed time to solve. She began the task of replacing the servants, and having them trained by their predecessors, who were eager to now retire. Dover, who had been the majordomo, was full of advice and local information. He liked Diarmid, telling him he had worried about who would replace him.
“Ain’t none here with the polish and snap as is needed in such a position,” he said. “I followed poor old Rogers because I had been his assistant in London. After the earl was accused of murder, we never went back to London. Oh, young Master Adrian did, but the family never did. The folk hereabouts likes you. You’ll do fine.”
Diarmid laughed. “I’m flattered that you think so,” he said to the old man, “but I’m naught but a highland lad. I’ll need all the help ye can give me, Dover.”
“ ’Taint the experience, laddie,” Dover told the Scotsman. “ ’Tis the bearing and the attitude, and you have
both,” he said wisely.
The only one of the servants refusing to retire was Mrs. Cranston, the cook. “I only replaced Mrs. Dover when she died some eight years ago,” she told India. “I’m years younger than the rest of them as you can plainly see, m’lady, and I’m not ready to be put out to pasture yet!” She stood before her young mistress, hands upon her ample hips, her white cap bobbing vigorously, her plump cheeks red with the constant heat of her kitchens.
“Do you need any more help?” India asked her.
“Well,” Mrs. Cranston allowed, “most of them is young, and suits me fine, but if I might have a pot boy, and one more lass to scrub, I’d be most grateful, yer ladyship.”
“Have you anyone in mind?” India asked cleverly.
“Well, yer ladyship, I do. ’Tis a young niece and nephew of mine that I would place in your service. They’re honest children, and will do their work well, for they’ve had obedience beaten into them by my sister, their mother.”
“His lordship must make the final decision, Mrs. Cranston, but I believe he will concur that your niece and nephew are suitable. Bring them into the house. They will have their wages at Michaelmas, and be given room and board. What are their ages?”
“The lad is nine, and the lass eleven, your ladyship,” Mrs. Cranston replied, smiling broadly, “and I thank you kindly.”
To India’s surprise, her husband did not arrive back home for some five days. Entering the house, he noted many new faces smiling at him. At the evening meal India told him of all the changes she had made, with his permission, of course. He approved it all, and India sent immediate word to the staff as she retired to her apartments to await her husband’s coming. She bathed, and, dismissing Meggie, climbed into her bed.
When he entered her chamber, she was surprised to find he was wearing a white silk nightshirt. “We must talk,” he said quietly, and began to pace back and forth about the room.
“About what?” she asked him, wondering what it was she might have done to displease this strange man.
“Tell me about your first husband,” he said bluntly.
Her heart leapt in her chest. What could he possibly have heard? Had Adrian somehow returned, and exposed her adventures to his elder brother? “What do you wish to know?” she ventured nervously.
“You said he died.” Deverall Leigh was looking directly at her.
“Yes,” India answered. Her fingers clutched at the coverlet.
“How?”
“There was a rebellion in his country,” she answered him. “He was killed.” Her chest felt tight, and she could feel tears coming.
“How do you know he was killed?” the earl persisted.
“How?” What did this man want from her? She swallowed back her tears.
“Yes. How?”
“I was with my grandmother, Lady Stewart-Hepburn, in Naples. She was arranging for my return to my husband when word came of the rebellion, and that my husband had been killed in it. I never returned back to my husband’s lands again. Lady Stewart-Hepburn returned with me to Glenkirk. I was content to buy myself a house here in England, and live quietly the rest of my days, but my stepfather would not have it. I told you it was he who insisted that I remarry. I did so to escape him, and to regain control of my own wealth. Nevertheless, my lord, I shall endeavor to be a good wife to you in all ways. We need not be enemies.”
She had thought him dead. But that did not solve the problem of how she got to Naples, although he was certain it was in the ship stolen by Thomas Southwood. He pressed her further. “Just who was this man to whom you were wed, India? What was his name?”
India closed her eyes a moment to regain her composure. Then, looking directly at him, she said, “My husband’s name was Caynan Reis, and he was the dey of the Barbary State of El Sinut. Are you content now, my lord? I was a captive, and I was made the dey’s wife because we fell in love with each other! Are you horrified? Will you divorce me now that you have discovered that I was the beloved of an infidel?”
“How did a dey’s wife get to Naples?” he demanded. “Is it not unusual for a woman of the harem to be allowed to travel so far?”
“What does it matter how I got to Naples?” India cried. “Why do you pursue this matter, my lord? Why should you care?”
He ceased his pacing, and sat down upon the bed next to her. Taking her face between his two hands, he said to her, “Regardez moi, India. Look at me!” The blue eyes softened. “Do you not recognize Caynan Reis in Deverall Leigh? The beard is gone, and I have a scar, but can you not see me, my love?”
Her eyes widened in shock. His mouth! His kisses! That was what had been niggling at her all this time. “You bastard!” she hissed venomously at him, pulling away from his hands, leaping naked from the other side of the bed. “You bloody bastard! How could you have done this to me? And you say you love me? Iwill kill you!” Reaching for the nearest object at hand, she flung the bowl of roses at him.
“ ’Tis I who should kill you,” he shouted back at her, ducking, “but not before I find out what you did with my child!”
“Your child? Your child!” she shrieked. “Is that what this has been all about? Your child?” Grabbing up her silver hairbrush, she hurled it at him. “Why could you not have come to Glenkirk to reclaim me? Do you know what I have suffered over you, my lord?” Her eyes cast about for another object to throw at him, but the room was virtually empty of such trinkets. She bared her teeth at him, moving about the bed toward him. Then she launched herself at him, fists pummeling him, nails seeking out his eyes.
He would have laughed at this naked fury if the situation had not been so serious, but now he realized if he did not calm her anger, and indeed his, nothing would be resolved between them. He caught her hands in his, and, forcing them to her sides, wrapped her in his embrace. “India, India,” he pleaded. “There is some terrible misunderstanding between us, and we must rectify it. Stop struggling, you little wildcat, and tell me how you got to Naples? It was with Tom Southwood, wasn’t it?”
She squirmed against him, pulling half free of his grasp. “I can say nothing if you persist in smothering me,” she snarled at him.
He loosened his grip slightly, but not enough so she might do him a mischief. “How did you get to Naples?” he repeated.
“That fool of a cousin of mine learned of a small section of wall that surrounded your garden that opened onto a narrow public street. He had wheedled the information out of Aruj Agha by means of flattery. He came with one of his men the night of the terrible storm. I told him I loved you. That I was content to remain in El Sinut. I tried to reason with him. I might have cried out, if indeed the guards could have even heard me over all the thunder that night, but he was my cousin. I did not want to be responsible for his death. It meant nothing to me that he chose to escape El Sinut just as long as he left me in peace, but no, Tom would not listen. He assaulted me, knocking me unconscious, hauled me over that damned wall, and dumped me in Naples. Meggie came, too, rather than be left behind.
“Once we were in Naples I told Lady Stewart-Hepburn the truth, that I loved you, and was with child. I had never had a chance to tell my cousin that I was enceinte. Cat, that is what I call my stepgrandmother, agreed that I should go back, but then we heard about the rebellion, and were told that the dey had been killed. When I learned that, I nearly died myself. Cat brought me back to Scotland, but when Glenkirk learned of my condition, he banished me to the family’s hunting lodge in the mountains with Meggie and Diarmid. My sister, Fortune, insisted on coming with me, and there we remained until Rowan was born.”
“Roman?” He stared down into her face.
“Our son. I named him after my father,” she said softly.
“Where is he?” Deverall Leigh demanded.
“I do not know,” India replied, her eyes filling with tears.
“You do not know? Madame, what have you done with my son?” he shouted at her angrily.
“I have done nothing. Glenkirk took
the lad from me shortly after his birth, and hid him away. He would never say where,” India told him, her chin quivering with her emotions. “But none of this would have happened if you had come to Glenkirk to reclaim me instead of playing this perverted game with me! Why, my lord? Why have you done this to me? Why?” she sobbed.
“Because I am a fool,” he said sadly. “I thought you had deserted me, India, had willingly gone off with Captain Southwood. Baba Hassan, and Azura defended you, but I would not listen.” He told her of his stepmother, and why he had been unable to trust women.
India sighed sadly. Then she asked him, “But how is it you were able to return to England, and how on earth did you get that scar on your face, Deverall?”
“Adrian is responsible for my return. He caught a fever, and I revealed myself to him. When I did, he told me that it had been a plot of my stepmother’s to kill Lord Jeffers, and blame me so he might inherit. MariElena did the deed herself with poison. Then she implicated my brother, who was still a child, by having him place the knife in a dead man’s chest. Adrian dictated a confession, and signed it. I kept it for myself, and had no intention of returning to England; but the janissaries had learned of my warning to the sultan, which had put an end to their plans to overthrow him and his mother. They sent troops from Algiers and Tunis to invade El Sinut, and the sultan looked the other way. I was to be sacrificed to their revenge. Fortunately, Baba Hassan learned of it just in time, and arranged for my flight. On our way to the harbor I was surprised by a young janissary eager to make a reputation. The scar is from his cowardly blow. Fortunately for me Aruj Agha was nearby. He killed the assailant, and I was able to make good my escape.”
“But what of the others in the palace?” India asked.
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