Star Crossed Seduction

by Jenny Brown

  In India, too, she would have to set aside her dream of working for a better world and replace it with that of building the loving family Trev so obviously needed. The joy she found in his arms was so great, she could at times delude herself that it would compensate her for what she would have to give up to become his wife. But when he left her to take care of the many arrangements that must be completed before their departure, her fears set in again.

  Close as they were becoming, she resisted the temptation to tell him of her anxieties, and if he suspected her of entertaining doubts, he didn’t bring them up. The air of reserve he maintained, even now, told her there were things he preferred to keep from her. He must be struggling with his own doubts, and, like herself, he must have concluded that to discuss them might only make them stronger. They were too happy together to take such a risk. Best to suck every bit of pleasure out of the present moment and leave the future to unfold as it must.

  It was with mixed feelings that Trev said farewell to his mother on the day appointed for the journey into Surrey, where he would visit with the Mad Nabob and claim the Jewel of Vadha. He embraced his parent and wished her well, just as if he would be coming back in a few days, but he did so knowing it would be many years until he saw her again. How ironic it was to find himself playing what had once been her role.

  Loving Temperance as he did, he could better appreciate the sacrifice his mother had made in spending six years apart from her beloved husband. She’d done it for Trev, to ensure he would survive. He found himself wishing he’d had a chance to get to know her better during this visit home. But once again, duty had exacted a harsh price from him and his family. He could do nothing about it but pray that same duty would not come between him and Temperance so cruelly.

  But it probably would. He must not delude himself about that. He was sworn to serve his king, his regiment, and the department. All had claims as strong as hers upon his loyalty.

  When he went to fetch her from her lodgings, so they could begin their journey to the Mad Nabob’s estate, Trev encountered a young woman coming out of Temperance’s chamber, dressed in a gaudy, dirty gown. He figured she must be an old friend, come to say her farewells, before recalling that he had not told Temperance, any more than he had his mother, that they’d be leaving for India as soon as he had completed his business at Sir Humphrey’s.

  He hoped Temperance could forgive him for robbing her of the chance to take her leave of the friends she would not see again for many years, as she might have done had he been able to be more frank with her. But it had not been possible. Not if he were to preserve the confidentiality his mission required.

  Perhaps after they married, it would be time to give up these errands he did for the department. All this cloak-and-dagger stuff was beginning to seem a bit adolescent. He couldn’t in good conscience continue on with pursuits that forced him to keep so many secrets from his wife. His love for her and the family they would build together should be more than enough to compensate him for the loss of the adventures with which he had filled his youth.

  He found Temperance by the grate, stirring the fire with a stick. At his entrance, she jumped up and crossed the room to greet him. After they’d embraced, he asked, “Was that an old friend of yours I saw leaving?”

  Her body stiffened. “Aye,” she said, too hastily. “She’s on the game now, poor thing. But she was kind enough to come by to see how I was faring.”

  Tipped off by something furtive in her gaze, he followed her eyes to the grate, where something had just flared up and begun to burn. He took a few steps toward the fire, but by the time he reached it, the sheet had been consumed, all except for one corner where he spotted a letter S, inked by a clumsy hand, which terminated in what looked like a snake’s tongue. Just as he began to make out what it was, it blackened.

  He rounded on her. “Who sent you that note?”

  For a moment she hesitated. Then she said, “Snake.”

  His heart missed a beat.

  “Why?”

  “It’s the same thing as before. He wishes to make me his cat’s-paw and draw me into one of his schemes. But I won’t do it. He can’t force me to obey him. Snake can kiss the devil’s arse for all I care.”

  “Is that the truth, Tem. All of it?”

  Her eyes blazed. “Have I given you any reason to doubt me since we made our vows?”

  She hadn’t. He must trust that she was being honest with him.

  “Forgive me,” he said. “You have given me nothing but your love. It isn’t easy to overcome the habits of a suspicious nature.”

  His words seemed to calm her. If only they could do the same for him. He would have given a lot not to have seen that note or felt the jolt of fear it had sent coursing through him. It had brought back all the doubts Fanshawe had planted in his mind. He would trust her. He must. Her love was becoming essential to his very existence. But he would be glad when this whole business was over, the jewel stowed securely in the ship’s safe, and his fears about Temperance’s role in the matter finally stilled. Until then, he must live with those fears. They could only be dispelled after he’d successfully completed his mission.

  They arrived at the Mad Nabob’s estate as the shadows were drawing down into evening. Despite his foreknowledge of their host’s eccentricities, Trev was surprised at the spectacle that greeted them within. Though the building on the outside resembled any modern gentleman’s residence with a deceptively bland portico, the inside reflected its owner’s obsession with the subcontinent where he’d made his fortune—and his determination to pretend he still dwelled there.

  The colors were warm, as was the atmosphere, for huge fires blazed in every room despite its only being November, attesting both to their host’s wealth and his determination to behave as unlike an Englishman as possible. Tiger heads were mounted on the walls, and a small monkey shivered in one corner of the reception room.

  The servants who greeted them were garbed in tunics and leggings edged in costly trim. Their heads were swathed in turbans. Trev addressed one with a brief burst of Hindustani, but his words were met with a look of surprised incomprehension. It was only then he noted the blue eyes and ruddy complexion that betrayed the man’s true nationality. Sir Humphrey must pay his servants well for them to put up with his bizarre requirements.

  His own manservant, a bluff Yorkshireman, who had come back with him from India and would be accompanying them on their return, was ushered away to the servants’ quarters. Then one of the nabob’s men led them into a reception room that was even grander than the entryway. There they were introduced to their host, whom they found seated cross-legged on a low throne. He was dressed in the form-revealing silk shirt of an Indian prince, though the awkward fit of his garments suggested they had been designed for a prince whose build was far slimmer than that of the portly nabob. On his head he wore a flame red turban, over which were draped cascades of pearls. He also sported five or six heavy gold necklaces of a type Trev had seen worn by Rajput princes, each of them studded with large gems. Whatever the value of the Jewel of Vadha, the Mad Nabob would have many more with which to console himself.

  At their entrance, Sir Humphrey sprang up, and called out, “Ah, Captain Trevelyan, Namaste, Namaste! Welcome to Srinagar Mahal,” and placed his hands palm to palm as he inclined his head slightly. Trev replied to the traditional greeting in polite Hindustani to which his host responded enthusiastically in the same language. The nabob’s accent was abysmal, and he had a very poor grasp of how to use the postpositions characteristic of the language. Trev switched back to English. “May I introduce my companion, Miss Smith?”

  Sir Humphrey’s smile broadened as he inspected every inch of her, from her hair, which she had arranged in a thick plait made into a coil at the back, to her high, rounded bosom, where his gaze lingered far longer than was polite in any society, Indian or English.

  When he had completed his inspection, he strode toward her and, with a speed unexpected in a man
so large, cupped her chin in his hand, turning it this way and that, as if looking for flaws. A burst of purely animal possessiveness coursed through Trev, but before he could act on it, Sir Humphrey switched back into his execrable Hindustani, and said, “Your gift pleases me. She will indeed be a remarkable addition to my harem. Mr. Fanshawe did not lie about her beauty.” Then his hand drifted down to her breast.

  Temperance swatted it away, causing Sir Humphrey to draw back with an expression of surprise. At that, Trev seized her hand in a possessive gesture that could not be misinterpreted. Then, speaking slowly in Hindustani and taking care to choose words the most elementary student of the language could understand, he said, “My apologies, noble host, if my clumsy attempts have given you a false impression, but Miss Smith is not a gift. I must demand that you treat her with respect.”

  Sir Humphrey’s fat features took on a peevish look. Still speaking in Hindustani, he said, “Mr. Fanshawe said you were bringing me the girl as a present.”

  “Most definitely not. I am attached to Miss Smith and would not stand for it.”

  “What a pity,” Sir Humphrey replied, still mangling the grammar of his adopted language. “Though I can understand why you would be reluctant to give her up. But you needn’t fear I would deprive you of such a gem without making restitution. You could take your choice of my harem, and let me assure you, you will not suffer in the exchange. My women are skilled as no English girl could be.” He made a suggestive gesture. Temperance’s eyes widened with shock.

  Trev resisted the urge to plant the man a facer. He must not jeopardize the mission. But there were limits as to how far he would go to humor the nabob’s mad delusions, and he must make those limits clear. He placed his hand on the hilt of his sword, and said, still in Hindustani, “Honor requires me to ask you to forget you ever made such an offer.”

  Sir Humphrey’s beady eyes narrowed. Isolated here in his domain, he was probably not used to being thwarted. But he quickly recovered himself. “Apologies, Captain. I sometimes forget I am no longer in Hyderabad.” He touched his brow with two fingers, as if trying to rub out the mental error he’d just made. But the look in his eyes was not that of a man apologizing. Trev began to understand why it had been necessary to send a man with his skills on what had been made to sound like an innocuous errand. Nothing that involved the Mad Nabob could be simple.

  Sir Humphrey turned again toward Temperance, and, switching to English, said, “Allow me, my fair one, to welcome you to my little corner of India. Whatever I can do to give you pleasure, just ask and it shall be done.” His insolent gaze lingered for one last moment on the soft curve of her breast. Then he turned back to Trev. “It is late, and you must be fatigued with your journey. We will postpone the work that brought you here until the morrow. I will have my servants show you to your quarters. Until we meet again—” He clapped his hands twice, and they were whisked out of his presence.

  A servant led Temperance and her companion to a luxurious chamber, which, like the rest of the Mad Nabob’s domain, was furnished in a style of oriental splendor far more fervid than the room they had dined in at Rajiv’s. The walls were hung with intricate tapestries, richly embroidered with golden threads that sparkled in the light of the oil lamps that stood on tall iron stands placed around the room. A low table held plates of saffron-colored rice, flat breads, and dishes of what she supposed were curries. One corner was taken up by a huge pile of cushions, which she assumed must be a bed in the oriental style, but in the wake of the scene that had just concluded, she could only view it with distaste.

  “Is that how Englishmen treat women in India?” she demanded.

  “Most certainly not,” Trev assured her. “I begin to see now why they call him the Mad Nabob. But don’t let his odd behavior worry you. Despite his eccentricities, I’ve been assured he’s harmless.”

  “By whom?”

  Trev’s eyes shifted. “It is generally known.” He hadn’t answered her question.

  “Harmless or not, he appears to expect you to share me with him.”

  His raised eyebrows betrayed his surprise. “Surely you don’t speak Hindustani?”

  “I didn’t need to know Hindustani to understand his meaning. His crude gesture said it all, and, besides, the word ‘harem’ is good English.”

  “You can’t think I meant to give you to him?”

  “His actions made it clear he thought so.”

  “You have nothing to fear from him. I would make him pay the ultimate price should he show you anything but total respect. He may be mad, Tem, but I’m not.”

  Her pulse slowed a bit, but she couldn’t help asking, “If he’s that mad, why are you here?”

  “To help him interpret a valuable manuscript. He pays me exceedingly well. Enough to tempt even a man of my estate. And, truth be told, I had heard so much about his hoard of Indian treasures that I wished to see them myself.”

  He was lying. She could see it in the way his eyes avoided hers, and it infuriated her. Why couldn’t he give her the same honesty he demanded from her? Rounding on him, she demanded, “Who is this Mr. Fanshawe he kept mentioning?”

  He waited a second too long before delivering his answer. “No one important. Just a man familiar with such matters who suggested I might be able to help him. I’m known for my ability in parsing Sanskrit.”

  Another lie.

  He turned away from her and busied himself preparing a plate of food. When it was ready, he brought it to her, and said in a more tender tone, “Have patience, Priya. If all goes well, we’ll be on our way to Chatham tomorrow evening to board the ship that will take us to India.”

  “So soon?” She couldn’t hide her surprise. “I had thought we weren’t going to embark until after the Coronation.”

  “That had been the original plan, but my orders have changed. We must leave tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow? And he’d said nothing about it until now? A horrifying thought invaded her mind. Was he telling the truth when he said they would embark? Did he really mean to take her along? He must have known about this change in plan for some time, for he would have had to make his own arrangements before he could depart. But if he’d known, why had he kept it secret from her? He’d given her no time to prepare, to pack her things, or to say good-bye to the people she would be leaving behind. Could this omission be a sign that he’d never really intended to bring her with him?

  She took the plate of food he offered and settled herself on the cushions to eat it, but she couldn’t take a single bite. Her stomach was churning.

  “If you find you hate the real India when we arrive there,” he said quietly, “I won’t force you to remain with me. I will never ask you to sacrifice your happiness to ensure mine.”

  The kindness in his voice told her he was trying to reach her through the cloud of distrust that had just enveloped them. But she found it difficult to connect. He seemed to have shut himself off from her ever since he’d come to get her at her lodging when they began their journey.

  He was no longer the man who had shown her his soul in those hours they’d spent wrapped in joy in her humble chamber at the lodging house. He seemed distracted, as if he had put his love for her to one side and moved on to something else. Had their love been nothing more than the dalliance he had originally offered her? Had he pretended all that love, to squeeze the most pleasure out of their time together?

  She must be overreacting. She couldn’t have felt what she had when they had joined their souls together if he were deceiving her. And she hadn’t missed the emotion underlying the rigid calm with which he had told her she might leave him if she found the real India intolerable.

  Perhaps Trev was worried that the nabob’s crudity would make her change her mind about accompanying him. Perhaps the barrier she felt rising between them was due to his fear that he would lose her. Even with what they had shared, she should not expect him to get over his fear of abandonment any more quickly than she could get over her fear of being us
ed and betrayed.

  She must not let her doubts sweep her away. Gathering up her courage, she said, “It will take far more than the sick fantasies of one deluded old man to make me leave you, Trev.”

  His eyes glowed, and he blinked a couple of times. “You are more than I deserve, Priya,” he said in a whisper. “I am asking so much of you, in demanding that you trust yourself to me in a new and alien land. I can’t help but worry that it may be too much. If you must leave me, remember, you have promised to tell me before you go.”

  The emotion in his voice seemed so real. How could she imagine he had been simulating his love for her? “I will keep my promise,” she answered. “I have given you no reason to doubt me.”

  “Enough talk,” he said gruffly. “It’s late, and we both are tired.”

  He drew her to the divan, and they curled up together, seeking the comfort they usually found in each other’s arms. But he did not make love to her. She didn’t know whether to feel gratitude or despair. She felt too disturbed by all the things she sensed he was keeping from her, to be able to meet him in the honest place they soared to in their lovemaking, as much as she longed for the reassurance she had always found in his arms. But without that reassurance, she felt bereft. How could she trust that she wasn’t deluded again?

  She must be patient. She must have more faith in their love. But it would take enormous effort. Trev wasn’t the only one contending against the lifelong habits of a suspicious nature.

  Chapter 17

  The next morning, the servants brought them a luxurious breakfast of slices of mangoes grown in Sir Humphrey’s hothouse and smooth, tangy raita made by his dairywomen. As they ate, Trev struggled to recapture his certainty that he wasn’t asking too much of his intended. Though Srinagar Mahal bore little resemblance to the real India, Temperance would find much on the subcontinent that would be unsettling. Had he made a fatal mistake in asking this woman whose soul thrilled with the spirit of liberty to come with him to a land where she would have to play a role so different from what she was used to?