“Perfect,” Simon purred. He had to stop himself from laughing out loud. Poor little mouse was clearly out of her depth. This shouldn’t take long at all.
It wasn’t the space of a few minutes before Georgiana reappeared, followed by the ever-silent Fatima. Once again, she was covered head-to-toe. Simon took Georgiana’s arm and smiled at the servant, whose eyes never left the ground. “Good evening, Fatima. Glad you could join us.”
Silence, as expected. Simon smirked.
The trio walked slowly down the avenue, the grayness of twilight swallowing up the cantonment and casting everything in shadow and gloom.
“I wanted to show you the public gardens,” Simon said nonchalantly as they strolled. “They may not be as lush and ornate as those in London, but they are quite magical by moonlight.”
“Of course,” Georgiana agreed.
She seemed less rattled, so Simon decided to push her again. “I hear from Kavi that Fatima managed a very nice price on her cardamom. Quite impressive for someone so quiet.”
Georgiana’s mouth tightened. “Indeed,” she said, her voice a little too high. “She’s savvy in business matters.”
“Savvy,” Simon repeated, glancing back at Fatima, who was walking very slowly. He adjusted his pace so that she would have to walk backwards in order to not keep up with them. He leaned into Georgiana and whispered dramatically, “Kavi says he gave her the pretty girl discount.”
Georgiana made a funny face and cleared her throat. “How odd. Fatima is pretty, but she is always covered, of course. I wonder why he would say that.”
“Kavi said he can tell by the eyes,” Simon offered helpfully.
“Isn’t that interesting?” she managed. “I have no head for such dealings. Buyers, sellers, you never know what to believe.”
Simon shared a conspiratorial smile. “I don’t suppose I’ll ever get the pretty girl discount,” he teased. “Perhaps I might convince Baljit to don a dress and slippers?”
He was certain he heard a snort of laughter behind him, but when he glanced over his shoulder Fatima still refused to look up. Simon had to give her credit, she was tough nut to crack.
It was time to try a different tack.
Once they reached the privacy of the gardens, Simon cast Georgiana a sidelong look, a secret smile playing on his lips, but said nothing. He could feel her tensing beside him under his scrutiny. Finally, she stopped walking and looked up at him, chin set mulishly.
“If there’s something you wish to say, Mr. Ashford, please say it.”
Simon made sure Fatima was close enough to observe everything before he smiled his seducer’s smile again, hoping he wasn’t overdoing it. He stroked Georgiana’s cheek tenderly, as a lover would. “You used to call me Simon,” he murmured.
She looked away nervously. “I am sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Ashford,” she began firmly. “But I am not the Georgiana of your youth.”
“Of course not,” Simon agreed soothingly. “You were just a girl then. But now...now you’re a woman, and infinitely more appealing. I’m very thankful we have this opportunity to renew our, ahem, friendship.”
“Excuse me for a moment.” She said tightly before sidestepping him to stalk toward Fatima. She hissed a few angry words in Arabic, but the veiled woman only shook her head. Georgiana gestured angrily at Simon and said a few more words, but still Fatima didn’t look up.
Simon strolled over and took Georgiana’s arm. “Excuse us, Fatima,” he said, towing his quarry farther down the path. “We won’t leave your sight.” Georgiana Phillips was one stubborn baggage. Oh well. In for a penny, in for a pound.
“Georgiana, I cannot hold my tongue any longer,” he began. “Do you remember that night? That beautiful night at Mason House?”
She seemed unable to utter more than a choke.
“Your words have haunted me all these years. When you told me you were desperately in love with me, that I was the only man for you, I dared not believe it,” Simon blathered on, trying to keep a straight face as Georgiana’s eyes grew wider and wider.
“Don’t you remember, kitten?” he murmured silkily, grabbing her in an embrace and dipping her slightly so she couldn’t squirm away. “Your ardor frightened me, sweetheart. When you called me your lodestone, I was overwhelmed by the force of your passion. But I never should have left you. Forgive me, sugarplum, but when you said you couldn’t bear to live without me, I—”
“Oh stubble it, Simon,” a voice came from behind him, a wonderfully familiar, throaty voice. “Give over Janie, he knows.”
Simon winked at the poor woman cradled in his arms. “Cousin Jane, I presume?” At the woman’s slight nod, Simon returned her to her feet and released her. He very properly took her hand and kissed it. Then he braced himself and turned around.
Fatima was looking directly at him, amusement and reproach in her gorgeous violet eyes, arms folded across her chest. Simon felt the shock of her stare down to his toes and lost himself for a moment.
“How long have you known?” she asked.
Simon grinned like an idiot. “Not long, I’m sad to say.”
“I suppose that’s something,” the real Georgiana muttered. “What gave me away?”
“Baljit,” Simon said. “He watched you haggling with Kavi, even though you supposedly didn’t talk to men.”
Jane had recovered her wits and joined her cousin. “I told you it was a bad idea to deal with Kavi,” she chided.
“I know,” Georgiana sighed. “I was browsing the stand and that old goat drew me in with talk of a special type of spice basket that Indian cooks like to use.”
“Masala dabba,” Simon said softly.
“Yes,” Georgiana said delightedly. “That’s it. He said Indian cooks fill it with their preferred spices, like a painter prepares his palette.”
“Who knew Kavi was so poetic?” Simon muttered. “Can you remove your veil now? It’s a bit odd to converse with someone I can’t see.”
“It is rather disconcerting,” Jane agreed when Georgiana seemed to hesitate. “You’ve driven me mad as a hatter all week.”
“Fine,” Georgiana sighed. “But it’s stifling in here. I frequently resemble a wet mongrel when I take it off.” She removed the veil and smoothed her locks self-consciously.
Calling Georgiana Phillips beautiful was like stating the Taj Mahal was scenic. She was breathtaking. She was like a bolt of lightning to the senses. Her sable hair was caught back in a simple ribbon, leaving it to coil long and loose over her shoulders and down her back. Her face was as Simon had remembered it; perfectly oval, perhaps a shade thinner than he remembered, which only served to make her look more womanly. Her skin was fine-grained and flawless, and her lips were just as lush and dark as they had been six years ago. Like ripe cherries.
Simon was certain his heart had ceased beating. He actually felt as though he’d been punched in the gut. He opened his mouth to say something then forgot completely what it was when she looked up at him.
Jane giggled. “Men always have a certain look when they see Georgiana for the first time. It looks like—well if you had a mirror you’d know exactly what it looks like.”
Simon closed his mouth and shook his head. So much for his script.
“Janie,” Georgiana said, squeezing her cousin’s arm. “Mr. Ashford is immune to my charms. In truth, he went two years without even noticing me.”
“Perhaps he’s shy, Gi,” Jane commented, looking at Simon with ill-contained glee. Clearly she was glad to get some ground back after his shocking display earlier. “After all, it sounds like you put a lot of pressure on him. Making him your lodestone and whatnot.”
Georgiana’s eyes danced mischievously. “Mr. Ashford isn’t shy, darling. At least not that I remember. He used to be very friendly with the ladies. Especially the married
ones.”
She met Simon’s gaze and sauntered toward him, smiling a slow, knowing smile that made his pulse skitter. “Have you grown shy since we last met? That would truly be a disappointment.”
Simon saw red. “That’s enough, Georgiana,” he snapped.
Both women looked at him, completely dumbfounded.
“Excuse me?” Georgiana asked softly. Her smile had faded and her expression became shuttered.
Simon felt ready to explode. “You do this everywhere you go, don’t you?” he asked. “You play these...these games. You play with people. You ridicule them and mock them and stir things up and cause trouble for everyone, but to you it’s merely an evening’s entertainment.”
“What kind of shrubbery have they planted over there?” Jane said quickly, scurrying away.
“Do you really think a smile, a few suggestive comments, will make me slaver at your feet like some lapdog?” Simon was growing furious. “I can’t decide which offends me more, the fact that you’ve been lying to me near a week or the fact that you think me witless enough to pant after you like every other man you’ve manipulated and abused!”
Georgiana squared her hips and drew herself up defiantly. “I’m sorry to hear you have such a low opinion of me,” she said through clenched teeth.
“I daresay you have a lower opinion of me! You’ve spent the entire week running roughshod over me and mine without giving a hang for the consequences,” Simon snarled. “Each time you went down to the market dressed like that, you risked your safety, with which I happen to be charged! You lied to me, you deceived Baljit and you manipulated your poor cousin as well. Now to add insult to injury, you mock me.”
“Indeed,” Georgiana said coolly. “My litany of sins grows ever longer.”
“You cannot just traipse in here and do whatever the hell you please!” Simon glared at her. “Other people are not to be used like that. I am not to be used like that.”
“No. I’ve seen exactly how you like to be used,” Georgiana drawled acidly.
Simon couldn’t remember another time when he had wanted to throttle someone with his bare hands. Exhaling, he finally managed to bite out, “You will not disrupt this cantonment for your own enjoyment.”
Georgiana fixed a steady gaze on him. “What exactly do you think I’m here to do? Because I don’t think that my actual plans are anywhere near as nefarious as what you’ve imagined.”
“I think you’re here to make Nath’s life miserable,” Simon said flatly.
Georgiana smiled tightly. “That’s not my intention, though if you must know, I do consider making Nath uncomfortable an advantage of this visit. Believe it or not, Mr. Ashford, I’m here with the express purpose of helping my grandfather in his study of India and its people. Now if you’re done ranting and raving at me, Jane and I will see ourselves home. Please tell Baljit I need to be to the market early tomorrow. One of the textile merchants has arranged for me to meet a weaver so that I may observe how they produce saris.”
She turned on her heel and Simon fought the urge to reach for her. Instead he watched her sail off like a queen. Jane joined her and the two women strode toward the garden’s end. Simon didn’t go after them immediately. He needed a few moments to reign in his temper. By the time he felt capable of addressing Georgiana without yelling at her, she was out of sight.
Simon swore under his breath. He couldn’t let them walk home unattended, but he hated the idea of dogging their footsteps. Trotting reluctantly up the path, he found the ladies just outside the garden. They seemed to be discussing a type of flower that had intrigued Jane. While they didn’t acknowledge his presence, they resumed their stroll once he arrived.
Simon was too busy stewing in his own venom to really focus on their conversation, so it took him a moment to realize that they were discussing him. Loudly. And in a most unflattering manner.
“I must admit, I’m rather disappointed,” Jane said. “So many people spoke so highly of him. They all claimed he was charming and admirable.”
“Don’t forget intelligent,” Georgiana added dryly.
He rolled his eyes at that. Really, she was pouring it on rather thick.
Jane sighed. “I’d hoped he might be at least more reasonable than most.”
“We both know people are not their reputation, Jane,” Georgiana said crushingly.
Point for Georgie, he thought. That one hit hard.
Simon was about to interrupt but the ladies had stopped in front of their bungalow. Georgiana faced him for the first time since she’d walked away from him in the garden and inclined her head.
“Thank you for another lovely evening, Mr. Ashford,” she said. “You never disappoint.”
Before he could answer, both women safely absconded into the house, leaving him alone on the avenue. Simon stared at the door, wondering how he could’ve mucked things up so badly. He’d looked into the eyes of the most beautiful woman he had ever known, the most beautiful woman on at least two continents, and had all but called her a whore. Considering he’d been instrumental in her ruination, he couldn’t help feel a bit hypocritical.
“Idiot,” he chastised himself.
Simon walked slowly home, kicking a few errant rocks while a singular thought gnawed at his insides.
Georgiana Phillips was bigger trouble than he’d realized.
Chapter Four
Georgiana combed through her hair in the gray light of predawn, studying her reflection in the vanity mirror. She was scrubbed clean from head to toe, with her only maquillage a bit of kohl for her eyes and a very light color on her lips. She sighed, feeling more than a little sad that today was her first day as herself in Cuttack.
She wound her hair in a simple knot and pinned it into place, pausing when something in the mirror caught her eye. The niqab she had worn for the past week lay behind her, draped across the foot of her bed. Georgiana finished fiddling with her hair then crossed the room to touch the material that had been her temporary refuge.
It had been wonderful to be so anonymous. No one stared at her. No one whispered behind her back. She didn’t have to worry if they were judging her. Ironically, the confining garment had been liberating for her.
She looked in the mirror again. It wasn’t that she disliked her appearance; vanity and pride compelled her to admit that she liked being considered beautiful. She was graced with a pretty face and a nice figure, both of which had opened doors for her throughout her life. She shouldn’t be ungrateful, she scolded herself.
Georgiana set the garment down and dressed, choosing a sturdy lilac muslin with cap sleeves and a high waist with a ribbon that tied just below her bosom. She was thin enough to gad about without a corset, and in this heat she meant to do just that. India wasn’t necessarily hotter than Egypt, but it was more uncomfortable. The air actually felt thick.
Perhaps the local women would be willing to craft an outfit for her; something practical and comfortable yet not offensive to the locals. She had acquired a rather colorful wardrobe over the course of her travels, and from what she had seen in the marketplace, the simple yet flamboyant saris of India were absolutely stunning.
That a simple piece of cloth could be made so feminine, so elegant, fascinated her. The colors used were so different than those found in the deliberately constructed frocks she’d worn all her life. The saris were bold and lively and unexpected.
It intrigued her that the ideal of feminine beauty was so different everywhere they went. Clothing, naturally, was the most visible embodiment of that ideal. In China, women donned long skirts and a silk overcoat that hid the shape of their bodies—an odd contrast to the great efforts Western women went through to accentuate their figures. But the Chinese garments were not dowdy or masculine. They were adorned with such elaborate embroidery—gorgeous floral or intricate geometric patterns against d
eep blue or chocolate brown—that in many ways Georgiana found them more feminine than anything she had ever worn. India’s saris were similar. She itched to dive right in and learn everything she could.
Hopefully Simon wasn’t so put out that he’d forbid Baljit from taking her to the market this morning. Not that she’d let Simon dictate to her, but she had become rather fond of her young companion in the time they had spent together. He was a good lad, and she found herself looking forward to his happy chatter. She also loved the little scowl on his face every time he managed to hunt her down.
She wondered if Simon had told Baljit the truth about Fatima.
Shaking her head, Georgiana tried to sweep thoughts of Simon from her mind. If she were to be completely honest with herself, and she usually was, she had spent a good deal of her time doing that these last weeks. From the moment her grandfather had announced they’d be visiting Cuttack, thoughts of Simon had besieged her. He was more gorgeous than she had remembered. He’d always been handsome, but six years ago he had the polished look of an aristocrat: lean, sleek, shiny. He’d looked like a painter’s angel.
Now he looked like...like...a man.
He still had those gorgeous high cheekbones, thick dark hair, straight nose and chiseled jaw, but all the signs of youth had worn away. His skin was the color of honey, which only served to make his lovely eyes sparkle brighter. When he smiled, they crinkled just a bit at the corners. Aside from the crinkling, his smile hadn’t changed.
The rest of Simon, however, had changed rather much. He was taller than she’d remembered, and well-muscled. Very well-muscled. He looked more like a dock worker than the son of a nobleman. She’d spent a great deal of the week walking behind him, hiding under the niqab and enjoying the view of broad shoulders and narrow waist and strong legs and...
Georgiana exhaled, trying to muster an ounce of shame. Ah well, most of her shame had been used up long ago.
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