A bark of laughter stopped Georgiana mid-rant. Simon and she both turned to find the weaver and his wife watching them with satisfied glee. “Husband handsome,” the wife said to Georgiana as she pointed to Simon. “Make happy.”
Simon looked to Georgiana and smirked. “I believe you’ve received your very first piece of marital advice, dearest. Sound advice, if you ask me.”
Georgiana rolled her eyes but chuckled in spite of herself. She bowed to the weaver and his wife, thanking them as best she could in her less-than-perfect Hindi. Simon bowed as well then spoke so quickly and smoothly in the language that Georgiana actually gaped. The weaver summoned an assistant, a young, scruffy looking man with blue fingertips, and repeated Simon’s request. Soon the young man returned with several large swaths of gloriously colored fabric, including one in the gold that Georgiana had coveted.
Simon handed the weaver a healthy wad of bills then thanked them profusely and properly in Hindi. The old lady winked at her, and Georgiana felt herself blush.
After making arrangements for the material to be delivered to the cantonment, they left the shop. Georgiana took Simon’s arm, vexed and intrigued by her “husband.”
“You might have told me you speak Hindi,” she scolded. “I’m sure I sounded like a blathering idiot to them.”
He shrugged. “You were fine. You just need practice,” he said. “Besides, they appreciated that you tried.”
“I thought most Englishmen preferred to speak English,” she stated wryly. “I’m told it’s rather uncivilized to speak native tongues.”
“So it shouldn’t shock you that I do,” he retorted.
Georgiana stopped walking and looked up at him, undeterred. Simon sighed and began pulling her along. “I have something of an ear for languages, I suppose. Besides, I like to know what people are saying about me,” he answered simply.
“What will you do with all your purchases?” Georgiana asked for want of a better topic.
“I’ll send most of it to my sisters and mother back in England,” he answered absently. “I believe they have acquired a taste for Indian cotton.”
At the thought of the fabric, Georgiana’s head swam with the glut of information she had already accumulated. Recording the entire process would take weeks, but it would be well worth the cramped, ink-stained fingers. Grandfather’s next scholarly achievement took shape in her mind’s eye. The more she considered the project, the more animated she grew.
Unable to contain her excitement, she began to think out loud. “I find it absolutely fascinating that simple plant fiber can be made into such glorious clothing using such primitive methods,” she gushed. “It’s almost beyond belief. The effort and the skill it takes to create something so fine is...it’s simply remarkable. In a way it reminds me of the silk production that we researched in China. So delicate and yet so complicated. This weaver is a true artist. It’s as though the patterns come to life on their own—with such simple tools as sticks and threads. Amazing!”
She talked through the visit with Simon, reviewing everything down to the last details and making sure she hadn’t missed anything important. Once he got over being angry with her, Simon was an excellent collaborator, as he had a keen eye and a head for the more technical aspects. He was knowledgeable about Indian agriculture and even said he knew a farmer who might be willing to speak with her about harvesting techniques.
Perhaps Simon might also know a metalworker, she thought. She was quite captivated by some of the silver filigree jewelry she had seen in the marketplace. India was proving to be even more captivating than she’d dreamed. There was so much she wanted to see. She was dizzy with all the possibilities.
By the time they made their way through the busy, meandering streets close to Kavi’s stand, Georgiana was positively glowing with happiness. India would be her grandfather’s most celebrated scholarship.
In spite of herself, she beamed at her companion.
“Thank you for a wonderful morning, Simon,” she said sincerely, her smile completely unfettered.
Simon blinked and stopped in his tracks. “You’re welcome,” he said, seeming a bit flustered. “May I presume by your happy demeanor that we have an understanding?”
Georgiana was momentarily perplexed. “Oh,” she said shyly. “Husband, make happy, you mean?”
“You forgot handsome,” he said.
“Yes,” She nodded. “I’ll be your wife. Your pretend wife,” she corrected quickly. “If you’ll still have me, of course.”
He studied her intently, and Georgiana feared that she may have annoyed him too much with her penchant for bickering and her blathering on about her research. Why she couldn’t seem to hold her tongue in Simon’s presence was a puzzler. If he agreed to open those doors he had promised, she vowed she would cease disagreeing with him altogether.
At last he said, “I would ask something from you first.”
Georgiana stilled. If Simon wanted to kiss her, would she allow him? Their last kiss had been wondrous. At the memory of it, her pulse skittered and she realized she might not refuse. The more she considered it, in fact, the more she decided it unlikely she would say no.
Oh, who was she kidding? She’d not refuse him. After all, she justified, it was for Grandfather’s scholarship. It had nothing to do with her racing pulse.
Breathlessly, she asked, “Yes?”
Simon took her by the hand and pushed his way through the crowd determinedly, towing her behind him. Georgiana’s heart fluttered wildly. Did he have a spot where he thought to kiss her right now? Kissing Simon in the marketplace seemed—
He stopped in front of the spice vendor’s stand. Georgiana frowned a little, confused. The old man, Kavi, came out to greet them, but stopped when he saw her. His eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, revealing several missing teeth.
Simon smiled widely, looking rather pleased with himself. “Miss Phillips, we have an understanding.”
* * *
Jane’s hands ached from a full day of sketching. Although she knew it was vastly improper, she simply could not stop herself from extending and curling her fingers several times throughout the course of dinner. Sometimes a popping noise accompanied the action. Not that anyone present made a fuss at her faux pas. Grandpapa was already well into his cups and Georgiana was too kind, not to mention rather preoccupied, to notice.
Jane studied her cousin, wondering—not for the first time—what Gi was thinking. Over the six years they had lived and traveled together, they had forged the type of fierce loyalty that blossomed during times of heartbreak and strife. Even still, Georgiana tended to keep her own counsel until she was ready. It was hard for her to trust people; they tended to look at her and see only what they wanted to see.
Jane understood her cousin’s hesitation and never pushed too hard. Georgiana had come to live with her and her beloved Henri in Paris shortly after the incident. Having created her own incident by eloping with a French merchant, one who was practically worth more than the British monarchy, Jane was sympathetic to Georgiana’s plight and had been at the ready with a shoulder for Georgiana to cry on.
Georgiana never looked for sympathy or pity, however. There were tears, of course. After all, she was still a young lady—now untitled and alone—and she missed her family. But she never whined or blamed anyone for her situation. In her very practical way, she would wipe away her tears, straighten her shoulders, and say, “What’s done is done.”
So Jane and Henri gladly became her family, and French society accepted the beautiful young miss with a level of adoration and enthusiasm that outshone English Society’s scorn. In fact, most Frenchmen found Georgiana more interesting because of her scandalous past, and they pursued her with fervor.
And then like the mythical phoenix, Napoleon rose again and his army tore through the continent like wildfire.
Many were killed in the violence, Henri included, and Jane had found herself widowed and nearly destitute. Suddenly, she was crying on Georgiana’s shoulder. During those dark, sad times, Georgiana was a calming, solid presence. Rather than letting Jane hide in her bedchamber to wither and die, Georgiana took her by the hand and got them safely out of Paris to live with their Grandpapa in Italy.
Then Russia and China.
Then Egypt.
Now India.
Once again they found themselves navigating a society entirely alien to them. Jane enjoyed their travels, but she found the first month or so to be exhausting. Learning the language and the nuances of social customs took time, and she inevitably felt off-kilter until she’d mastered at least a basic understanding of each new place.
Her cousin, by contrast, seemed to thrive on the chaos and newness of each move. Jane listened as Georgiana explained to their inebriated Grandpapa all she’d learned in the weaver’s quarters. Grandpapa was so pickled that Jane doubted he caught much of it, but that didn’t ruffle her darling cousin. Little unnerved Georgiana because Georgiana was practically a force of nature.
Jane assessed Georgiana through her painter’s eye. She looked...naughty. She was tall and slender, but she had the full breasts and gently flaring hips that most women could not achieve with even the tightest of corsets. Her thick, dark locks and golden complexion, coupled with her extravagant mouth and vibrant, inquisitive eyes gave her an air of lasciviousness. She looked as though she had stepped directly out of a tale from the Arabian Nights. She looked sensuous. She looked decadent. She looked as though she liked pleasure.
Wherever they went, the reaction to her was the same. Men fell all over themselves trying to bed her, and women avoided her like a sickness.
The irony of it all was that Georgiana was the least naughty person Jane knew. In fact, her hard-headed practicality and intelligence made Jane wonder if Georgiana had ever looked at her suitors with any spark of romantic sentiment instead of mild amusement or deep annoyance. She didn’t know all the details of Georgiana’s ruination, but she knew enough to know much of it was complete fabrication. Not really a surprise, as she simply couldn’t imagine her cousin losing her head over a man.
Until now.
Georgiana was out of sorts. And unless she was mistaken, Jane mused, it had less to do with being in her brother’s encampment and more to do with a handsome green-eyed Englishman. Jane had watched Georgiana flirt and smile at and, yes, manipulate men to obtain her own goals, but she had never seen her cousin actually flustered by a man.
Many names had been bandied about as the cause of Georgiana’s downfall; most were likely spread by the owners themselves in hopes of raising their own esteem within the ton. After all, a certain amount of fame could be achieved by ruining one of Society’s sensations.
Simon Ashford had been one of those names, of course. He was stunning, as all the Ashfords were, and he’d had a bit of a reputation as a rakehell. There was even a rumor that he’d offered for Gi in the aftermath. Jane had dismissed such speculation out of hand. The fact that Simon and Nathaniel were still friends had led her to believe that Simon was not the mystery man.
But having seen the two interact over the last couple days, Jane wasn’t so sure. The air fairly crackled whenever they were within proximity to each other. This morning at the breakfast table, the tension between them was palpable. And in his presence, Georgiana’s eyes held a certain glimmer that Jane had never seen before.
Jane didn’t disapprove. She liked Simon. Spending a week with him disguised as Georgiana had given her ample time to observe his character. He was intelligent, certainly, and he seemed honorable. More importantly, he was kind. The way he treated Baljit, not as a servant but as a son, spoke volumes. Plus, no man had ever taken Georgiana to task the way Simon did last night, which made Jane like him all the more. He wasn’t so blinded by her beauty that he’d hand her whatever she wished. He might actually look beyond the pretty packaging and see the real woman.
So far Georgiana had spent the whole of her adult life guiding and supporting their odd little family. After her brief time in Paris, the toil of academics hadn’t allowed for the foolish delights and fripperies a young lady of her station should enjoy. Instead, the poor girl suffered a sot, a widow and an undue reputation.
It was time practical Georgiana had some impractical fun.
As a rule, Jane was not the meddlesome sort, but to each rule there was an exception. Gi needed a little romance in her life, even if she didn’t know it yet, and Simon was just the man for the job. There was nothing more sweetly satisfying than being pursued by a man who made one’s eyes light up. Having known that feeling for herself, Jane wanted her cousin to experience the same.
Jane put down her fork to stretch her hands again, the matter settled in her mind. Georgiana and Simon would have a romance, and she would do whatever it took to facilitate it.
Chapter Six
Simon watched as Georgiana scribbled frantically in her notebook. It was their seventh visit to the weaver’s address within a fortnight and Simon had to admit that his “wife” impressed him. Georgiana was clearly intent on understanding the process, down to its last little detail. Her fluency of the Hindi language was progressing quickly, and she asked questions that showed she wanted to understand these people and their craft on a deeper level.
He wondered when he would tire of watching her. In the sweltering heat of the morning, tendrils of hair had come loose from her simple knot and were snaking around her neck and shoulders. Her fingertips were spotted with ink, and she had a small stain on her forehead where she’d swiped at a lock of hair. The delicate skin under her eyes seemed bruised, as though she were not sleeping well. It was bloody hot and her skin glimmered with perspiration—her clothes stuck to her slender frame in a way that he knew was uncomfortable since his did the same.
Simon couldn’t remember a time she had looked more desirable.
Georgiana looked at him and smiled that real, unfettered smile that always seemed to go straight to his loins. “Look how finely this is woven, Simon, she said, her face lit with excitement. “To create each row of the design, several weighted eyes are threaded and then placed over the top of the loom. Then they’re tied together in a series of tight rings and brought down ring by ring. Have you ever seen anything so exquisite?”
He shook his head. “Never.”
She only called him Simon when they were in the marketplace, when she was too enthralled with her research to even realize she did so. He wished she did so back in the cantonment. Hearing his first name on her lips felt...intimate.
Georgiana looked up at him again and the smile faded from her face. “Oh, Simon, I’m sorry. It must be getting late, and I know you have other work to attend. Grandfather will want these notes as soon as possible anyway.”
Before he could correct her, she gathered up her papers, thanked the weaver with a promise that they’d return in two days’ time, and then took his arm. Simon found himself unwilling to hurry back through the market despite the fact that the irrigation project had encountered a few hiccups that threatened to delay its completion. Thank goodness the wells they were digging and the plans for expanding the cantonment needed little attention, as his mind seemed unable to function properly whenever Georgiana was out of his sight. Unfortunately, it functioned even less when she was in it.
“Simon, look!” Georgiana said breathlessly, stopping in her tracks. “A snake charmer! We simply must watch. Please? I promise to be entirely accommodating for the rest of the afternoon.”
Simon’s mouth went dry at her innocent remark, thinking of how exactly he’d like to be accommodated. When she took his hand in both of hers he followed her blindly over to the small crowd gathering to watch the performance.
An old man with dark skin and darker eyes sat cross-legged on a mat, a bo
wl and a basket of reeds just a few feet away. His long gray hair flowed over his shoulders and several beaded necklaces had been wound around his neck. He was playing a slow, melancholy tune on an instrument that looked more like a gourd than a flute.
“The instrument is called a bheen,” Simon murmured in Georgiana’s ear. He had seen a couple of snake charmers during his time in India, so he had some little knowledge to impart. “It’s essentially two small wooden flutes inserted into the larger end of a gourd. Beeswax is used to secure them.”
Georgiana seemed to have forgotten that she held his hand. Sure enough, a moment or two later, when a cobra arose from the basket, Simon felt her grip tighten in his. The cobra rose higher and spread its hood and the charmer began moving his instrument back and forth slowly as he played the haunting melody. Soon the snake’s entire body swayed, too, following the time of the music. It looked to be dancing.
Simon could feel her holding her breath next to him. Sneaking a sidelong glance, Simon noted Georgiana was absolutely enchanted by the show. He was enchanted by her.
The cobra followed the charmer, its sinewy body keeping time with his increased tempo. It twitched occasionally, seeming agitated, and when it did that, the charmer abruptly stopped playing and thrust the instrument close. When nothing happened, he did it again.
Without warning, the snake struck at him, hissing loudly. Georgiana yelped with the rest of the crowd and moved closer into Simon. She looked at him, her eyes wide and glittering and exhilarated. For one insane moment, Simon thought about kissing her right there, in the middle of the marketplace for all creation to see.
Before he could act on that impulse, Georgiana had looked back at the charmer, presumably to see how he had fared. Unharmed, the man made a fist and slowly moved it toward the cobra. The snake struck again, and the charmer narrowly avoided the bite. Again the snake followed the swaying of his fist, seeming mesmerized. After a tense minute, he picked the cobra from its basket and curled it around his neck. He stroked the cobra’s hood and then gently placed him back in the basket, covering it with the lid.
An Inconvenient Kiss Page 10