by Gaelen Foley
Enormous columns supported the two-storied galleries that surrounded the large rectangle of the courtyard, which itself lay open to the cloudless blue sky. A few palm trees thrived here and there. The shade was pleasant, but Georgie felt a bit unsettled to notice the palace guards posted everywhere, like more stone statues, staring straight ahead as they gripped their tall, gleaming battle-axes.
The palace guards were uniformed in black, belted tunics with black leggings and appeared almost identical, each one bearded, their long hair gathered into twin queues over their shoulders, neatly bound with red twine. They were fearsome beings, with black-sheathed swords and silver daggers strapped about their waists.
One of them swiveled his head, alerted, as her two favorite warriors in the world suddenly came racing into the courtyard, their shiny black boots clattering on the flagstones.
“Georgie!”
She let out a joyous shriek at the sight of her handsome brothers. “Hallo!” She threw back her veil and ran to greet them.
Hearty embraces enfolded her at their reunion, Gabriel lifting her off her feet with a bearlike squeeze, Derek hugging her fondly and planting a loud kiss on her cheek.
“Good Lord! I can’t believe my eyes! Is it really you?”
“You hoyden! What are you doing here?”
“I had to come. I had to see you. Oh, my darling brothers, how are you both?” She touched each hard, handsome face fondly, having assumed the role of mother to some degree since their own had died, despite the fact that she was younger than they. “You’re looking well enough. Are they feeding you properly?”
They laughed at her making a fuss over them, but her heart could have burst with pride over the dazzling pair of rogues. She loved seeing them like this, looking all smart and heroic in their dark-blue cavalry uniforms, with gold epaulets glimmering on their broad shoulders, cream-colored riding breeches, and gleaming knee-boots. Why, she could not blame all the ladies who fell in love with them practically at first sight. With such excellent brothers for comparison, no wonder she had such impossibly high standards in men.
Both of her brothers had black hair, but Derek’s hung to his shoulders, while Gabriel’s was cropped short. Gabriel’s eyes were a deep, dark sapphire, soulful in their expression; Derek’s eyes were paler, sky-blue, like Papa’s, and usually twinkling with roguery. Both men were darkly sun-tanned from their years of riding across the plains with their squadrons.
“How did you know we were here?” Derek demanded.
“Meena told me! She wrote to me weeks ago. Have you seen her?”
“’Course not, we’re not allowed,” Gabriel murmured. The stern eldest shook his head, slung his arm around her shoulders, and tugged her closer, pressing a fond kiss to her temple. Then he sighed “It was mad of you to come.”
“Oh, you’re not angry, are you?”
“How could I be? We haven’t seen our little sister in over a year.”
“Just don’t get us into trouble with Lord Griffith,” Derek warned in a low tone. “Good man, but he prefers things to go by the book, if you know what I mean.”
“Tell me about it,” Georgie muttered.
“You’d better promise us that you’ll behave,” Gabriel said, eyeing her askance.
Georgie snorted. “I shall do nothing of the kind.”
Derek laughed and tugged a lock of her hair. “You haven’t changed.”
“Well, I see the identity of our ‘princess’ is finally revealed,” a deep, droll voice remarked from a few yards away. The sound of crisp, slow footfalls rang out across the flagstones.
Georgie froze. Although her back was to him, she recognized the voice, and it took no great skill to detect the irritation underlying his sardonic tone.
Griffith.
“Ah, sorry, sir.” Gabriel cleared his throat and sent Georgie a warning glance that told her to mind her manners. “We were just finishing up here.”
“Not at all, gentlemen,” he replied, his tone as mild as a spring day. An ominous sign. “Take your time, by all means. Negotiations have been adjourned for the day. Curious, that,” he added. “It’s only…one o’clock.”
Bracing herself to confront him, Georgie turned around just as the marquess finished glancing at his fob watch. He closed it with a reproachful snick. His eyes gleamed, and the moment their gazes collided, she felt the impact with a thrill that ran all the way down to her toes.
Oo, I can’t stand him, she told herself, but was irked to know she was not immune to his worldly magnetism.
He looked like a dream.
Suave and polished as ever, he wore a dark chocolate tailcoat, flawless white cravat, and fawn trousers. Fixing his cool, dissecting stare on her, he tucked his fob watch back into his burgundy-striped waistcoat. Georgie noted the taut set of his jaw and wondered if she might be safer out there with the Pindaris.
Nevertheless, the marquess appeared resigned to their reunion. Good. For she wasn’t leaving. In truth, she could barely wait to get him alone so she could give him a piece of her mind.
This imperious London grandee needed a lesson or two in how to treat a lady, starting with the fundamentals: namely, that he could not simply lock her up like some pampered prisoner for the sake of his own convenience.
It was unfair of him to judge her entire character on the basis of one incident, that unfortunate business near old Balaram’s funeral pyre. Most importantly, he needed to learn that he had no authority over her. How that must drive him mad, now that he saw the evidence of it—her standing here! She would make her own decisions, thank you very much.
“You, ah, already met our sister, my lord,” Gabriel reminded him cautiously, breaking the awkward silence.
“Oh, yes. I most certainly did.” The marquess angled his head toward her with courteous precision. “Miss Knight,” he said in a voice as smooth as glass. “How very charming to see you again.”
“Likewise, my lord.” She gave him a queenly nod.
They stared at each other, and Georgie decided not to tell her brothers yet that the beast had tried to put her under house arrest. No, far wiser to hold that threat over his head in case she needed to wrest a few concessions from him.
Besides, there were one or two things she’d rather he not tell her brothers, either. Like her rescue of Lakshmi and the calamity that had nearly resulted.
Derek cleared his throat. “The, er, king’s advisers probably needed time to digest your proposal,” he offered, making a valiant attempt to deflect Lord Griffith’s displeasure, which, though restrained, was palpable.
“Indeed.” He clasped his hands behind his back in gentlemanly fashion. “Curious time for a family visit,” he remarked in an ever-so-civilized tone, at which both of her brothers immediately started trying to make excuses for her, but he cut them off with a practiced smile and an idle wave of his hand. “I wonder if I might have a private word with the three of you?”
“Yes, of course,” Gabriel murmured at once, dutiful as ever, and Derek nodded, stepping forward, too, but Georgie stopped them.
“That won’t be necessary,” she announced, turning to Lord Griffith. If it was a fight he wanted, it was a fight he’d get.
He arched a brow.
“You boys stay out here,” she ordered, barely glancing at her brothers. “I’m the one who’s earned His Lordship’s wrath. We might as well have this out between us two.”
“Are you sure about this?” he asked softly, a glint of intrigued amusement at her challenge shining in his eye like a star.
She lifted her chin. “I can fight my own battles.”
“As you desire.” He swept a formal gesture toward one of the private side rooms off the main courtyard, inviting her to go ahead of him.
As she lifted the hem of her sari and started toward the nearest parlor, her ayah protested at the impropriety, while Lakshmi fretted in alarm. Georgie told them in Bengali that she would only be a moment. Besides, the man had that blasted saintly reputation. Derek and Gabr
iel were frowning, but when she shook her head at them with a firm look that told them not to worry—she knew what she was doing—they seemed to accept her move.
After all, she had gotten herself into this and could jolly well get herself out. Gabriel put his hands in his pockets and leaned against one of the sturdy palm trees to wait for her, while Derek turned and greeted their old nurse with knavish affection. Purnima, for her part, was not happy about any of this.
Georgie walked toward the room he had indicated, acutely aware of Lord Griffith’s riveting presence behind her, but she was very glad her brothers had chosen not to countermand her decision.
This was between her and Lord Griffith, and she did not want them involved. She could not risk the marquess taking out his anger at her on them, for if he wanted to, he could easily use his high position to give her brothers poor marks in his report following their assignment. One ill word from a man of his influence could cast a shadow over their brilliant military careers, and Georgie knew full well that for Gabriel and Derek both, the army was their life.
She might not like their dangerous profession any more than she had liked Papa working for the horrid East India Company, but knowing how much soldiering meant to them, she would never do anything to jeopardize their careers.
At any rate, the fact that Derek and Gabriel had worked with Lord Griffith for nearly a week now, getting to know him and having ample opportunity to size him up for themselves, along with his sterling reputation, no doubt helped to ease their misgivings as their sister marched ahead of him into the private salon.
He held the door for her, and she ignored a frisson of awareness as she brushed past him into the room.
He followed her in, closed the door behind him, and turned to face her, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Well, well, Miss Georgiana. Here we are again,” he said in an ironic tone, but she held up a finger, silencing him while she scanned the room for any sign of a peephole or listening grate.
In these lavish palaces, the very walls had ears.
A painted mural wrapped around the walls depicted the story of the descent of the Ganges, with flying goddesses and stylized heavenly guardians on horseback. A jewel-toned carpet of intricate weave covered the cool flagstone floor. Overhead, an iron chandelier hung from the beamed ceiling, at midday its candles unlit. The only other objects of note in the room were a low-slung couch with red cushions, a long, heavy table with spiral-carved legs, and, flanking the single window, a pair of small mango trees in clay pots.
She went over and glanced out the window to make sure there was no place for anyone outside to overhear their conversation. One couldn’t be too careful. “Good,” she murmured, seeing that the window was set high above one corner of the bustling square. “Now we can speak freely.” Or, more to the point, now she could tell the brute exactly what she thought of him.
“What are you doing here?” he asked, watching her with a dark, brooding stare, while his long, tapered fingers slowly began to tap upon his thick biceps.
“I’ll ask the questions, you snake!” She swung around to confront him head-on. “You know what you are? You’re a despot, a tyrant—”
He laughed softly. “A tyrant?”
“You heard me!” She had been waiting days to give free rein to her outrage. Now she let him have it. “Who do you think you are to tell me what I can and can’t do? To lock me up under guard, like a prisoner in my home? You had no right to do that to me! How dare you! And—” she interrupted when he tried to speak. “You lied to me!”
He cocked an eyebrow at this accusation, but perhaps now he began to grasp there was a bigger fight brewing than he had anticipated.
“You let me believe like a fool that you were going to include me in your journey, but instead, you locked me up as though I were in purdah and rode away without me! That was low. Altogether low! But as you can see, my dear marquess, you have no control over me.” She held out her hands, presenting herself with a flourish, propping her fists on her waist and lifting her chin. “I’m here, and there’s nothing you can do about it! Your little plan to cage me didn’t work.”
He studied her coolly for a long moment, but the tension around his hard mouth hinted that he was not so unaffected as he seemed. Good! She hoped she made him every bit as furious as he had made her. If she got him angry enough, it might stymie his ability to work his smooth manipulations on her again.
“I asked you repeatedly to stay home, Miss Knight,” he said in a consummately reasonable tone. “To stay out of trouble and to behave yourself. This was for your own protection, as well as the security of my assignment.” He paused and shrugged. “I knew you weren’t going to listen. That’s why I asked DeWitt to send his men. You gave me no other choice.”
“Rubbish!”
“On the contrary, my dear. You forget, I had already seen the kind of chaos you’re capable of, and the situation here is precarious enough as it is. It did not need you barging in like a damned bull in a china shop,” he finished in a sharper tone.
“Bull in a china shop?” she echoed with an indignant gasp. “Well, I never!”
“You had no business coming here.” He started toward her, looming tall, his mask of aloof indifference dissolving to reveal a thunderous scowl. “How dare you completely defy me!”
She laughed. “You’re not used to that, are you? Well, I don’t grovel for anyone.”
“Obviously, it was too much to hope that my saving your life would count for something—”
“I could’ve handled those people myself.”
He stopped and looked at her in utter shock. “Ha!”
Georgie pursed her lips and refused to take back her probably overconfident claim.
Staring at her incredulously for a second, the marquess shook his head as though he feared she ought to be locked up with the lunatics. Then he narrowed his eyes and pointed a finger in her face. “You know what your problem is? You’re spoiled.”
“I am not!” she huffed as his words struck a nerve. “You don’t know me!”
“Let’s look at the facts! You had to see your friend, the princess; you wanted to see your brothers—and to blazes with everything and everybody else!” he said angrily, the volume of his deep voice climbing. “Do you have any idea what’s at stake here? Why can’t you blasted women ever learn to use your heads?”
Georgie clamped her jaw shut and looked away, striving for patience. She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and regrouped. “All right, let’s just calm down here—”
“I am calm!” he bellowed.
She ignored him. “I see now why you fail to understand me. That much is my fault. You judge me spoiled, but that’s only because I have not been entirely…forthcoming with you about my real concerns. But, as it seems you’re too thick for the subtle approach—”
“The subtle approach?” he exclaimed with a bark of laughter. “Where was that, pray tell? I must have missed it.”
She shot him a warning look. “Instead, I must be frank.”
“Please do. Oh, this should be most enlightening.” He propped his foot on the stool nearby and leaned down, resting his elbow on his bent knee. He waited with an expectant gaze, taunting amusement written all over his handsome face.
“I am not the vapid debutante you think I am,” she said. “Do you really believe I’d come all this way for a social call?”
The question appeared to take him off guard. He studied her warily for a second, then shrugged. “Very well, I’ll bite. If not for a social call, then why did you come, Georgiana?”
She held him in a piercing stare. “Because of you.”
“Me?” Again, he appeared startled by her answer, a flicker of confused, adorable modesty flaring in his eyes, but then he was back on his guard again, and let out a cynical scoff. “Right. I’m very flattered, but—”
“Don’t be. It’s not your well-turned calves that interest me, Lord Griffith, but the substance of your mission here at Janpur.” She paused
and pinned him in a no-nonsense stare. “I want you to tell me, right now, what is going on here.”
He went very still, then lowered his foot from the stool and turned to her. “Why should I do that?”
She gave a demure shrug and clasped her hands behind her back. “Because I have influence here, Lord Griffith. I have the ear of the king’s favorite, and am privy to information that you have no way of obtaining. All this means I can either help or hinder your progress, depending on your aims, so I suggest you start with the truth.”
His green eyes narrowed like those of an angry tiger.
She forged on. “I want to know what you’re here to try to accomplish. If you refuse to tell me, then I must assume the worst. Which means I’m going straight to Meena and telling her to warn her husband not to trust you.”
There.
He had thought her idle and indulged, but now he would begin to see that she was deadly serious.
He said nothing; though his eyes glittered angrily, he looked stunned down to his lordly fingertips. What, had he never met a woman with brains before?
Reveling in his new understanding of her nature, Georgie lifted her chin. “In Calcutta, you told me you had been sent to stop a war. If that is true, then we are in accord. Naturally, I would much rather work with you than against you. Yet, somehow, after what you did to me, I have trouble believing your motives are so pure.”
He looked away in fury and pretended to study the mural. “You are a fascinating woman, Georgiana.”
“Thank you,” she replied. “So, which is it? Is peace your true goal, or are your dealings here are just another devious trick aimed at expanding the East India Company’s grasp?”
He slanted her a brooding glance and seemed to grow larger as he took offense. “Do I look like some merchant’s errand boy to you?”
“Not at all. But that doesn’t answer my question.”
He looked away again with a silent curse on his lips and began to scowl.
Georgie watched him, intrigued. “You are offended. Well, that is why I tried to find out nicely first,” she explained with a shrug. “If you had accepted my hospitality in Calcutta and talked with me a while, I could have found the answer for myself without perturbing you.”