The Perfect Temptation
Page 22
John Aiden Terrell.
Chapter 12
The peacocks, Aiden resolved as he strode down the upstairs
hall, were going to die. The means by which early-morning
peace and tranquility was restored was all that remained to be
decided. Wringing their necks promised more satisfaction
than putting a bullet in them, but it would take longer. And
considering the hue and cry rising from the rear yard for the
second time that morning, the speed of their dispatch was all
that truly mattered. By the time he got there, Preeya would be
done feeding them and back in the kitchen. Which was good;
it would go much faster if he didn't have to shoot around her.
He was on the third step down when a tiny streak of butterscotch
shot past his right foot. Instinctively, he hopped to
the left. And would have landed on a streak of calico if he
hadn't immediately and desperately thrown his entire body .
back to the right. He froze, barely on his feet, just as three
more blurs of color dashed past and downward.
"They're out!" Mohan shrieked from behind him, testing
Aiden's grip on the banister as he bounded past in pursuit of
the kittens.
Gazing after the reckless parade, he saw Alex in the front
shop, a kitten in each hand, her head tilted back as she
laughed at the chaos racing around the hems of her skirt and
cloak. The center of his chest clenched, trapping his breath
and warming his blood. And then, out of the blue, a wave of
melancholy washed through him. How he'd missed the sound
of laughter. How he'd missed the brightness of hope and the
thrill of little, unexpected joys. He wanted to go home. He
wanted to pack up Alex and Mohan and the kittens and Preeya
and her damn peacocks and take them home. Today. On the
evening's tide.
And it wasn't going to happen, he sadly admitted. It
couldn't happen. Not today. Not tomorrow. Not ever. And,
he sternly added, only a fool would spend another moment
thinking about it. Resolved, he focused his sight on the present
reality, noting that Alex had placed the kittens in a shawl.
She was smiling, trying to transfer the squirming bundle to
Mohan while keeping the determined kittens from popping
out the folds.
His chest tightened again and he quickly looked away,
forestalling another painful bout by doing a quick appraisal
of the shop. He blinked and frowned. Where the hell had
everything gone? And when had it disappeared? There were
a few things left, certainly, but the vast majority of her merchandise
had vanished. He glanced toward the rear of the
house and into the blue fabric room. The shelves were practically
stripped.
"Good morning, Aiden."
He looked back at her as Mohan raced up the stairs with
his lumpy sack of cats.
''Were you robbed?" he asked, resuming his trek downward.
"When did it happen? And why didn't you say something
to me?"
"You've spent the last three days teaching Mohan to ride,"
she supplied, her smile radiant. ''And when not answering
the blacksmith's endless questions about the window grates,
I've spent them dealing with a flood of customers. It happens
every time a new shipment comes in. It's almost magical. I
don't have to do a thing to bring them here. They simply appear.
If the auction weren't today and if there weren't some
specific items I've been asked to find for one of my customers
and if we weren't off to find stolen silver ... " She
threw out her hands in a gesture of good-natured frustration.
"As you can see, I desperately need to spend some time imposing
order on the remains."
His chest was tight but he couldn't take his eyes off her.
She was so happy, so beautiful. He forced himself to swallow,
to again put away the impossible. "You need another
shipment already, don't you?"
She nodded ruefully and glanced around her with a delicate
sigh. ''Mohan's uncle has regular trading routes and
England is a significant departure from them. When he does
come this way, there isn't much room in the hold for my
things. I could easily sell three times what I usually get but I
can't impose on his kindness any more than I already do."
The idea came, bold and bright, from out of nowhere.
"Maybe," he drawled, liking it more with every second, ''you
need another supplier, another shipper."
"Are you offering your services, Mr. Terrell?"
He liked how her eyes sparkled, too. And the way she
arched a brow when she joined his games. "I think we can
come to an arrangement we'd both enjoy." For a few days at
a time, every few months, he silently added. The perfect relationship
with the perfect mistress. But only if she stays in
England.
"Aiden? Mr. Stanbridge has arrived."
He blinked and grinned sheepishly, knowing he'd been
caught dreaming. Hoping to keep her from asking about
what, he extended his hand, saying brightly, 'Then we shall
depart."
Barrett was just climbing out of his carriage when they
stepped outside onto the walk. Handing Alex up the carriage
steps, he passed the key to the front door of her shop to his
friend, saying crisply, "Remember to always lock the door behind
you, old man. Sawyer should be here shortly. Kindly stay
until he arrives to keep watch over Preeya. And if you don't
mind, we're going to appropriate your carriage and driver for
the day. It'll make our logistics ever so much easier. Feel free
to use whatever transport you fancy in our carriage house."
Before Barrett had a chance to either accede or protest,
Aiden looked up at the driver and called out, "Christie's, my
good man. We need to be there before nine." Then he vaulted
inside, pulled the door closed, and dropped into the rearfacing
seat. Through the open window, he could see Barrett
standing on the walk, the key in his hand, chuckling as he
nodded to his driver.
“That was rather presumptive of you," Alex chided softly.
''That's the thing with Barrett," he explained as they
pulled out into traffic. "You have to presume before he does
or you'll end up on a leash of his design. It's the army officer
in him."
"And resisting is the ship's captain in you."
"It's a friendly contest. And, truth be told, I haven't won
that many of them lately. I'm due one or two. His nose isn't
out of joint over it. Barrett's a good sport. If he weren't, we
wouldn't be friends." He settled back into the squabs and the
prospect of a wonderful day. "What are we going to buy at
Christie's this morning?"
"It's an estate sale, so there's really no telling what, precisely,
will be there. Which makes it far more fun, I think.
It's something of an adventure. In addition to purchasing
whatever might be appropriate for the Blue Elephant, I'll be
acquiring artwork for one of my regular customers who has
asked me to find some things
suitable for display in her private
quarters."
"Why doesn't she go buy it herself?"
"She has horrible taste, knows it, and defers to mine."
"Given what I've seen in some homes," he mused, "she's
not the only one who could benefit from assistance. You
could probably make a profitable business of that, too."
"I've given it some thought," she admitted, smiling. "If I
were staying in England permanently I'd likely do it. It's really
quite entertaining to spend other people's money. And
to be paid for doing it is absolutely astounding."
He saw the potential in the comment and seized it. Trying
to sound as though the idea had never occurred to him before
that instant, he asked, "Why don't you stay? With all your
enterprises, you'd surely make more money here than you
will as the royal tutor in India."
Her smiled faded and there was a faint sound of resignation
in her voice when she replied, "Money isn't everything,
Aiden."
''True,'' he admitted, his mind racing in search of another
tack. "What draws you back to India? Your mother's gone.
Do you have other family there?"
She shook her head and looked out the window of the carriage
for a long moment before sighing and saying, "It's very
complicated, Aiden, and would take forever to explain."
"I'm a patient man."
Laughing, she looked back at him. "You are not."
"I beg to differ," he instantly countered, enjoying, as always,
the challenge of her and knowing the perfect gambit
to play. "Haven't I nodded every single morning and accepted
your excuse du jour not to go riding with Mohan and
me? Have I once pressed the issue?"
''All right, in some things you can be remarkably, admirably
patient."
"And this is one of them," he assured her. ''The longest
story begins with a single word, Alex. Why do you want to
go back to India?"
It took her several long moments, but finally she said
softly, slowly, ''They took me in when I had nowhere else to
go. They gave me a home. I have a place there. I belong to
people. It's not a family like yours by any means, but they
care for me and worry about me. That doesn't exist for me in
London. There's only Preeya and Emmaline and Mohan."
"And me."
''And you," she agreed with a sufficient amount of hesitation
that Aiden suspected she was doing so simply for the
sake of being polite. "If I didn't go back ... If I stayed, I'd
never again see Preeya and Mohan. With Mohan no longer
needing your protection, you'd go on with your life. There
would only be Emmaline left. And I'm afraid that she would
very quickly become very tired of mothering me."
Her concerns were legitimate and completely understandable.
But he wasn't about to cry quits in the face of
them. "You could make other friends, Alex. Easily."
The smile she gave him was patient. "I don't belong here,
Aiden. I'm English and yet I'm not"
It wasn't what he'd expected her to say, but he had to admit
that if ever there was one absolute truth about her ...
"Well, you're certainly not Indian," he pointed out, grasping
at the only counterpoint he could see.
Again she surprised him. Laughing quietly, she shook her
head. "Being Indian is more than a matter of race, Aiden. It's
a way of looking at the world, at life. And you'll have to concede
that I tend to approach matters in ways that aren't thoroughly,
typically English. Other people realize it, too. They
know that I'm different, that I'm not really one of them.
You're the rare exception in being intrigued by it. The usual
reaction is to establish a polite but decidedly cool distance."
"Then their ignorance and bigotry is their loss."
While she smiled in shy appreciation, Aiden silently
groaned. Could he have offered a comment any more sophomoric?
And as counters went, it was worse than pathetic.
He'd not only all but openly accepted her point, he'd also
left himself no room to maneuver in the process. Of all the
short-sighted, brainless
"And yet," she went on, interrupting his internal diatribe,
"being perfectly honest about it, there's a part of me that
very much wants to stay here."
His relief was as profound as his surprise. With reignited
hope, he cocked a brow. "Why? The Blue Elephant?"
"In small part. But mostly because life here is so predictable."
"Predictable?" he prodded as her gaze slipped to the
world beyond the carriage. "How so?"
"The boundaries are very clear, Aiden," she replied, looking
into the distance. "The proper thing to do, to be, to feel,
to think ... One doesn't have to think, actually. All one has
to do is follow along with everyone else and meet the very
clearly defined expectations of society. And those expectations
are as narrow as they are universal. Which is what
makes them attractive. Living life by the rules is safe."
Safe. His conscience boldly thrust his hopes and intentions
forward for scrutiny. Inwardly, he winced. His fantasies
were dependent on her living anything but a safe and
rule-bound life. Yes, he could manipulate her. He was perfectly
capable. But it would be callous and wrong. Alex deserved
respect, deserved to make her own decisions, and to
choose her own-the course of her life.
"Living and dying by the rules is also boring," he countered
honestly, sensing that he was casting loose something
precious. "Is being safe worth a mindless existence?"
Slowly, her gaze came back to his. "If you'd asked me
that the morning I walked into Barrett Stanbridge's office, I
would have answered you with an unequivocal 'yes.' But
now ... " The tiniest of smiles touched the corners of her
mouth. "Sometimes, under some circumstances, with some
people ... As you said the day we met, life is risk. I'm learning
that deliberately taking one from time to time doesn't always
lead to disaster."
A moment's hesitation, a moment of open assessment. As
the carriage slowed she smiled ruefully and added, "Unfortunately,
that realization only makes the choice that much
more difficult. The only compromise I can see is to spend
my life sailing back and forth between England and India."
"There's a good number of people who do just that,"
Aiden pointed out, vivid images playing across his mind.
The popping of the sails, the spray of the water. And Alex.
Standing in the bow, the wind threading through her hair as
she laughed up at the sun.
"Yes, but I'm not an especially good sailor."
He knew better than to entertain possibility. His conscience
was squirming, telling him that the new hope was
separated from the old by only a few degrees. It wasn't safe.
Not by any stretch of his imagination. He knew that from
bitter, heart-wrenching experience. ''Then we'll have to think
of another solution for you," he declared, reaching for the
&n
bsp; door handle and the timely salvation of having to exist in the
real world.
In a good many ways bringing Mohan to an auction was easier.
All he did was squirm in boredom and there was nothing
wrong with placing her hand on his knee to still him. Aiden,
on the other hand ... He wasn't bored at all. In fact, she'd
have to say that his mind was clicking furiously. But along a
track that was miles and miles away from Christie's. It was
equally clear that whatever it was that occupied his attention
wasn't a particularly pleasant thing. He was decidedly
somber, as though he were weighing the scales in trying to
make some great decision on the fate of mankind.
And nothing she'd done had been able to bring him out of
his distraction for very long. Not even entrusting him with
her personal bidding paddle. His mind tended to wander between
bids, even on the same item. She'd lost an ormolu
clock because she hadn't been quick enough in nudging him
back to the auction floor.
"The next item up for bidding is a pen and ink drawing by
the contemporary British artist D. Terrell."
Beside her, Aiden snapped to attention, his gaze riveted
on the carefully draped picture being set on the stage's easel.
Intrigued by his sudden attention, Alex considered the piece.
It was large enough to nicely fill the space over a mantel.