Rogue Grooms

by Amanda McCabe

  He made her laugh; he made her life seem merry again, when she thought she had lost the capacity for such untainted joy long ago. She saw the future now, not as a vista of the same meaningless balls, routs, and polite conversations and cruel witticisms, but as a series of endless possibilities. She and David and Anjali—and whoever might choose to come along later—would be a true family.

  A tiny, nervous flutter ached deep in her belly, and Emily pressed her hand hard against it. All that would happen only if Alex gave David his blessing. But why would he not? He and Georgina had been wanting her to wed for the longest time!

  Yet they had been in the library for an hour at least. Surely more than that—hours and hours! Were she and David going to be forced to make a dash for Gretna Green?

  Curling her fingers tightly around the Star’s pouch, Emily paused before one of the windows to stare out at the garden. Elizabeth Anne was there now, walking with her nursemaid, the sun turning her long red curls to molten fire. She waved up at her aunt, beaming.

  Her niece’s smile lifted Emily’s spirits again. As she waved back, she heard the drawing room door open behind her, and she spun around to see David there. For an instant, his face seemed so solemn and serious that her heart sank once more. Then, he grinned—and the whole room, the whole world, flooded with light.

  Emily dashed into his arms, and he lifted her off her feet, laughing.

  “Well?” she demanded impatiently. After all, she had waited for this very moment since she was a little girl.

  David just smiled. “Lady Emily Kenton, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

  “Yes!” Emily cried, and kissed him. Once, twice, three times.

  David chuckled through their kisses, the sound vibrating warmly through her. “Now, Em, I had an entire speech planned about how I intend to spend the rest of my life making you happy. I was going to go down on one knee and declare my undying devotion. Anjali has assured me, most solemnly, that ladies adore it when a gentleman goes down on one knee to propose.”

  “I do not need declarations of undying anything,” Emily said stoutly. “You more than proved your devotion by hiding in that cupboard with me last night, when any other man would have sent me directly to Bedlam. All I need, David—all I have ever needed—is you.”

  “Just as I need you.” Their lips met again in a kiss of such tenderness that it seemed eternal, made of all the love that had come before them—David’s parents, her parents, Alex and Georgina—and all the love that would go on long after they were gone. “I love you, my brave Boudicca.”

  “And I love you. Ami tomake bhalobashi.”

  “Ami tomake bhalobashi. ”

  Emily stepped back from his enticing kisses, taking one of his hands between both of hers. “I have something for you, David. An early wedding gift of sorts.”

  “I thought the bridegroom was meant to give the bride a present, not the other way around.”

  Emily shook her head. “You gave me back my necklace and earrings, my precious birthday gift. That is all the present I need. And what I have to give you is not so much a gift—it is not really mine to give. It is more of a return. A putting to rights.”

  David’s brow creased in puzzlement. “What do you mean?”

  Emily removed the Star of India from its pouch and placed it carefully into his hand. “I believe this belongs to you.”

  David stared down at the jewel, turning it over so that its facets again flashed. It sparkled even more radiantly than before, as if rejoicing in its freedom after such a long confinement. As if it rejoiced at being home.

  But David was silent for several long moments—so silent Emily could almost vow she heard her own heart pounding.

  He raised his gaze to hers, the dark depths of his eyes unreadable. “Where did you get this? How long have you had it?” His voice was quiet, but thrummed with a barely leashed power.

  “Only since this morning,” Emily hurried to explain. “Georgina was tossing out some of Damien’s old things, and I realized that there was something not quite right about one of his trunks. It was hidden in a false bottom. He had never sold it at all.” Her own gaze dropped to the Star. It was so very lovely, resting there on David’s hand. But was there truly a malevolence hidden in its glorious depths? “I vow to you, David, I did not know it was there! I would never have gone to the lengths I did, had I known. I just thought—”

  Her words escaped her as she was suddenly caught in a tight embrace, David’s arms around her, holding her as if he would never let her go.

  “Em,” he muttered roughly. “He never deserved such a sister as you. I do not deserve such a wife as you. My darling, clever Boudicca.”

  Emily laughed from sheer relief and utter joy. All was right—she and David would marry, and the Star was in its proper place. “So, we shall not be cursed, now that the Star is back? The cows and chickens at Combe Lodge won’t wither away, and Anjali won’t grow up to hate us for being dreadful parents and elope with her dancing master?”

  David threw back his head and laughed. “No, Em. I think any curse was lifted the moment I saw you standing there in that ballroom. We are together again. No ill can come to us. My grandmother always quotes an old proverb which says that a stick floats, as does a swimmer. It is the swimmer that the sea loves to bear, for he has sensed its depths.”

  “Then I just have one question for you.”

  “And what might that be?”

  Emily smiled at him. “How soon can we be married?”

  Epilogue

  India, Three Years Later

  “Is it not beautiful, Mama?” Anjali whispered, leaning out of their open carriage as it made its slow progress down a narrow, curving road. Heavy, emerald green trees and thick vines twisted above their heads, casting flickering shadows over her black hair and white muslin dress.

  In the valley below them, like an illusion or dream, was the great temple of Shiva, drifting on a fog-shrouded base of tangled blue-black vegetation and moss-encrusted ancient stones. Carved figures covered every inch of the façade, dancing and bathing ladies, warriors on horseback, elephants, and Shiva’s bull, Nandi.

  Emily put her arm around Anjali, leaning out beside her. “Oh, yes, my dear. It is beautiful indeed.”

  Beautiful was not adequate. It was—otherwordly. Since their arrival in India, Emily had seen many strange, exquisite sights—things she would never have thought she could observe outside of books. None of them could compare to this, but all were marvelous. Grand dwellings of white stone, their windows shielded from the hot afternoons by elaborately carved shutters; ladies fanning themselves on long terraces as they sipped lassi and watched servants building shrines in the overgrown gardens. Deer and gazelles bounding free along the lanes. Bright pink and orange and red flowers, which her maidservants twined in their hair.

  She had tasted food unlike any in England: papaya which burst sweet and tart on her tongue, the spices of vegetables and tender meats, leavened by sauces of cooling yogurt. She had danced in moonlit gardens to music of such mystery and a deep, moving spirit.

  She made love with her husband beneath a hazy mosquito netting, on mattresses spread with silk and strewn with flower petals. Afterwards, they would lie entwined in the night, the heavy, sweet-scented breeze cool on their heated skin, listening to the far-off music from the water. She thought then of the saying she had seen carved over an ivory screen at the Red Fort in Delhi—“If there is a paradise on earth, It is this, it is this, it is this.”

  It was an enchanted life—one she never could have imagined. One day, not very far off, they would have to leave it and return to the reality of their lives and responsibilities in England. But she would carry all of this in her heart forever. Along with the family who had brought her such splendors and made her life complete.

  She hugged Anjali close to her. How tall her daughter was growing! Soon she would be a young lady in truth.

  David’s arm came about Emily’s waist, holding
her safe as the carriage jolted over the rough trail. The rains had not yet come to turn the path to impassable mud and muck, and it was baked to a stonelike hardness. His hand rested protectively over the slight swelling of her belly that was as yet the only outward manifestation of a blessed event still several months in the future.

  Emily turned to smile at him, reaching up to cradle his cheek in her palm. He wore his Indian garb today, loose white cotton trousers and tunic, and his raven hair ruffled in the breeze. He grinned at her, looking as young and free as he had the first day they met, so many years ago, when his father brought him to tea with their new neighbors. But the gleam in his dark eyes spoke of a newer and very grown-up memory, of last night in their chamber.

  “I have never seen anything like it, David,” she murmured. “It is wondrous indeed.”

  “I am glad you approve, shona.”

  “How could I not? It is a fitting home for our treasure.”

  The carriage rolled to a halt several feet away from the temple’s shadowed entrance, beyond a small pool that guarded the vast, forbidding portal. Anjali scrambled down the steps, pulling up the white straw bonnet that dangled down her back from its ribbons and tying it beneath her chin. As she stared up at the temple, wide-eyed in awe, her merry smile faded and her pretty face took on a solemn, almost prayerful aspect.

  Emily felt that very solemnity deep in her own heart as she let David help her to the ground. This place held such mystery, an ineffable spirit that wrapped about her like incense smoke.

  This was not the dwelling place of her own God, to be sure. But yet something was here, something that moved her, and she felt the presence of the sacred. She felt welcomed and blessed.

  The closed carriage which bore David’s grandmother, Meena, and her attendants came to a halt behind their own vehicle. Emily turned to watch the grand lady step down, swathed in a sari and veils of deep blue silk embroidered in gold. In her jeweled hands she held the small, elaborately etched silver box containing the Star of India.

  It was truly home at last.

  Meena nodded at David, and even to Emily. When they first arrived in Calcutta, Emily had received the distinct sense that Meena did not care greatly for her new granddaughter-in-law. But, in recent days, she had thawed a bit—especially when she was given the news that Emily was expecting a happy event.

  “Lokhi mei, ” Meena called to Anjali. “Come, walk in with me. Take my arm.”

  Anjali hurried forward to slide her hand into her great-grandmother’s crooked elbow, giving her support as they slipped off their shoes in front of the tall, carved doors.

  “This is a momentous occasion,” Meena murmured. “After this, my existence here is complete.”

  “But not until after you see the new baby, Didu,” Anjali answered urgently.

  Meena gave her a gentle smile. “No. Not until then.” She nodded at David, who stepped forward to knock at the doors.

  Emily scarcely dared to breathe as the portals slowly, achingly slowly, swung open, as if pushed by unseen hands. She shivered in spite of the cashmere shawl draped over her shoulders. She had not felt such nervous tremblings since the day she walked down the long aisle at St. George’s, Hanover Square, and took David’s hand in hers, as she did now. She slipped her fingers into his warm clasp, and together they moved into the temple.

  A more different space from St. George’s could scarcely be imagined. The room was cavernous, as vast and cold as the stone it was carved from. The walls and ceilings were covered with even more carvings, more dancing figures and embracing couples, arching around them in a living, writhing mass. At the very end, in a high, gilded niche lit by hundreds of candles and with dozens of flowers tossed at its dancing feet and garlanded about its neck, was a statue of Shiva. The god of stillness and dance, bounty and wrath, destruction and fertility—all the contradictions of life. He was gilded and shimmering, with a diamond the size of a pigeon’s egg set in his forehead and pearls looped amongst all the flowers.

  In the flickering light, he almost seemed truly to dance with joy that he had the Star back in his possession at last.

  Meena and Anjali walked up to the jade base of the statue and bowed deeply. Meena chanted some low, keening prayer, her voice echoing to the very ceiling and beyond to the sky.

  Emily took this all in, fascinated, but she shrank back in the shadows. This was a part of her—the Star had preoccupied her thoughts for so long, had even, in a way, brought her together with David again. But her part in its history was finished. She had found the Star for David, so he could fulfill his vow to his grandmother. Now it was done. The rest of her life could begin.

  “You should go with them,” she whispered to her husband.

  “Will you be all right?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes, darling.” She gave him a reassuring smile, and squeezed his arm before letting him go.

  She watched as he joined his grandmother and daughter at the feet of the statue. Emily’s hands tightened in a prayerful clasp while Meena lifted the lid of the silver case and drew forth the Star. Meena’s chanting grew louder, and she raised the jewel high. The glow of the candles reflected the blue depths. What would happen now? Emily thought, aching with suspense. Would the walls crumble? The roof cave in?

  Nothing of the sort, of course. This was not one of Georgina’s Minerva Press novels. Meena’s chant died away, the reverberations of it lingering in the chill air. Then—silence. A silence deeper than any Emily had ever known.

  Meena placed the Star into David’s hands, and it was he who returned it to the god’s golden feet. There it sparkled in an answering dance.

  Meena fell to her knees in prayer, but David and Anjali came back to Emily’s side. David put his arms around her, holding her close.

  “It is done now, my love,” he told her.

  “Didu says that now the curse is lifted. Your son will live a long, happy life and bring you much honor. And I will marry a rich prince.” Her small nose wrinkled at this last pronouncement.

  Emily laughed gently. “Oh, will you truly, my dear? A prince?”

  Anjali shrugged carelessly. “So she says. But I know that is not true.”

  “How do you know that, shona-moni?” David asked her.

  “Because I am going to become a famous artist, like Aunt Georgina, and travel the world creating great works of stunning beauty,” Anjali declared matter-offactly. “There will be no time for any silly princes.” With that, she turned and made her way back down the long expanse of the great temple, disappearing into the afternoon sunlight.

  “I wonder where she got such a notion,” David whispered.

  Emily tipped her head back to stare up at him innocently. “I am sure I have no idea. At least she has given up the idea of becoming a great circus performer.”

  “Indeed. We must be grateful for every blessing.”

  “Yes. We must.” Emily lowered her forehead to his chest, feeling the strong, reassuring rhythm of his heart against her skin. Her life was full of blessings, in truth. David, Anjali, the baby. And more. “David, my dearest.”

  “Yes, Em?”

  “Is it really over? Truly?”

  She felt his finger slide beneath her chin, lifting her gaze back up to him. “My grandmother’s curse—may—hap. Our love—never.” And he kissed her, his lips tender and passionate, promising forever in this place of ancient destiny.

  It was a promise Emily intended to see was kept.

  Read on for an excerpt

  from another passionate Regency

  romance by Amanda McCabe,

  The Golden Feather.

  Available in the omnibus edition

  IMPROPER LADIES

  Coming in September 2010 from Signet Eclipse

  It was another busy evening at the Golden Feather.

  Caroline stood alone in her small office, peering through her secret peephole at the large gaming room. Every chair was filled, every champagne glass glistened, and every table was piled with coins
, notes, and jewels. Laughter and the sweet scent of the many flower arrangements floated through the air to her.

  Even though the Season was winding to a close, the more daring of society still flocked to the Golden Feather, just as they had every night for four years now.

  She gave a small smile. This was perfect. Perfect for one of her last nights in the gaming club. It would be a grand send-off, and no one in London would ever-forget the mysterious Mrs. Archer.

  Letting the little peephole cover slide into place, she turned back to her office and went over to the desk. The polished mahogany surface was covered with ledgers and papers, but she ignored them and reached for a small, neatly folded letter. She had read it a dozen times since it had arrived a week ago, but it still never failed to make her smile.

  Phoebe was soon to finish her studies at Mrs. Medlock’s School for Young Ladies. Her excitement over her girlish plans seemed to spill from the carefully penned words. Caroline couldn’t help but feel a bit excited herself. And not just for Phoebe, but for herself as well.

  At long last, she was leaving the Golden Feather. The place had served its purpose well. She had a nice, tidy fortune tucked away, and stood to gain even more when she chose a buyer for the Golden Feather. She was a wealthy woman, and she and Phoebe would never have to worry about money again.

  And if her soul had shriveled a little more each night as she strolled through the opulent rooms, watching fools lose their money, listening to lechers’ suggestive whispers, it was worth it for that security.

  Was it not?

  Caroline carefully folded the letter and placed it in her locked drawer. Her only escape in these four years had been her annual holidays with Phoebe. Now they could be together all the time, be a true family again. That was worth anything, anything at all.