One Night with a Scoundrel Read online

  “Y-you…wish merely to talk?” She blinked in confusion as he drew near. The shimmering veil that covered the lower half of her face made her blue eyes all the more striking. When he came to stand in front of her, he again experienced the jarring sensation of diving into a bottomless, sparkling sea.

  This close to her, he could smell the spicy scent of sandalwood in her hair and the perfumed lotions they had rubbed into her skin. She had flowers, tiny white rosebuds, plaited into her dark tresses. For a moment, the two of them just studied each other, silent, only inches of space between them. The patter of the fountain in the pool made the only sound in the room.

  Her barely clad breasts moved rapidly with her every shallow breath. She was nervous, he realized. Only hours ago, dancing in the crowded audience chamber, she had been bold, flirtatious, fearless in her sensuality. But now, alone with a heavily muscled stranger who towered over her…

  He couldn’t blame her for feeling frightened.

  “You have nothing to fear,” he said quietly, trying to put her at ease. “I’m not going to hurt you. Do you speak English?”

  “N-nahin, sahib. No.”

  “And is it true what the emperor said…that you are a virgin?”

  Her gaze dipped to the floor. “Han, sahib,” she affirmed softly.

  He reached out and unfastened her veil, revealing a slim, aristocratic nose and lush, glistening lips. A blush suffused her cheeks, reddening them a shade deeper than the rouge she wore.

  Her shyness touched him. She might have been trained by the emperor’s best courtesans, but she was clearly new at this. “You are safe with me, sundar, I give you my word. I have no intention of taking your innocence. All I want is to talk.”

  She raised her head, looking surprised—and more worried than relieved. “But the emperor has commanded me to please you—”

  “What will please me is talking. I won’t tell the emperor if you won’t.” He gave her a smile, gesturing toward a lounging area piled with red and gold pillows. “Let’s sit over there.”

  She followed and knelt beside him as he sat down. Picking up a silver platter heaped with the small, sugared sweets called qandi, she held it out toward him.

  He waved it away. “After three hours of feasting, I couldn’t.” He settled more comfortably on the overstuffed pillows, resting his weight on one elbow. “What is your name?”

  She set the platter aside. For a moment, she didn’t reply, still looking wary, as if afraid he might change his mind and pounce on her at any instant. “I am Ashiana.”

  “A pleasure to meet you, Ashiana.” The name suited her perfectly, soft and exotic, flowing like a warm Bengal wind. “No last name?”

  “I…I have no family.” She arranged some of the pillows and curled up on them, still not getting too close to him. “I was orphaned when I was very young.” Looking down, she toyed with a tassel on one of the pillows. “May I ask your name, sahib?”

  Saxon hesitated. He was here to ask questions, not answer them. But he wanted her to relax and feel comfortable with him so she would give him the information he sought. “Saxon,” he said. “I’m the captain of an English merchant ship. The emperor said your father was also a sea captain—Portuguese, wasn’t it? Voce fala Portugues?”

  She shook her head. “I have not spoken Portuguese in many years. I remember only a few words.” She paused, looking thoughtful. “Filho da puta…droga…va para o inferno.”

  Saxon chuckled. “Those are all curses.”

  “Oh.” She ducked her head, a grin curving her mouth. “The sailors on my father’s merchant ship—they were the ones who raised me after…after my mother died.” Her grin faded.

  He reached out to tuck a fallen strand of her hair behind her ear. “I didn’t mean to make you sad, Ashiana.”

  She remained still as his fingers brushed her cheek before he withdrew his hand. “You have not made me sad, sahib. I have not thought about those days in a very long time…but they were some of my happiest days.” She took a piece of qandi from the platter and ate it. “I was born at sea.”

  “So was I.” Saxon felt surprised that they shared that unusual trait in common. He hadn’t expected to discover any sort of connection with his dancing girl…or to find himself liking her.

  She studied him in silence for a moment. “When I first noticed you in the emperor’s diwan-i-khas, I thought you looked awfully dangerous, very…dusht.”

  “In English, the closest word would be ‘scoundrel.’”

  “Scoun-drel,” she repeated, having trouble pronouncing it. “But I think…I think I may have been wrong, Captain Saxon. You are not so awful.”

  “Thanks,” he said wryly.

  “I only meant,” she explained, her smile returning, “that you do not seem to be made entirely of stone and steel. Despite the fact that you have so many muscles, your clothing does not even fit you.” She edged a bit closer and touched the medals on the front of his uniform. “What do they mean, these bits of metal and ribbon?”

  “Tokens of places I’ve been, things I’ve done.” He started to shrug but couldn’t. He sat up and finally gave in to the urge to take off the accursed frock coat that had been binding his shoulders all day. He dropped it to one side and sank back on the pillows, almost sighing in relief.

  “This garment also looks most uncomfortable.” She reached for the top button on his waistcoat.

  He caught her hand, stopping her. “Ashiana, that’s not a good idea…” His voice trailed off as he noticed a mark on her arm—a tattoo of a rose that ran from her wrist to her elbow. He brushed his thumb over it, realizing that the stem concealed a scar. “Is that from a whip?”

  She stiffened. “From childhood.”

  “Someone whipped you when you were a child?” His gaze met hers. The thought of any child suffering such abuse sickened him.

  “It…it was a long time ago.” She tried to withdraw her hand.

  He wouldn’t let her go. “Was there no one to protect you?”

  “No,” she whispered.

  He felt a rush of anger toward whoever had hurt a vulnerable little girl. “Any man who treats a child that way deserves to have the whip turned on him. Women and children should be protected, always.”

  “Arey,” she gasped, a soft exclamation of surprise. “I do not think many men in this world feel as you do.”

  “I’ve been told it’s a weakness.” He nodded. “But it’s something my parents instilled in their sons from the time we were young.” Looking down, he brushed his thumb over her scar again, gently—and reminded himself that he had come here for a reason. “I suppose you must despise the Ajmir, especially after they mistreated you so badly.” He looked up. “They hate the English, you know.”

  A heartbeat passed. Another.

  “Yes,” she said slowly, her gaze on his. “I know.”

  Still holding her hand, he laced his fingers through hers as he settled back into the pillows. “I don’t suppose you remember any of their legends?” he asked lightly.

  “Nahin, no, sahib. I only lived among them when I was very young.”

  “Before they gave you to the emperor, yes. But you must know the tale of the Nine Sapphires of Kashmir…”

  “I have heard the myth.” She tilted her head, regarding him curiously. “Everyone has.”

  “But do you remember anything more from when you were a child?” He massaged her fingers, playfully. “Perhaps rumors of where the stones are hidden?”

  He noticed that she had stopped trying to pull away from his touch.

  “Hidden?” She curved her fingers around his, returning his massage. “The sapphires are only a myth.”

  “Then you’ve never seen them?”

  “No one has, because they are only a colorful tale, invented centuries ago to entertain children.” She settled more comfortably on the pillows, closer to him this time—so close that he became aware of the heat of her body. “The Nine Sapphires of Kashmir are no more real than…” She waved
her other hand dismissively, her bracelets jingling. “Than flying carpets or magical swans that grant wishes.”

  Saxon chose not to mention that he happened to be wearing one of the sapphires around his neck at the moment.

  She laughed. “Truly, sahib, the only people who believe that those jewels exist are little girls and boys.” She withdrew her hand from his and touched his shoulder, running her fingertips over the muscles outlined by his snug-fitting white shirt. “And, apparently, certain rather large Englishmen.”

  Her light caress made his body take fire and his breathing deepen. “In these colorful tales that you’ve heard,” he persisted, “where are the sapphires kept?”

  She inched closer, her expression becoming serious, as if she were about to reveal a secret. “In the faraway kingdom of Shambhala,” she whispered, “in a palace that floats on a cloud, guarded by a troop of flying red squirrels who can talk.”

  “Flying squirrels who can talk,” he echoed dryly, arching one brow.

  “Extremely fearsome flying squirrels,” she assured him with a grin. “They grow quite large here in India. Is this what you wanted to talk about, when you said you wanted to talk? A children’s story?” She lowered her lashes, her mouth so close to his that he could almost taste the honeyed balm glistening on her lips. Her voice became husky. “Saxon, there are so many more enjoyable ways we could spend our time together.”

  Suppressing a groan, he lifted one hand to her cheek. “Ashiana…” He should leave. Now. She obviously didn’t have any useful information to offer about the Ajmir or the sapphires. Now would be a good time to send his harem girl back to the harem and get to his ship.

  He would never see her again, this seductive, sea-born beauty with the azure eyes and the impressive vocabulary of Portuguese curses…and the honeyed lips.

  Before he could stop himself, he threaded his fingers into her hair and drew her toward him, unable to resist just one kiss.

  Ashiana’s thoughts scattered in a rain of sensations as Saxon’s mouth covered hers. He tasted of potent spices and forbidden tadi wine and his kiss burned her with a heat beyond imagining. It was as if he ignited a dozen flames inside her all at once—a tantalizing fire in her limbs, sparks skittering through her middle. She had never experienced anything like it in her life. Rao had kissed her once, on her birthday, and it had been…pleasant.

  This was not pleasant.

  This was extraordinary, intense…astonishing.

  She heard a soft sound—a sigh of pleasure—and realized it came from her.

  Even as she molded her lips to his, she told herself she was not supposed to be enjoying this. She had expected the Englishman to be a hateful brute, unfeeling and cruel. She had feared he might try to force himself on her the moment he walked through the doors of the preet chatra—but that wasn’t what had happened at all.

  Because that wasn’t the sort of man he was at all.

  Instead of having to fend him off, she’d found herself in the unexpected position of having to seduce him so she could carry out her plan.

  Saxon’s arm came around her, pulling her closer, and it was suddenly impossible to think of her plan or anything else. She could only feel, lost in the sensations…lost in him. The hardness of his muscles. The scent of hookah smoke that clung to his garments. The bristly roughness of his jaw against her chin as he deepened the kiss. The strength of his arm flexing on the bare skin of her waist. He drew her in tight until every inch of her felt branded.

  Her breasts flattened against his chest and her nipples tightened to hard pearls. He groaned and angled his head, his tongue parting her lips and sliding into her mouth. A cascade of heat flared through her, surging toward the center of her body. She became aware of an unfamiliar, tightening ache, low in her belly…and a warm dampness between her thighs.

  One of his hands tangled in her hair, loosening the plaits and scattering rosebuds across the silk pillows. His other hand moved down her back and settled on her hips, pressing her lower body against his. Ashiana made a startled sound, aware of the hard shape of his arousal.

  Suddenly he broke the kiss, burying his face in her hair, his breathing harsh.

  “Saxon.” She had never heard her voice like that before, low and husky and filled with longing.

  A strained growl escaped him. “Ashiana…” Then he muttered what sounded like an English curse and let her go. “I’d better get out of here before I do something I’ll regret.”

  She was breathless, her senses spinning. “W-we are leaving?”

  “I am leaving.” He drew back from her and took a few deep breaths before he stood up. Bending down, he took her hand to help her to her feet. “You are going back to the harem.”

  Holding his hand as she rose, Ashiana shook her head in denial. She could not allow him to send her away!

  She was not going anywhere—not without the sapphire he was wearing around his neck.

  “But the emperor himself gave me to you,” she protested. “You cannot give back one of the emperor’s gifts. He intended for you to keep me—”

  “I’m not taking you with me, Ashiana. I can’t.” He let go of her hand, his voice gruff, his eyes still burning with desire. “And I won’t take your innocence and then abandon you.”

  He turned to look for his uniform coat among the pillows. Ashiana tried to think of what she could say to keep him from leaving. When she had set out upon this mission, the last thing she had expected was that Saxon D’Avenant might be capable of behaving honorably. That he would show concern for a mere dancing girl. That he might be kind to her.

  Instead of hateful and unfeeling, Saxon had turned out to be protective and gallant. It was exceedingly inconvenient.

  But all at once, she realized she could use it against him.

  “Sahib, please, you cannot send me back to the harem,” she said tremulously. “The emperor will be angry with me. He has grown weary of providing me with a luxurious home when I give him no pleasure. He will punish me for failing to please you.”

  Pulling on his uniform coat, Saxon turned to face her. “Then don’t go back to the harem. The emperor gave you to me and I grant you your freedom. You can leave the palace, go anywhere you like.”

  “Leave the palace? Alone? The world beyond the palace walls is not safe for a woman alone.” She wrapped her arms around her bare middle. “I…I would have no protector.”

  He exhaled slowly, a muscle flexing in his tanned jaw. She could tell that the idea of leaving her alone and unprotected bothered him. “Ashiana, my ship sails at dawn and you can’t come with me. It’s too dangerous.”

  She moved closer to him. “Your voyage?”

  “Being with me,” he said flatly.

  “So you would send me out to fend for myself in the streets of Daman? Or leave me here to face the emperor’s punishment? Either way, I will be in danger.” She looked down at her slippers. “The emperor will have me beaten. And then he will give me to one of his vile, gray-haired ministers. Or to some portly, doddering Dutchman who smells of cheese.”

  Saxon muttered an oath, reaching out to tilt her chin up. “Jaanii…”

  Jaanii. It was an endearment. Ashiana could sense that his resistance was crumbling. “Saxon, I would rather it be my choice. I choose you. Danger does not frighten me, not if I am with a protector who is so strong and honorable.” She softened her voice. “And handsome. The emperor gave me to you earlier…but I am giving myself to you now.”

  His eyes darkened to a smoldering smoke-gray. His thumb traced the edge of her jaw, the curve of her throat. “Ashiana, I know the wish every harem girl lives by. The Kama Sutra command that you all commit to heart: ‘You must fetter his soul before you bind your body to his in lovemaking.’” He shook his head. “I assure you that you will never fetter my soul.”

  “Perhaps not…but at least allow me to try. At least give me this one night.” She remembered one of the phrases she had rehearsed. “I have been taught many ways to pleasure a man, many
steps a woman may use to take her lover to the highest pinnacle of bliss.” She turned her cheek toward his hand, nuzzling his fingers. “And there are hours until dawn.”

  Beneath the sound of the fountain that fed the pool, she could hear his breathing, deep, heavy, hungry. “I’ve crossed the oceans from Madagascar to Ceylon and Madeira to Canton,” he said with a cynical edge to his voice. “I’ve tasted every temptation imaginable. I doubt very much that there is anything new you could show me.”

  “Nahin, no, of course not, you are right. You have experienced all the world has to offer.” She pulled away from him, sighing dramatically. “It is unforgiveable of me to suggest that I could please you. I am far too bold. I should be banished to the kingdom of Shambhala to live with the flying squirrels that talk.”

  A reluctant grin curved the hard line of his mouth. “I think your jokes might be my favorite thing about you, jaanii.”

  She gave him a flirtatious look that she had practiced in a mirror. “Not my kisses?”

  He suddenly circled her with one arm and pulled her to him, his voice a growl. “One night,” he warned. “That’s all we have. I’m leaving at dawn—alone.”

  “One night with a scoun-drel.” She reached up to wrap her arms around his neck, lifting her mouth for his kiss. “That will be all I need.”

  Saxon captured her mouth with a low sound of need, claiming her kiss and every seductive pleasure she was offering him. Hellfire and damnation, he was not a saint. Nobody had ever mistaken him for a saint. If his beguiling dancing girl was so determined to have her way with him, he was going to shut up and stop standing in her way. The Valor wouldn’t be ready to sail for at least two more hours…maybe three…

  With her courtesan’s training and his years of experience, they could probably spend three very enjoyable hours together without him taking her virginity.

  Yes, he decided. That was a good plan. An excellent plan. That was his plan.

  She melted into him, moaning, her body going languid in his embrace. Tightening his arm around her back, he raised his other hand to tangle in her hair, tilting her head and deepening their kiss. Her lips parted beneath his to allow the touch of his tongue. He explored the honeyed warmth of her mouth with slow thrusts and she made a soft, feminine sound of discovery and pleasure.