One Night with a Scoundrel Page 8

  She decided quickly, because she had no time to delay. Hasin was waiting for her at the cave of the winds. She ran to her mattress and took out a small woven bag she had hidden underneath. Inside was the potent sleeping potion she had used to taint the qandi earlier.

  Returning to the door, she opened the box of food Padmini had sent and put a few drops of the drug on some of Nico’s favorite dried meat. She loosened the leather strap on the crate, opening it just a crack, and dropped in a generous portion of the food. Poor Nico was so hungry, he didn’t even try to escape, but quickly turned his attention to his meal, eating noisily.

  “Maf kijiye, my Nico.” Ashiana refastened the strap, stroking the crate. “I am sorry to leave you this way, but I cannot let you out. I must send Hasin back for you. You and I and the maharaja will all leave together, just as soon as I have hidden the sapphires. I promise.”

  Her tiger made a rather sleepy growl. She could not stay and calm him further. Precious seconds were slipping by.

  She hurried back to her mattress and concealed the sleeping potion underneath, along with the leather pouch that had belonged to Saxon, now emptied of its priceless contents. With a last apologetic look at her pet, she hurried to the door, eager to rendezvous with Hasin and complete her mission.

  Julian’s boots echoed off the marble floors as he strode through the darkened palace, following one of the emperor’s red-turbaned guards toward the preet chatra. The well-armed men at the palace entrance had made him wait while they verified that he was indeed one of the trade meeting guests, then they let him pass after he explained his purpose.

  He didn’t relish having to interrupt his brother, but there was no helping it. If Saxon wanted to leave on the morning tide, he would have to come back to the Valor now.

  As soon as Julian had informed Saxon’s crew that the ship would put to sea at dawn, they had snapped into action. With the zeal of sailors landlocked too long, they fitted out the sails and rigging, loaded supplies, began the sweaty, time-consuming task of weighing anchor, and rounded up crewmen from their seats in local punch-houses and dalliances with local women.

  A routine check of the hull, however, had revealed damage to the keelson, the large timber that gave the ship’s keel added strength. The damage had gone unnoticed on the short trip up the coast from Bombay, but it could prove troublesome on the five-week voyage to the Andaman Islands. Saxon would have to decide whether to delay here and fix it, or set out after Greyslake at dawn and hope for the best.

  As the guard led him through one lavish corridor after another, carrying a torch to light their way, a more pleasant thought eased Julian’s mind. It was an encouraging sign that Saxon had lingered this long with the alluring dancing girl. If ever there was a man who could benefit from a few hours of pleasurable indulgence with a lovely companion, it was his brother. His crew would find it a welcome change to encounter him in any mood other than surly.

  Saxon hadn’t always been so serious and tyrannical. In younger, happier days, Julian remembered, they had been two of a kind—the gleeful rapscallions of county Kent.

  But then their brother Dalton deserted the family, their father died, and Saxon began to change. He had been only nineteen when it all fell on his shoulders: the quest for the sapphires, the responsibility of saving young Max’s life, and the obligation of managing all the D’Avenant shipping interests, estates, tenants, and investments.

  Saxon’s fun-loving nature was rarely seen anymore. He almost never made time for anything frivolous or relaxing.

  In fact, after his year of healing and rest among the Marathas, he only seemed worse than before: he’d been wound up tighter than a ship’s windlass, refusing to even talk about his extended holiday.

  Julian sighed as the red-turbaned guard turned down another long, dark hallway. He hoped Saxon had changed his mind about leaving the harem girl here. A woman underfoot—especially this sensuous dancer—might be just the thing to shake Saxon out of his irritable mood. A good bottle of Madeira and the attentions of an enthusiastic lady could solve most of life’s difficulties, in Julian’s opinion.

  The guard stopped at a crossing of four corridors, lifting his torch high, and Julian waited impatiently. The shadowy passages were lit only by oil lamps on the walls every few yards, and they all looked the same to him. He caught the feminine scent of mingled perfumes to the left and guessed the harem and preet chatra must lay in that direction. He was about to suggest following their noses when the guard turned down the left hallway.

  They hadn’t taken two steps when they almost collided with Saxon’s harem girl, hurrying in their direction, looking behind her instead of where she was going. She spun to a stop, a startled exclamation escaping her. “Arey!”

  “Good God, woman,” Julian cried. “Where are you running to?”

  Eyes wide, she only gaped at him. Realizing that she did not understand English, Julian repeated himself in Hindi. “Kahan bhag rahi ho?”

  “I-I…” She looked from him to the guard, apparently so stunned she couldn’t answer.

  From her appearance, Julian surmised that she had just experienced a memorable encounter with the legendary D’Avenant charm: her veil was missing, her dark hair tumbled loose around her shoulders, her cosmetics had been kissed away—and if he wasn’t mistaken, that redness on her chin was whisker burn.

  “It’s all right,” Julian assured her, unable to suppress a grin. So much for his brother’s plan to “just talk” with the beautiful dancer. “I’m not going to bite you. Where is my brother?”

  At last she snapped out of her daze. She looked down at the floor, and in a shy effort to cover herself, gathered her sheer peshwaz closer, the weighted hem wrapping around her ankles. “The…the sahib finished with me some time ago,” she said, her words quick and tremulous. “He left and…and said for me to pack my belongings—”

  “He already left for his ship?”

  “Han.” She nodded.

  “But I’ve been at his ship all night and haven’t seen him.”

  “P-perhaps you and he passed on your journey to the palace?”

  “Perhaps.” Julian studied the girl, curious. “But why did he ask you to pack your belongings? Saxon told me he didn’t intend to bring you along on our voyage.”

  “He changed his mind after…after our evening together.”

  “Ah, I see.” Julian smiled at that welcome news. A beguiling new mistress was exactly what Saxon needed. She would keep him from making everyone miserable during the voyage—Julian included.

  Still, something wasn’t quite right here.

  The guard posed the question before Julian could think to ask it. “If you are supposed to be gathering your things, woman, then why are you wandering the corridors unescorted?”

  Flinching at his severe tone, she raised her head, her blue eyes filled with pleading. “Krupiya, please do not tell anyone. I was going to say farewell to my…my friends. They are cooks who work in the kitchens.”

  “Your secret is safe,” Julian promised, moving closer to her. “Perhaps I should go to the pavilion and see if Saxon might have returned to look for you there.”

  “Nahin, no, you mustn’t,” she insisted. “The emperor is already using the preet chatra.”

  The guard confirmed what she said with a nod. “The emperor does use it each night, sahib.”

  “And Captain Saxon told me to wait for him in the harem.” The girl turned back the way she had come. “I must go and see to my belongings—”

  “Wait.” Julian stopped her, catching her by the elbow. “I can guess what’s happened.”

  She stiffened.

  “My brother has probably been delayed aboard his ship.” The moment Saxon arrived at the Valor and heard about the damaged keelson, he had no doubt become so focused on that, he’d forgotten about everything else. “But I’m sure he wouldn’t want you to be left behind. Let’s go and meet him there.”

  All color vanished from her cheeks. “B-but he commanded me
to wait here for him!”

  “But now that I’m here, I can escort you to the Valor and save him a trip back.” Julian kept a firm hold on her arm as the guard turned to lead the way back to the palace entrance.

  “Krupiya, what of my belongings? I cannot leave without them.” She tried to dig in her heels on the slippery marble floor. “If you will only allow me to—”

  “I’ll have someone fetch your things.” Julian hurried after the guard, allowing her no choice but to keep up with his long strides. He wasn’t going to risk that Saxon’s devotion to duty might make him change his mind about bringing a new mistress along on this voyage. Julian was not going to let his brother leave the emperor’s lovely gift behind—and spend the next five weeks at sea being insufferable.

  Eventually, Julian thought with a confident smile, Saxon would thank him for this.

  Ashiana sat on the rickety seat of the horse-drawn ghari cart, clinging to the side with one hand, her heart and mind racing. She thought of yelling for help, but the night air was already filled with the cries of the noisy crowd celebrating the festival of holi: a melee of people thronged the streets, marking the arrival of summer’s warmth with songs and dances and bonfires, tossing handfuls of colored powders made from crushed flowers at one another. Scores of European sailors had joined in as well, singing and shouting, clutching cups of coconut liqueur.

  She kept darting looks at the ground jouncing past, but Saxon’s brother—he had told her his name, something like “Lorjulian”—sat right beside her and kept a firm hold on her wrist.

  “Please don’t try jumping out again,” he said with a frown. “You were lucky you didn’t break your neck!”

  She didn’t reply, only remained frozen, the breeze tangling her hair and fluttering through her peshwaz. Her attempt to leap into the crowd had failed. So had her appeal to the guards at the palace entrance. She could say little without giving herself away. The story of her being given to the Englishman had already spread through the palace. The guards had barely spared a glance for a mere dancing girl, insisting they must obey the emperor’s wishes. They had already verified who Lorjulian was when he came in, so they did not interfere.

  She had tried a different approach, objecting that she had no veil or suitable shoes for the outdoors and must be allowed to return to the harem to get some. Lorjulian had paused just long enough to ask the guards to send her belongings to the quay—then he simply picked her up, ignoring her yelp of protest, and carried her.

  The cart-boy, paid a generous handful of rupees, eagerly led the horse through the twisting, crowded streets at a quick pace. Ashiana’s heart was beating so hard, she felt light-headed. She experimentally tried to free her arm from Lorjulian’s grasp, but he possessed the same easy strength as his brother.

  He kept looking at her with a puzzled expression. “Surely my brother is not so terrible that you wish to injure yourself by jumping from the cart rather than sail away with him on his ship.”

  Ashiana gulped for air and for courage. “Please, sahib, will you not allow me to go back to the palace and say farewell to my friends? They are the only family I have known—”

  “I don’t think there’s enough time. But when we reach the ship, you can ask Saxon.”

  Ashiana fought rising panic. When they reached the ship, she would be finished! “H-he will never agree to let me return to the palace,” she pleaded, the quiver in her voice real. “He will be angry that I disobeyed his orders by leaving without him—”

  “If he’s angry, the blame will be mine, not yours. I’m sure he’ll be quick to forgive you.”

  Forgive her? He would kill her!

  “Think of this as a grand adventure,” Lorjulian said warmly. “A sea voyage will be much more fun than being shut away in the harem all your days. Have you ever sailed on a European ship before?”

  Cold desperation washed through Ashiana. She was clearly not going to be able to talk her way out of this. She had to find some way to escape. “Only when I was very young,” she said numbly.

  “You’ll be quite comfortable aboard the Valor. She’s an Indiaman.” He smiled at her. “Do you know what that is?”

  Ashiana shook her head.

  “Indiamen are called ‘the aristocrats of the oceans.’ Armed like warships but with plenty of cargo holds below the gun deck, and the hull is built more slender for speed. Five hundred tons, thirty guns, and a crew of ninety, all handpicked. The Company pays the best wages, so we get the best men. And I think you’ll be surprised at how luxurious the captain’s cabin is.”

  The cart jounced off the dirt road and onto the wooden slats that formed the quay. She turned to face the forest of masts that suddenly loomed out of the darkness. The scent of the sea hung thick in the air. As the boy slowed the horse, Lorjulian leaned forward to give him directions, still keeping a firm hold on her.

  Ashiana was shaking. Her bracelets jangled.

  He turned back toward her, frowning. “I wish you would stop looking as if you were being taken to your execution. If my brother is angry, it’ll be with me, not you. And if he is angry at you, I promise you my protection.”

  His gallant offer did not relieve her anxiety. “Dhanyavad.” Her voice sounded dry and thin. “Thank you.”

  The ghari cart jolted to a stop before one of the largest of the huge foreign ships.

  Julian tossed the boy a generous tip, then hopped down and lifted the girl to the ground. She seemed a bit dizzy.

  “You have nothing to fear.” He circled her waist with one arm to steady her. “No one is going to hurt you, I give you my word.”

  She looked like she might cry. She looked so beautiful and so vulnerable, he felt the urge to draw her close, to reassure her, to…

  He scuttled those thoughts, reminding himself that the lady belonged to his brother. Keeping his arm around her—purely to steady her, he told himself—he turned his attention to the Valor, moored a short distance out in the harbor.

  The Indiaman’s size and magnificence made her instantly recognizable, even among the ships of the other European traders. The white, red, and blue East India Company ensign snapped in the wind at her stern. Lamps hanging from the masts and yards lit the deck as the crew scrambled to prepare for departure. One of the small boats called masulahs, used to carry crew and cargo back and forth to the quay, came away from the ship’s side and started toward them, carrying a single man.

  Julian smiled. It was probably Saxon, wondering what the hell his brother was up to.

  Turning his smile on the girl, Julian nodded to the Valor. “Let me be the first to welcome you aboard. This will be your new home for the next few weeks.”

  She looked like she was going to faint. Before he had the chance to say anything more, the masulah drew near—and to his surprise, it was the ship’s first mate, Wesley Wodeford Wyatt, who leaped out and came up onto the quay.

  Lanky as a mainmast and thin as a belaying pin, Wyatt normally went about his duties with gruff efficiency, but at the moment his deeply tanned face was taut with concern. “Have ye found the cap’n, my lord?”

  Surprised and alarmed, Julian swore. “Saxon hasn’t returned yet?” he replied in English.

  “No, he hasn’t. There’s been no sign of him, and the tide will be in before ye know it. I thought ye were bringin’ him back. And who by the Blessed Mother would this little peach in the harem silks be?”

  “A gift to Saxon from the emperor,” Julian said distractedly, looking down at her with new uncertainty. Something was definitely wrong here. “She said Saxon left for his ship some time ago.”

  Eyes wide, she looked from one man to the other, clearly not understanding a word of their conversation.

  Julian addressed her in Hindi. “My brother has not arrived yet.”

  “I-I do not understand why.”

  “You’re sure you don’t know where he might be?”

  “Perhaps he decided to take part in the holi festival?” she suggested.

  Julian
didn’t believe that for a moment, and his expression said as much. She suddenly tried to wrench free of him and bolt. Julian caught her by both wrists before she could take a single step. The nervousness she had shown all night abruptly took on a new meaning—one that had nothing to do with girlish shyness. There might be a more sinister reason she didn’t want to meet up with Saxon again.

  Wyatt fixed a glare on her. “Ye think she has somethin’ to do with the cap’n’s disappearance?”

  “I’m afraid that’s a possibility.” Julian handed her over to the first mate. “Wyatt, I want you to escort this woman to Saxon’s cabin and see that she stays there.”

  “Aye, sir.” The mate took her arm, his grip as firm as it would be around a slippery halyard.

  She tried frantically to get free. “Nahin, krupiya, please, there has been a mistake—”

  “Yes, but I think I’m the one who made it,” Julian said as he turned away. “Make sure she doesn’t leave, Wyatt. I’m going back to the palace—and this time I’m not leaving until I find out what in Hades happened to my brother.”

  He stalked back to the road, his steps thunderous on the wooden quay.

  Pain throbbed relentlessly in Saxon’s head. A jumbled, distant hum of voices intruded and receded. Then the sharp scent of something being waved under his nose forced him up through the darkness—only to experience more pain as someone slapped his face.

  The residue of fury at the edges of his consciousness finally brought him awake. He forced his eyes open, then swore and shut them against the glare of light reflecting off the mirrored ceiling.

  “Come on, Sax.” The hand slapped his cheek again. “Wake up!”

  Angry at his own weakness, Saxon opened his eyes again. A half-dozen faces floated in the bright light, then merged and resolved into two: Julian, leaning over him, and a palace guard.