One Night with a Scoundrel Page 9

  Saxon realized he was lying on the cold marble floor in the preet chatra, naked but for a towel they had thrown over him. He tried to raise his head, but agony splintered through his temples. Gritting his teeth, he cursed again, falling back on a coat folded beneath his head.

  “Thank God.” Julian exhaled. “I thought you had really furled your jibs for good this time.”

  Saxon could hardly make out the words over the pain and an unfamiliar grogginess that made everything seem muffled.

  “Was there an accident, sahib?” the guard asked with concern. “Did you slip in the pool?”

  “Are you all right, Sax? How do you feel?”

  Saxon felt like he had just been scraped up from the floor of a tavern after three days of drinking. All his senses were strangely muddled. The last thing he remembered was a flood of fury—then nothing, blackness.

  As he came awake, from years of habit, he reached for the leather pouch he wore around his neck.

  It was gone.

  Swearing viciously, he tried to sit up.

  “Easy, Sax. You’ve got a nasty bump on the head—”

  “That lying little thief!” Saxon pushed himself to one elbow and shoved Julian’s hand away when his brother tried to get him to lie down again. “Where are my clothes?”

  His words sounded thick and garbled, and he wasn’t sure the two men understood. Not waiting for assistance, Saxon forced his muscles to respond and made it to one knee.

  “Sax, I don’t think you should be moving around just yet—”

  “Damn her! That scheming, deceitful wench!” Saxon’s thoughts cleared as icy rage pumped through his veins. His harem girl had drugged him and robbed him! Tricked him and danced away with his sapphire—and he had made it easy for her, falling for her honeyed kisses, tumbling right into her arms. “How long have I been out?” Half-leaning on Julian, he stumbled to his feet.

  “If you’ll just wait a—”

  “We’ll have to stay in Daman until we find her.” He grabbed his breeches from beside the pool, swaying badly as he bent to put them on. He snatched up his boots and shirt. “We’re going to miss the bloody tide, but—”

  “I know where she is,” Julian interrupted.

  Saxon froze, staring at him.

  “She’s on the Valor. In your cabin—”

  Saxon didn’t wait for the rest of the explanation. He stormed out of the preet chatra, filled with Satan’s own wrath.

  The Englishman would kill her.

  Never mind that he had said women should always be protected. He would no doubt make an exception for the woman who had nearly killed him while spiriting away the jewel he wore. A jewel worth a king’s ransom.

  If he still lived—if he hadn’t drowned or died from striking his head on the edge of the pool—his brother would find him in the preet chatra. And bring him straight here to his cabin.

  And then he would kill her.

  Ashiana pounded her fists against the door until her hands were numb. But the sailor named Wyatt took his orders seriously. He had marched her to his captain’s cabin, thrust her inside, then posted himself outside the door, deaf to her tears and pleas for mercy.

  Ashiana leaned her forehead against the smooth wood and let her hands drop to her sides. She had already tried to open the thick mullioned windows that looked out over the stern of the ship, but they wouldn’t budge. She had no way out. The rocking motion of the waves and an overwhelming sense of despair made her feel ill.

  If only she hadn’t been so pleased with herself for reuniting the jewels, so confident and filled with foolish pride! Instead of congratulating herself, she should have been concentrating on the dangers that lay ahead. Now she would pay with her life for the lesson.

  And when she was gone…all nine sapphires would be in the Englishman’s hands.

  She closed her eyes, flooded with anguish. She had failed in her mission, failed the maharaja—and delivered her people’s most sacred treasure directly into the hands of the enemy!

  By all that was holy, she must not allow this to happen.

  Bracing her hands against the door, she forced herself to stand up straight. She was an Ajmir princess. She would not admit defeat! She had taken a sacred vow to safeguard the Nine Sapphires of Kashmir and somehow she would accomplish it.

  Quickly, she surveyed the chamber she was in. How much time did she have? How long would it take Lorjulian to find his brother? An hour? Half that? Minutes?

  Ashiana removed her peshwaz and clutched it against her. The secret compartments had safely hidden the jewels until now—but subjected to the Englishman’s search…

  In his anger, he could very well break one of the finely wrought clasps. She could picture the sapphires falling at his feet.

  She paced the cabin, looking for a hiding place. The bookcase? Beneath the bed? The writing desk? The battered sea chest? The cabin was luxurious, as Lorjulian had said, but none of its furnishings would conceal the sapphires from Saxon’s eyes for long.

  At that thought, despair struck again: Lorjulian and Wyatt had both seen her wearing the peshwaz when she was taken aboard. If she hid it, how could she explain its sudden disappearance during her time in the cabin?

  Trembling, Ashiana could think of only one thing to do. It would be risky, but it might work. Displayed on the far wall was a collection of weapons: shamshirs, katars, pistols, and some lethal-looking axes and blades completely unfamiliar to her. Cold terror sliced through her at the reminder of D’Avenant’s reputation for violence, but she pushed it to a distant corner of her mind.

  She could not hope to use the weapons to defend herself. Half of them looked too heavy for her to lift, and the Englishman would give her no chance.

  But as tools…

  Moving quickly, she chose a broad, flat bhuj and an odd little forked weapon from the wall and dashed to the darkest corner of the cabin. Slipping off one of her layered lavender skirts, she spread it on the floor beside her.

  Then she emptied the peshwaz of its precious contents, one by one.

  Less than half an hour later, she stood beside the writing desk opposite the door, rested one hand on the smooth top, and told herself it was best to meet the Englishman bravely. She would not cower at his feet. Her gaze darted to the corner beside the bookcase.

  She had hidden the sapphires in the wall, securely bundled in one of her skirts, tucked into the shallow space between the timbers that formed the skeleton of the ship.

  At first, she had thought of hiding the gems in the floor, but the floor planking was too thick. The panels used on the walls were thinner, enough so that she had been able to loosen one with her makeshift tools. She had eased it open, stuffed the jewels inside, closed it and tapped the nails back into place, weeping loudly the entire time to cover the sounds. As before, Wyatt had ignored her.

  When the maharaja learned of her failure, he would choose a new protector to complete her mission. The thought made her blink back tears. He would know nothing of her fate, only that she had failed him. She could only hope that whoever came after D’Avenant next would find the jewels somehow. She didn’t dare leave behind any clues or a note.

  If she had to die, at least she had the satisfaction of having accomplished one thing: the Nine Sapphires of Kashmir were reunited at last, and would stay that way.

  Suddenly the door flew open—and hit the wall so hard that some of the weapons on display clattered to the floor with a metallic crash. A cry tore from Ashiana’s throat despite her resolve to show courage.

  Saxon D’Avenant filled the entrance, one fist planted against the door, the ends of his open shirt fluttering, his blond hair stained with his blood. His eyes were like ice.

  Ashiana felt all the warmth drain from her cheeks. Perhaps the gods would look kindly upon her in her next life.

  “You treacherous little thief!” He crossed the cabin in two strides and grabbed her by the arms. “Where is it?” He jerked her up against his chest. “Where in the hell is it?”
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  Ashiana’s throat had closed off. She couldn’t speak, couldn’t even take a breath.

  He began to search her, his hands moving over her body with ruthless efficiency, checking her bodice, tearing open the deep pockets of her salwar, ripping the fragile silk of her garments. Ashiana cried out in panic. All the gentleness he had shown her in the preet chatra was gone.

  When he did not find what he sought, he straightened, looming over her. “Damn it, woman!” He backed her toward the wall. “What have you done with the leather pouch you stole from me?”

  She only made it three steps before her back came up against the bookcase. “I do not have it!” she gasped.

  He remained where he was, clenching his fists, taking several fast breaths as if trying to control his anger. “If you value your life, you will tell me what you did with it. Now.”

  “I do not want to die! I swear by all the gods, if I had it, I would return it to you!”

  “Then tell me where it is.”

  “I-I did not want to steal it. I was forced into it! B-by a stranger. He said he would kill me if I did not get it for him.”

  D’Avenant reached down and snatched up one of the swords that had fallen from the wall, whirling it toward her with a flick of his wrist.

  Ashiana screamed—but he did not kill her.

  The point hovered just at the base of her throat.

  “By whatever gods you claim to hold dear,” he said in a razor-sharp voice, “if you are lying to me—”

  “I swear it is the truth!” Ashiana was shaking, her gaze locked on the gleaming steel blade. “I-I am but a dancing girl! I never meant you any harm. Th-this man was waiting in the preet chatra when I arrived there. He threatened me with a pistol. He told me of the leather pouch you wore around your neck and said I must bring it to him.” She was crying now. “I am sorry—”

  “Saxon!” Lorjulian came running through the door. “Don’t—”

  “Stay out of this, Julian,” his brother snapped, his eyes never leaving Ashiana. “Who was this ‘stranger’?” he asked sarcastically. “What did he look like?”

  Ashiana tried to decide what would sound even remotely believable. “One of the Europeans. He w-was dressed as all the others were. Dark clothes, and a hat with three corners. And the white false hair. He did not tell me his name!”

  Saxon didn’t move the sword an inch, fury and frustration clashing inside him. Her story was probably entirely false. She was only trying to save her pretty little neck. She had already proved herself both deceitful and dangerous. She had seduced him, drugged him—and damned near killed him.

  And yet…

  There was the name that pounded through his head with every painful throb of his temples. The one that had been gnawing at him since supper. If this supposed “stranger” was European…

  Greyslake. Or one of his hirelings.

  “Tell me more about this man,” he demanded, trying to sort truth from lie. He kept the blade pointed at her. “What color were his eyes? What did his face look like?”

  She shook her head, gingerly. “He would not let me see his face. He looked like any other European. And I was too frightened to think! He was aiming a pistol at—”

  “What kind of pistol?”

  “I know nothing of weapons! All I know is that it was terrifying.” Tears ran down her cheeks. “He gave me the drug and instructed me how to use it. He said he would kill me and my friends in the harem if I failed. I only did as he told me!”

  “What about his voice—his accent?”

  “He spoke Hindi. I cannot tell one European accent from another. I am only a dancing girl!” She closed her eyes. “Saxon, I did not wish to harm you. I am sorry that you were hurt…” Her words dissolved in a sob.

  He clenched his jaw and didn’t lower the sword. He couldn’t believe she was as innocent as she painted herself to be. Yet all of this did have Greyslake’s mark stamped on it. Treachery. Poison. Hiring—or blackmailing—someone else to do the deed.

  “Sax, if this girl was in league with your enemies,” Julian said quietly in English, “she could have easily finished you off. She could have used your own sword—or just pushed you under the water and let you drown. Instead she ran.”

  Saxon shook his head, glaring at her. “I don’t trust half of what she’s saying.”

  “But what if even part of it’s true?” Julian asked. “What if one of Greyslake’s men is spiriting the sapphire out of Daman at this very moment—while we stand here arguing?”

  Saxon exhaled through gritted teeth, turning toward his brother. “Where did you find her when you arrived at the palace?”

  “She was in a corridor not far from the harem.” Julian looked from him to Ashiana and back with a troubled expression. “She seemed nervous. Tense. Like she wanted to run. I should have suspected something.”

  “And she was alone?” Saxon asked impatiently. “And she didn’t have the sapphire or my leather pouch?”

  “I didn’t search her, but she wasn’t carrying anything, and yes, she was alone. I didn’t see or hear anyone else. She said she was supposed to gather her things, that you had gone to your ship and were going to return for her.”

  Saxon pinned Ashiana with another probing gaze, shifting back to Hindi. “You have lied to me. My brother says that you had my leather pouch in your hands when he met you in the corridor.”

  She blinked at Julian in clear astonishment. “But that is not true! The European stranger was waiting just outside the preet chatra. He took the pouch from me and ran without a word.” She looked at Saxon again, her expression pleading. “I was so grateful for my life, I could not think of what to do. But I knew you would be furious with me. My only thought was to get away!”

  Swearing, Saxon threw the sword to the floor. “This is pointless,” he growled in English. “We could question her all night and it won’t get us the sapphire back. We’re wasting precious time.”

  “Her story fits with her actions when I found her,” Julian said softly. “Her only thought was to get away. She tried several times. She might be telling the truth.”

  “Might is one hell of a big word.” Saxon glowered at her.

  “Whoever this stranger was, he can’t have gotten far. We could search—”

  “We don’t have bloody time to search! We have to sail in an hour if we’re going to catch the tide and reach the Andamans before Greyslake. If he’s the one who’s got my sapphire, I’ll be damned to hell and back again before I let him get the other eight.”

  “Uh, Sax…” Julian said slowly. “About that—there’s something I didn’t have the chance to tell you earlier.”

  Saxon shot him an irritated glance, certain his mood was about to get worse. “What?”

  “We discovered damage to the keelson while we were preparing to sail. It wasn’t serious enough to cause trouble on the coast, but I’m not sure it’ll hold up for weeks on the open sea. You’ll need to take a look at it.”

  “Bloody blazing hell.” Saxon turned to the girl, speaking Hindi again. “Tell me more about what this accomplice of yours looked like.”

  “He was not my accomplice! He forced—”

  “Then you won’t mind telling me what I want to know.”

  “I told you, he looked like the other Europeans—”

  Saxon took one step toward her and she immediately supplied more details.

  “His clothes were dark blue, and he was tall, and rather heavy. That is all I know!”

  Saxon glared down at her, his every muscle taut, his mind racing to devise some kind of plan to get his sapphire back.

  Julian came closer, speaking English. “I could launch a search here in Daman while you sail to the Andamans.”

  “Exactly what I was thinking,” Saxon agreed.

  “The question is…” Julian hesitated. “What are you going to do about her?”

  Saxon knew what he should do. Put the wily little schemer off his ship. Return her to the emperor or hand her over
to the authorities here in Daman.

  But even as he considered the idea, he knew he wasn’t going to do that. She was his only link to his sapphire now. And he had the unpleasant suspicion that if he let her out of his sight, she would only cause him worse trouble than she already had.

  He replied softly to his brother. “Wait for me on deck, Julian. And send Wyatt back down here.”

  With one last, woeful look at Ashiana, Julian left without further argument.

  Wrapping her arms around her middle, she watched him leave, then slowly returned her gaze to Saxon, her blue eyes filled with fear.

  Probably the first honest emotion she had shown him all day, he thought derisively.

  “I-I see now that I have done a grievous wrong,” she said. “I could go with you back to the city and help you search—”

  Saxon silenced her with a humorless laugh. “Thank you for the offer of assistance, but I’m not going back to the city. And neither are you.”

  She blinked those impossibly beautiful eyes. “Krupiya, please, I-I do not understand—”

  “Then let me make it clear,” he said coolly. “Your thievery has cost me a great deal. And whether you’re a pawn as you claim or involved in some plot, you know more than you’re telling. Until I get my—” He stopped himself. If she truly didn’t know what had been in the pouch she had taken, he wasn’t going to enlighten her. “Until I get back what you stole from me, I’m not letting you out of my sight.”

  Before she could protest, Wyatt arrived in the doorway.

  “Sir?” The first mate darted a wary, suspicious glance toward the girl.

  “Wyatt, I want you to fasten a bolt to this door so I can lock it from the outside. But first take every single weapon out of here—and anything that could be used as a weapon—and stow them somewhere.”

  “Aye, sir.” He started picking up the blades that had fallen on the floor.

  Saxon pinned Ashiana with a hard look. “You, dangerous little chura, are going to stay right where you are until I return. And do not cause any more trouble.”