Her Only Desire (17 page)

For his part, Ian could not recall ever having been with such a responsive and passionate female; this was a woman who threw herself whole-heartedly into her pleasures. It was glorious to behold. And perhaps it was vanity on his part, but he found it incredibly gratifying to know that although countless men wanted her, she had offered herself to him.

Ah, Georgiana Knight.
Somehow he should have known she'd lure him into misbehaving with her. She had snared him with his rampant curiosity about her, this alluring siren who could have been his wife if generations of talk about an alliance between their families were to be heeded.

Ian, however, had no intention of heeding those dictums. He had only wanted a taste; they both had wanted it. Badly. He knew now it had been on both their minds from the very day they'd met. He might be well versed in the art of self-denial, but she was having none of it, and devil take her, she was too damned hard to resist. He might be a gentleman, but God knew he wasn't a saint.

One day soon, when he left India and returned to England, he would look back on this as naught but a private and very pleasant memory. Sweet Georgiana in the prayer cave.

When he saw she had made it safely back into the palace, Ian told her brothers of the concerns Georgiana had raised about Prince Shahu telling the maharani everything that happened in their audiences with King Johar, and the sharper worry of Queen Sujana, in turn, informing Baji Rao. They decided to go back inside and try to investigate this possibility.

As they walked toward the palace, Derek casually asked what had happened to his cravat.

“Too bloody hot. I can't get used to this climate. How can you stand it in battle?”

“You just do,” he said with a cheery shrug, but Gabriel eyed Ian with some degree of wariness.

He knows,
Ian thought. Or at least suspected.
Damn.
He looked away, hoping his face betrayed no outward sign of his guilt.
Sorry old boy, couldn't help myself.

“I've been meaning to ask you something, if you don't mind, Griff,” Derek continued.

“What is it?”

“Earlier today in the Hall of Arms, I noticed you declined to join the demonstration.” The major elbowed him in ribbing good humor. “Doubt your skills?”

“Actually, no,” Ian said smoothly. He glanced at Gabriel, then at Derek again, with a cynical smile. “No point in announcing it, though. If anyone attacks me, they'll soon discover the truth.”

“Smart man,” Derek agreed with a hearty smile.

“Too smart,” Gabriel murmured as Ian walked on ahead.

The brothers lingered a few paces behind.

“I think he just gave us a warning,” Gabriel said.

“What, not to call him out?”

The elder Knight nodded.

The younger glanced in Ian's direction, then grinned at his brother. “He's bluffing.”

“Is he?”

Derek shrugged. “At least he's on our side.”

Gabriel gave him a hard look. “They were together.”

“I know.” Derek sighed. “Well, she could do worse. He
is
a marquess.”

“He's not looking for a wife!”

“How do you know?”

Gabriel shrugged and huffed in protective displeasure.

“Don't worry,” Derek told him. “Lord Virtue is not the sort of cad to seduce our sister under our noses.”

“It's not him I'm worried about,” Gabriel said pointedly.

“Well, you do have a point there,” Derek conceded, well aware of their sister's wild nature. But he shrugged it off. “What are we supposed to do? Georgie's a grown woman. She's always going on about her freedom, and as much as it drives us mad, we have to try to respect that.”

“Yes, but—” Gabriel's words broke off, and then he merely scowled.

“Gabriel, we've been over this so many times. She's not a little girl anymore. You sound like Father. I know we all appreciate having her at home to look after us, but sooner or later, we've got to let her have her own life. It's past time she married, and if she's got a serious interest in Griff, I'm sure as hell not going to stand in the way. He might be exactly what she needs. He's clever enough to handle her and all her tricks—and I daresay she can handle him.”

Still scowling, Gabriel dropped his gaze and shook his head after a moment. “I just don't want him carrying her off all the way to England, where we'll never see her again,” he admitted with a glum look. “It might as well be to the bloody moon.”

“Don't you think you're getting a little ahead of yourself?”

“No.”

Derek laughed ruefully and clapped him on the back. “Come on, brother. We've got a job to do. I shall never understand why you always go galloping straight for the worst possible conclusion,” he remarked as they marched back to the palace, falling easily in step with each other. “You are a pessimist, you know.”

He snorted. “I'm a soldier, and if you haven't noticed, I'm usually right.” Gabriel looked at him matter-of-factly and then they strode ahead of him into the palace.

Inside, scores of people still milled about the glittering banquet hall, socializing and enjoying the antics of the nautch girls and other performers.

Ian paused upon noticing a heavily veiled woman seated at King Johar's table. He hid his shock when one of the courtiers told him that it was Queen Sujana herself. As the king's head wife, she was sometimes granted the rare honor of appearing in public beside her husband, especially on state or ceremonial occasions. Of course, Her Majesty could only be viewed through various layers of veils, in observance of purdah.

Eager for the chance to study the woman and do his best to read her in spite of her veils, Ian resumed his place at the maharajah's table.

When the Knight brothers sat down with him a moment later, he was still puzzling over how to draw the queen into conversation, when it was forbidden for any man except her husband, and possibly her son, to speak to her.

Neither was present at the table. Johar had drifted off to another quarter of the grand hall and stood conversing with his advisers. Shahu was nowhere to be seen. Without them, the poor woman was merely to sit there, no more allowed to speak than the fan-waving servants.

Ian sensed her watching everything, taking it all in. As he leaned back on the cylindrical pillow behind him, wondering how to approach this, he lifted his goblet to his lips to take a drink. The acute stare that he felt emanating from beneath the maharani's veil suddenly made him wonder if he ought not to swallow the contents of his glass. Her avid intelligence, her raging curiosity—and her mistrust—all were palpable.

Now he knew why Georgiana was suspicious. This woman was a force to be reckoned with.

And so he reached for his favorite strategy when locked in the sights of a hostile party, and smoothly began engaging in disinformation.

A few well-chosen lies to the courtiers about British plans regarding Gwalior would give Her Majesty something to pass along to Baji Rao. If her brother took action based on these little fictions, they would soon know that Queen Sujana was a traitor to her husband.

If that was the case, Ian dearly wanted to catch her in the act—trap her in her lies. Not just for the sake of his treaty, but for personal satisfaction.

There were few things worse in this world than betrayal by one's wife.

He should know.

         

Only a few minutes prior to this, Georgie had gained entrance to the zenana. She passed the new pair of hulking bald-headed guards on duty, went down the golden corridor, and found the marble atrium quiet.

Beyond the open doors to the garden, moonlight played on the lilting fountain. The children had been put to bed and the last of the ladies had withdrawn to their chambers.

Her heart was pounding because she, too, had seen Queen Sujana at King Johar's table when she had passed by the banqueting hall on her way back to the harem. Knowing that Her Majesty was safely distracted, Georgie turned silently and looked at the closed door of the maharani's private audience room, under its pointed arch.

Dared she?

This was the perfect opportunity to snoop inside that mysterious chamber and try to figure out, if anything, what the woman was hiding.

Impinge on the privacy of a queen?
her better sense exclaimed.
You must be mad!

But if it would help Ian…

A delicious sensation passed through her entire body at the thought of him. Oh, at this moment, she felt she could do anything for him.

Of course, he had warned her not to meddle, but he was only being a typical male, overprotective. She knew the routine, thanks to Gabriel and Derek.

She also knew—because Ian had trusted her enough to tell her—that this peace treaty was vitally important. People's lives were at risk. And besides, hadn't she promised Ian that she'd help him if she could?

Well, here was her chance to prove her usefulness.

Swearing to herself that she would be in and out of that secret room before anyone was the wiser, Georgie's pulse escalated as she tiptoed toward the door.

Locked.

Well, naturally.

But this proved no impediment, thanks to her cousin Jack. She reached up with a sly half smile and plucked a long hairpin out of her coiffure, then bent down and as quietly as possible, jiggled the pin about in the lock.

Snick.

Ah.
Thanks, Jack.

With a wary glance behind her, she opened the door and peeked inside. Reassured that no one was in the room, she sneaked in and closed the door silently behind her. She locked it again, just to be safe.

The private audience chamber was spanned by an ornate wooden screen with a few feet of empty space on both sides. Through the intricate teakwood whorls of the screen's tracery, the visitors' door on the other side of the windowless room was propped ajar.

The only light came in feebly through the open doorway, reflecting in from somewhere down that long corridor, near where the eunuchs stood guard. As her eyes adjusted to the gloom, she scanned the chamber.

A cushioned throne atop a low platform was the chamber's focal point The surrounding walls were richly decorated with paintings and mosaics with the usual retinue of statues in religious themes. Some were life-sized; others stood on pedestals.

She noticed a dainty, European-style writing desk in the corner where the queen's secretary, or perhaps Sujana herself, recorded the business carried out during her various audiences.

Georgie sped across the room to it, opened the slanted desk top with painstaking care, and began rifling through the stationery, well aware that this could probably get her beheaded. She lifted stacks of papers toward the light, and knew just enough of the Marathi dialect to make out the general nature of each document: petitions, judgments, endowments, deeds, and various schedules.

There was nothing suspicious here, just the tedious paperwork of a royal personage meticulously carrying out what few duties were granted to her.

For a moment, Georgie felt sorry for Sujana, for even in the course of their short meeting, she had been struck by the aura of fierce pride and intelligence around the woman, and yet she was caged here, like that tiger in its elaborate pen outside. It could make a woman of talent and drive absolutely mad, she thought as she glanced around the room, wondering where to search next.

She approached the empty white throne and felt about to see if anything had been concealed inside, sewn into the cushions.

Nothing.

Carefully, she put the cushions back exactly as she had found them.

She had to hurry.

Moving more swiftly, she tried the paintings, rugs, and tapestries next, moving them aside, trying to uncover any concealed compartments.

Again, nothing.

She looked around with a furrowed brow; all that remained were the statues. Some of them might be hollow, so she checked them all. Shiva, Ganesha, Indra, Parvati—they had no secrets to hide. But then she came to the Kali statue—as tall as Georgie herself, painted black as death—and she truly did not want to touch it.

It's only a statue,
she thought, scoffing at her apprehension.

Wincing a bit, she poked at all the hideous adornments of the death goddess, when all of a sudden, her searching fingertips detected a barely perceptible seam around the severed head in Kali's ruthless grip. She grasped it harder, wiggling the head carefully. She let out a gasp as the face snapped open and swung outward like a little door.

Inside was a folded paper.

Glancing around guiltily, Georgie took the paper out and unfolded it, her heart thumping. Holding the message up toward the low light streaming in from across the chamber, she was able to make out the hastily penned lines.

They had been written by the queen, all right. In her arrogance, Sujana had not even bothered using code, and as Georgie struggled to translate the the letter mentally, the evil that the words carried made her blood run cold.

This was even worse than she had suspected.

Queen Sujana was not only siding with Baji Rao, she was plotting to murder her husband and put Prince Shahu on the throne!

Patience, little brother,
the damning letter concluded.
I will send word when the English party has left Janpur. Then we will act.

Georgie was so intent on deciphering the letter that she failed to notice another presence approaching until the faintest jingle of jewelry tinkled on the air. Then it was too late.

A curse exploded at the other end of the room.

“What are you doing?” a deep voice demanded.

As she looked up, wide-eyed, the blood drained from her face.

Prince Shahu!

She was caught.

Red-handed.

At once, she thrust the paper behind her back. Trying to hide the proof of Queen Sujana's plot, she retreated as he stalked toward her in his curl-toed shoes.