Her Only Desire (6 page)

“Miss Knight.” He bowed to her, pivoted, and strode out.

Georgie felt a twinge in her lungs at his stubborn exit and stifled a vexed growl. Blast!

Ah, but he did not know her very well if he thought he was getting away that easily. She clenched her fists by her sides and marched out after him. “Lord Griffith!”

He was a few feet ahead of her down the front path, waving his three servants back up onto the roof of the carriage and telling the footman he wouldn't be staying.

“Lord Griffith!” Georgie called again, incensed at being ignored. She felt the burn rise anew in her lungs, but she refused to be bothered by that right now. She stopped and planted her hands indignantly on her waist. “I wasn't asking your permission!”

He froze halfway down the path, and then, slowly, looked over his shoulder at her, his glance dark and ominous.

With a small gulp at the brooding look he sent her, Georgie lifted her chin. “I was invited by my friend to go and visit her at her new home. You can't stop me. I am going to—” she stopped herself from announcing their destination publicly. “I'm going
there,
” she amended, “with or without you. So it seems to me that we might as well travel together. It's safer that way for us both.”

He looked at her but said not a word.

Georgie gulped. She held her ground, however, with a fine view of the magnificent man as he turned around and stalked back up the path toward her.

Her heart beat faster.

Tall as he was, when Lord Griffith stopped just a few inches in front of her, she had to tilt her head back a bit to keep holding his icy stare, but she refused to let him intimidate her with his silence or his size.

“Meena needs me,” she informed him, “and if there's going to be another stupid war, I want to see my brothers before they go charging off to fight on the front lines. They could be killed, you know. Besides—” She squared her shoulders, standing up to him. “You have no right to tell me what to do.”

For a long moment he just stared at her impassively, sizing her up.

The silence stretched her nerves thin.

And then, at last, he nodded, conceding. “Very well,” he answered in a mild tone, his eyes like mirrors, shutting her out. “If that's how you feel. Wait here. I'll be in touch.”

“But—”

“I have to go and meet with my contacts,” he interrupted her succinctly. “You will hear from me soon.”

“Oh—good, all right,” she forced out, quickly hiding her shock that she had managed to gain his compliance without too much additional arm-twisting.

Finally, a reasonable male!

“Well, um, carry on, then,” she instructed.

“Thank you,” he replied with etched-glass courtesy. “Now, my dear—
princess
—do you mind if I borrow your coach to take me over to the hotel?”

“Please—be my guest. Why did you call me a—never mind.” She bit her tongue at his dark, warning look. “You will be back?” she persisted with great delicacy, but he still glared.

“You will hear from me soon,” he repeated emphatically.

Georgie pressed her lips shut, folded her arms, and nodded agreeably, not daring to press her luck one inch further. As she watched him step up into her carriage, she almost called out another question for him, but deemed it wiser to hold her tongue. When the coach pulled away, she finally exhaled.

Well, that was interesting.
She hadn't had much of a chance to interview him in order to learn his nature and gather information, as she had planned. Indeed, she was dismayed that he had rejected her offer of hospitality, but there would still be plenty of time to figure him and his mission out while they were on the road to Janpur. The journey would take several days.

That reminded her—she had to pack! But first, she realized, she had better check on Lakshmi.

After learning from a servant that her friend had come downstairs, Georgie went through the pair of dainty French doors at the end of the main corridor and walked out onto the breezy colonnade that girded the sun-splashed garden, around which the courtyard-style house was built.

This lush sanctuary was her favorite part of the house: a paradise garden in the Mughal style, divided into four quarters by little trickling waterways with a fountain in the center. The colonnade surrounding it was paved with smooth gray flagstones, and adorned with statues and hanging flower baskets here and there. Overhead, latticed arches spanned the slim white columns, continuing the house's fanciful theme of an exotic pavilion.

A balmy breeze whispered through the tamarind tree and wafted down the shady covered walkway, making the flower tendrils dance and blossoms nod. Sure enough, here she found her friend seated at the white wrought-iron garden table, weeping into an oversized handkerchief.

She winced at Lakshmi's sorrow and joined her at the table. “Oh, my dear, don't cry.” Laying a comforting hand on her shoulder, Georgie bent down and gazed earnestly into her face, casting about for some words to bring her out of this weeping fit. “Why are you crying? You should rejoice—you're free!”

Lakshmi blew her nose, then looked at her in doubt with red-rimmed eyes.

“Don't you see what a splendid opportunity you have before you?” Georgie continued, moving into the chair opposite Lakshmi and trying again to spark some enthusiasm in the girl for her altered station in life. “You can do whatever you want now. You can change your name, create a whole new identity for yourself—”

“Oh, Gigi, you were always such a heretic.”

“What's wrong with that?” she countered, flashing a smile. “If I obeyed every little rule, you and I could never have become friends. Here. This may help renew your courage. It always does for me.” Reaching into her pocket with an almost secretive motion, Georgie took out her most prized possession, the slim volume that she carried with her everywhere, like a talisman. Merely running her finger across the faded gold letters engraved upon the worn doeskin cover gave her strength:
Essays on the Natural Rights of the Fair Sex, by Georgiana Knight, the eighth Duchess of Hawskcliffe.
The complete collection of her scandalous aunt's writings.

She offered it to Lakshmi. “Here. Go on. Take it. It may give you a…a new perspective on things.”

Lakshmi made no move to accept the book, only eyeing it warily.

Georgie waited, aware that it had been three years since Lakshmi had touched a book, ever since her marriage to Balaram, in keeping with the unofficial rules of purdah. The most traditional Indians had a superstition that if any married woman touched a book, her husband would die. Then, of course, the wife would have to join him by means of suttee. Georgie could only wonder what Aunt Georgiana would have said about that, but to the best of her knowledge, the duchess had never visited a land where wives were cloistered away in harems like a rich man's private collection of jewels. Indeed, from what she had heard about her aunt, the duchess probably wouldn't have minded having a harem of men.

For her part, Georgie saw the rule against books in purdah as an obvious tool to keep women in convenient ignorance. A naive woman was so much easier to control. The angry thought doubled her resolve to guard her heart and never fall in love, lest she, too, end up under some man's ruthless power.

Slowly, carefully, Lakshmi took the book from her hand. “Well…it's not as if I can kill him now,” she said with a timid smile.

Georgie smiled back at her, more proud of her friend than she could express.

On the other hand, if any book
could
kill a husband, it would probably be this one, for it had nearly given Aunt Georgiana's husband, the previous Duke of Hawkscliffe, a fit of apoplexy when it had first appeared in Society. Papa had told her all about the scandal. As the late duke's younger brother, he had been there to witness all of it.

The duchess had spent her pin money to have one hundred copies of her essays printed and bound, and these she had distributed to her aristocratic lady friends in London. This, in turn, had nearly caused a riot in the House of Lords as the crazed husbands tried to figure out what had suddenly gone so wrong with their rebelling wives. When Hawkscliffe had found out about it, and realized that the source of all the commotion was his own headstrong lady, he hunted down every copy of her book that he could find and burned them. Lord Arthur Knight, Georgie's father, younger brother to the duke, had been sympathetic to the duchess's heartbreak at her works' destruction, and had managed to save a few copies for posterity.

At any rate, Lakshmi had begun to take an interest, and was now riffling cautiously through the dangerous pages. “You know,” she said, “sometimes I think you really might be the reincarnation of your aunt.”

“Oh, I don't think so. I'm only named after her. But…I do know one thing. If I
am
her reincarnated, I don't intend to make her same mistakes.”

Lakshmi flicked her a curious glance. “Like what?”

“Like marrying a man she didn't love—and loving a man she wasn't married to. Like you, my poor aunt was bullied into marriage by her parents.”

Lakshmi sighed.

“But enough of all that,” Georgie said, brightening. “I have news that I know is going to make you very happy.”

“What is it?” she asked woefully. “I could use some cheerful tidings.”

Georgie gave her hand a squeeze. “You and I are going to visit Meena!”

CHAPTER

         
THREE
         

W
hat a completely impossible woman! Staring straight ahead, Ian rode in the carriage, arms folded across his chest, in a state of intense annoyance, not to mention hot and bothered by her kittenish invitation to spend the night at her house. Absurd creature. He was so, so very glad that Georgiana Knight was not his problem.

He did not know what unfortunate trait it was in him that attracted women who liked playing games—but at the same time, he couldn't help wondering how far she might be willing to go to get her way.
No. Don't even think about it.
He quivered, trying to thrust from his mind the wicked fantasy of letting her try to persuade him, also rejecting as best he could the tantalizing memory of her body rocking against his while they had ridden together on her horse. The scent of her exotic perfume lingered in the carriage, and it was not helping matters.

Damn, if he were not a gentleman…

But, of course, alas, he was, and would not lay a finger on her. Which meant the lovely little demon knew full well that he was safely chained by his honor, leaving her free to torment him with her beauty as she willed.

Well, it wasn't going to work! he thought staunchly. Even at eighteen, he had been too disciplined, too responsible, too intelligent, and too well-bred to let females lead him around by his cock. He was careful.

Always careful.

And he saw he would have to be doubly careful with Georgiana, for she was no fool. If only she were, he thought in begrudging admiration, fighting a smile at her little games. Most unmarried young women turned into helpless pools of goo when he attempted to have a conversation with them, but not Miss Knight.

Hardly. Instead, the girl had dared to play a round of verbal chess with him. He nearly laughed aloud to think of it. Not even Metternich liked arguing against him. And all the while, she had been doing her best to try to twist him around her finger with her very considerable charm.

Well, he mused, savoring the memory of her saucy allure, charm only went so far.

Her family might take an indulgent stance toward her, but he knew the folly of that, and was not about to let a bona-fide troublemaker impinge upon his mission.
She thinks she's going to Janpur? Well, princess, you had better think again.

Her little social call on her royal friend would have to wait until the larger crisis had passed. This was no time for a ladies' holiday. He wished she had not made it necessary, but if he had to take stronger steps to rein her in, then so be it. No one else appeared inclined to do it.

Arriving at the Akbar Grand Hotel, Ian got out and headed up the wide front steps of the elegant establishment. Striding toward the entrance with its pair of large stone lions, he stole a glance over his shoulder to see if there was any sign of the watcher he had sensed back at the bazaar. A quick scan of the sunny avenue brought his attention to a group of robed men loitering on the corner several yards away, a motley assortment of what appeared to be locals milling about idly. None wore Western garb, but that meant nothing. The French or Dutch could have hired an Indian to spy on him, or a European agent easily could have donned a disguise.

Movement.

A flash of furtive motion at the back of the group caught Ian's eye. A fleeting glimpse was all he got before the swarthy, black-robed man disappeared around the corner.
So, there you are.

His lips thinned as he considered going after the spy, but then again it could be useful to let the fellow believe he had not yet been spotted. At least now Ian had an idea of whom to watch for.

Turning away before anyone else noticed his stare—he had paused for no more than a few seconds—he continued smoothly toward the entrance, jogging up the few front steps.

He breezed into the hotel lobby with Ravi, the coolies, and his luggage in tow. When Ian walked in, they were already expecting him, and all was in order.

Now, this was more like it.

A fresh-faced adjutant who appeared all of eighteen greeted him with a brisk salute. “Sir!”

The smartly uniformed junior officer announced himself as Lieutenant Daniel DeWitt, assigned by the governor himself to make sure Ian had all he needed.

Then the hotel's concierge showed Ian up to his apartments with the pup DeWitt following at his heels. “We heard your boat got in a while ago, my lord—”

“I was delayed,” he said vaguely. “News from Hastings?”

“Yes, sir—”

Ian tipped the concierge while Ravi shepherded the coolies into the adjoining bedchamber, where they deposited Ian's several portmanteaux.

“Lord Hastings has left the city,” the boy told him once the door was closed. “He is already on the march against the Marathas. He's amassing an army at Cawnpore even now,” he added, clearly envious of the troops who'd been chosen to go. “He bade me give you this.” DeWitt presented him with a leather-bound folio containing more details on the Janpur situation.

Ian thumbed through it. “What of the men I asked for?”

“Yes, sir. The Knight brothers were already in the north when they were sent their orders. They will be riding down to meet you at Varanasi, on the road to Janpur.”

The little hellion had been right about that. Irksome thought.

“For now,” the lad continued, “Major MacDonald will be in charge of finalizing all aspects of your transport and supplies.”

“MacDonald, eh? Highlander?”

“Oh, yes, sir, quite.” DeWitt grinned, and Ian nodded. He had some Highland blood himself.

“How soon can the major have his men ready?”

“By daybreak, sir. With Lord Hastings already mobilizing the army, he thought you'd probably want to go as soon as possible.”

“Excellent.” Ian nodded, folding his arms across his chest.

“Is there anything else that you require, sir?”

“Actually, Lieutenant, I do have a request.”

“Sir?”

“There is a young lady here in town—you probably are acquainted with her. The sister of Gabriel and Derek Knight, Georgiana.”

The lad's eyes widened, and an awestruck, slightly dreamy expression passed over his countenance. “Oh,
yes,
sir.”

“I am concerned that her brothers' involvement in my mission could make her a target—”

DeWitt gasped aloud. “Er, sorry.”

Ian raised a brow. “I would like a few of your most trustworthy men posted around her house to ensure her safety. They are to watch over her at all times, make sure she does not leave Calcutta, and accompany her when she goes out.”

“
Yes, sir,
I will see to it personally!” The boy saluted as though Ian had just knighted him. “And now, my lord, I shall leave you to settle in. I'm sure you must have had a tiresome journey.”

“Thank you, Lieutenant. You've been most helpful,” he said dryly.

Somehow Ian gathered there would be no shortage of volunteers.

Well, that should keep her busy.

He would love to have seen the look on her face when the chosen soldiers showed up at her house to guard her, but with the spy lingering outside, he could not risk drawing further attention to Georgiana by visiting her again.

Meanwhile, DeWitt bowed and marched out.

Left alone for the time being, Ian spent a few minutes reading the first part of Lord Hastings' notes on Janpur and reviewing the maps of the rocky, rugged territory.

Loosening his cravat in the midday heat, he put the report aside for the moment and opened one of his orderly traveling trunks.

As always, the first thing he did upon arriving at any new destination was to take out the thin, round silver case no bigger than a fob watch that he carried with him everywhere. He opened it and started to place it on the table next to the bed, but instead of setting it aside, he paused and gazed for a long moment at the round-faced little boy who stared out from the miniature portrait with such big, serious eyes.

Matthew.

When the familiar pang of fatherly guilt besieged him, he told himself for the hundred-thousandth time that there was never any need to worry for Matthew. He had the best care money could buy. Besides his nanny, tutor, governess, and a small army of maids, the boy was being watched over by the London Knights themselves.

His son and Robert's were best friends, just as
they
had been at the same age, and their fathers before them. Robert and Bel treated Matthew as if he was their own.

And he might as well have been, at that. Matthew adored his Aunt Bel and Uncle Hawk, but as for his own papa, hell, Ian thought, the kid didn't even like him.

         

Stripped down to the black
pyjama
leggings and snug
choli
undershirt that she had worn beneath her sari, Georgie was in the garden, gliding through the motions of a few sun salutations to help erase the effects of her earlier bout with asthma. Stretching her arms high over her head until her fingertips touched, she then folded forward from the waist until her nose gently bumped her shin. From there, she jumped back lightly into plank pose, flexed her body into upward-facing dog pose, and cycled through her
vinyasa
in smooth, unhurried motion.

With each repetition, she felt the clenched muscles deep in her chest further relax. Thankfully, it no longer hurt to breathe.

Lakshmi was upstairs looking through Georgie's wardrobe for things that she could wear. Adley had long since left. Georgie's servants had packed her belongings for her jaunt to the interior, and now she was merely waiting in keen anticipation for word from Lord Griffith to find out what came next. He had said he would be in touch with her soon.

Pressing her heel down for a good stretch in her calf, she was wondering if he intended for them to leave for Janpur tomorrow morning, as she had suggested, when her maid, Gita, came hurrying out to the garden carrying a note.

“Memsahib, this just came for you by messenger.”

“From Lord Griffith?”

“Yes, Miss.”

“I will take it here,” she answered quickly. She folded her legs and sat in lotus position. “
Dhonnobad,
Gita,” she murmured, accepting the note with a nod of thanks. Her heart skipped a beat as she cracked the seal and read:

Dear Miss Knight,

I have, alas, too many preparations to attend to before I leave Calcutta, so this missive comes to you in my place. You will soon note that I've taken the liberty of ordering a few additional measures to ensure your safety, just in case there's any sign of trouble from the people at the funeral today. I will give your brothers your best regards when I see them. Will call on you when I return.

Yr servant,
Griffith

Georgie furrowed her brow and frowned, thinking she must have missed the part about the two of them traveling together to Janpur.

She read it again as the truth dawned.
He means to go without me!
A spasm immediately racked her lungs in protest of his intention to abandon her, but Georgie was suddenly livid and paid it little mind. Jumping to her feet, she pulled on her tunic and dashed upstairs to change her clothes, seething.
I don't believe it. That traitor! Blackguard! Double-crossing knave!
Well, she was not going to stand for this. She would drive right over to the Akbar Grand Hotel and straighten that man out!

When she arrived at her silk-hung bedchamber, Lakshmi was standing before the mirror holding Georgie's blue sari up against her, considering it on herself. “What's wrong?” she asked abruptly at Georgie's wrathful expression.

“I need something to wear,” she muttered. “Fast.”

“This?” She held out the blue sari, but Georgie waved it off impatiently.

“English. Day-dress.” She strode over to the tall mahogany wardrobe and whisked through the hanging gowns that weren't packed.

“Gigi, what's the matter?”