Her Only Desire (9 page)

She pressed her fingertips together and bowed her head, greeting His Majesty with a graceful
namaste.
Johar was known as a bit of a ladies' man—no great surprise, from a man with thirty wives and a hundred concubines—but Ian was startled by an inward jolt of some violent, inexplicable reaction as the king returned her gesture of greeting in kind.

In a deep voice full of amusement, he murmured an order to his servant: “Bring me my pearl.”

Then he gestured to the nearest guardsman. “Let her in!” Without further ado, His Majesty strode back inside.

Ian looked over the wall at Georgiana again, his jaw clenched. This did not bode well. The prince wanted her. The king wanted her. He wanted her. And no doubt, so would the Pindaris.

Bloody hell! How in blazes had she gotten away from her guards?

“What's going on?” Derek and Gabriel Knight came out just then to see what was happening.

Ian swept a sardonic wave in their visitor's direction.

The Knight brothers looked down at her, and suddenly exploded with shocked expletives.

“I don't believe it! Georgie!” Derek lifted his fingers to his mouth and gave a piercing whistle while Gabriel waved.

“Georgiana! Griff, we must go to her! Do you mind?”

“Yes, will you pardon us for a moment?” Derek turned to him, his face beaming. “The meeting does seem to have broken up, after all.”

“Yes, mysteriously so,” he drawled.

“May we go and see her?”

“By all means.”

Ian had told her brothers he had met her in Calcutta, though he had spared them the details of the trouble she had gotten into. He had figured the particulars of the suttee rescue could wait until after their mission. He had hoped, apparently in vain, that they could all stay focused on the task at hand.

So much for that silly notion.

“Don't worry, we'll make sure she stays out of trouble,” Gabriel promised.

Ian smiled blandly. “Right.”

The brothers dashed off to greet her as the great gates of Janpur slowly began creaking open.

Only now, having first paid her respects to the maharajah, and then waving eagerly to her brothers, did Georgiana deign to meet Ian's gaze. Her glance was sharp, lightning-bright, full of angry challenge.

Oh, this girl was trouble.

Glowering at her, Ian planted his hands atop the wall and shook his head slowly at her with a stare that promised the lovely young hellion his wrath.

CHAPTER

         
FOUR
         

S
afe at last.
Behind her veil, Georgie's small sigh of relief puffed the light gauze silk that floated against her lips.

Two days into their journey, they had heard rumors from other travelers on the road that some of the Pindari Horde had been spotted in the area. But thankfully, they had made it to Janpur without incident.

As the towering gates slowly creaked open before them, she could feel her servants' lingering uneasiness—indeed, she shared it—but she waited with a serene stare ahead and an outward show of tranquility until the Maratha guards waved them in.

With a nod to her trusty footman, who, in turn, signaled the whole caravan back into motion, they moved on. Rather than getting back up on her hired elephant, Georgie continued on foot up the castle's processional road.

Still open to the sky, the long, narrow corridor rose on a slight grade, its smooth floor and austere, soaring walls built from huge blocks of stone. The processional way was lined with colossal statues set about every ten yards. There were massive deities, rampant desert lions with teeth bared and claws unsheathed, but most imposing of all were the giant pairs of stone war elephants. Their raised trunks formed arches under which visitors had to pass. The ceremonial walk was meant to awe all those who entered, and Georgie was beginning to feel quite small, but leading her party into the Maratha stronghold, her footsteps did not falter. She might have a little fear coursing through her veins, but she did not intend to let Lord Griffith see it.

Passing under a triumphal arch held up by more sandstone elephants, each holding a lotus in its trunk, the corridor ended in a huge central plaza that buzzed with activity.

Here, the maharajah's household staff took charge.

Georgie's animals and their keepers were escorted away in one direction, lumbering off to the elephant stables and those for camels and horses. Except for her maid and her ayah, all of her other servants, footmen and coolies, sepoys and musicians, were led off in the other direction to their accommodations, past the pyramidal Shiva temple and the huge wrought-iron cage full of shady trees that was home to the maharajah's tigers.

A member of King Johar's household staff led Georgie and her ladies straight ahead to the other end of the plaza, through another massive gate, and into a large enclosed courtyard with a fountain in the center. They were now in the palace proper; her heart beat swiftly. She and Lakshmi exchanged a bolstering glance, both certain that they'd feel much more at ease once they had been reunited with Meena.

Enormous columns supported the two-storied galleries that surrounded the large rectangle of the courtyard, which itself lay open to the cloudless blue sky. A few palm trees thrived here and there. The shade was pleasant, but Georgie felt a bit unsettled to notice the palace guards posted everywhere, like more stone statues, staring straight ahead as they gripped their tall, gleaming battle-axes.

The palace guards were uniformed in black, belted tunics with black leggings and appeared almost identical, each one bearded, their long hair gathered into twin queues over their shoulders, neatly bound with red twine. They were fearsome beings, with black-sheathed swords and silver daggers strapped about their waists.

One of them swiveled his head, alerted, as her two favorite warriors in the world suddenly came racing into the courtyard, their shiny black boots clattering on the flagstones.

“Georgie!”

She let out a joyous shriek at the sight of her handsome brothers. “Hallo!” She threw back her veil and ran to greet them.

Hearty embraces enfolded her at their reunion, Gabriel lifting her off her feet with a bearlike squeeze, Derek hugging her fondly and planting a loud kiss on her cheek.

“Good Lord! I can't believe my eyes! Is it really you?”

“You hoyden! What are you doing here?”

“I had to come. I had to
see
you. Oh, my darling brothers, how are you both?” She touched each hard, handsome face fondly, having assumed the role of mother to some degree since their own had died, despite the fact that she was younger than they. “You're looking well enough. Are they feeding you properly?”

They laughed at her making a fuss over them, but her heart could have burst with pride over the dazzling pair of rogues. She loved seeing them like this, looking all smart and heroic in their dark-blue cavalry uniforms, with gold epaulets glimmering on their broad shoulders, cream-colored riding breeches, and gleaming knee-boots. Why, she could not blame all the ladies who fell in love with them practically at first sight. With such excellent brothers for comparison, no wonder she had such impossibly high standards in men.

Both of her brothers had black hair, but Derek's hung to his shoulders, while Gabriel's was cropped short. Gabriel's eyes were a deep, dark sapphire, soulful in their expression; Derek's eyes were paler, sky-blue, like Papa's, and usually twinkling with roguery. Both men were darkly sun-tanned from their years of riding across the plains with their squadrons.

“How did you know we were here?” Derek demanded.

“Meena told me! She wrote to me weeks ago. Have you seen her?”

“'Course not, we're not allowed,” Gabriel murmured. The stern eldest shook his head, slung his arm around her shoulders, and tugged her closer, pressing a fond kiss to her temple. Then he sighed “It was mad of you to come.”

“Oh, you're not angry, are you?”

“How could I be? We haven't seen our little sister in over a year.”

“Just don't get us into trouble with Lord Griffith,” Derek warned in a low tone. “Good man, but he prefers things to go by the book, if you know what I mean.”

“Tell me about it,” Georgie muttered.

“You'd better promise us that you'll behave,” Gabriel said, eyeing her askance.

Georgie snorted. “I shall do nothing of the kind.”

Derek laughed and tugged a lock of her hair. “You haven't changed.”

“Well, I see the identity of our ‘princess' is finally revealed,” a deep, droll voice remarked from a few yards away. The sound of crisp, slow footfalls rang out across the flagstones.

Georgie froze. Although her back was to him, she recognized the voice, and it took no great skill to detect the irritation underlying his sardonic tone.

Griffith.

“Ah, sorry, sir.” Gabriel cleared his throat and sent Georgie a warning glance that told her to mind her manners. “We were just finishing up here.”

“Not at all, gentlemen,” he replied, his tone as mild as a spring day. An ominous sign. “Take your time, by all means. Negotiations have been adjourned for the day. Curious, that,” he added. “It's only…one o'clock.”

Bracing herself to confront him, Georgie turned around just as the marquess finished glancing at his fob watch. He closed it with a reproachful snick. His eyes gleamed, and the moment their gazes collided, she felt the impact with a thrill that ran all the way down to her toes.

Oo, I can't stand him,
she told herself, but was irked to know she was not immune to his worldly magnetism.

He looked like a dream.

Suave and polished as ever, he wore a dark chocolate tailcoat, flawless white cravat, and fawn trousers. Fixing his cool, dissecting stare on her, he tucked his fob watch back into his burgundy-striped waistcoat. Georgie noted the taut set of his jaw and wondered if she might be safer out there with the Pindaris.

Nevertheless, the marquess appeared resigned to their reunion.
Good.
For she wasn't leaving. In truth, she could barely wait to get him alone so she could give him a piece of her mind.

This imperious London grandee needed a lesson or two in how to treat a lady, starting with the fundamentals: namely, that he could not simply lock her up like some pampered prisoner for the sake of his own convenience.

It was unfair of him to judge her entire character on the basis of one incident, that unfortunate business near old Balaram's funeral pyre. Most importantly, he needed to learn that he had no authority over her. How that must drive him mad, now that he saw the evidence of it—her standing here! She would make her own decisions, thank you very much.

“You, ah, already met our sister, my lord,” Gabriel reminded him cautiously, breaking the awkward silence.

“Oh, yes. I most certainly did.” The marquess angled his head toward her with courteous precision. “Miss Knight,” he said in a voice as smooth as glass. “How very charming to see you again.”

“Likewise, my lord.” She gave him a queenly nod.

They stared at each other, and Georgie decided not to tell her brothers yet that the beast had tried to put her under house arrest. No, far wiser to hold that threat over his head in case she needed to wrest a few concessions from him.

Besides, there were one or two things she'd rather he not tell her brothers, either. Like her rescue of Lakshmi and the calamity that had nearly resulted.

Derek cleared his throat. “The, er, king's advisers probably needed time to digest your proposal,” he offered, making a valiant attempt to deflect Lord Griffith's displeasure, which, though restrained, was palpable.

“Indeed.” He clasped his hands behind his back in gentlemanly fashion. “Curious time for a family visit,” he remarked in an ever-so-civilized tone, at which both of her brothers immediately started trying to make excuses for her, but he cut them off with a practiced smile and an idle wave of his hand. “I wonder if I might have a private word with the three of you?”

“Yes, of course,” Gabriel murmured at once, dutiful as ever, and Derek nodded, stepping forward, too, but Georgie stopped them.

“That won't be necessary,” she announced, turning to Lord Griffith. If it was a fight he wanted, it was a fight he'd get.

He arched a brow.

“You boys stay out here,” she ordered, barely glancing at her brothers. “I'm the one who's earned His Lordship's wrath. We might as well have this out between us two.”

“Are you sure about this?” he asked softly, a glint of intrigued amusement at her challenge shining in his eye like a star.

She lifted her chin. “I can fight my own battles.”

“As you desire.” He swept a formal gesture toward one of the private side rooms off the main courtyard, inviting her to go ahead of him.

As she lifted the hem of her sari and started toward the nearest parlor, her ayah protested at the impropriety, while Lakshmi fretted in alarm. Georgie told them in Bengali that she would only be a moment. Besides, the man had that blasted saintly reputation. Derek and Gabriel were frowning, but when she shook her head at them with a firm look that told them not to worry—she knew what she was doing—they seemed to accept her move.

After all, she had gotten herself into this and could jolly well get herself out. Gabriel put his hands in his pockets and leaned against one of the sturdy palm trees to wait for her, while Derek turned and greeted their old nurse with knavish affection. Purnima, for her part, was not happy about any of this.

Georgie walked toward the room he had indicated, acutely aware of Lord Griffith's riveting presence behind her, but she was very glad her brothers had chosen not to countermand her decision.

This was between her and Lord Griffith, and she did not want them involved. She could not risk the marquess taking out his anger at her on
them,
for if he wanted to, he could easily use his high position to give her brothers poor marks in his report following their assignment. One ill word from a man of his influence could cast a shadow over their brilliant military careers, and Georgie knew full well that for Gabriel and Derek both, the army was their life.

She might not like their dangerous profession any more than she had liked Papa working for the horrid East India Company, but knowing how much soldiering meant to them, she would never do anything to jeopardize their careers.