The Perfect Temptation (14 page)

in keeping them contented and
blissfully ignorant of that fact."

"Such
as?"

”Aside
from a quieter
house and smoother digestion, it

makes them much more attentive
lovers."

For heaven's sake, she'd met the
man only a few hours

ago! Yes, he was handsome and
incredibly well built. Yes, he

was well spoken and for the most
part gentlemanly. But

those were hardly the basic
criteria for establishing an intimate

relationship. ''As I said the
last time you spoke of this,"

Alex replied, trying to be kind
about her dismissal of the notion,

"I have no intention of
making him a lover. He simply

doesn't interest me in that
way."

Again Preeya patted her hand.
This time a quiet chuckle

accompanied the gesture. "My
dear, you are the worst liar in

the world. You really must stop
trying. You're embarrassing

yourself."

It wasn't the first time she'd
had that fact pointed out.

Rather than continue an obviously
failed protest, she

changed the avenue of approach.
"He's
far too full of his

own viewpoints to be even
marginally tolerable."

Preeya considered her for a
moment, a smile tickling the

comers of her mouth and her dark
eyes shining.
"I've
been

listening to the
sounds
and watching your faces. It feels and

looks very much like a lovers'
quarrel."

"Well, it's not."

''What is it that you are arguing
about so passionately?"

They were, thankfully, to the
summary part of the exchange.

Alex sighed in relief. "How
to properly parent Mohan.

He contends that the days should
be filled with riding, hunting,

fishing, sailing, and all warmer
of wild, uncontrolled sports."

"Ah," Preeya said,
leaning back in her chair and nodding.

"Your
gentleman
wants Mohan to be a boy. You want him to

be a prince."

"He
is
a
prince," Alex righteously countered.

Preeya laced her fingers and
stared at the dining room

wall. Quietly, her gaze still
focused in the near distance, she

said,
"Mohan
is both a boy
and
a prince. You are both right.

Perhaps you might seek a way by
which Mohan can benefit

from the wisdom and vision you
both possess."

As always, Preeya was right. Alex
barely kept herself

from sagging as her anger
evaporated in a single instant. In

its absence, she felt nothing but
overwhelmed and belea
guered.

The threat
of
tears
tightening her throat, she
strug
gled

for
control
of
her wildly careening emotions. "He's
not

my
gentleman:'
she asserted, clinging to the only
real certainty

she could see.

"He
very
much wants to be," Preeya replied softly. "For

what other reason would he make
the effort to assist you in

the guidance of Mohan? Nothing
requires that effort of him.

He is offering it out of his
desire to be
,
meaningful to you."

She didn't want him to be
meaningful. She didn't want

his help with
anything
beyond guarding Mohan. She didn't

want to need
him
for more. Needing people made you weak

and vulnerable; it obligated you
to them. And she had

enough obligations already.

"While you ponder that
truth," Preeya went on, "you should

also consider another, Alex, my
dear. He knows that you're

only pretending to find him
unattractive. His are the eyes that

can see through a thousand veils.
Perhaps you should ask

yourself if
it
might
be pointless and foolish to continue to

wear them."

Pointless, no doubt. But foolish?
It would be even more

foolish to let them fall, to
consciously allow Aiden Terrell to

look fully into her soul. Better
that he only suspect that she

lacked any moral depth than to
blatantly display the unflattering

truth for him.

"Alex, dear?"

She recognized the tone. Part of
her relaxed in the knowledge

that the personal inquisition was
over. Another part

braced, wondering which word
Preeya had picked this time.

"What does 'manly'
mean?"

Yes, it would be that one. Preeya
had an uncanny ability

to pick the most sensitive words
out of any English conversation.

"It means virile," she
explained matter-of-factly.

"Masculine. Very much a
man."

"Like your gentleman."

"Yes, but he's not
mine,"
she corrected weakly.

Preeya arched a brow and smiled
broadly as she rose to

her feet. Gathering up the
plates, she said, "He is standing in

the hall. It is not wise to make
men wait too long for you. But

for just long enough that they do
not take your appearance

for granted."

Alex had the distinct and
'
uncomfortable
feeling that

Preeya's last bit of wisdom was
intended to apply to more

than just her promise to show
Aiden Terrell the upstairs

rooms. But she was too battered
to think clearly and so she set

aside any immediate consideration
of it, placed her napkin beside

her plate, and rose from the
table. Thanking Preeya for

the meal, she left the dining
room to fulfill her duty and a

promise she wished she hadn't
made.

Aiden had no idea what the two
women had talked about,

but the effect on Alex was
obvious. He'd seen sailors adrift

on a raft who had more spark in
them
.
She wasn't going to

send him packing, that was
certain. She didn't have the energy

for it. This wasn't quite the surrender
he had in mind,

though.

''As a point of
information," he said, hoping to bring a bit

of her starch back to the
surface, "I enjoy a good game of

rugby."

She rewarded him with a delicate
snort and a roll of her

eyes as she walked past him.
''That doesn't surprise me in

the least," she quipped over
her shoulder as she halted in the

doorway just down the hall.
''This is the salon, sitting room,

parlor, whatever you choose to
call it. It serves for our communal

gathering."

She disappeared inside and Aiden
followed her into a

most curiously appointed room.
Unlike the dining room, this

room wasn't purely English. A
camel-backed settee, a wing

chair-the mate to the one
downstairs, he realized - and a

few carved wooden pieces paid
tribute to traditional English

tastes, but that was the sum
total of it. The rest of it looked a

great deal like his quarters.

Thick, fringed, intricately
patterned carpets covered the

floors. There was a chaise of
sorts, draped with what looked

like paisley shawls. And there
were pillows. Lots of pillows.

Large and small and in between.
Plaids, stripes, solids,

damasks. In all kinds of colors.
Fringed and tasseled, embroidered

and plain. What he supposed were
lamps were

nothing more than brass cylinders
punched full of holes. A

short English chest of drawers
sat against the far wall to the

right of the crackling fireplace.
In the center of the top was a

statue of a woman with what
looked like four painfully bent

arms. Little pots of sticks sat
around her.

"It looks very comfortable,"
he offered cautiously, not

wanting to offend. ''An
interesting combination of English

and Indian styles."

Nodding, she bent to retrieve a
pillow from the carpet.

''With the Indian part of it
being ever so much more inviting

and comfortable," she said,
tossing it casually toward the

chaise.

Since she'd opened the
conversational door and he was

curious as to how she thought, he
ventured, "You sound as

though you've been a bit let down
by your countrymen."

Going about tidying the room, she
answered, "It's difficult

to maintain that British ways are
superior when your back is

aching from sitting on an
unforgivingly stiff English settee."

"Then why not admit the
obvious truth and throw yourself

into the pillows?"

"I'm employed because I'm
British," she answered, peering

inside one of the brass tubes.
She extracted a squat candle

stub as she went on. ''And
because I'm British, my ways

are considered to be worth
knowing and emulating. If I suggested

that Indian ways might be better
than mine there'd be

no point in keeping me
about."

Watching her put the candle
remnant in a basket beside

the chest, he took a chance.
"So you live a lie?"

Shrugging, she got a new
candle--a tall, fat, brown

one--from the chest under the
statue. "I've never claimed it to

be an ideal existence," she
answered, carefully placing it into

the cylinder. She looked up and
met his gaze, adding, "It is,

however, a reasonably secure
one."

"As long as you can keep up
the pretense."

"It helps if one doesn't
dwell on the incongruities."

"What is, is," he
guessed, remembering what she'd told

him earlier about Mohan's
beliefs.