Authors: Suzanne Enoch
“Ah. You’re going to convince me to care for you?”
“Yes, I am.”
“First will you answer one question of mine?”
“Of course.”
Sarala sat again, taking his left hand between hers. “I’ve seen how much you enjoy business, and how well you conduct business when you want to.”
He furrowed his brow. “Are you suggesting that I didn’t want to conduct business well when I was dealing with you and the silks?”
“Come now. It took you a week and a threat from China to convince you to make me a reasonable offer for them. Anyway, let me finish.”
“Very well. Dazzle me.”
“My question is, is wooing me or whatever you’re planning going to be another negotiation, Shay? Am I five hundred bolts of silk, now? I know the difference between business and pleasure. Which one is this going to be?”
Obviously from her confusion about the reason for his kisses, she didn’t know everything she thought she did. Even so, there were times, Charlemagne had begun to realize, that conversation with a brilliant woman could be both taxing and a bit dodgy. And her question definitely had merit. He did feel some of that familiar rush through his veins at the prospect of winning her heart—though that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. Still, how to answer without putting himself into a hole?
“Well?” she prompted.
He grinned. “Come here,” he murmured, drawing her closer and taking her mouth again. Warm, soft lips, the faint scent of cinnamon—business or pleasure, he wouldn’t have traded the sensation of her pressing against him for anything.
Heat pulsed through him, heavy and arousing. He was trying to be patient, sensitive both to her reservations and to her virginity, but however long their betrothal might last, he was not going to wait forever to make love to her. That had not been part of any agreement or negotiation. And when she’d said that she’d kissed other men—his first impulse had been to demand their names, hunt them down, and pummel all of them. The fact that they all probably resided in India didn’t lessen his motivation one damned bit.
Finally when neither of them could breathe any longer, he backed off an inch or two, resting his forehead against hers. “Tomorrow night is the Wexton masked ball,” he said. “We always dine together before we go. You and your parents should join us.”
“We weren’t invited to the Wexton masked ball,” she returned, her eyes still focused on his mouth.
“You are now. I’ll send your father over a note in the morning.”
“But I don’t have anything to wear. And
you
didn’t answer my question.”
He grinned, rising and slowly pulling her to her feet beside him. If he’d answered her question about his motives any more thoroughly, they would both be naked. Silently he led her back to the stone bench, the closest he could get to the house without risking being seen from the library. “You’ll think of something to wear to the ball. And yes, I did answer your question. Just to clarify, though, this isn’t a negotiation, Sarala. It’s a seduction.”
“Oh,” she whispered, and leaned up to kiss him again.
Divided loyalties, possible international scandals, all of it faded away at the sweet, heady taste of her. Disciplined and logic-driven as he considered himself, it took every ounce of self-control to keep from pulling her to the ground and using his body to convince her that they belonged together. If this was an illness, he didn’t want to find a cure.
“You’d best go,” he finally murmured, kissing her throat.
Sarala visibly drew herself together again. “Yes. It was nice of you to come by and explain your reasoning.” She smiled, touching his cheek. “Quite considerate of you.”
“I try to be reasonable and considerate.” With one last swift kiss he wrenched himself away from her and slipped back out of the garden without looking back. If he had, he would have fallen to quoting
Romeo and Juliet
about the sweet sorrow of parting. Yes, something had definitely happened to him, and while he was in Sarala’s company, all he could think was that it was about damned time.
The nearer he came to Griffin House, however, the more the rest of the world returned. That sensation deepened as Stanton pulled open the front door, and he stepped into the foyer to see Sebastian there pulling on his gloves.
“Where the devil were you?” the duke asked, his tone short.
“I went to see Sarala. What’s wrong?”
Melbourne snorted. “What’s wrong? Just a few minor potholes—you know, Chinese swordsmen who want my brother imprisoned in China, things like that.”
The duke remained angry and distant, as he had since he’d barged into Nell’s library to see him and Sarala kissing. Charlemagne needed to settle things with Sebastian; obviously they couldn’t continue as they were, and yet he had a few other pressing matters on his own plate. “Then where are you off to?” he asked.
“To Carlton House. I thought I’d best inform Prinny and Liverpool about the silk fiasco, to at least prepare them for the idea of making amends or reparations. If you’re not too involved with socializing, I thought you might wish to attend.”
“Of course I’ll attend.” He took back his hat from Stanton.
“Uncle Shay?”
He looked up toward the first floor railing. “Yes, Peep?”
She stood on tiptoe looking down at him, dark ringlets of hair framing her face. “I heard a rumor from someone I can’t name that you are getting married.”
“Yes, I am.”
“Why wasn’t I directly informed, then?”
“I beg your pardon, Peep. Things have been a bit mad over the past few days.”
“Yes, but I haven’t even met her.”
He forced a smile, very aware of Sebastian’s restless stirring at his back. “She and her family will be joining us for dinner tomorrow night, before the Wexton soiree. You will meet her then.”
“All right. I have some questions about her, however. When you return, we should have a meeting.”
“Out of the mouths of babes,” the babe’s father murmured.
“When I return then, Peep.”
Brushing past his brother, Charlemagne headed for the coach waiting outside and climbed in. A moment later Sebastian joined him, and the coach rumbled off down the drive.
“What did you say to Peep?” he asked after a moment of silence. “I assume you were the source she won’t divulge.”
The duke shrugged, his gaze out the small window. “She asked me what all the commotion was this morning. I said we were in negotiations over your betrothed.”
“That’s all you said?”
“That’s all I said. Why do you ask?”
“Because if Sarala is going to join this family, which I intend she should do, I don’t want Peep already disposed to look down on her or dislike her because you aren’t pleased with the circumstances.”
“Displeasure doesn’t even begin to describe it, Shay.”
Charlemagne sat forward. He would have preferred a good night’s rest before he confronted an opponent as formidable as his brother, but if the fight was to be now, so be it. “Is your displeasure over Sarala and her family, or is it because I’m marrying at all?”
“You were trapped, Shay. Tricked. Compromised by someone who realized the integrity of this family and figured out how to use it against us.”
“I would have asked her to marry me anyway, Seb,” Charlemagne returned, doing his damnedest to keep a rein on his temper. He sensed that Melbourne would let loose, and one of them needed to maintain control. “Not quite as soon, but I think I would have asked her. She’s remarkable.”
“Her mother’s an ambitious title hunter.”
“Yes, she is. I think they were actually hoping
you
would fall for Sarala. If it makes a difference, she spent yesterday and this morning asking me to speak with you about calling everything off. As far as she was concerned, we were negotiating for the silks. Period. The kissing was my idea, but she thought I was doing it to ‘befuddle her’ I believe she said. She begged me to convince you to find a way out of this.”
Finally Sebastian sat back to look at him. “I don’t understand. You…haven’t been unhappy. I know that.”
“I’ve been perfectly happy. And I’m happier, now.” He drew a breath. “If the problem is…If for business reasons you’d prefer me to remain at Griffin House, there’s no shortage of space even with the addition of Sarala.” Unless the duke’s opinion of Sarala changed that would be impossible, because Charlemagne simply wouldn’t subject her to that, but his brother needed to realize his own part in this equation, as well—and that he wouldn’t be abandoned.
“I didn’t think to keep the lot of you trapped there forever,” Sebastian said flatly. “Don’t misinterpret my objections as being because of my personal situation. My first concern is for the Griffin family.”
“She’s English, and she’s a marquis’s daughter.”
“She’s an oddity. I don’t know what the devil her father was thinking, to name her Sarala, to let her absorb Indian culture to the point that she finds her own kind strange, but his decisions didn’t do her any favors.”
“She learned how to charm cobras.”
“Shay, you’re not helping anyth—”
“My point being, I am perfectly aware of everything you just said. And all of that is part of what makes her so remarkable to me, including her accent and the tan of her skin. So before you begin handing down proclamations of your dissatisfaction with her upbringing, perhaps you should have a conversation with her. She enjoys Roman history and reads Greek. You might even like her, Sebastian. And the snake charming might come in useful for someone in your position with the government.”
“Damnation, Shay, you’ve done this the way you do everything. You assess all the points, make your decision, and then charge in regardless of barricades or common sense.”
“It’s not l—”
“It concerns me that you never mentioned her,” Melbourne interrupted, “much less how you apparently feel about her, before I forced you into it. That doesn’t sound like a love match to me.”
“Honestly,” Shay said, pretending that the word “love” hadn’t shaken him a little, “she attracts me, but I
am
occasionally an idiot.”
“Do tell.”
“I wanted to keep her for myself,” he said abruptly, scowling. “It doesn’t make sense, I know, but I think in the back of my mind I knew I didn’t want to have this conversation with you, and that if you realized what was going on, I wouldn’t be able to avoid it.” Charlemagne shrugged, trying to hide his reluctance to let a skeptic into his private thoughts when he hadn’t entirely sorted them out yet. “Besides, how often am I wrong?”
“It only takes once, brother.”
“This isn’t that once.”
Several emotions passed across his brother’s usually impassive face. “If I could find a way for you to end the betrothal without scandalizing anyone, would you take it?”
“No.”
“Would she?”
Cold speared through his chest. He’d made definite progress this morning, but Sarala’s damned sense of honor and her reluctance at being manipulated could still raise its proud head at any moment. “You know she would,” he said slowly, “but I would appreciate if you wouldn’t ask her that yet.”
“That’s not precisely fair to her now, is it?”
Charlemagne narrowed his eyes. “Don’t pretend for a second that you’re looking out for her best interests. If when I’ve done my best and she still isn’t happy with the idea of marrying me, then…” The thought of it left him so heartsick he couldn’t even finish the sentence.
“I see.” Sebastian flicked an imaginary speck of dust from his sleeve. “Should I plan an engagement ball then, or would you prefer that I wait?”
“Waiting would seem suspicious. But from what I’ve overheard, her mother’s already got us married and living at Windsor Castle or some such thing, so if you’d prefer it, I’ll take care of that negotiating.”
“God, yes. Please do.” Melbourne returned to the window, then sat back once more. “I’ll talk with Sarala.”
It wasn’t much, but at the same time coming from Melbourne, it was a great deal. Charlemagne knew just how far he was pushing things—after all, the Griffin family wasn’t just them. It was the Grifanus line dating back to before the time of Hadrian, and all the generations since then. And his brother felt that burden every day, because it was his direct heritage. He was a duke because of those ancestors, and he would never betray them or their memories. “Thank you, Sebastian.”
“Yes, well, the Chinese government still might lop your head off, and then I won’t have to bother with any of this.”
“We’ll try to remain optimistic, then.”