A Duke's Wicked Kiss (Entangled Select) (21 page)

Cold perspiration trickled down Suri’s back.

The entourage passed and the driver of Ravi-ji’s elegant carriage swatted the horse’s rump with a whip to move them onward. He veered right, toward a majestic building, white as snow and surrounded by a shaded, arched walkway.

“The building you see up ahead is the women’s quarters,” Ravi-ji said. “You will be taken there now and prepared for the wedding.”

“Prepared for the wedding?”
What was all that preparation back at Marguerite’s?

A brief smile touched Ravi-ji’s full mouth, but his eyes were cold shards of bottle-green glass. “You repeat my words, cousin.”

“A poor habit. My apologies, but I thought I
was
fully prepared.”
God, what is wrong with him?

“Ah, you must receive
mehndi
.”

“
Mehndi
?”

His smile laced with irritation. His lips flattened into a thin line. “Your feet will be painted.”

“My feet? I’ve heard of this thing called mehndi, but I thought it was exclusive to the hands.”

“Only the bride’s hands will be decorated. In deference, the women attending the wedding paint their feet. Munia will see to it for you.”

Munia.
The surly maid rode in a covered carriage behind them, well hidden from view. Far be it for a low-caste such as the maid to be near Ravi-ji. But what of Suri, herself a half-caste? Good God! Even though Ravi-ji treated her with respect, did he consider her to be even lower than Munia? If so, why did he agree to take her to her grandmother? Why would he give her so much as a moment’s notice? Why hadn’t she thought of these things before? Is this what Marguerite was trying to get across to her? Nothing made sense.

She didn’t think her mouth could get much drier, but the lump in her throat turned to dust. It was all she could do to keep from choking. Keeping her face turned from his, lest he see shock written there, she assessed the building holding the women’s quarters. She desperately wanted out of the carriage. Wanted away from Ravi-ji. She knew two things—when she met her grandmother, she was not to touch her. And once the meeting ended, she’d seek out Tanush and have him remove her from the premises post haste.

The carriage halted in front of the white structure. An attendant stepped from beneath the shadows of the covered walkway and helped Suri from the carriage. The driver climbed down from the front of the buggy and, head bowed, adjusted a strap on the horse. He glanced up but looked past her as if she didn’t exist.

Tanush!

He turned away.

She did the same.

A wave of relief washed through her. Why hadn’t she noticed him before? With his back to her while driving the carriage, why would she? She glanced around. He looked like every other bearded, saffron-turbaned man on the street. But how in the world had he managed to become the driver to Ravi-ji’s fine conveyance? Judging by his covert action just now, he’d meant for her to notice him.

Oh, she didn’t care how he’d come to be Ravi-ji’s driver. He was here, watching over her, and that was enough. Surely he’d heard everything that went on in both the carriage and in the streets. But what of Munia? Wouldn’t she have recognized him? She glanced Munia’s way. The maid held her head bowed while she retreated to the shaded walkway. It wasn’t Munia’s place to notice anything. Perhaps she couldn’t even pick him out amongst all the guards at Marguerite’s.

Good. Let her keep her head bowed. At the moment, Indian tradition served to Suri’s advantage. Discreetly, she wiped her sweaty palms against her sari and turned back to the carriage, only to catch Ravi-ji staring at her through eyes so still and cold they could’ve been made of marble.

“Go with Munia,” he said. “I will call for you in three hours.”

Nodding, she forced a bare smile onto her lips until the carriage rolled away. She stared until Tanush was no longer visible and then joined Munia, who cast a desultory glance Suri’s way and marched ahead. Lord, she wished she’d taken along a different maid.

Munia paused inside the darkened building. “Let your eyes adjust to the low light, memsahib. It is kept dark so as to be cooler inside.”

If Suri was expecting a cacophony of female voices chattering in that singsong language of theirs, she got none. The place was reverent in its quietude. And cool, compared to the outdoors. A hint of incense filled the air and soothed her senses. The faint sound of a flute served to further calm her nerves.

Soon her eyes adjusted to the space lit by coconut oil lamps. She and Munia moved forward, down a great hall lined with pillars. Silken fabric in reds and blues hung in great swags between the columns, held in place by gold braids ending in thick tassels. The drapes served to section off the areas, creating private rooms of sorts. Mattresses were laid upon thick carpets on the floors with colorful pillows strewn about. Soft whispers and rustlings emanated from many of these spaces where the drapes had been pulled shut.

Were all five floors in the building laid out in the same manner? Good heavens, there could be hundreds of women in here, yet the place was temple-like in its reverence.

Munia turned a corner with Suri following. The hall widened and there appeared a greater distance between draped pillars. These spaces were quite large, the accoutrements more opulent. Near the end of the corridor, Munia stepped inside one of the largest of the spaces and motioned for Suri to follow. She sidestepped the mattress on the floor covered with a spread of red fabric and strewn with lounging pillows in brightly colored silks. A wide divan, also scattered with pillows, lined the back wall. Next to the divan sat her trunks of clothes and jewels.

Suri wondered how the other women would react were they to know she was a half-caste. Surely Munia wasn’t aware or she would have refused to serve her all this time. Munia’s recent change in attitude told Suri the maid found Suri unfit after she’d spent the night with Ravenswood. Did Munia harbor hatred for her now? Was she sympathetic to the cause of
Dilli Chalo
?

Suri’s chest tightened. She had to force air to flow steadily in and out of her lungs. What did she care? She’d be out of here as soon as she met her grandmother. In a few days’ time, she would be off to Bombay and then to England. The anticipation of regaling a bride and groom she didn’t know, of reveling in all this royal grandeur, had faded on the journey here. Her only consideration now was to meet the woman who’d tossed her to the lions, and then she’d leave the compound—and Ravi-ji—far behind.

Her cousin had changed. Drastically. Eyes that had once sparkled with good humor still glittered, but treachery lurked beneath their surface. His smile, one of his best features, no longer seemed real, and he failed to mask his obvious irritation with her—something that had never presented itself before today. There were other vague reasons she couldn’t name, but whatever they were, each passing moment in his company had left her ever more unsettled.

Munia opened the chests and turned to Suri in a voice barely above a murmur. “What color do you choose for the wedding, memsahib?”

Suri made an overt sweep of her hand over her purple sari and replied in an equally subdued voice. “Whatever do you mean? I
am
dressed for the wedding.”

“No, memsahib. You were dressed for the journey. You must greet the bride and groom with no impurities from your home or from the streets. Now you must bathe, and I will place the
mehndi
on your feet, and you will be prepared for the wedding.”

Suri stepped over to the chest where the scowling maid lifted a corner of the colorful folds for Suri’s inspection. A thought of John, not here to see her outfitted in her next elaboration, crept in. How bizarre all this suddenly seemed. With smug resolve she whispered, “The pale blue.”
The same shade as the one I wore in the garden when John kissed me ’til my toes curled, you grump.

…

Vámbéry stood not three feet from Suri when the groom rode onto the wedding platform astride a white horse as finely turned out as its master. So distracted was she by the number of men who continually approached Ravi-ji, she barely noticed the glorious parade of the wedding party. The shouts that went up at the groom’s arrival drowned out the voice of a man currently murmuring to Ravi-ji in a voice so low, she only caught the familiar words
Dilli Challo
.

A wave of panic washed through her and the ground threatened to disappear beneath her feet. Hopefully, in this crowd, Ravi-ji wouldn’t notice how the hem of her sari quivered. Surely Vámbéry knew what was going on. If
she
had become so aware of the talk, then certainly,
he
couldn’t have missed anything much, but oh, how she wanted to sidle up to him and pass on what she’d learned. She closed her eyes to steady her nerves.

Ravi-ji squeezed her arm and spoke loudly in her ear. “Do you not feel well?”

“I’m fine,” she shouted back in order to be heard above the roar of the crowd.

“You had your eyes closed to the groom.” His face was a frozen mask. “Have you learned any words in Hindustani since arriving in Delhi?”

“Any words since arriving?”
Only Dilli Chalo. The rest I already knew.
“No, sorry. I’m afraid not.” He took a small step closer and loomed over her, his cold appraisal of her cutting right through to her bones. Anger bubbled up. She drew in a lung full of air to try and calm her ragged breathing.

Something flickered in his eyes, then he stepped back, a faint smile playing on his lips. “I shall see you to your grandmother sooner than I expected. This evening, perhaps.”

Suri’s spirits lifted. “Thank you.”

“The bride comes.” He nodded toward the elaborately decorated platform that had been erected to serve as an altar for the public wedding.

Before her, a woman was guided toward the groom who’d dismounted and stood before the horse, waiting. Not only was the bride beautiful, but Suri doubted there was an inch of skin not covered in jewels. Strings of fresh flowers hung down her back and trailed to the floor. How did the woman even manage to walk so heavily laden?

Beautiful, yes. Calm, no.
“She looks terrified,” Suri commented.

“This is the first time the bride and groom have met,” Ravi-ji responded.

Suri’s jaw dropped. “The first time?”

Ravi-ji glared at Suri with no attempt to hide his disgust. “Must you insist on repeating my words, dear cousin? I know perfectly well what I have said.”

“I’m sorry.”

“All Indian marriages are carefully arranged to assure the purity of a caste. It is not unusual for the bride and groom to meet on their wedding day.” He shot her a venomous look. “Your mother was well aware of this unbreakable rule before she took up with your father.”

She focused on the bride, but her mind ran in wobbly circles. Oh, to meet her grandmother and quickly make her exit! How could she have been such a fool to have agreed to come here with Ravi-ji?

…

John sat in the marble room with Tanush, Chatham, and Brevet Major Hodson, the latter drumming his fingers on the table to the point of irritation.

Chatham scowled at Hodson’s hand. “Must you?”

Hodson paused his fingers long enough to take a long swig of lemonade. He set the glass down with an angry thump and turned to John. “I’d like one request granted, sir.”

“And that would be?”

“I want the capture of Bahadur Shah and his sons left to me and my men. I want it known they are mine.”

John studied Hodson a long moment. The man was on fire with want of action. John had heard rumors that Hodson could be cruel when it came to dispensing punishment. Nonetheless, he held a stellar reputation as the best the army had. He could be trusted to get any job done he’d been ordered to perform. “Very well. But I want it remembered that Ravi Maurya and the Resident are mine when the time comes. Understood?”

Hodson smoothed his fingers over his thick mustache. “Yes, sir.” He went back to drumming the table.

The muscles around Chatham’s mouth tightened. “Oh, for Lord’s sake, Hodson, cease your infernal tapping.”

John turned to Tanush. “As soon as you return, find Vámbéry and between the two of you, get Suri out of that goddamn hornet’s nest.”

Tanush nodded.

“If you have to see to her being bound and gagged, so be it. I don’t care if she’s met her bloody grandmother or not, she is not to remain.”

A light tap on the door and Marguerite let herself in. “You sent for me?”

Chatham eyed his wife. “Do you have anything to report with regard to your sister and Ravi Maurya? Did anything unusual take place before she left?”

Marguerite nodded and slipped into a chair. “Ravi-ji sent along a note yesterday—oddly, in his native tongue.” She turned to John. “You would’ve been proud of my sister. She didn’t let on to Munia for one moment that she could read the dratted thing. Handed it to the maid to read aloud. Once Munia was out of earshot, Suri read it to me to make certain the maid hadn’t bent Ravi-ji’s words.”

Marguerite clasped her hands together and set them on the table. John noticed her knuckles turned white in the process and her face looked a frozen mask.
She’s hiding something
. A muscle twitched along his jaw reminding him to unclench his teeth. “What did the note say?”

She shrugged a shoulder. “Merely instructions to have the clothing and jewelry he’d given her sent to the women’s quarters on the palace grounds.”

John had run out of patience. “If that was all there was to the note, then why do you look as though you’re staring at a cobra about to strike?”

Wariness dissipated from Marguerite’s countenance. Her mouth drew tight. She lifted her chin and set a stern gaze upon him. “There was one little mention of something I do not think should be conveyed in mixed company.”

John leaned forward, using every bit of diplomacy he had left. “Madam, this is not the time to cross swords with me.”

She contemplated him for a long moment, and then her chin lifted a bit higher. “Very well. Ravi-ji instructed my sister to send everything along but the yellow sari she’d worn in your company the night previous. He indicated it was most likely soiled.”