The Wedding Bed (The Sun Never Sets, Book One) Page 17
Jonathon shook his head. “I don’t think I do.”
“Derek Arindam Jeffords. Hindi for slayer of enemies.”
“My. That’s quite dramatic.”
“Quite appropriate, as well,” she declared loyally, sending Derek a look of such unrestrained devotion he nearly blushed.
The orchestra struck up the opening notes to a lively quadrille. George Little, third son of the Earl of Cheverly, approached them and gave a polite bow in greeting. ”Lady Keating,” he said, “I believe I have the honor of claiming this dance.”
Calla curtsied prettily. With a parting smile to Derek and Jonathon, she allowed Little to escort her onto the dance floor. Derek’s gaze followed her as she moved through the dance. She wasn’t hard to spot in her gown of ruby satin, a striking chestnut-haired beauty swirling amid a sea of pale blondes costumed in pastels.
“She’s become quite the toast,” Jonathon observed.
“Yes, hasn’t she?”
Jonathon cocked one dark blond brow and raked his gaze over Derek’s clothing. “Interesting choice of apparel, by the way.”
“This?” Derek looked down at the gray silk, knee-length garment he wore. “It’s called a kurta.”
“Well done. Quite the heathen. They’re thinking it of you anyway. They’ve been thinking it for years. Might as well shove it in their faces.”
“My wife tells me I look quite distinguished.”
Jonathon let out an inelegant snort. “Love is blind.”
Ignoring that, Derek said, “Did you just call me a heathen?”
“Absolutely. You always have been. In the finest sense of the word.” Their eyes met and he raised his glass in salute. “It is also my honor to call you a friend.” As they were treading dangerously close to expressing actual heartfelt sentiment, which was clearly not done among men, Jonathon brusquely changed the subject.
“By the way, what happened to Ram Daas? Was he able to provide Inspector Nevins with a description of the men who murdered Amit Gupta?”
“Yes. English.”
Jonathon gaped. “English? That’s all?”
Derek shrugged. “It was dark and the boy was frightened.”
“Good lord. If he didn’t know anything, why didn’t he simply stay put?”
“Obviously that would have been the wiser course. Instead, he reacted in a blind panic and ran.” Derek thought for a moment, considering his brief acquaintance with Ram. “He’s young and in a hurry to grow up. He was looking for adventure and a way to send money home to his family. He had no idea what he’d blundered into, or how to get himself out of it.”
“So it was all for naught.”
“Not at all. Two lascars aboard the Ariel witnessed the attack but were afraid to come forward. I’ve guaranteed them my protection. They’re willing to speak to Nevins, and to testify in court, should it come to that.”
Which it very likely would, Derek thought with satisfaction. The days of Cecil Henry and his ilk operating the Custom House like their own private fiefdom were about to come to a close. And about bloody time. His only regret was that he’d turned a blind eye to the injustice of the situation for so long.
Jonathon shook his head. “Remarkable.”
“Yes. Isn’t she?” Derek returned, his attention drawn back to Calla.
Perhaps it was the festive mood of the evening, or simply the alcohol he’d been consuming, but whatever the cause, Derek felt loose and relaxed. Watching Calla dance, he experienced the unexpected thrill of showing her off, coupled with the sated complacency of knowing she belonged to him. Other men might gaze at her appreciatively, but he would be the one to take her home and bed her.
Giving voice to his wandering thoughts, he said, “Do you remember the first time you looked at a girl, and rather than seeing some annoying creature dogging at your heels, what you saw took your breath away?”
A slow smile drifted across Jonathon’s face. “I do.”
Derek nodded. His related the last time he and Calla had seen each other in India. The unrelenting heat had driven nearly all of Calcutta indoors. But there they were, just the two of them, galloping along the banks of the Hooghly River. The image seared itself into his memory—one of those rare moments in life where he was simultaneously watching the scene as if from above, while still part of it. He remembered all of it in vivid detail. A gangly brown boy and a reckless white girl. The marshy scent of the river, the sweat of the horses, the furious curses of the men whose midday naps they had disturbed.
Most of all, he remembered Calla. Her hair, loosened from the unruly ride, cascading down her back. The mud splattering her ankles and her skirts flying in wild disarray. Her eyes sparkling with joy and a beaming smile on her face, fully alive and thoroughly feminine. In that instant, Derek was set upon by an emotion he would later classify as lust, but this was its purer cousin. Admiration. Recognition of beauty that was unique and rare in the world, beauty that deserved special notice. Even as a young boy he’d seen it—that essential spark in her that could only be appreciated, never conquered.
The wild one.
The troublemaker.
His jaanu.
Life went on. He’d left India for England, and the memory had been pushed aside until Calla reappeared in his life. Until she’d smiled that smile of hers and turned his well-ordered life upside down.
“And?” Jonathon queried, pulling him out of his reverie. “Who won the race?”
“She did.”
Which was quite all right with him. He would happily spend the rest of his days chasing after her. His gaze moved back to Calla, watching her movements as she glided effortlessly through the final steps of the quadrille.
Beside him, Jonathon gave a snort. “You’re making a horrid spectacle of yourself, you know.”
Derek arched one dark brow. “I thought we’d already discussed the kurta.”
“I’m referring to how disgustingly in love you appear. You’re a fallen man. The Tiger of the Thames has become a domesticated kitty. Appalling.”
“Actually, it’s not so awful. You ought to try it.”
Jonathon frowned and swirled his drink, studying the amber depths as though looking for an answer there. “As it happens,” he said, “within the month I expect to announce my engagement to Lady Lila Featherstone.”
Derek, who’d been about to take a sip of his drink, arrested the motion in mid-air. “I had no idea. My felicitations.” His gaze shot across the room to the woman in question. “She’s lovely.”
“Yes. Isn’t she.”
Derek cast a glance at his friend. As far as matches went, it would be considered a good one. Jonathon was a viscount. The Featherstone family was wealthy and powerful. Both Jonathon and Lady Lila had been blessed with striking blond looks. Still…something was missing. He read no amorous hunger in Jonathon’s expression, no infatuation in his tone. But then again, neither had he been enraptured of Calla when he’d agreed to take her for a bride.
“As you said, she’s lovely,” Jonathon remarked, as though convincing himself. He seemed to give a mental shake and forced a cocky grin. “At least you will not see me fawning over my wife in public. In matters of the heart, I intend to remain fully in command of my dignity.”
That would be a shame, Derek thought, but he kept his counsel to himself. Less than a month ago, had anyone tried to convince him he would be happy to have his emotions turned upside down and his dignity thrown out the window, he would have thought them the worst kind of fool. Now, well, now he knew better.
The dancers bowed to their partners and quit the dance. Derek watched Calla move toward him. Their gazes met and held. From the corner of his eye he saw Lord Anthony Stylles—presumably Calla’s next partner—stride in her direction. One look at Derek and the man abruptly reversed course and faded back into the crowd.
Calla blinked in surprise, then looked at Derek. “That was a rather ferocious glare,” she admonished.
He shrugged, not the least bit repentant
. “It served its purpose.”
“What purpose was that?”
“Getting you back into my arms.”
“But Lord Stylles was my dance partner.”
“Not anymore.”
He placed his hand at the small of her back and drew her to back onto the dance floor. They moved gracefully through the opening steps, then he twirled her playfully, catching her off-guard and causing her body to brush against the length of his. She gave a soft squeal and laughed, gripping his hand more tightly. The scent of her perfume drifted through the air, affecting him more powerfully than any intoxicant he’d ever known. Yes. Exactly what he needed. A tantalizing tease of what was to come once they were alone.
After a moment she said, “That was a rather intense conversation you were having with Viscount Brooksbank. But it seemed to end abruptly.”
“Yes. I suppose it did.”
“Everything all right?”
“He accused me of being madly in love with you. I had to walk away.”
“Oh?”
“He’s unbearable when he’s right.”
“Oh.”
Her lips parted and she stared up at him, her Bengali-blue eyes shimmering with unshed tears. Derek couldn’t look away. This emotion was what he wanted to explain to Jonathon, but he doubted he could ever properly put into words. Like watching a candle melt in the sun, the wax softening and pooling on a table. Perhaps chemically it remained the same, but it no longer resembled its original form. The transformation was that total. Thus it was for him. He was a different man. He could no longer imagine his life without Calla in it
His hand brushed his pocket as they danced. The gift he’d had custom-made for her rested inside. A bracelet to add to her bangles. Diamonds and rubies, England and India. Not separated, but woven together with strands of gold. Later. He would give it to her later. They had all the time in the world.
“I want to introduce you to my sisters,” she said.
The Sisters Staunton. He stifled a groan and gave a rueful smile. So there was no escaping that fate after all. “You’ve forgotten,” he said, “they already know me.”
“No. They know the boy who hid from us.” She laid her hand gently on his chest and gazed up at him. “They’ve never met the man I married. The man I fell in love with.”
He brushed his lips against her temple. “Whatever you want,” he promised. “But first, we have all of London to explore together. Where would you like to begin?”
“I have no idea.”
“Covent Gardens, the Royal Opera House, the Victoria and Albert Museum…” He rattled off the first few sites that came to his mind, working his way through the list of places which would enthrall Calla.
Her face flushed with excitement as she considered her options. Watching her, Derek realized he couldn’t possibly wait until they returned home to have her. Just one kiss, one scandalous embrace. But not in the middle of the dance floor. Where he could take her? The gardens were too obvious. The kitchens, among the maids and footmen? Or maybe the library…
She let out a soft sigh and smiled up at him. “Wherever you want to go is fine with me.”
Author’s Note
I hope you’ve enjoyed reading The Wedding Bed.
I find nineteenth century London fascinating, particularly the collision of cultures which occurred between England and her territories. (And, really, has a woman’s figure ever been so erotically exaggerated as by a corset and bustle?) The contrast between prim and naughty is too delightful for an author to resist.
Calla and Derek’s story is the first in my The Sun Never Sets series, taken from the famous phrase coined in the nineteenth century, “The Sun Never Sets on the British Empire.”
Coming next, the author fully intends to put Jonathon Hollinshed, Viscount Brooksbank, through his paces in Wicked Games, which will be released in Spring 2014.
Want more? Please check out my other books, now available on Amazon’s Kindle:
“Hot Historicals” written by Ava Archer Payne:
Out of Her League
The Wedding Bed
Wicked Games (Spring 2014)
Historical Romance written under the pen name Victoria Lynne:
With This Kiss
Captured
Chasing Rainbows
What Wild Moonlight
I love to hear from readers! Let’s talk romance: I’m always looking for a great new book. Tell me what you’re reading, what you like, what you don’t. Feel free to message me on Facebook!
Happy reading, and all the best to you and yours!
—Ava Archer Payne