One Night with a Scoundrel

by Shelly Thacker

  Despite the thick robe, the fire, and the tea, she could not stop shivering, wondering how long the D’Avenant family’s hospitality would last.

  The duchess had offered all this kindness before she had a chance to speak privately with Saxon. Today she would know the truth—that Ashiana was a spy.

  Today everything would change.

  When she had watched Saxon reunite with his family last night, the emotional scene in the foyer had stunned her. From the moment he had discovered her true identity, Saxon had been cold and aloof toward her. Last night had been a vivid reminder of a much different man—the one she had known aboard the Valor. The warm, kind, protective man she had fallen in love with. He obviously cared deeply for his mother, his brother, even the servants.

  Saxon was capable of far more love and devotion than she had ever suspected.

  It had made her ache, standing so close that she could feel the depth of love in him—and knowing he could never give that kind of love to her.

  Not to her.

  She set her tea aside and rose from the chair. Seeking distraction from her painful thoughts, she examined the chamber’s strange contents for the first time in daylight.

  Decorated paper covered the walls, its deep amber designs fuzzy beneath her fingers. The bed perched on tall legs that extended upward into skinny pillars at each of its four corners, topped with a voluminous length of fabric. She had seen canopies at home but wondered what it was doing on the bed. When she had asked last night, the duchess had smiled and said it was intended to catch drips when the roof leaked.

  Ashiana thought she was joking but couldn’t be sure. These English seemed a most practical people.

  Beneath the tall windows that lined one wall of the room sprawled a long, well-stuffed piece of furniture. She ran her hand over the sloping back and bent down to look at the feet—carved like the paws of animals, complete with claws. How odd! She noticed that the half-dozen spindly-legged tables and matching chairs scattered around also had such feet.

  She turned toward a cabinet in an adjacent corner, peering through its glass front to the white circle marked with black figures beneath. The device’s pendulum made a constant tick-tick-ticking sound. Clock, her memory supplied. She had seen a similar device aboard Andrew’s ship, though it hadn’t been nearly so large.

  The smell of woodsmoke rose from the hearth, mingling with the more delicate scent of flowers. A great bouquet in a blue lacquered vase made a brilliant display, reflected in the mirror that topped a fabric-draped table against one wall. Eugenie had brought them with breakfast.

  Ashiana could not name even one of the flowers. The English must be magicians to grow such delicate blooms in such a cold land.

  Of all the furnishings that filled the room, only the bristly carpet beneath her bare toes was familiar. It looked just like those at home in the maharaja’s palace, with its swirling pattern of blues and golds.

  Filled with a sudden rush of sadness and longing for home, Ashiana sat on the rug with a sigh. After a moment, she folded her legs and rolled backwards until most of her weight was balanced on her shoulders. Comfortable in the yoga position, she closed her eyes, trying to find refuge in meditation from all the emotions and questions that troubled her.

  Only minutes had passed when a knock sounded at the door. “Finished with breakfast, miss?” Eugenie popped in.

  “Yes, thank you. It was very good.” Ashiana opened her eyes but remained on the floor in her yoga position. Eugenie stopped in the doorway, her expression curious, her eyebrows arched so high they touched the lacy edge of her white cap. She recovered her customary smile just as quickly and walked to the bedside table without a word.

  Blushing, Ashiana unfolded herself and got to her feet. Perhaps English ladies did not practice yoga.

  Eugenie picked up the silver tray. “The duchess would like to come see you, miss, if it’s not too early.”

  Her tone was pleasant, but Ashiana’s heart pounded. Now the duchess knew the truth about who she was and what she had done—and she would dislike and distrust Ashiana as much as her son did.

  “Of course,” she whispered.

  “Very good, miss.”

  No sooner had Eugenie left with the tray than the duchess came to the door. “Ashiana? May I come in?”

  “Yes, your grace.” She dropped into a curtsy, hoping she was doing it right. Andrew had tried to show her aboard the Crusader, but the result had elicited more laughter than learning.

  The duchess closed the door behind her. “Saxon has told me everything,” she said quietly.

  Ashiana felt a blaze of color wash her cheeks as she wondered what “everything” included.

  “Now, now, my dear,” the duchess said, taking Ashiana’s hands and helping her up out of the awkward curtsy. “None of that. You need not be embarrassed.”

  Ashiana was amazed to hear sympathy in the woman’s voice rather than anger. “Y-your grace, I—”

  “The first thing you must learn is that my name is Paige.” The duchess squeezed Ashiana’s hands, smiling, a sparkle in her silver eyes. “Actually, it’s Penelope, but I’ve always hated that. Too stuffy and dull. My friends have always called me Paige. I do hope it’ll be all right if I call you Ashiana?”

  “Yes. Of…of course. But…”

  “Please, Ashiana, feel free to speak your mind. I always do. Shall we sit while we talk?” She led her to the long, overstuffed piece of furniture beneath the windows.

  Ashiana did not know how the duchess could still be kind to her—unless Saxon hadn’t told her the truth, which Ashiana could not believe.

  “How is it that you don’t hate me?” she blurted.

  “Hate you?” Paige laughed, her smile as bright as the morning sunlight. “Oh, my dear, no.”

  “But didn’t…didn’t Saxon tell you what…what happened?”

  “Yes, he told me all of it.” Paige’s lips curved into a wry expression. “Well, not precisely all of it. I am his mother, after all. But I think I have a fair idea of what he left unsaid.”

  Ashiana blushed furiously and dropped her gaze to her lap.

  “Here now.” The older woman laid a gentle hand on Ashiana’s arm. “You have nothing to be ashamed of. If there is one thing I understand in this life, it’s the D’Avenant men. Goodness knows, I was married to one for twenty-six years, God rest his soul. I don’t hold Saxon blameless in all this, and I don’t think you’ve done anything so terribly wrong.”

  “How can you say that?” Ashiana asked wonderingly. “Don’t you know about…about the sapphires?”

  “My dear, I’ve known about those sapphires for longer than I care to remember.”

  “But didn’t Saxon explain that I am spy, that I—”

  “That you lied to him, stole the jewel from him, and almost killed him, yes.”

  Ashiana raised her head, amazed at her calm tone. “That was accidental—the almost killing him part.”

  Paige nodded. “He also told me about your father being murdered by Englishmen. And about how the Ajmir adopted you, when you were so young and all alone. Everything you have done has been for the love of your family.” She paused for a moment, arching one brow. “Though I’m not sure Saxon fully understands that. Men can be rather thickheaded at times.”

  Ashiana swallowed hard, speechless that the duchess understood. Not only understood, but sympathized.

  “To set out alone on such a dangerous mission took great courage,” the older woman continued, admiration in both her tone and her eyes. “I’m not sure I would have been so brave. Certainly not when I was as young as you.”

  Ashiana looked at Paige with wonder and respect. “There has been such hatred between our families for so long. How can you forgive so easily?”

  “Partly, I think, because hatred and battles and war are much the work of men. We women are the ones who must heal the wounds and forge the understanding, the peace, if the world and life are to go on.”

  Ashiana had never thou
ght of it that way, but realized it was just as true among her people. Perhaps it was true among all people. She liked Paige more and more. The lady had keen insight as well as a gentle heart.

  “Partly, too,” Paige continued, a bit of sadness creeping into her tone, “is that I know that we—our family—are greatly to blame for all the trouble over the jewels.”

  “You do?” Ashiana was astounded.

  “I loved my husband very much, but he was not a perfect man by any means. If not for what he did all those years ago, you would not be sitting here right now.”

  “Why?” Ashiana asked suddenly, feeling herself close to the answer she had wondered about so long. “Why did he steal the sapphire in the first place?”

  The duchess glanced heavenward, sighing. “How can I explain? I suppose I should start at the very beginning. You see, my dear, the D’Avenant family, we are…” She paused as if searching for the right words. “We are known to be somewhat eccentric—that means a bit outside the norms of English society. Generations of D’Avenants have been raising eyebrows all over England for scores of years. It has always been tolerated because we hold title to a dukedom, and English society has never met a duke they didn’t adore. We are also wealthy and quite well-connected, both in shipping and in politics. The tongues that wag do so cautiously.”

  Ashiana listened politely, noting that the duchess related all of this merely as fact, without boasting, without apology.

  “My husband, Brandon D’Avenant—” A smile touched the older woman’s lips. “—was perhaps the most notorious black sheep in a family known for black sheep, and he—”

  “Black sheep?” Ashiana interrupted.

  “I’m sorry, my dear. Your English is so good that I forget you don’t know all of our sayings. A ‘black sheep’ is a…hmmm. I suppose the closest word would be ‘scoundrel.’ Have you heard that one before?”

  “Yes,” Ashiana said with a grin.

  “I don’t think Brandon would object to being called a scoundrel.” The duchess’s gaze flicked heavenward again. “In any case, he was a second son and he thoroughly enjoyed the life of a black sheep. He believed he was entitled to it. He indulged himself quite scandalously.” Her humor faded. “Mostly in gambling. He had a terrible problem with it when he was a young man, before we married. He was addicted to it, the very same way some men are addicted to drink. It made him attempt the most insane things. One night, someone wagered an enormous sum and proclaimed that he had finally thought of the one feat that Brandon could not accomplish: steal one of the Nine Sapphires of Kashmir.”

  Ashiana began to understand. “And he accepted the wager.”

  “Yes.” Paige frowned, smoothing her striped skirt. “At the time, he gave no thought to the consequences. Brandon always had a tremendous need to prove himself. Yet in his heart, he was a good man. I believe that if he hadn’t been so caught in the grip of his addiction, he never would have become a thief. He never would have stolen your people’s jewel.”

  Now it was Ashiana’s turn to touch the other woman’s hand in a gesture of comfort. “I understand.”

  The duchess smiled warmly. “I hoped you would. The only way to stop hatred is through listening and understanding. There is more to the story than that, of course, but I think…” She paused, then nodded. “I think Saxon should be the one to tell you. Actually, that’s what I’ve come to see you about.”

  Ashiana inhaled, her heart thudding. “He wishes to see me?”

  “No, he’s gone off with Max for the day. He asked us all to keep an eye on you until he returns this evening.”

  Ashiana swallowed hard, lowering her lashes. “He does not want his prisoner to escape.”

  “Oh, no, my dear. This is what I most wanted to tell you, Ashiana. I think you must learn to take what Saxon says to you with a grain of salt. He is—”

  “Salt?”

  “Oh, yes. Sorry. To ‘take with a grain of salt’ means that you shouldn’t take everything he says completely seriously.”

  Ashiana furrowed her brow, confused. “And why do I need to take Saxon with salt?”

  “A grain of salt, my dear. Because despite all of his blustering on about your being a skillful spy and perhaps the most untrustworthy woman the world has known since Cleopatra—” She raised an eyebrow, adding thoughtfully, “In fact, maybe it was because of all that blustering on. In any case, I could tell that, beneath it all, he cares for you very much.”

  “No.” Ashiana denied it instantly, fiercely, protecting her heart from what she could not bear to hear. “You must be mistaken.” Saxon might want her, but he did not care for her. Any affection he might have felt had been snuffed out when he discovered she was his enemy.

  He had proven that by the cold way he had taken her on their island.

  But she could hardly explain to Paige that she knew Saxon’s feelings from the difference in his lovemaking.

  “No,” she repeated miserably. It was the only word she could manage.

  “Trust me, my dear,” Paige insisted. “As I said, I know the D’Avenant men.”

  For some reason, Ashiana was suddenly fighting tears. “Your son has been away many years, your grace—”

  “Paige,” the duchess corrected.

  “Paige.” Ashiana’s voice was a whisper. “He has been away for so many years. Years can change a man.”

  Paige glanced out the window into the morning sunshine, smiling softly. “There is something far more powerful than years that can change a man. Unfortunately, each of them has to learn that for himself, in his own way, in his own time.”

  Puzzled, Ashiana was about to ask what she meant, when Paige rose, taking Ashiana’s hands in her own.

  “My dear, I want you to know that you are welcome in my home. You are my guest for as long as you like.”

  “You are most kind, but I cannot stay. I must return to India as soon as possible. My duty…” Her throat constricted and she could say no more, the word duty painful after everything Paige had just told her.

  Paige looked a bit sad. “Well then, for as long as you are here, I hope you will consider yourself an honored guest…and look upon me as a friend.”

  Ashiana stood, feeling a soothing warmth settle over her heart. “I will.” The last thing she had expected to find in England was such a generous, wise, kindhearted friend.

  “I’m glad.” Paige hooked her arm through Ashiana’s and led her toward the door. “Now then, we’ve much to do! Even if you are only here a short time, we must get you properly outfitted. We can hardly have you going about in my old robe, can we? I think we should keep to the story about you being the long-lost daughter of an English earl. It will make everything easier. And vastly more interesting! Would that be all right?”

  “Yes,” Ashiana agreed.

  “Excellent. The first thing we must do is pay a visit to a draper. With your midnight hair and blue eyes and slim figure, you will look simply smashing in all the bold colors I have never been able to carry off. The shopkeepers will adore you! Now then, there used to be an excellent draper down on the Strand called Osgood’s, but that closed years ago. I suppose Amelia Farrell could accommodate us. She’s in the West End. And there’s a splendid milliner there as well. Then we’ll pay a visit to a shoemaker, and a parfumerie—”

  “Parfumerie?” Ashiana’s head was spinning.

  “It’s called ‘shopping,’ my dear.” Paige laughed. “I guarantee you’ll adore it!”

  Ashiana’s dark-red skirt rustled as she descended the stairs to the foyer. The scent of candle wax warmed the air, and she could see servants lighting the sconces and chandeliers for evening. Her heart pounded unsteadily as she headed for Saxon’s study.

  Today had been a dizzying whirl of fabrics and laces, boxes and parcels, shopkeepers and measuring tapes. The more she saw of London, the more its strangeness frayed her nerves. The crowds and the noise had given her a headache. The damp cold had settled into her bones until she wondered whether she would ever f
eel truly warm again. Even the air had seemed difficult to breathe, thick with overpowering smells and competing perfumes and the crush of too many people living too close together.

  Reaching the bottom step, she paused and tried to take a deep, calming breath, but it was impossible because of the tightly laced corset and petticoats she wore. She had almost forgotten how much she despised the elaborate English undergarments.

  But what bothered her even more were the long white gloves that covered her arms from fingertips to elbows. The seamstress had insisted upon them after all but fainting in shock at the tattoo on Ashiana’s left arm. Ashiana didn’t see why she should have to cover up the beautiful work of an Ajmir artisan.

  At least Paige had relented on the matter of footwear. Ashiana had been unable to walk in the tight-fitting, pointy little instruments of torture she had been shown. She was grateful to the shoemaker for offering a compromise: satin slippers, not unlike those she was used to at home.

  Her steps barely whispered on the marble floor as she turned down the hall and walked toward the third door on the right, her stomach growling.

  She had eaten little since her tea and toast this morning. Apparently, the English had never before encountered a person who did not eat meat. Her distaste for their food had the duchess completely baffled.

  Through it all, Ashiana hadn’t uttered a word of complaint. She could not repay Paige’s kindness by appearing ungrateful.

  Stopping before the study door, she touched a hand to her elaborately curled and pinned hair, wondering what miracle Eugenie had used to make it stay in place all day. She also wondered whether Saxon would like her new appearance.

  She swiftly chastised herself for such a thought. His opinions of her did not matter. And her aversion to life in England did not matter.

  She would be leaving just as soon as he gave her the sapphire.

  Lifting one gloved hand, she knocked on the door.