Squaring her shoulders, Sarala turned her back on the table and its contents and climbed into bed. That would show Lord Charlemagne, Shay to his friends; whatever he meant to accomplish by this, she would be unaffected. And her stance regarding the silks wouldn’t have changed, either. Her price remained five thousand pounds, unless he countered with something less insulting than a guinea and a half per bolt.
“There. Curiosity and females, ha.” Perhaps next time he would consider his position before he insulted every member of her sex.
The idea of maintaining a blissful ignorance lasted for nearly five minutes, until she realized that he would base their next conversation, his next argument, on the assumption that she knew what she’d been given. Pretending ignorance could therefore very well be to her advantage, but actual ignorance wouldn’t serve any purpose at all.
“We can’t have that,” she murmured, and climbed out of bed again. Firmly reminding herself that this was about business and not about curiosity, Sarala returned to the reading table and pulled open her reticule. Inside, the small velvet pouch lay wedged between her coin purse and a small tortoiseshell mirror.
Interesting as it was trying to guess what Charlemagne thought would be an effective bribe, knowing would serve her better. She pulled the fine braided strings and opened the pouch.
She turned it over, and a silver chain spilled onto her palm. Attached to it by a small loop was an intricate, delicate silver setting surrounding a small, multifaceted stone. Sarala held it up to the candlelight. Blood red. A ruby.
She couldn’t help her slow intake of breath. It was lovely, after all. And no doubt an Indian ruby, since given her past firstly it wouldn’t make sense for it to be from somewhere else, and secondly he was a Griffin and could easily afford such a thing.
So he’d given her a gift worth probably more than the five hundred bolts of silk. Sarala liked to consider herself a logical female, and logically a keen businessman wouldn’t bestow a bribe worth more than the property he was trying to acquire. Therefore, this bribe wasn’t about acquiring property; it was about acquiring her. Heat began low inside her, though she tried to set that sensation aside.
Well, he had some nerve, turning what would have been an interesting, invigorating negotiation into what was clearly his idea of a seduction. Yes, he was attractive and intelligent, but for heaven’s sake, she’d just arrived in England. She had no intention of succumbing to the suave maneuverings of the first man who looked in her direction, simply because he expected her to do so.
No, he did not have the reins of these proceedings. She did. And she had silks to dispose of. If he thought she could be bought with a ruby because it came from India, as though that meant he knew every ounce of her character, he had a surprise coming.
As far as she was concerned, this was still about the silks. He’d just demonstrated how easily he could afford the price she asked, and so as of this moment she would accept no offer lower than six thousand pounds from him. Ha. And as for acquiring her…it would take far more than a kiss, a ruby, and some admittedly invigorating arguments.
Whatever he thought, they were still opponents. He expected her to meet him in Hyde Park in the morning. She would do so, but she didn’t think he would like the conversation very much.
“I’m afraid it’s rather overcast today, my lady,” Jenny said as she pulled open the bedchamber curtains. “It smells like rain, if I do say so myself.”
“More rain?” Sarala stretched and climbed out from under the covers. “I thought this was summer.”
“Oh, it is. Honestly it’s been colder than it ought this year. I imagine you won’t want to go shopping today after all.”
“Shopping, no. But I’ve heard that Hyde Park is lovely, and I’d like to take a walk. Please put out a warm cloak for me.”
“But you said you’d never go out when the air was cold like this, my lady.”
“I changed my mind. Mama does keep saying I’ll have to get used to it, after all.”
The maid smiled. “That’s the spirit, Lady Sarala.” Her face fell. “Oh, I meant Lady Sarah! I do beg your pardon, my lady. Blankman told us, and I forgot. Please don’t—”
“No worries, Jenny.” For heaven’s sake, she had no intention of sacking anyone for not succumbing to her mother’s silliness. “For everyone’s sake, though, I suppose we’d best try to stay with Sarah.” At least in her mother’s hearing, and for her maid’s sake.
As she descended the front stairs, her father stood in the foyer accepting his hat and gloves from the butler. “Sar…ah, I’m glad to see you this morning.”
So she was truly on her own in the quest to keep her real name. “Good morning, Papa.” She gave him a peck on the cheek as Blankman pulled open the front door. “Have you eaten?”
“Yes. Just on my way to Parliament. The one consistency throughout the territories of England seems to be that powerful men need to argue about things which the rest of the population figured out the answer to long ago.”
She laughed. “Well, if they couldn’t argue, they’d probably occupy themselves with actually doing things, and that would cause all kinds of trouble.”
“Indeed, it would.” The marquis chuckled. “By the by, I haven’t had a chance to ask about for buyers of silk. Have you?”
“I sent out a dozen inquiries more this morning,” she returned, “and I have several parties already interested in bidding.” Well, one, anyway. “I know we can’t waste five hundred guineas stacked away in a warehouse.”
Her father kissed her on the forehead. “Your uncle did leave us some debts. Your skills at negotiating will be greatly appreciated. I have Warrick making a few inquiries, as well.”
She nodded, though after his performance in purchasing the silks, she didn’t have much faith left that her father’s accountant could sell them at any kind of profit. “I’m seeing a party about an offer this morning. I’ll do my best.”
“Good. Take Warrick along, then. You know your mother doesn’t approve of your engaging in business dealings. And certainly not unattended.”
“Yes, I know. I shall be the very soul of discretion, Papa. Don’t worry.”
Sarala watched him out the door and into his coach. She’d managed not to agree to include Mr. Warrick, but she preferred to avoid lying, even by omission, to her father. But she certainly wasn’t going to pit the accountant against Shay Griffin. What a disaster that would be.
No, this project was all hers from now on, and neither her mother, her altering name, nor pretty rubies would sway her from her task.
As she and Jenny arrived at the east end of Rotten Row half an hour later, Sarala fairly vibrated with eagerness to begin the morning’s negotiations. She barely kept from smiling as Lord Charlemagne’s barouche came into view standing amid a small crowd of other vehicles. Apparently he was as popular out-of-doors as he was beneath ballroom chandelier lights. Today the majority of the moths attracted to his flame seemed to be female—but then the titled men would be in Parliament.
“Wonderful,” she muttered, pulling her cloak closer around her shoulders. In the middle of a gathering like that, she certainly couldn’t simply walk up to him. Nor could she mention anything about his so-called gift and what he could do with it.
“My lady,” Jenny said, “you’re shivering. We should go back to the house before you catch a chill.”
Given their surroundings and the number of witnesses, they probably should. Now that she considered it, Charlemagne had probably chosen the setting just so she wouldn’t dare return the ruby. On the other hand, she’d wasted a good portion of the morning walking out to the park. And besides, she wasn’t so easily thwarted.
She would watch him interacting with his admirers, and she would observe. Everyone had a weakness, and he’d probably used the ruby to look for hers. She needed to find his before time and her family’s need to repay debts wore her down to his insulting price. “We’ll go in a few minutes,” she returned, seeing the maid eyeing
her.
Jenny looked from her to the center of the crowd of vehicles. “Begging your pardon, but ain’t that the gentleman who tried to jump into the coach the other day? The one you sent away from the house before your parents should see him? Lord Champagne?”
“Charlemagne,” she corrected. “Named after the famous king of most of Western Europe. And he certainly behaves like royalty, doesn’t he?”
“Well, I’d say he’s handsome as anything. But you said he was mad.”
She’d actually meant mad as in angry yesterday, but the other fit today. “He may well be.” She looked at him again, more closely this time. Yes, he was handsome; previously she’d been so concerned with his information and then his offers that she hadn’t just…seen him.
They stood watching at the edge of the trees for several minutes. Lord Charlemagne had an engaging smile, even when he wasn’t using it to try to gain an advantage in negotiations. He did seem to have a gift that she lacked for being endlessly charming in the face of silliness, but then he would have had more occasion to use it and more reason to practice it than she did.
After five minutes or so she turned her attention to the females—and the far smaller number of men—who surrounded her eleven o’clock appointment. Pretty, twittery young things in well-appointed carriages—posies seeking money or a title through matrimony, she supposed. The men as a whole and with the notable exception of Charlemagne appeared somewhat shabbier, but then they most likely hoped to improve their circumstances by association, or at worst by marrying one of Charlemagne’s cast-offs.
When she looked back at the reason for all the chaos, she found gray eyes gazing squarely at her. Damnation. Now she couldn’t leave without looking as though she were intimidated or jealous, and she still couldn’t approach without appearing to be one of the hopeful female throng.
At that moment, however, he said something she couldn’t hear. Almost immediately the mass of horses and vehicles parted before his carriage and then began to disperse. In another second or two his barouche pulled up beside her.
“Lady Sarala. Good morning,” he said with that charming smile of his, and tipped his hat.
“Lord Moses. And I thought the parting of the Red Sea was an allegory.”
He lifted an eyebrow, then glanced back over his shoulder. “Oh, that. They aren’t as persistent as the Egyptian army, though considerably more deadly to my ability to remain awake.”
Sarala chuckled. “I shall attempt to do better.” Perhaps laughing wasn’t strictly professional, but he was wittier than she’d expected from their first meeting. Three days ago—heavens, had it been only three days?—she’d thought him arrogant, thick-headed, and boastful. He’d shown at least the middle of those to be untrue. No, he was a far worthier opponent—both over the silks and now apparently over her person—than she’d expected, and she’d best never forget that.
“I doubt that being interesting will be much of a challenge for you.”
“Why, thank you, my lord.”
“Might I offer you a tour of London? Or at least of the part surrounding Hyde Park?”
And thus the black knight moved his first chess piece of the day, a flanking maneuver undoubtedly meant to distract her from his frontal assault on the silks. “You don’t expect me to climb into your barouche with you,” she said, scowling.
“Your maid will join us, naturally.” He gestured at the seat opposite his. “And I do have several very nice lap blankets, and a pan of coals beneath that seat.”
It was a blatantly unfair use of his knowledge of her warm, Indian past, she decided. He’d probably consulted an almanac and realized the weather would be chill before he’d suggested the time and location for their meeting today.
“Well?” he prompted. “I’d be just as happy to remain here and you there. I only thought you’d enjoy seeing some of the local sights. If I’m—”
“Open the door, if you please,” she interrupted. As long as she knew what his rook was up to, she wouldn’t be in danger of being mated. Sarala coughed to cover her abrupt amusement at the analogy.
He opened the door as she requested, and even stood to offer a hand to Jenny and her. At least he hadn’t gloated about his first victory. And she had several moves he wouldn’t see coming.
On the path just north of Rotten Row another barouche, this one with the Deverill crest on the door panel, came to a stop. “Who is she, I wonder?” Eleanor, Lady Deverill, asked as she looked toward her older brother’s carriage.
“I saw him dancing with her last night,” her companion and sister-in-law, Lady Caroline Griffin, answered. “Zachary even asked Shay a question about her, and he pretended disinterest. She’s the one just here from India. Lady Sarah or something. There’s some confusion about what her name actually is, I believe.”
Eleanor kept her gaze on her brother, though her heart jumped. “He pretended disinterest? You’re certain it wasn’t actual disinterest?”
“It could have been, I suppose. You know him much better than I do.”
Eleanor turned back to face her companion and newfound friend. “You don’t need to pretend ignorance to make me feel better. I know Zach’s told you all about the Griffin clan. And I also know you’re rather observant.”
“Well, Zachary’s assessments aren’t always very helpful. The first time I asked him about Shay’s character he said, and I quote, ‘Shay? He’s got bloody numbers running through his head all day and all night, and he likes it that way. He’s mad, in other words.’” Her cheeks reddened. “And excuse my language.”
Eleanor smiled. “No need. I grew up with the lot of them, if you’ll remember.” She watched as Shay’s carriage turned west along the Rotten Row riding path. “Considering that he literally said there was nothing special about Lady Sarah last night, and that I saw him dancing with her a night or two before, and that today he’s taking her riding in Melbourne’s barouche, and that he hates riding in barouches, and that he broke an engagement to take Peep to the museum today to be here at all, I would say his disinterest was most definitely feigned.”
“And so what do we do?”
Nell’s smile deepened into a heartfelt grin. “What we do, dear Caroline,” she answered, “is continue to observe. I know it’s not proper for a sister to speak of her brother’s mistresses, but Shay has had a few over the years, and they’ve tended to be…ordinary. Nothing to upend his schedule or take any part of his stupendously large mind away from things that actually interest him.”
Her sister-in-law frowned. “But this Sarah is a marquis’s daughter, and new to London. Making her his mistress could ruin her, couldn’t it? That doesn’t seem like something Shay would—”
“No, it isn’t.” Eleanor chuckled. “This is going to be very interesting.” She signaled for Dawson to head the team toward home before the rain could begin. “And we are not going to tell Sebastian anything. Melbourne will want to step in, one way or the other, and for once I’d like to see what happens when he doesn’t meddle.”
“You think he won’t find out?”
“I think if anyone can keep him from doing so, it will be Shay.”
“Oh, dear,” Caroline sighed, her eyes dancing with amusement, “this is going to be interesting, isn’t it?”
“I should hope so.”
Charlemagne directed his driver to head around the boundary of the park, while he pointed out various sites of historical or political interest along the way. Thank God he’d grown up in London, because whatever power Sarala had initially possessed to distract him had increased tenfold. Despite his best efforts to remain focused on a strategy to acquire the silks, he continually found himself simply…gazing at her. If he’d ever been this diligent in studying an opponent before, he couldn’t remember it. Of course he’d never given a business rival a ruby necklace, either.
She leaned forward, tapping his left knee with elegant fingers. “What is that?”
He blinked, looking in the direction she gestured. “Ken
sington Palace. The royal family used it as their main residence until about fifty or so years ago.”
“It’s stunning. Who lives there now?”
He smiled. “That depends on the time of year. At the moment it’s the Duchess of Kent and her daughter, Princess Victoria. Would you care for a tour?”
“Heavens, no. I wouldn’t intrude.” She eyed him. “You could do that? You know them?”
Only someone who’d never lived in London would ask that question. “We’re third cousins, or some such thing.” He turned from the familiar sight of the palace to Sarala. He needed to make a move; it was time he wasn’t the only one searching for footing. “Your mother hasn’t seen you yet today, has she?”
Green eyes narrowed. “Why do you say that? Do you think I need her approval to engage in business?”
Covering his smile, Charlemagne reached out and touched her dangling left ear bob with his forefinger. “I was referring to these,” he said, brushing his fingers against her cheek as he withdrew again. Soft as summer.
She covered the jewelry with both hands. “We are not here to discuss my jewelry. What’s wrong with them, anyway?”
“Not a thing. They’re lovely. And they suit you. Amethyst peacocks. I had just assumed that since your mother’s changed your name, she’s attempting to…minimize any appearance of foreign influences about your person.”
“You’re very forward to make that assumption.”
He lifted an eyebrow. “Am I wrong?”
“Very well, no. You’re correct. My mother probably wouldn’t approve of my wearing them. They were a gift from a friend, however.” Sarala drew a breath. “And speaking of gifts, I cannot accept one from you.”
He’d wondered how he would bring up the topic of the ruby necklace. She’d beaten him to it. “Why can’t you accept it?”
“Because whatever it is, we are barely acquainted, and besides, we—”
“‘Whatever it is?’” he interrupted, frowning. Surely she’d been curious enough to at least take a peek. “You didn’t look at it?”
Something Sinful Page 6
