“But I’ll give them to you if you’ll help me make this go away,” she repeated, tears gathering in her moss green eyes and spilling onto her cheeks. “I’ll apologize to the duke, I’ll let him put a notice in the paper that you were the one who decided to beg off the marriage. Anything, Shay. I—”
“You don’t want to marry me.”
She met his gaze. “No, I don’t.”
Of all the things he hadn’t expected, the fact that he had more interest in this match than she did surprised him most of all. She’d put all her pride into their battle over the silks, and now she was willing to crawl just to be rid of them. Of him. Something was seriously wrong. Sarala had no idea how much he truly enjoyed her company, enjoyed talking with her and arguing with her and just looking at her.
“Why don’t you want to marry me?”
Sarala lifted a fine eyebrow. “You can’t be serious. We were negotiating a business deal. We made a mistake, and kissed when we should have…shaken hands.”
“Firstly,” he muttered, “I don’t make mistakes. Secondly, we couldn’t have shaken hands, because we hadn’t come to an agreement. We still haven’t, apparently.”
“You don’t make mistakes? That’s rather arrogant, wouldn’t you say? Especially when you made the mistake of telling me about the silks in the first place.”
The more he thought about it, the more he wondered whether that hadn’t been the wisest thing he’d ever done, Chinese swordsmen or not. “I consider that to be a fortunate slip,” he said instead. Obviously confessing his undying devotion to her would only make her laugh. He wasn’t certain whether that was how he felt or not, anyway. Until a few days ago he’d thought that getting the silks back in a manner that would prove his business acumen keener than hers—and maybe stealing another kiss or two from Sarala—was all that mattered. He cleared his throat. “Sarala, we have several things to deal with,” he said, choosing each word carefully. “The first is that I need to return the silks. That is separate from anything else between us. Name your price, and I will pay it.”
“But—”
“I swear that I will treat the second matter fairly, regardless of the silks, the Chinese, the emperor, or the Duke of Melbourne.”
She drew a deep, shuddering breath. “Thank you so much,” she whispered, another tear running down her face. “Very well. You offered a price of four thousand pounds. I find that to be fair and acceptable.” Squaring her shoulders, she looked him in the eye and held out her hand.
And this time they did shake hands. From begging out of a marriage and back to business, in the space of one heartbeat. He had a great deal to do if she saw no difference between the two. He hoped the Chinese wouldn’t drag him off in chains before he could convince his wife-to-be to want to marry him.
Although Charlemagne had said the marriage mess and the silks were two separate disasters, Sarala made sure she signed over ownership of the shipment and told him where the bolts could be found before she returned with him to the house. As far as she was concerned, they were entangled, and the more quickly she could extricate herself from one, the sooner she’d be free of both.
Shay had actually been very understanding about their mutual disaster. Even kind. Of course he hadn’t been present yesterday evening to hear her mother’s rapturous hysterics at the thought that they would all be joining the Griffin family. Sarala certainly wouldn’t find an ally under her own roof. Her father was more sympathetic, but he was trying to establish business and political contacts in a city from which he’d been absent for twenty-three years. Insulting the Griffins would be a good way to destroy all that. And John DeLayne had listened and smiled and offered encouraging comments, just like old times in Delhi. Just as if his presence then and now hadn’t and wouldn’t change the course of her life—for the worse.
“Are you ready to go back into the lions’ den?” Shay asked, stopping at the dining room door.
Inside she could hear arguing; it sounded like the same discussion that had been going on when they left. “Do we tell them now that we won’t be going through with a wedding?”
Shay shook his head. “Family first, then the solicitors. And I think if we can establish a friendly groundwork on all sides, our chances will be better overall.”
It sounded like a battle strategy. In a sense, that was precisely what it was. At least she had a master strategist on her side. And if she said so herself, with the exception of the colossal blunder yesterday, she was a fair hand at this, as well. “Let’s go inside, then.”
With a half smile he pulled open the door and escorted her through. Immediately her mother stood up to wrench her away from Charlemagne and give her a constricting hug. “There you are, my Sarah! You have no idea what we’ve been facing in here! This is—”
“I have one condition,” Charlemagne broke in, seating himself beside the duke once more.
His brother eyed him. “One?” he said, sarcasm dripping from his low voice.
“For the moment.” Shay leaned forward. “From this point onward, Sarala is to be referred to and known by her given name.” He looked over, meeting her gaze. “If that is your desire.”
Another surprise. She’d thought at the least that he would be offended by her pleas to escape a wedding. Instead he had made the one demand she wished she could enforce herself. “Yes, that would be acceptable.”
He smiled. “Good.” Turning, he glanced at the clock on the mantel. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment.”
“Excuse you?” her mother broke in. “Excuse you? This meeting is because of you! You’ve already raced off with my daughter to do who knows what, and now you—”
The Duke of Melbourne stood. “That is enough, madame,” he said in his cool, controlled voice. “My brother is correct. We both have an urgent appointment at noon. Rest assured that this marriage will go forward, and that you will find the terms acceptable.”
“Is this regarding those silks?” her father asked, also rising. “Sarala’s told me something of it, and it seems we own a fair share of the problems, as well.”
“No, you don’t.” Shay pushed away from the table. “Sarala has signed the silks over to me. The responsibility is now mine, as it should have been in the first place.”
“What is all this about silks? We need to discuss a marriage settlement,” her mother demanded.
“All the same, I’d like to join you, if I may,” the marquis continued, as though his wife hadn’t spoken.
“I’m going, too,” Sarala put in. Fair was fair, whatever else might be going on.
“It could be dangerous. No.” Charlemagne sent her an annoyed glance.
“The British Museum at noon, Papa,” she said, turning to her father. “I believe we can find that on our own, can’t we?”
“We certainly can. Helen, we’ll continue this meeting another time. Tomorrow, perhaps?”
“Tomorrow is fine,” the duke said. “But as for the rest, the Griffins can manage on their own.”
Sarala took a deep breath. Shay had used their momentary engagement to straighten out her name nonsense; there was no reason she couldn’t use it, as well. “Excuse me, but I believe I’m soon to become a Griffin, myself. I intend to go, in your company or out of it.”
She thought she heard Charlemagne utter a curse, but she couldn’t be certain. “Let’s get moving, then,” he said gruffly. “Unless you’d care to bring along jugglers and acrobats.”
“That sounds a bit frivolous,” she returned matter-of-factly, and led the way to the door.
“Impossible,” she thought she heard him mutter. It made her smile.
While they waited for Melbourne’s coach, she and her father escorted her mother out to the street, where he hailed a hack for her. “How could you let Melbourne leave the table?” the marchioness cried. “He could settle all of our debts, Howard! Every one of them!”
“That hardly seems fair, Mama,” Sarala said as calmly as she could. “I’m as guilty of being ind
iscreet as Charlemagne is.”
“You haven’t mentioned that to him, have you?” Her mother clutched her father’s sleeve. “Tell me you haven’t, Sarala. He is the man. The largest part of the scandal would fall on you. He should therefore assume the larger part of any responsibility.”
“I’m certain the Griffins will do so,” her father assured them, stepping forward as a hack pulled to the side of the street. “Anything less would reflect poorly on them. Melbourne, from everything I’ve heard and seen, would not be put in that position by anyone.” He handed the marchioness into the coach and gave the driver directions to Carlisle House.
“You had best be right, Howard,” she said, as he closed the door. “And for heaven’s sake don’t get yourself murdered. This all sounds very underhanded.”
“I will be cautious, my love. Don’t fear.”
They took two coaches to the museum, her father’s and Melbourne’s. Sarala would rather have ridden with the efficient Griffin brothers, but they obviously had their own matters to discuss.
They weren’t precisely sheep ready for fleecing, whatever her mother might hope. Sarala knew as well as anyone that marriage was just another kind of business. In India the bride and groom were frequently the last family members to meet. A traditional wedding would take place only after finances, settlements, and dowries had been discussed and agreed upon by all parties.
England wasn’t that different, at least among the aristocracy. Considering her part in this, though, she didn’t want to see her wedding turned into another spectacle fit for the mercenary meat market. Even if it would never actually take place. Shay had promised.
As for when she did marry, it would be to someone quiet, out of the public eye, and probably of lower social rank. Someone who would be grateful enough to be elevated that he would accept any and all of her…shortcomings. Well, to her they weren’t shortcomings, but she knew with extreme clarity what any and everyone else thought and would think of her.
Whatever Charlemagne and the Duke of Melbourne had discussed during the ride to the British Museum, both looked grim as they emerged from their coach. “I’ll ask you again to go home,” Shay said, meeting them as Sarala stepped to the ground. “I will let you know what happens.”
“I won’t do anything foolish,” she returned, “but I will be there.”
He sighed. “I thought so. I did have to try, however.”
Shay offered his arm, and she wrapped her fingers around his warm blue coat sleeve. “Have you decided on a strategy?” she asked.
“My strategy is that you will wait at the far end of the Egyptian room,” he returned. “If anything should go awry, make for our coach. Tollins has orders to get you to safety.”
Worry shivered down her spine. “There’s something you haven’t told me, isn’t there?”
“No,” Charlemagne lied. He wanted her as safe as possible. “Take your father and go look at the mummies.”
That was a sentence he’d never thought to utter, he noted as she sent him an annoyed look and led her father away. Charlemagne and Sebastian went down a parallel hallway to the opposite end of the Egyptian room. At Sebastian’s hard expression, Charlemagne slowed.
“I don’t think they’ll attempt anything in public,” he said. “That’s why I chose this setting.”
“They may not have made any overt threats, Shay, but Captain Blink is missing.”
“I know. I suppose I’ll have to make an attempt to recover him, as well.”
“I hope that’s your last priority,” the duke returned in a low, humorless voice. “He began this mess. Let him reap the results.”
“That’s a bit callous, don’t you think?”
“I have other people I’m more concerned about. And I wish you’d tell me exactly what you’re planning.”
They stopped by the mummy that Peep had been trying to poke. Had that been only the day before yesterday? “I’m not certain. It depends on what they bring to the table.”
His brother took his arm. “This is not just another negotiation, Shay. They want to take you to China.”
Charlemagne forced a smile he didn’t particularly feel. “I can’t go to China; I’m getting married.”
“That’s not amusing. And I don’t want you tempted to leave England just to avoid joining the Carlisle family to ours.”
He had no intention of avoiding any such thing. “It is just another negotiation, Seb. I have something they want, and before I hand it over to them I’ll do my damnedest to get an agreement I can live with. Literally.”
“Even so, I have two pistols with me if it doesn’t go well.”
“And I know the signal. But you’re going to have to trust me, Sebastian.”
“I do.”
“Good.”
Charlemagne heard his brother’s statement of confidence, but he wasn’t entirely certain he believed it. If Sebastian was accustomed to anything, it was to being in command—of the family, of the majority of their business, sometimes of the nation. And now he’d been relegated to a supporting position. If everyone lived through it, his brother might find it an enlightening experience.
Across the room Sarala and her father animatedly examined a row of sarcophagi and their accompanying artifacts. He understood why she wanted to be there; if their positions had been reversed, he would have demanded the same. Her presence, though, had the unfortunate consequence of dividing his attention, and if he’d ever needed to concentrate, it was now.
He turned toward the double doors again, just in time to see two of the swordsmen enter the room. They didn’t look to be armed, but he wouldn’t wager much money on that supposition. In addition, the third one had to be somewhere about, but the one downside of meeting at the British Museum was that there were places to hide everywhere.
He nodded as the older of the two men, the one who’d spoken to him yesterday, approached. “Where’s your other friend?” he asked.
“He is close by. I could not think why you would wish to meet here, unless you are afraid to accept the consequences of your actions.”
“Let’s just say I want to be certain matters are handled fairly,” Charlemagne returned, noting as Sebastian shifted a little to one side halfway down the length of the room.
“An interesting choice of words for a thief.”
“Would you do me the honor of telling me your name?”
“I am Yun. And I already know your name, English thief. English coward.”
Though he’d never done business directly with a Chinese native before, he had made half his personal fortune off men who relied on intimidation by virtue of the size of their swords or their holdings rather than their brains. As for himself, he preferred a combination of brains and brawn. Charlemagne smiled. “I’ve been quite cooperative, I think, since Captain Blink apparently wronged both of us and you only informed me of the circumstances yesterday. I give you fair warning, however—if you call me a thief again, you and I will have a serious disagreement.”
“Where are Emperor Jiaqing’s silks, thief?”
Charlemagne hit him. Yun reeled back several steps, reaching for something at the back of his belt as he charged forward again. A knife. Waiting for the move, Shay ducked the slash and smashed his elbow into Yun’s chin. In the same motion he grabbed the knife and slipped it into the nearest sarcophagus.
“I did warn you,” he said coolly.
Yun staggered upright again. A few other museum patrons stirred, but when no other commotion followed they went back to their perusal of artifacts.
“So you are more than just pretty words,” the swordsman said, pulling a silk handkerchief from somewhere and wiping a drop of blood from his lower lip. “I am warned.”
“And I did not know those silks were stolen.”
“The emperor’s honor was slighted, nonetheless. This is not acceptable.”
“You have Blink, don’t you?” Charlemagne returned. Whatever Sebastian’s opinion, he felt as though he owed the captain somethi
ng. Despicable act or not, at least he hadn’t given up Sarala’s name to his hunters. “Perhaps he can make payment.”
Yun shook his head. “Emperor Jiaqing does not require money. He requires repayment for lost honor.”
In other words, Blink’s head on a platter. Literally. “When is the emperor’s birthday celebration to be held?” he asked, rather than pursue his questions about the captain. One thing at a time.
“Near your Christmas. There must be time for the clothes to be made, the banners to be hung. We do not have much time.”
He was gaining a litany of interesting information. On the emperor’s behalf they required the silks, of course, but no monetary compensation would do to assuage the insult of the theft. His head would suffice, apparently, though with Yun now speaking to him civilly, he’d begun to think that they believed his innocence in the theft.
“What other than blood might serve to restore Emperor Jiaqing’s honor?” he asked, keeping his left hand carefully away from his breast pocket. That would be Melbourne’s signal to leap into the fray—a fray that so far he’d been able to avoid for the most part.
“If you are innocent of theft, Griffin, you have nothing to fear.”
Ah, he had a name, now. Definitely a positive sign. “I’m not afraid,” Charlemagne countered. “I am a citizen of Britain, however, as is Captain Blink. The emperor has sent you to represent him, has he not?”
Yun inclined his head, his expression still alert, but far less belligerent than it had been. “I am a captain of his personal Dragon Guard.”
“I also have a ruler’s faith,” Shay continued, speaking as clearly and simply as he could. Yun spoke far better English than he did Chinese, but they damned well didn’t need a misunderstanding right now. “Perhaps between us we can both satisfy the emperor and bring him to a closer friendship with my Regent, so that such thefts won’t happen again.”
The soldier looked at him for a long moment. “I think perhaps Captain Blink will be lucky that he sold His Eminence’s silks to you. They are in your care and well protected, yes?”
Something Sinful Page 18
