Sarala curtsied, taking her cue from Charlemagne. “I’m pleased to meet you, Lady Penelope.”
The girl curtsied back. “I like your accent,” she stated.
Charlemagne stirred, offering a hand to Sarala again. “She used to live in India, Peep. And she knows how to charm cobras.”
“Shay,” Sarala began, ready to chastise him for frightening Lady Penelope with talk of snakes. Before she could continue, though, the girl pranced into the room and grabbed her free hand.
“Is it true that the music you play hypnotizes the cobras?” she asked, gray eyes shining with excitement.
“No, it’s actually the movement of the instrument that holds its attention, Lady Penelope,” Sarala returned, freeing her hands to demonstrate with an imaginary flute.
“You may call me Peep,” Penelope said, mimicking the motions. “Like this?”
“That’s excellent. Are you certain you’ve never charmed a cobra before?”
Peep giggled. “Only Uncle Zachary. Which mask are you wearing to the ball tonight?”
Eleanor and Caroline had sworn her to secrecy, but there was no reason she couldn’t tell the girl precisely that. She knew how important this meeting was. “I’m afraid it’s a secret, but I’ll make certain you get to see before we leave the house.”
“I would be a pirate,” Peep returned, “but Papa says I would frighten all the ladies.”
“You frighten me,” Shay put in, tugging one of the girl’s curls.
“Very amusing. I would like to sit beside Lady Sarala at dinner.”
“Sarala, please,” she returned, grinning at Charlemagne over his niece’s head. “The ladies in your family are all very nice,” she said, meaning it.
“They have to compensate for the evil character of the men,” he said, lifting her hand and kissing her fingers.
Warmth swirled up her spine in response. For the first time she tried to imagine actually being married to this man. The thought terrified her, but at the same time she felt more…excited than she would have believed possible. And the most frightening and exhilarating thought of all was that he wanted to marry her.
Chapter 15
Peep liked Sarala. Mentioning her cobra-charming abilities had certainly helped, but Charlemagne saw nothing wrong with nudging things in the right direction. And he hadn’t made anything up. A large part of Sarala’s appeal was her uniqueness, after all.
Tonight she’d dressed well, though obviously not for a masked ball. Once Nell and Caroline arrived, the three women snuck off to a corner to gossip about something, and then after a moment called over a delighted Peep to include her in the secret. Since neither of the other ladies had dressed, either, and since all three had brought their maids with them to Griffin House, Charlemagne assumed they were collectively up to something.
Lady Hanover had dressed in white and gold, a swan mask in her hands, and when Charlemagne saw her start toward where Melbourne spoke with Valentine, he moved to intercept her. She could be the largest problem he faced in working to have Melbourne warm to Sarala. Ambitious mamas, the bane of single men everywhere. He considered his sister-in-law Caroline’s mother to be something of a hapless ninny, but at least that woman had spent most of the past year in Shropshire with her six other daughters—or at least the ones who hadn’t manage to escape yet via marriage.
“You look very regal this evening, Lady Hanover,” he said, stopping between her and the duke.
“Well, thank you, Lord Charlemagne.” She smiled. “Or perhaps I may now call you Shay?”
“Please do.” He offered his arm to her. “Might I give you a tour of the house? We didn’t have time for one the other day.”
“Actually, I would like to speak with your brother. There are still some pressing arrangements to be made regarding the settlement and the wedding.”
He nodded. “Yes, I know. But Sarala’s not marrying Melbourne; she’s marrying me. And though I do receive an annual income from the Griffin properties and businesses, I also have my own not-insubstantial means. Sarala will never lack for anything, and I will of course take steps to be certain you and Lord Hanover are able to settle comfortably into your lives here in England.”
She looked up at him, olive green eyes speculative. “That was very well said, Shay, with nary an insult to be found.”
“Thank y—”
“You didn’t once mention, however, your affection for my daughter.”
Hm. He reassessed his opinion of the marchioness up a degree or two. “I feel a great deal of affection toward your daughter, my lady, but I think that you either know that already, or it hasn’t entered into your consideration at all. Why bring it up now?”
“I don’t want it to be forgotten as we muddle our way through all of this. Sarala’s lived a very free life—too free, if anyone had asked my opinion—and being forced into something does not make her happy, even if the initial incident was partially her fault. She likes business, as I’m sure you know, but we’re not so badly off that we need to sell her away in exchange for settling our debts. If she thinks that’s what’s happening, she won’t tolerate it, either.”
“I will keep that in mind, my lady. And we will sit down with you and come to an agreement that satisfies everyone.”
She patted his arm. “That, my boy, is all I wanted to hear.”
That said, she joined her husband and Zachary, who were no doubt discussing cows and pasture again. For a moment Charlemagne simply stood and watched. If not for the vanished Captain Blink and the Chinese soldiers, he would have considered tonight nearly perfect.
“Your Grace, my lords and ladies,” Stanton’s stentorian voice came from the doorway, “may I present John, Lord DeLayne.”
It was a bit overdramatic for a family dinner, but considering how seldom they entertained at Griffin House, Charlemagne couldn’t blame the butler for his enthusiasm. He had no idea who Lord DeLayne was, though Nell’s note had named him as a viscount that Lord Hanover knew from India. Obviously he hadn’t been back in England for much longer than the Carlisles.
Melbourne, joined by Hanover, strolled over to greet DeLayne as he walked into the drawing room and stopped, looking about somewhat wide-eyed. Charlemagne had thought the viscount would be older, but he couldn’t have been more than a year or two senior to Zachary, somewhere in his middle twenties. His face wasn’t as tanned as Sarala’s; evidently she was an exception among the English living in India. She seemed to be an exception everywhere she went.
He started over to introduce himself, as well, but stopped when a hand closed around his arm. From the sudden rush of his blood he knew who touched him without looking.
“You’ve finished your plotting then, have you?” he asked with a smile, turning around.
“We weren’t plotting,” Sarala said grandly. “We were merely conferring.” She placed her other hand on his sleeve to join the first.
Charlemagne had to stop himself from leaning down to kiss her upturned mouth. That wouldn’t do; engaged or not, the situation remained dodgy. She hadn’t even agreed actually to marry him yet. “Whatever you were doing,” he managed, mentally shaking himself, “keep an eye on Peep. She’ll sell your secrets for a bit of hard candy.”
“Ah. Do you have any to buy them with, then?”
He glanced about to be certain no one was close enough to overhear. “You’ll have to search my pockets to find out,” he murmured.
Sarala’s slow smile made his mouth dry. “Perhaps I will.”
That wasn’t fair. He was trying to be a gentleman, and she was tempting the hell out of him. And she certainly didn’t act like the demure, virginal chits who lined up at every soiree looking for a husband. Perhaps, though, she’d learned how to make him insane—she’d had enough practice during their silk negotiations.
“I think you should dress as a siren tonight,” he said, drawing one of her hands up to kiss her palm, mostly because not touching her skin to skin would be physically painful—and not just to h
is over-patient nether regions. “I feel very tempted to dash myself upon the rocks as it is.”
“I’m not giving you any clues about what I’m wearing, though I would prefer that you refrain from suicidal rock bashing.”
She glanced over his shoulder before returning her gaze to him, from her expression wishing the two of them could vanish somewhere private, as well. The thought of finally having her made him hard. Think of something else, Shay, he ordered silently.
“My Aunt Tremaine will join us at the party tonight,” he said, trying mightily to conjure images of clouds and happy little bees—anything that would keep him from ruining the line of his trousers or falling on her. “We invited her for dinner, but she said adding one more to our number would require us to enlist as an army battalion.” In truth he thought she’d objected to the idea of the Griffin clan overwhelming Sarala with sheer numbers. His aunt had an uncanny ability to do the right thing at the right moment, and he remained grateful to her.
Sarala laughed. “I look forward to meeting her. Are there any other family members I’ve missed?”
“No. A few distant cousins, but we don’t dig too deeply on purpose. If you go back enough generations, just about every peer is related in one way or another.”
“You don’t have to do that, you know.”
Charlemagne lifted an eyebrow. “Do what?”
“Make light of the status of your family to make me feel more comfortable,” she continued quietly. “I am the daughter of the Marquis of Hanover, however unfortunately that came to pass. I’m not going to engage in a contest of rank with you, or anyone else.”
In his life, contests of rank and power seemed to make up at least a portion of each and every day. “You are a very unusual woman, Sarala.”
“My mother just calls me contrary. I prefer your way of putting it.” Stanton took that moment to announce dinner, and they joined the exodus to the dining room. “What are you masquerading as tonight?” she continued.
Devil a bit. He usually didn’t bother to wear a mask, considering it a rather useless exercise. It made sense, though, damn it all, that if he invited her to join him at a masquerade ball, he needed to participate. If he recalled, Zachary had left several masks behind when he’d moved into his town house. “If you won’t tell me your surprise,” he improvised, “don’t expect me to tell you mine.”
Thankfully Peep appeared, commandeering Sarala. Relinquishing her, Charlemagne gestured at Stanton.
“Yes, my lord?”
“Have Caine go through Zachary’s old rooms,” he whispered, “and find me an appropriate mask for this evening.”
“Very good, my lord,” the butler whispered back.
When Charlemagne returned to the dining table he found Sarala sandwiched between Peep and the end of the table, with Melbourne at her elbow. Wonderful. He did want Melbourne to chat with Sarala in the hopes that the duke would learn a bit more about her than her accent. Ideally, though, the meeting between Sarala and Melbourne would have taken place after he’d managed to convince her to join the family. Charlemagne stifled a curse and took his own seat between Peep and John DeLayne as Stanton and the footmen began serving.
“Lord Charlemagne, yes?” DeLayne said, offering his hand.
“Yes.” Charlemagne shook it. “Apologies for not introducing myself to you earlier.”
“No worries. I had quite a few people to meet, as it was.” The viscount chuckled. “You’re the one who proposed to Sarala.”
Charlemagne nodded, noting the familiarity with which DeLayne said her name. “I am. Hanover tells me you spent time in India while the Carlisles were there.”
“I did indeed. I had some family property there, and went to oversee its sale. I ended up staying for better than two years. Extraordinary place, India.”
“And you’ve just returned?”
“I’ve been home in Sussex for a little over two years. I had no idea that the Carlisles were in England until I read in the Society page that they had attended a party in the duke’s company. We’d become such friends in Delhi that I immediately came to see them.”
“I’m sure they’re happy to see an old friend.”
“Hopefully as happy as I am to see them.”
At the head of the table Melbourne had assumed his role of witty, generous host, distributing his attentions equally among family and guests. Charlemagne knew him well enough, though, to see the signs that Sebastian still had serious reservations about all of this. The duke had agreed to not make any judgments until he’d spoken at greater length with Sarala, but Charlemagne remained uneasy nonetheless.
He and Sarala would marry—that was both his preference and his duty as a gentleman. But with Melbourne in the position of being both a brother and a business partner, as well as a friend, the more harmoniously Sarala entered the Griffin family, the better it would be for everyone concerned.
Charlemagne took a generous swallow of wine. As much as he enjoyed the conflicts and intricacies that accompanied any business proceedings, here those same challenges were twisting him up inside. He didn’t want to have to choose between Sarala and his family, and he hoped that uncompromisingly rigid as Melbourne was about Griffin honor, the duke would see in her precisely what he himself was beginning to and would come to the same decision.
“…still angry at Uncle Shay for not telling me there were Chinese swordsmen in the museum,” Peep was saying to Sarala, “because we could have fought them together. I’m going to be a pirate, after all. Or an actress.”
“Penelope,” her father chastised, while across the table Zachary choked on his roast pig.
“Begging your pardon,” DeLayne put in, “but she is referring to costumes of Chinese swordsmen, isn’t she?”
“Fighting a wardrobe of costumes would hardly be an adventure for a pirate,” Valentine commented dryly.
The viscount lifted both eyebrows. “So there were actual—I mean to say living…Chinese—”
“I’m afraid so, John,” Lord Hanover began. “It’s a long—”
“It’s a long and rather dull tale of trade negotiations and a cultural misunderstanding,” Charlemagne interrupted. Friend of the Carlisles or not, DeLayne wasn’t a business partner, much less family. And unless he was one of the two, he did not get to hear about Griffin activities.
“Lord DeLayne,” Melbourne took up, “were you stationed in India, or there on business?”
“Business,” the viscount replied. “My uncle had been posted there several years ago, and had been granted some land by King George the Third for services rendered. I inherited the land, and went to inspect it.”
“He sold it to one of the local saradara for a very nice profit, as I recall,” Hanover contributed with a chuckle.
Charlemagne glanced at Sarala, to see her briefly closing her eyes as her father went on about DeLayne’s sale. And he’d thought that her mother would be the larger problem where Melbourne was concerned. Interesting that London considered her less English than her parents, and yet she had a better sense of what should be discussed among barely met acquaintances and what shouldn’t. At the moment she was embarrassed—and that bothered him.
“Well done, DeLayne,” he heard himself say. “What occupies you now that you’ve returned to England?”
“Oh, you men,” Eleanor put in with her usual excellent timing. “Discuss your dull business affairs once we ladies have left the table. I for one want to know how in the world Caroline convinced the Marquis of Wellington to sit for a portrait hatless. I thought that chapeau was permanently attached to his head.”
Zachary lifted a glass to toast his wife. “It’s because she is brilliant and insightful,” he said, grinning.
“And because I’ve learned that a little judicious flattery works equally well on both sexes,” Caroline added.
“And food works very well on Uncle Zachary,” Peep said.
Thankfully after that the conversation turned to the merits of painting edible subjects. Charl
emagne found it more interesting, though, that DeLayne had traveled to Delhi on business. Had he met the Carlisles through Hanover, or through Sarala?
Once everyone finished dinner the ladies, led by a fiercely giggling Peep and trailed by a flattered—and probably baffled—Lady Hanover, left the dining room to go dress for the ball.
“What do you think they’re up to?” Zachary asked, gazing at the closed dining room door through which they’d disappeared.
“They are women,” Valentine answered, smiling briefly. “We will never be able to answer that question.”
Charlemagne silently agreed with that assessment, though he’d never considered it much of a problem until a few short weeks ago. Until figuring out what a particular woman might be thinking had abruptly become of paramount importance to his heart and to his happiness.
“Do you think they have any idea what we’re up to?” Caroline chortled as her maid brushed out her long auburn hair.
“They’re men,” Eleanor returned, looking at herself in the full-length dressing mirror and making a few last adjustments. “I’m sure they think they know, and I’m sure they’ll be very wrong.” She grinned at Sarala. “I’m so glad you brought these back to England with you. Valentine may faint alongside Zachary.”
“I may faint,” Sarala’s mother said from her seat by the window. “Three ladies wearing trousers—and in public! We’ll all be forced to leave the country, I just know it.”
Sarala had a few doubts about their reception, herself, but she’d be damned before she would admit that in the face of Eleanor and Caroline’s obvious enthusiasm. They were the first friends she’d made since her arrival in London. Whether that friendship would have occurred—or would continue—without Charlemagne’s presence in her life, she didn’t know, but the relief from loneliness was so marked that she didn’t feel up to finding out just yet. It seemed sincere, and for the moment that was all that mattered.
“They’re not trousers, Mama, they’re salwar. And they’re very traditional in Delhi. So are the kadeez and the saris.”
Something Sinful Page 22
