The Devil is French: A Whipping Society Novel

by Delilah Marvelle

  May Shiva keep her from kneeling.

  Through the roaring din, she breathed out, “I think it brilliant. In truth, your career only ever made me worry about you.”

  He searched her face but said nothing.

  She lifted a brow. “With such news, why do you not smile, Professor?”

  A congested expression settled on his face. “Smiling has always been on the lowest of my priorities.” He pointed to his set mouth. “This has been etched into my nerves to the point of instinct. Changing it requires a lot of effort.”

  She laughed. “It is not as complicated as you think.” Using her fan, she gently tapped at the straight line of his lips. “I promise nothing will rip.”

  His amber eyes remained hooded like a hawk. “We have places to be, mon chou.” Grabbing her waist, he spun her around and hoisted her up into the air and sideways onto the saddle of the horse beside them.

  Startled, her hands jumped onto his muscled shoulders to keep herself from falling. “Do warn a woman.”

  “I was hoping you would be wearing lip rouge again,” he said in a low tone, positioning her hips and rear on the saddle. “Maybe even some kajal for those eyes.”

  Tracing smoky black powder around her eyes was indeed something only Ridley would request. He truly was a lover of all dark things. “Lip rouge I will honor, but I would never wear kajal. I consider it overly ostentatious even for me.”

  He lifted a brow. “Then why do you have it on your dressing table?”

  She sighed. “Kalpita gifted it to me.”

  “She has good taste.” Ridley set his foot into the stirrup and attempted to hoist himself up behind her, but was unable to. He winced, adjusting his one leg and tried again.

  She held out her hand, her voice softening. “Do you require assistance?”

  “Ey.” He pointed at her in warning.

  She rolled her eyes.

  Hoisting his large frame up behind her, he wedged her firmly against himself, his arms coming around her to grab the leather reins and hold her in place.

  He leaned in toward her ear, his chin nudging aside her veil. “How is that?”

  Too much.

  The heated scent of his Parisian cologne overtook her half-breaths as the flexing bulk of his arms tightened around her. “Where are we going?”

  He smoothed his hands around her as if mapping her out. “On through town. Dr. Wallich is expecting us.”

  She paused. “Professor Wallich? From the university?”

  “Yes. I put in an application for myself this morning given you stubbornly wish to stay in India. Whilst I do that, you’ll be going through his entire inventory of flora. He insisted.”

  Dr. Wallich had been responsible for rejecting her application to the university. All fifteen times. She jerked toward Ridley, trying to look back at his face. “He never invites anyone to look at his private collections. Not even other professors.”

  “He made an exception for us.”

  Men like Wallich didn’t make exceptions. She squinted. “Did you threaten him?”

  Ridley stared. “A little.”

  She quirked a brow.

  He still stared. “A lot.”

  Jemdanee snorted. “You cannot— Ridley, most people accept that one does not always get what they want.”

  His eyes and tone grew warmer than molten. “I always get what I want.” He nuzzled her cheek with his lips, lingering.

  This man – this man! – might as well have been a leopard pup with dangling paws and big eyes. Oyo, it was cute now, yes. Until it got older and mauled everyone, leaving blood on the floor.

  She leaned back, nestling into him. “Dr. Wallich is as staunch as professors come.”

  He tightened his hold around her. “He has his moments. Did you know he spent several years in West Hindustan and Burma gathering over three thousand seeds from forests that have long since been devastated? And you will get a chance to wade through all of it and keep whatever indigenous seeds you want.”

  Her eyes widened. “Ridley, that is marvelous!” She craned toward him, half-grazing her lips against his cheek she couldn’t reach. “I would turn in this saddle and osculate you, but I would probably fall off.”

  “I’ll collect later.” He hesitated, leaning into her ear. “The Field Marshal is hosting a garden party tomorrow night. Are you going?”

  She paused. “Are you inviting me?”

  “Are you accepting the invitation?”

  She made it this far without dying. “Maybe.”

  “That had better be a haan.”

  “Ridley?”

  “Yes?”

  “How did you know I would go into your room and look into the bowl last night?”

  He tightened his hold on her. “I was merely curious to see what your mind gravitated to. I was surprised you paged through one of my favorite books, Micrographia. What did you think? Did you read a few pages?”

  She made a face. “It was unreadable.” She paused. “How did you know I even looked at it? I put it back in the exact location I took it from.”

  “It was pushed in.”

  “Oh.”

  His voice warmed. “Fasten that veil against your braid, mon chou. We have a city to get through before three.” Pressing his boots into the sides of the horse, they galloped down the nearest dirt pathway through carts and people and horses.

  A group of young Hindu women in flowing veils paused with their baskets to stare.

  All five stared up at Ridley, turning toward them.

  It made Jemdanee pertly set herself against him to ensure they knew their place.

  “Jealous, are you?” he rumbled out.

  Of course he noticed. “They only stare because I am a Hindu riding with a white man.”

  “Liar. They never even looked at you.”

  She snorted as they picked up speed, the hot wind pulsating against her face.

  Gripping the reins and his large hands, she breathed in this glorious, glorious moment of something she sorely missed. Adventure. Wind. Heat. Ridley. This.

  They angled in through tight spaces at a dirt kicking speed that made her grab his arm in an effort to warn him.

  He pressed in his heels into the horse.

  She grinned, more than ready for the speed.

  He sped them onward faster.

  Her flapping veil tugged and whipped off floating somewhere into the hot wind behind them.

  She gasped, reaching out behind them.

  He dug his chin into her shoulder hard in reprimand. “I told you to hold onto it.”

  “I just bought it!” She gripped the reins and tried to glance back behind his shoulder that was blocking her ability to see. “We have to go back!”

  “Have to? My dear, it is always forward and never back. Let someone else enjoy it.” Riding faster, he veered the horse, riding them down a long pathway between stone walls.

  The looming walls grew…narrower.

  Glancing back toward him, she squeezed in her sandaled feet lest the tips of the embroidered leather scrape the walls. “I would like to be able to walk after this.”

  “No need for insults.”

  “I was not thinking of you, but myself! Why are we even going this way?” Clinging to the reins, she leaned back against him in dread. “There are other paths!”

  “Trust me.” He sped the horse faster as the looming walls around them sharply narrowed.

  It looked too small for them to fit and they were speeding at it to the point of the hot wind whistling as it further narrowed.

  “Ridley!” Dearest no and dearest— She slapped one quick hand over her eyes and the used the other to hold on, holding back a scream. “Ridleyyyyyyyyy!”

  “Oh, come now,” he hollered. “Don’t tell me you’ve turned into what other women are: boring,” he continued to holler over the whipping wind and thundering gallop. “Feel the heat! Feel the sting of the wind coming at you!”

  “The walls are narrowing. Have you no eyes?!”
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  “Trust me.” He sped faster and faster, leaning into her and the saddle.

  “Ridley! Slow down! Please!”

  He tightened his hold. “Trust me, mon chou.”

  Hearing him use mon chou made it worse. “No! No, no, no, no—”

  They galloped through, the wall almost scraping their elbows.

  He rattled her. “We made it. Elbows, knees and arms.”

  Her pulse still racing, she elbowed him hard. “There is an elbow for you. We barely made it!”

  “Four inches on each side is more than barely. Learn to measure.” He slowed their horse and veered them down another dirt street. “Cease thinking the worst of everything I do. I would never put you in harm’s way. Why do you think I’m retiring?”

  She eased out a breath.

  He nipped her throat with teeth hard, starling her. “Learn to trust me.”

  The sting on her throat said otherwise. “That hurt.”

  “Good,” he said into her ear. “Today’s lesson was: trust your overlord. I have nothing but your wellbeing and safety in mind. Even if you don’t think I do.”

  “Are you saying you did that on purpose?”

  “Nothing I ever do is without purpose.” He dug his chin into her hair. “You failed me. Lamentably. Grievously. It’s obvious you don’t trust me.”

  She cringed. “I did not trust the walls.”

  “Why not blame the horse next?” He sighed. “I know in the corridors of your mind I’m still a suicidal, despondent addict, but I’m here to prove to you, I’m none of those things. Not anymore. I can be trusted.” He squeezed her. “Let me live up to that honor. I want to. Can I? Might I?”

  Gripping his arms, she melted. “The honor is all yours.”

  * * *

  After spending the afternoon and early evening perusing the most extensive collection of flora she had ever seen, Jemdanee felt as if she had finally touched a finger to the future of her career.

  She tapped at the glass casings of the observatory they were in, wishing she could travel into Nepal and document plants that were fading into extinction.

  One day.

  “’Tis my unending hope you will visit again,” Dr. Wallich insisted. “I found myself endlessly and pleasantly surprised you know anything about phytology at all.”

  She tried not to be offended. He’d been saying it all day.

  Turning, she extended her hand to him and shook his hand, attempting not to break it off. “I thank you for being so generous with your time. It was inspiring to meet someone as devoted to phytology as I.”

  “Of course. Was there any particular breed you were interested in seeding?”

  She perked at the offer, gesturing toward a potted plant nearest them. “Yes. What is this one here? I find it to be so incredibly unusual, like a creature with five fingers. Is it an orchid?”

  He nodded, reaching out and grazing the palm with protruding tubers. “Yes. It isn’t in bloom quite yet. It’s known as the dactylorhiza hatagirea. The tribes in the Himalayas extract juice from these tubers for the treatment of pyorrhea. Its roots are also externally applied as a poultice on wounds and the treating of bone fractures.”

  Oyo. She excitedly waggled fingers at it. “If you would be so kind, I most certainly would be interested. I specialize in medicinal plants.”

  “Of course.” He patted her cheek. “I will have it potted and delivered to you at the hotel.”

  “I thank you,” she gushed. “This has been an incredible day. Truly.”

  “I was happy to oblige.” The older gentleman’s brown eyes glanced warily down the corridor leading into the rest of his house. He cleared his throat. “The university, as you well know, has a strict policy on keeping its classes dedicated to developing male minds, however…I would consider hosting you in a classroom on occasion. I sent a syllabus over to Mr. Ridley earlier in the day and hope it meets your satisfaction.”

  Jemdanee blinked. What did Ridley do?

  “I insist,” he added.

  This had Ridley all over it. “Are you insinuating the university has miraculously changed all of its policies in the name of admitting its first Hindu woman into an all-male school?”

  He eyed her. “No. You would be placed in a one-chair setting.”

  A one-chair setting.

  Which meant…not really a classroom, but a dark corner in a backroom.

  The glory of knowing she could step into an actual university like she’d always wanted to should have been glorious, but seeing Professor Wallich clutch his coat with white knuckles as if he expected to die for not allowing it had never been her dream.

  It wasn’t real.

  A soft breath escaped her knowing Ridley had arranged it.

  She wanted to adore him for it, but she also wanted to smack him for making the entire university now think she had enlisted the military to get what she wanted. “You will be pleased to know I will not be taking up the invitation, but I do appreciate the offer.”

  The man flushed. “I think it wise. There might have been riots.”

  She refrained from rolling her eyes and gestured toward the adjoining rooms. “Have you seen Mr. Ridley at all?”

  He cleared his throat. “I believe he is still in the library.”

  Of course he was. Where else would Ridley be?

  “Assure him I have done my part.”

  Pathetic. “You need not worry in that, I will.”

  The man inclined his grey head. “Feel free to leave the entrance doors agape as my servants always permit the night breeze to flow past a certain hour. I bid you both a good night.” He edged back. “Do inform Mr. Ridley that I—”

  “Yes, yes. I will. Thank you.”

  He stuck his pipe between his lips, turned and hurried down the arched corridor, glancing back.

  Ridley, Ridley, Ridley.

  He seemed to think he could open doors with the bang of his leather boot a bit too wide.

  Jemdanee heaved out a breath and marched her way through the corridors and toward the library where he was. She quickly veered into the room and dashed right into the wall known as Ridley, knocking over a pile of books from his hands.

  She cringed as pages and bindings rustled and cracked.

  He steadied her. “Ey. Weren’t you accusing me of rounding corners with the horse a bit fast? Slow down.” He gave her a pointed look and lowered himself to the floor, adjusting his stance to fold his leg enough to permit himself to kneel. He winced, hissing out a breath and gathered the scattered books.

  She quickly knelt beside him. “You should not be straining your leg like that.”

  “There are plenty of things I should not be straining.” He methodically gathered the books, stacking them. “Did you finish with Dr. Wallich?”

  “Haan. Oh, yes. He was most gracious and will be delivering a list of indigenous plants I have requested from his collection.”

  “You see? People like you.”

  The cad. “He invited me to be part of the university for a one-chair setting,” she continued trying not to let on that she was on to him. “This from the same man who denied my application fifteen times.”

  He shrugged. “Policies change.”

  The jaguar. “Do they? Is that why he kept glancing toward the door as if someone was going to stab him with his own pipe?”

  He eyed her. “I never threatened him with a pipe.”

  She tsked. “This reminds me all too much of when you decided to remove me from Millbank without the permission of the British government.”

  He pointed. “Sometimes a man has to go above the law to deliver it.”

  She leaned in close, lowering her voice to sultry. “Why am I cursed to adore you?”

  He dabbed her nose. “The curse is mutual and digs deep.”

  She bit back a smile, feeling as if they had been married for too many years. Pertly gathering the books with him while still on her knees, she adjusted the fabric of her sari to give herself better movement and he
lped him stack the sizable pile.

  Ridley paused, his eyes falling to her exposed leg.

  Her pulse beat erratically realizing she had…unknowingly invited him to play.

  Lowering his head, he dragged his lips across her knee and trailed his hot mouth upward toward her thighs.

  She fumbled against him, grabbing his shoulders. Her tongue grew too heavy to speak.

  Ridley leaned past her and swiped up the remaining books. “Admittance into a university should be based off merit, not right. You’re brilliant and in my humble opinion, they’re fortunate I didn’t stab them all with pencils and bury them beneath their desks.” He rose.

  Her heart flopped to the floor and back up again realizing he had no intention on pursuing what his lips had earlier initiated. Her face burned knowing it.

  Why was it she was the one crawling?

  I’m going to make you wait for the fuck we both want.

  Exasperated, she rose with wobbly knees, balancing the stack of books and held them out.

  He took the stack from her arms, then turned and finished going around the room without a cane, returning books to where they had originally been taken from on the shelves.

  She trailed toward him and angled in before him near the shelf. “You can,” she offered.

  He propped his shoulder against the shelf to better look at her. “I appreciate the level of trust, but you aren’t ready.”

  Her pride concealed her inner turmoil. “When is a virgin ever ready?”

  “You screamed the moment I brought that horse to a trot.”

  She snorted and teasingly shoved him. “Only you would think high speeds were a mere trot. I screamed because you were being irresponsible.”

  He rattled her cheek. “As I said…you aren’t ready. It’s important we establish a measure of trust between us. I hardly want you screaming through our first time together.”