What a Lady Craves

by Ashlyn Macnamara

  “Good heavens. We were only pretending to be great ladies.” Cecelia’s protest was not helping his temper one bit. “I can see you’re useless around girls if this is how you react to some fun. And how else am I to get acquainted with my nieces?”

  “I’m certain you can find another way.” He fought to keep an even tone so as not to further upset his daughters. “Those pieces are irreplaceable, should they become lost or broken.”

  Cecelia leveled him with a glare before smiling at the girls. “Come along, then, I suppose we ought to keep your father happy and put these away.”

  “Thank you. Might I ask how you even got them in the first place?” He’d been positive no one else knew their whereabouts.

  “The girls showed me.”

  “I saw where you put the box,” Francesca piped up. “We wanted her to see. And I know the trick to opening it.”

  “I think it best if we put the jewelry away, and we didn’t show anyone else that trick, or even let anyone know where the box is.” He paused, searching for the best explanation a child her age might understand. “Cecelia’s all right, because she’s family, but other people might look on this box with bad intentions. Someone might decide it’s worth stealing.”

  Francesca nodded and then ducked her head from beneath a rope of pearls. Wincing, Helena removed a pair of ear bobs.

  Alexander left them to it and turned back to his sister. “How is it you’re keeping an eye on them this early? I came down here looking for Satya. Have you seen him?”

  “No, I haven’t.” Cecelia looked him straight in the eye, but something about her reaction struck him as overdone—as if she was forcing herself to hold steady. It reminded him of yesterday when she told him there was nothing to her scandal.

  “Are you certain?”

  A faint wash of pink tinged her cheeks. “Completely. For that matter, I haven’t seen Henrietta, either. Isn’t she supposed to take charge of your girls?”

  “During the day. Satya guards them at night.” He collected Marianne’s jewel box, snapped the lid shut, and tucked it under his arm.

  “Guards? Well, aren’t you jumpy?”

  “Trust me,” he grated so his daughters would not overhear. “I have good reason, and I do not wish to detail it when I must find Satya, urgently.” With any luck, the man had repaired to his morning meditations. “Do me a service, and do not let the girls out of your sight.”

  Henrietta couldn’t recall a day she felt less like facing. A flurry of memories swirled through her brain, images of the previous night, each one carried on a gust of emotion. She not only saw, she felt—relived, if she were honest, over and over. And each time, she recalled something new. The brush of his lips at her throat. The flinch of his back muscles beneath her fingers as she dug her nails into his flesh. The sweep of his tongue in her mouth. The slide of silken steel beneath her hand.

  The feeling of utter completion when he filled her.

  Last night, he’d opened her in more than just the physical sense. He’d reached into her heart and drawn forth the feelings that had long lain dormant. He’d forced her to face their magnitude, their sheer power for having survived the past eight years with no nurturing. She could no longer hide from herself. If a woman was never finished, that was true in more than once sense. She was not finished with Alexander; perhaps she’d never be until she breathed her last.

  She pressed her forehead to the solid oak panel of her door, but as the moments ticked by, she knew she’d have to emerge from her bedchamber, march up to the nursery, and take the girls in hand. Somewhere amid the stories and teaching of letters, she needed to find the words to tell them their father had gone.

  First, she had to find the words to convince herself. Part of the reason she stood with her fingers curled about the door handle was a wild notion of bumping into him in the corridor. Exchanging pleasantries as if nothing had transpired between them.

  Good morning …

  Oh, indeed …

  Fine day, isn’t it?

  Nowhere near as fine as last night. She’d recklessly thrown herself into his arms, but the payment in pleasure had surpassed anything she might have imagined.

  Not the same.

  That was what he’d said, and well she believed it. Another whirl of images gusted through her mind, remembered frissons skittered across her skin, and deep in her belly a familiar heaviness descended. If ever she’d contemplated taking a lover, the experience with Alexander had removed every last candidate in England from consideration. She could not conceive of attaining such intimacy with any other man.

  Worse, now that he was gone, her body wished for more. But only of him.

  No doubt, he’d risen long ago from the bed where she’d left him and stolen from the manor before even the servants stirred.

  More than talking to the girls, she was dreading the next meal, when she’d have to sit and stare at his empty place while putting on a cheerful front for his mother and sister. And for the duration, the memories would play themselves out in her head. She’d relive this touch, that nip, and the deliberate brush of his fingers against her most intimate self.

  No. She stalked away from the door to her bedside table. Her copy of A Vindication of the Rights of Woman lay open. She’d turned to the book last night after a most bittersweet goodnight kiss, in the hope of finding some wisdom from her mentor.

  “Love, from its very nature, must be transitory.” She muttered the words to herself as if that would make her believe them. Whatever emotion roiled in her heart, it certainly didn’t feel ephemeral. Like an unwanted houseguest, it had taken up residence inside her, set up furniture, and ordered supplies for at least a year. And, in the end, even Mary Wollstonecraft had succumbed to love.

  Yes, and if Henrietta was to dislodge these feelings now, she must confront reality, which meant plastering on a cheerful smile and beginning her day. This morning, she was late. The girls would expect her.

  Chin high, she tromped to the nursery while planning her morning’s activities. She could make the girls practice writing their names so they might sign a message to their papa—assuming she could find the means to explain his departure.

  An ache formed in the center of her chest. So young, and they’d lost so much—grandfather, mother, and now their father. Francesca, the way she adored Alexander, was sure to take the separation hard. Helena, too, but in a different way. Less confident of Alexander’s affections, the girl might well close in on her hurt once more. Henrietta would have to tread carefully.

  She searched her brain for the best way to broach the topic. If she could find an opening and start, the rest of the words might well come, but inspiration was as shy as a sixteen-year-old making her first foray into society.

  All too soon, Henrietta reached the dim corridor at the top of the house, only to find the nursery empty—or nearly so. At her gasp, a maid paused in the middle of tucking in the sheets.

  “Where are Helena and Francesca?” Henrietta demanded in a tone worthy of Lady Epperley’s most vexatious mood.

  The maid bobbed her head. “They weren’t here when I came in to tidy, miss. I’m sure I couldn’t tell you.”

  “They must be with Satya.” Please let them be with Satya. Please. “Have you seen him?”

  “No, miss.”

  “Great—” She caught herself before she let the rest of the epithet out. In any case, her heart had jumped onto the back of her tongue. Its jitters blocked anything further.

  Damn, damn, and damn. Alexander barely gone, and already she’d failed him. She raced into the corridor, where she forced herself to stop and think. Could the girls have prevailed on Satya to take them to the stables and see their kittens? Lord, please let that be the case.

  She tripped back down three flights of winding servants’ stairs to another narrow hallway, one that led to the back entrance. A sound made her glance over her shoulder. A dark figure, large and male, loomed in the passage. With a gasp, she whirled.

  “
Alexander?” Impossible. And now he was going to catch her. “I … I thought you were already gone.”

  “I meant to be off long since, only I can’t find Satya.” He approached, and even his footsteps sounded so calm, so reasonable. “You wouldn’t have seen him this morning, would you?”

  Damn it, she was going to have to admit her failure. “I was hoping he was with the girls.”

  “No, he isn’t.”

  Blast it all. “Oh, well, you see …” How could she possibly tell him?

  “The girls are fine. My sister is looking after them. They said something about going to the stables to see their kittens.”

  Unbidden, the breath rushed from her lungs, and she sagged against the wall. “Thank goodness. I’ve been going mad trying to find them. You have no idea.”

  He reached out a hand and gripped her shoulder. She’d have been grateful for a full embrace, but she saw he was carrying a bulky object under his other arm. A familiar-looking bulk. A tingle of foreboding replaced her momentary relief.

  “Has something happened?” she asked.

  “Satya seems to have gone missing. I’ve looked all over this bloody house.”

  Eyes wide, she stared at him, while a handful of responses vied to escape. She’d always doubted the man, even if Alexander insisted he was trustworthy. But she could hardly fling that in his face now. In any case, she didn’t get a chance to.

  Footsteps sounded in the passageway, coming from the direction of the back entrance, clattering at a rapid clip.

  “What the—” Alexander began. He secured the box under his arm.

  Henrietta turned. Cecelia stopped short, quite alone.

  “Oh.” Her face went white, and the fine lines of her mouth twisted into a grimace of pain. “I’m so, so sorry,” she said low, as if she was being careful not to shout. As if she needed to make an effort to control herself.

  Alexander surged forward. “What in blazes is going on? Where are the girls?”

  She swayed on her feet and grasped at the plaster to hold herself upright. “I’m sorry.” She seemed incapable of saying anything more.

  Henrietta crossed to her and put an arm about her shoulders. “There, now. If we’re calm about it, we’ll piece together what happened more easily.”

  “To the devil with bloody calm,” Alexander roared. “Where in hell are my daughters?”

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Cecelia whispered. “I couldn’t stop him.”

  Alexander lunged toward his sister. “Couldn’t stop who?”

  Henrietta extended a placating hand. “Good heavens, you’re not going to get anything out of her by running at her, shouting and swearing.”

  “I tried,” Cecelia went on in a monotone. “He was too much for me.”

  “God damn it, who?”

  She looked up at him, and a tear slid down one pale cheek. “I … I don’t know. He looked Indian. He said he came in the name of Nilmani.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Nilmani. God damn him and his ornate palace. And what did the Raja want with Alexander’s children? He’d been so bloody certain any connection to Nilmani began and ended with Marianne’s father.

  He clenched his fists and ground his teeth. Anything to keep the eruption of seething rage from overflowing. If he allowed himself to lose control, he might well push Henrietta out of the way and shake some sense into his sister. He hadn’t been this horrified since he’d come home to Marianne’s lifeless body.

  He settled for more shouting. “How the hell did he get anywhere near my daughters?”

  Henrietta placed her hands on his shoulders and braced herself, but she wasn’t strong enough to displace him. “Can you stop? If we want answers, we need to calm down.”

  He didn’t want to calm down. He wanted to act. Most of all, he wanted an outlet for the emotion thundering through him. “No, I cannot stop, not until I learn where they went and how long ago.”

  “I’m sorry.” Cecelia choked back a sob. She might not grasp the full extent of the threat, but certainly his reaction indicated the gravity of the situation. “I thought … a constitutional. He … he took them from the path.”

  “You took them beyond the confines of this property? You said you were going to the stables.” No, he couldn’t dwell on that now. He had to find them. “Where? Where did he come on you?”

  “I had the girls each by a hand,” Cecelia said between sniffs, “and we were … I don’t know, halfway to the village? He jumped at us from behind a rock. I caught a glimpse of his face, and he gave me the message. He wanted you to know. But he was with another—dark-skinned, Indian like him. The other hit me.”

  She pressed her fingers to her temple, brushing aside tendrils of hair to reveal an ugly bruise oozing a trickle of blood. “I must have swooned for a moment. Long enough for them to be gone when I came back to my senses. But they’d pressed this into my hand.”

  She held out a square of paper. With a glare, Alexander took it and unfolded it. The script was a foreign scrawl, barely decipherable. Bengali. The symbols blurred before his eyes as his brain willed the writing to re-form into some semblance of sense. Despite years spent in the country learning enough of the local dialect to do business, he could only make out a word here and there. “Damn it, we’re going to need Satya for this. Satya!”

  His bellow shook the paintings on the walls, but it produced only Hirsch, who stared disapprovingly. “Did you need anything, sir?”

  Alexander rounded on the butler. “Yes, and in fact, I called for him. I need Satya, immediately. Do you know where he is?”

  “I’m afraid I have not seen him all morning, sir. Is there anything I could assist you with?”

  To the devil with the man. “Not unless you were schooled in Bengali or Hindi or bloody Sanskrit.”

  Hirsch drew himself up, his expression his only answer.

  Alexander bunched a fist in the butler’s lapels. “I didn’t think so,” he said, his voice dangerously low.

  “Wait,” Cecelia intervened. “I saw him today, but it was much, much earlier.”

  A cold jolt of shock speared through him. “Where? And why did you tell me you didn’t know where he was?”

  “It wouldn’t have done any good, because I don’t know where he is now. He was upstairs, but he took himself off. I couldn’t tell you where.”

  “Damn it, I haven’t got time for this.” And what cause did she have to lie to him? He’d have to consider that question later. He cast his sister a hard look before addressing the butler. “Hurry and find where he went. It so happens it’s a matter of life or death.”

  When Alexander released him, Hirsch took a step back and tugged at his sleeves. “Very well, sir.”

  “On your way, send every servant you encounter to look for my daughters. A pair of Indians took them along the path to the village. And a horse. Order a horse saddled for me.”

  “Make that two,” Henrietta put in.

  “No. There’s no sense in making matters worse.” The idea of Henrietta putting herself in the path of such men turned his heart to lead.

  “I want to help,” she insisted. “Two horses.”

  With a stiff bow, the butler turned on his heel and left.

  Alexander marched down the passage and back, tearing at his hair. He’d lost so much—with three friends, among whom he counted his wife, a ship and its cargo. How was he to face the loss of his girls when he might have prevented it? And Henrietta on top of that? “I cannot allow you to slow me down.”

  “What makes you think that? Good heavens, you were laid up in bed a week ago.”

  “We cannot wait. My God, I told you what’s happened to the others. Do you wish the same on two little girls?”

  Henrietta went as pale as his sister, whose complexion now matched the finest ivory. “You think they’d stoop to killing children?”

  “Yes, God damn it, yes.”

  Henrietta placed an arm about Cecelia’s shoulders. His sister dabbed at her reddened eyes.
The look Henrietta unleashed on him was worthy of his aunt’s most scathing glares—it would have wilted new spring blooms on the spot.

  “Losing your head will not help matters,” she admonished.

  He took a breath, but it did nothing to calm the blood boiling through his veins. In all his life, he hated most to have a problem and be unable to act on it. “When you have children of your own, perhaps you’ll understand.”

  “Do you think I’ve no heart?” She surged toward him, bright red splotches staining each cheek. “Do you think just because I’ve no family tie to those two girls, I could not possibly care what happens to them? Is that all you think of me?”

  “You cannot possibly understand—”

  She cut him off with a slash of her hand. “Oh, believe me, I understand.” She inhaled, her breasts rising and falling with the movement. “Our priority is to get your girls back, and to do so, we must remain calm and rational so we might devise a plan. I am willing to help you, but only as long as you rein in your temper. Are we in agreement?”

  He nodded.

  “Good. And once this is over, I never want to see you again. Do I make myself clear?”

  Once more, he nodded. His brain was crammed too full of worry for his daughters to mount a protest.

  At any rate, Hirsch padded back into view. “I regret to inform you that your servant is nowhere to be found.”

  Henrietta’s eyes widened in horror. Poor Alexander. She shouldn’t let herself feel sympathy for the man, not after he’d acted the utter arse toward his sister. But at the same time, the need to lay a placating hand on his shoulder rose within. Anything to calm him down, for the news would no doubt set him off again.

  “Alexander.” She kept her voice pitched low, as if she were talking to a skittish colt.

  But instead of erupting, he firmed his lips into a line and marched toward the back entrance. “My horse ought to be ready.”