The Bengal Rubies

by Lisa Bingham

His thumb rubbed against the curve of her lower lip. A wave of possessiveness inundated him. This woman was his. His. They had once been bound together by contract and tradition. Crawford might have destroyed the papers, but Aloise was Slater’s to claim. To keep.

  She must have thought by his silence that he considered her plea, because grasping his wrists, she uttered again, “Please.”

  “You long for peace.”

  “Yes.”

  “In the world beyond these walls.”

  “Yes!”

  “There is no peace to be found there. Merely a life of hardships: hunger, poverty.”

  “I… will be free.”

  “To what end?”

  She fought to consider his question despite her inebriation, her eyes filling with a buried pain. “I don’t… know.”

  “I could change all that for you, Aloise.”

  Her brow creased in confusion.

  “You’re correct in assuming that life can be filled with adventure. But there’s no adventure to be found in scrambling hand to mouth for survival.”

  “If you give me my things … I can … sell the necklace. It… will offer me a means to live.”

  “For how long? A month? A year? Then what will you do?”

  She held a hand to her forehead as if his questions proved too difficult.

  “I’m strong … I’ll make … my way.”

  “What if I were willing to extend other alternatives your way?”

  She regarded him suspiciously and Slater knew he would have to tread with great care. “Why should I consider any offers … you might make. You think … I’m a thief.”

  “Maybe I’m beginning to believe in your protestations of virtue.” When she didn’t speak, he added, “I know what it’s like to be without a home, Aloise. I know what it’s like to need the comfort of friends.” Her eyes grew bright and he pressed his advantage. “If you would be so inclined, I believe I could find a place for you in my household.”

  A place as his wife. He didn’t utter the words aloud, but deep in his soul he knew he was making the right decision.

  She shook her head, then clearly regretted the action. “No.”

  “Why not? You must admit to the comforts found at Ashenleigh.”

  “Miss Nibbs would object… to the arrangement.”

  “She has no say in such matters.”

  “I have … plans of my own.”

  “Plans which could be delayed.”

  “But—”

  “Stay, Aloise.” He stepped closer, leaning down so that his breath caressed her cheeks, her lips. “Stay here for a while. Of your own free will.”

  She trembled ever so slightly, but he felt the betraying movement.

  Her eyes squeezed closed. “You have a way of seducing a person’s thoughts to match your own.”

  The whisper was filled with untold regret, a drunken melancholy. But, she was relenting; he knew she was. Leaning closer, closer, so that his lips nearly brushed her own, he urged, “Come, love, let me seduce you. Then you will never want to go.”

  Chapter 10

  “The girl’s bath is ready.”

  Miss Nibbs’ gruff comment shattered the intimacy of the moment.

  Slater took a step back and Aloise took a quick breath of relief. The rum had definitely affected her senses. Otherwise, she would not find herself thinking that there was something about this man. Something familiar. Something intense and worldly, that put her instantly on her guard. As if he had the power to steal her soul away.

  “Go upstairs with Miss Nibbs, Aloise. Warm yourself in front of the fire, bathe your chilled bones in heated water, then, come supper, I will have my answer.”

  With that, he turned on his heel and strode from the room, leaving her standing in confusion and amazement.

  Miss Nibbs eyed her closely. “I can only speculate as to the question he’s asked which requires a response.” Toddling forward, she held Aloise’s chin, staring deep into her eyes. “Do not hurt him. He has been hurt enough.”

  With that cryptic comment, she took Aloise’s arm and helped her upstairs.

  Once in her room, with the lock latched quite noisily behind her, Aloise stumbled to the fire, then sank on the rose-patterned rug. She really didn’t feel well—whether it was due to the liquor or the day’s events, she didn’t know. Even so, she had developed an odd truce of sorts with her host. But to stay here, to become a member of his staff?

  Her shoulders stiffened. No. Her mind might swirl from the drink, but she had her head about her enough to know that wasn’t at all what she wanted. She had things to do. Plans of her own to follow. She didn’t want to become his housemaid, dusting and washing and cleaning for the rest of her days. And yet…

  Lifting her eyes, she surveyed the black walls, the ceiling painted like a spring sky studded with laughing cherubs. After living in such a place, it would prove difficult to move on. It might even prove difficult to leave …him.

  “Well, sir? What do you wish to do now? According to McKendrick’s assistant, Aloise has not been seen. Even our men have told us that the woman in the phaeton we saw was not she.”

  Crawford barely acknowledged his secretary’s murmured comment.

  “McKendrick has my daughter. Somewhere. Somehow.”

  “But, sir—”

  “She is nearby. I know it. I feel it.”

  “But why would those men lie to us? We’ve never had any dealings with them before.”

  Crawford took a moment before speaking, not about to reveal to his own man that he sensed some devious intent beneath his daughter’s disappearance. Since it came so close to his own attempts to see her married, once and for all, he was beginning to wonder if McKendrick had heard rumors of Crawford’s plans. Crawford had tried to keep the actual auctioning process silent, but it was commonly known that he was looking for a mate for his daughter. Did this man, this upstart, intend to force Crawford to acknowledge him as a possible candidate by abducting the girl and arranging a scandal?

  Impossible. For all Crawford knew of the stranger, he had no title, no connections of worth. He was an entirely inappropriate candidate.

  But that would not discourage a man intent on claiming the rubies.

  Turning from the window of his coach Crawford pierced his secretary with a steely gaze. “I want you to investigate this … McKendrick. I need to know everything about him: his family, his lineage, the source of his money.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Then I want you to post a guard on the ridge overlooking his estates. At the first sign of my daughter, I want the man to report directly to me.”

  Mr. Humphreys nodded. “Very well.”

  “Oh, and Humphreys—” Crawford called in a silky voice to the bewigged gentleman leaving the room. “This time … do not fail me.”

  The old man blanched at the none-too-subtle threat. “Yes, sir. As you say, sir.”

  The door closed and Crawford stared out into the encroaching light. “I will find you, Daughter,” he whispered to the shadows, to himself. “Make no mistake of that.”

  “I’m pleased that you found at least a measure of the peace you seek within the confines of my home.”

  Aloise jerked, drawing her knees to her chest and flattening her hands over her breasts at the sultry remark. Blinking, she focused on the man who had entered the room and drawn a chair next to the tub, all without the slightest sound to alert her of his presence.

  Slater’s lips lifted in amusement at her instinctive reaction. “I didn’t mean to startle you. Miss Nibbs said she’d left you here over an hour earlier. When we heard no sounds issuing from the chamber, I believe she feared some sort of accident.”

  Aloise tugged at the linens draped over the side of the tub and shielded herself with them, doubting very much that Miss Nibbs had taken even a moment to worry ab
out her health. The soaked fabric offered only a modicum of modesty.

  Stretching his legs out, Slater sprawled in his chair, content to stay for the duration. Obviously, he felt little compunction about interrupting so private a moment. In fact, he seemed inordinately pleased.

  “I believe the rum has left your system. You appear a little more clearheaded.”

  Her lips tightened in annoyance. “Did it ever occur to you that you should knock on entering a woman’s room?”

  “I did knock.” He abandoned his negligent pose and Aloise heaved a silent sigh of relief when he appeared ready to leave. But to her consternation, he propped his elbows on his knees, continuing to study her with his black eyes. “You did not answer.”

  “You should have sent Miss Nibbs to investigate.”

  “Miss Nibbs was needed elsewhere.”

  When Aloise didn’t speak, a tense expectancy filtered into the room. The air became hushed and still.

  “You’ve kept your bandage dry. How very wise. Now we won’t have to see to it again tonight.”

  She remained mulishly silent.

  “Did you enjoy your bath?”

  The direct question demanded a direct answer. “Yes. Thank you.”

  “I’m pleased.”

  “Why?”

  “I wouldn’t want it said that I was a less than proper host.”

  Aloise regarded him in amazement. Less than proper? The man had crept into her boudoir and now watched her bathe! What did he consider to be improper?

  The mere thought of such possibilities caused her to shiver. There was an infinitely overpowering quality about this man. Indeed, she would go so far as to say innately erotic. He was the sort Sacre Coeur had warned its charges to avoid. The sort mothers feared their daughters would encounter, and fathers sent away at sword point.

  All of which only deepened his unconscious appeal.

  “Are you cold?”

  He dipped his little finger into the water next to her thigh.

  She jumped.

  He only smiled. That predatory, pantherish smile.

  “Mayhap, you should consider abandoning your ablutions. You might catch a chill.” He looked up, following the wet linen draped to her stomach, her ribs, and stopped on the fullness of her breasts. The nipples had hardened into tight buds—not only from the cold, but from his regard. She could only pray that the arm she’d crossed over her chest hid such a sight from his view.

  He drew an idle circle in the water, then touched the outside of her ankle. Aloise forgot the tepid temperature as he trailed a scorching path to her knee, then hesitated there.

  She didn’t have time to draw breath to berate his familiarity. He stood, holding out the bath sheet that had been warming by the fire. When Aloise made no effort to rise he added, “Come, my dear. Your skin is closely approximating the texture of a prune. Unless you tend to court pneumonia, I suggest you abandon your bath.”

  “Leave the sheet and go.”

  “If you insist.” He draped the towel over the chair. “There’s a robe in the armoire behind you as well as a night rail, feel free to use them.”

  She did not thank him—though the words jammed behind her teeth so drilled was she in the proper social niceties. She refused to thank a man for abducting her, imprisoning her in his home, tormenting her body and soul, then walking unannounced into her chamber while she was in a state of undress.

  He must have sensed her quandary because his black eyes took upon themselves that warm glow she was beginning to associate with his wicked sense of humor. One which came unfailingly at her expense. “I will leave you to rise at your leisure.”

  His boots made no sound across the thick carpet as he withdrew. The man was incredibly quiet, in word, in movement, and in deed. But she was beginning to realize that the silences masked a deeper layer of energy.

  Aloise waited what she felt was a reasonable amount of time for him to leave the room, then stood from the tub, quickly drying herself and reaching into the armoire for the items Slater had offered.

  “Oh.”

  The telling sound escaped before she had a chance to retrieve it. She trembled as she touched the garments suspended on silver hooks. After the gown she’d been given this morning, a keen feminine hunger filled her breast. Pride dictated that she should stay wrapped in the sheet and refuse any further aid, but she could not resist the temptation to try on the pieces. Just try them on.

  Taking the night rail from its mooring, she sighed at the cool caress of raw silk. The ivory fabric was so fragile, so translucent, that when she drew it over her head, it spilled over her shoulders and down her body like a fairy’s mantle, clinging seductively to the damp spots she had failed to dry completely.

  There was no mirror in this corner of her chamber, but she could imagine how it looked, and even in her mind the shift was exquisite. Aloise fingered the net lace at the cuffs and the hairpin insertion placed at intervals on the front yoke. She had never owned anything half so bewitching. Her father did not believe his daughter should court vanity by wearing rich clothing unless such trappings were used to lure a wealthy husband.

  She grew still, staring into the dark interior of the armoire in indecision. On the far side, she saw that sets of masculine attire had also been hung on the hooks. His. Because of their length and the breadth of the shoulders, she was sure the things belonged to him.

  Dear heaven, had she stumbled into some house of decadent entertainment? Was this the room of his fancy-piece? Was that the position he meant for her to assume?

  Aloise felt the blood rush from her face. What had she done? What manner of man had she allowed to assume control over her life?

  She quickly sought out the buttons of the night rail, trembling with indignation and a subtler panic. She should take the garment off. If Slater were to see her dressed thus, he would take such overtures as encouragement—something to be avoided at all costs.

  But then … she hesitated, struck by an even more horrible thought. The situation might prove far worse should he return to find her dressed in nothing but a towel.

  Reaching for the accompanying cover-up, she saw at a glance that the robe de chambre followed the latest fashion with a square-necked bodice, tight sleeves, and flowing skirt. Slipping it over her shoulders, she fastened the hooks at the front, and stepped from behind the screen.

  “Very pretty.”

  Aloise stopped in midstride, staring at the man who had not left as she had supposed, but sat ensconced on the bed, resting his back against the gleaming headboard.

  A shimmy of alarm raced down to her toes. The man meant to bend her to his will. He meant to ravish her, here and now, in this black room, on that elegant bed.

  Slater made a tsking sound in his throat. “You think far too much, my dear.”

  “I don’t know what you mean.” The words were barely audible.

  He slid from the bed and closed the distance between them. Once again, she was struck by the silence of his passage. There was a predatory ease to the way the muscles of his thighs moved beneath the wool of his breeches.

  “I frighten you.”

  He’d already made that comment, but this time she denied such an emotion. “No.”

  “Then what I make you feel frightens you.”

  When she opened her mouth to refute such a telling statement, he dammed her words with a single finger pressed against her lips. “Never fear, I have no immediate designs on your body—delectable as it may be.” He skimmed her with a glance from head to toe, making her overtly conscious of her borrowed finery. “I simply wanted to ensure that you had all you needed for the night. That’s why I waited on the bed.”

  She jerked free, taking a step away—not from fear, she reassured herself. No, she did not fear him, no matter what he said. Nor did she fear any emotions he might inspire. She was simply not a fool. To entertain such liberties as he proposed, she would be considered very foolish. To entertain
the prospect of his veiled proposition, she would have to be well on her way to madness.

  “There are chairs you could have sat on. There was no need to plant yourself on my bed.”

  His eyes narrowed at her bitter tone. “So the little lost kitten has unsheathed her claws, hmm?”

  When she would have spun away from him, he grasped her elbow, forcing her to collide with him, chest to chest, hip to hip. He snared her chin, studying her face with an enigmatic expression, one that held a touch of wonder and a trace of anger. Then, just as quickly, his features were shuttered from all evident emotion.

  “Had I chosen any one of the chairs, I still would have been able to see behind the screen. Something which I’m sure would have wounded your sensibilities,” he added.

  He tugged her to the fireplace where a table and two chairs had been placed in the buttery glow. A tray laden with tea, tiny sandwiches, and an assortment of shortbreads awaited her. When she made no move to sit, he circled behind her, curling his hands over her shoulders.

  Aloise trembled, wondering if a draft had somehow permeated the room. The heat of his skin seeped through the weave of her clothing, causing her to center on that one point of contact. She sensed the strength of his frame behind her, radiating an energy like none she’d ever encountered. One her own body craved to absorb.

  Despite all this man had done to her, she had the strangest urge to lean back until each plane and angle of his body was pressed against her own. Just as they’d been earlier, downstairs. Where he’d offered a position in his household.

  Jerking away from his grasp, she sat in her chair with excessive force, glaring at the man who had tried to scold her for not living up to the station of her birth.

  Slater seemed far from affected by her mood. “I know you haven’t eaten much this day.”

  “Thanks to you.”

  He ignored that remark. “Therefore, I ordered your teatime meal to be brought up here so that you could eat at your leisure. What with the gathering storm, it should be quite cozy here by the fire.” He took the seat opposite and motioned for her to begin.

  “You aren’t having anything?”