The Bengal Rubies

by Lisa Bingham

  Until joining Slater, Aloise had never known how beautiful garments made to her measurements could make her feel like royalty. As she walked down the aisle to join her waiting groom, she could have been a queen.

  A suspiciously misty-eyed Miss Nibbs and a beaming Georgette had come to the ceremony as her attendants while Slater’s men served the dual purpose of witnesses and guards. Taking her place, Aloise gripped the nosegay of pink roses that Slater had sent to her room. A room that had still been firmly locked for two days—as if he did not trust her to remain fast in her decision.

  Aloise had not changed her mind. Although most of the previous evenings had been spent pacing her room, it had not been because of her impending marriage. Slater had been right in saying this was the only way to beat her father at his own game. She was valuable to Oliver Crawford as long as she was an unwed virgin.

  Staring at the man who stood beside her, so tall, so dark, so serious, she realized that within minutes she would have destroyed the first valuable qualification. By eveningfall, she would have destroyed the second. Then her father would never be able to hurt her again.

  The thought of being enclosed in his arms, of surrendering her virtue, caused a weakness to invade her limbs. She had to make love to this man. Had to. It was the only way to escape her present predicament.

  As the vicar’s words droned on, she realized that her motives were not entirely so simple. There was a part of her that wanted him to take her. Just once, she longed to feel important. Loved. But, come morning, she would have to remind herself that such thoughts were a sham. Their marriage was one of retribution toward her father, nothing more.

  Returning her attention to the ceremony, Aloise stifled her impatience. She wanted this day over. Done. She wanted all of her unpleasant tasks behind her.

  If the vicar was surprised by the early hour of the nuptials, he made no comment. In fact, the old man was so feeble and nearsighted that Aloise was astonished that he had the energy to deliver the words in a booming voice. Yet, when he uttered the words “What God has brought together, let no man put asunder,” Aloise felt a small kernel of hope. Of elation. What she was doing felt right. More right than anything she had ever done before. Their union must surely be blessed by some holy intervention. A higher power that even her father could not defeat. This time—this time— she would have emerged victorious in her battle to assert her will.

  It began to rain as they walked from the chapel. Miss Nibbs clucked in distress, muttering something about unlucky superstitions dealing with brides and storms, but Aloise knew differently. For once, the inclement weather brought no ill memories. Aloise chose to think the slight shower was a good sign, a cleansing of the past. A chance for new beginnings.

  And now …

  The evening storm continued, the splatter of moisture hissing against the windowpanes, softly, gently. The noise soothed Aloise’s nerves and she laid her forehead against the cool glass, knowing that tonight she would irrevocably change. Before the hour was through, she would truly become a bride.

  Wild horses could not have dragged the admission from her, but she’d lived the last few days in a constant state of fear. Having had no luck with prospective spouses in the past, she’d held her breath and mentally crossed her fingers, praying that her new groom would live to see the ceremony. To her infinite relief, he had. All that remained was to consummate their union.

  She was swiftly discovering that she was not quite as immured to the idea as she might have believed. She found herself tensely waiting for Slater. She started at each strange sound. She trembled. She … yearned.

  Aloise knew she should dread the next few hours. After all, she was about to indulge in the most intimate of acts with a man she hardly knew. But she found the thought didn’t frighten her. In fact, for the first time she could remember, she felt…

  Safe.

  The door from the hallway had been left ajar, and Aloise heard the imperceptible whisper of the door over carpet. Steeling herself, she turned.

  It was not her husband who had come to greet her, but Sonja. The tiger stood in the middle of the threshold, eyeing Aloise in careful concern.

  “Hello, Sonja.” Aloise hoped her voice did not sound as tremulous to the tiger as it did to her. She watched in great trepidation as the animal’s tail swished from side to side. Not a good sign from the barnyard variety of cats. Aloise could only hope it meant something different to Sonja.

  The cat padded forward, offering a warning grumble. She circled Aloise once, twice, sniffing and growling to herself. Aloise was beginning to wonder if she should back away or call for help when the animal dropped to the floor, rolled to its back, and began to purr.

  How astonishing and how completely unexpected! Moving warily, Aloise bent and placed a tentative hand to the animal’s stomach. The purring increased.

  “You’re just a big kitten at heart, aren’t you?” Aloise murmured, stroking the silky fur. “You’re nothing to be feared at all.”

  “On the contrary.”

  The dark voice melted from the shadows and she started, looking up. “Sonja has been with me on my travels since soon after her birth, but she is still a wild thing at heart.”

  The cat yowled in protest at having its petting disturbed and Aloise renewed her efforts, stroking the pale white fur of her stomach.

  “Over the years, she has learned to choose those whom she can trust.”

  The words were so carefully spoken that Aloise knew Slater referred to more than the tiger.

  “She is wise to do so. There are many who would seek to hurt her.”

  “Yet she has given her trust to you, Aloise.”

  “As well as to you.”

  “Will you believe she won’t hurt you?”

  “As long as I can gauge her moods.”

  “And what about me, Aloise?”

  She thought carefully before responding. “I shall have to learn to gauge your moods as well.”

  The tiger, miffed at being placed in the periphery of attention, huffed, yawned, and rolled to her feet. Grumbling deep in her throat, she padded from the room. Slater followed the animal far enough to close the door behind her striped tail.

  When he turned, the light of the single taper next to the bed cast a weak glow of light over his features. Such blunt, rough-hewn, bearded features.

  “However did you come by such coloring?” Aloise asked. “Such black eyes and hair—very unusual.”

  “My mother was French.”

  “Ahh.” Aloise toyed with the lace at one cuff. “Do you miss her?”

  “My mother?”

  “Mmm.”

  He shrugged. “She died when I was an infant.”

  “I see.” The idle conversation was having no effect against the mounting tension of the room. None at all. But Aloise preferred the meaningless flow of words to the silence. “I missed the influence of a mother.”

  The statement was made without thought, but it brought with it a shivering expectancy. The man at the opposite end of the room grew still, so still.

  “But then, you know that,” she murmured. “You were the one to ask me if I yearned for such a thing.” Tilting her chin, she wondered if she would rue the question she must ask.

  “Did you know her … intimately?”

  “I knew her quite well.”

  “How well?” Her fingers trembled and she clenched them together. “You said you were at my birthday party. Why?”

  She knew that he had absorbed the slant of her questioning, that he understood the intent of her queries even though Aloise could not bear to utter the words.

  Had he been her mother’s lover?

  Chapter 16

  “How close was your friendship, Slater,” Aloise asked again, knowing that he assessed each thought, each emotion that flitted across her face.

  When he hesitated, she felt a deep sense of loss. She’d been conscious of the fact that their union held
little romance, but Slater hadn’t married her for the reasons he’d given. He hadn’t wanted to help her, protect her, or care for her. He’d wanted a substitute. A ghost of her mother.

  She started when he took her shoulders.

  “You’re thinking far too much again, Aloise.”

  He smoothed the small crease of worry between her brows.

  “I am not my mother,” she stated fiercely, angry at having been so easily duped, so easily used.

  “No. You’re not.”

  She grew quiet.

  “She was gentle, sweet, and refined—with only a touch of your temper.”

  Aloise folded her arms in pique at his words, but her mood evaporated upon his next statement.

  “I can’t deny that I loved your mother, but merely as a friend. A very close and dear friend. A sister. When you and I met on the beach, I thought you were her ghost. Now, I realize you are Aloise. A woman in her own right. Jeanne would have been very proud of you. Of the person you have become.” He rubbed her cheek, peering at her thoughtfully. “Rest assured that I did not marry you because of your resemblance to your mother.”

  “Didn’t you?” There. Her suspicions were out in the open. Naked.

  “No.”

  “Then why?”

  He didn’t answer immediately. Aloise saw the way he considered his words carefully, then eased away.

  “I gave you my reasons.”

  “You told me you wished to gain your revenge on my father. Why?”

  He touched her cheek. “Oliver Crawford stole a portion of my youth, just as he stole yours.” He turned away, blatantly changing the subject. “You’ve had a long and exhausting day.” He gestured to the tray by the fireplace. “Have you had enough to eat?”

  He wasn’t going to elaborate and any amount of prompting would not aid her cause. Of that she was sure. But one day, she would discover the extent of his motives. One day soon. “Yes, thank you.”

  “Is there anything more you require?”

  She shook her head, then reconsidered. “One thing.”

  “Yes?”

  “There will be no more locked doors between us. I wed you to be your helpmate, not chattel. You asked of my trust, now I demand yours.”

  His head dipped. “Very well. You have my word.” He walked toward her, silently, effortlessly, clad all in black from his boots to his breeches while above, a snowy white shirt billowed about the width of his shoulders. “But what, in return, will you give me, Aloise?”

  “I know what this night will bring,” she said with forced bravado when he grew so near she could barely breathe.

  “Do you?”

  “You will take your pleasure.”

  “What about you, Aloise?”

  She gazed at him in confusion.

  “Have you no wish to share in that pleasure?”

  She didn’t know what he meant. There could be no pleasure on the woman’s part. It went beyond all the laws of nature.

  Didn’t it?

  “Perhaps you do not know all there is to know.” He touched her cheek, her jaw. “Perhaps you have much to learn this eve.”

  Tipping her chin, he lowered his head for a kiss. One so soft and sweet that Aloise found her eyes fluttering closed, her breath locked in her throat.

  “Relax, cherie.” He brushed his lips against her cheek, her temple, her ear. “We have this night, and many more to come. You will grow to enjoy the time spent together. Of that, I promise. But first, I have brought you a gift.”

  Her brow arched in surprise as he reached inside his shirt and withdrew a flat gold box tied with a black velvet ribbon. “A gift?”

  “It is customary to exchange presents on the eve of one’s nuptials.”

  Her fingers toyed with the velvet band, her limbs flooding with shame. “I’ve nothing for you.”

  “On the contrary.” Again he touched her face, then trailed a finger to the dipping neckline of her wedding gown. “You offer me a great gift. The most valuable thing a woman can give a man.”

  The reverence of his words were her undoing.

  “Come, love, open the box. ’Tis but a trifle in honor of the occasion. When you took my name, I awarded you the rights to everything I own. My house, my fortune, my security.”

  “What of your heart?” The words slipped free before she could retrieve them.

  He eyed her long and hard then admitted, “Most men would attest that I have no heart to give.”

  “What of the women?”

  “None have been able to find it.” Relenting somewhat, he took her hand. “But you are at liberty to try.”

  “What if I discover this uncharted territory?”

  “Then it is yours to claim. In return, you may find that I will demand that you allow me a similar prize.”

  He had given her more than she had expected. He had at least offered her the hope that their future together would not be completely without caring.

  Setting the box unopened on the table beside the bed, she kissed him softly on the chin.

  “Thank you, Slater. For all you have done.”

  Her gratitude made him uncomfortable, and he paced to the far window. “The dress was to your liking?”

  “Yes.” Fingering the delicate ivory lace, she turned to give him full vantage of her gown. “It is beautiful, don’t you think?”

  He did not answer, and when she looked at him, it was to find that he stared her way in open hunger.

  “Slater?”

  Without speaking, he moved to her. “You are beautiful.” His hands spread wide, rubbing over her shoulder, the taut line of her torso, her tiny waist. “The gown is but the setting for the jewel.”

  Aloise’s heart leapt in pleasure at the unexpected compliment.

  Slater pulled her against his hips so that her skirts bunched between them. Whispered. Caressed.

  “You will not regret having trusted me, Aloise.” He found the laces at the back of her bodice and tugged at the bow. “I will do everything in my power to see this situation to its rightful end.”

  When she would have spoken, he covered her mouth with his, softly at first, then deeply, hungrily, kissing her with the appetites of a man starved. She responded—how could she not? But deep down, she wondered. She wondered …

  When he drew free, she could not prevent the words. “How many women have heard such a statement?”

  Anger clouded his features, then resignation, then thoughtfulness.

  “None before you, Aloise. None that mattered as you do.” The admission surprised him as much as it did her.

  “Then why me?” she asked fiercely, disbelieving that a man who had traveled the globe, charted unknown lands, discovered exotic beasts, could want her. Her. “You could have obtained the same end without a lifetime commitment.”

  He didn’t wish to speak. He didn’t wish to disclose his thoughts, but when she refused to relent, he finally said, “Because you have fire. Spirit. Something I never knew I needed. Until now.”

  Nimble fingers loosened her ties, then tugged the gown over her shoulders. With an uncanny accuracy, he found each fastener of her petticoats and the buckle of her panniers, allowing them to drop to a heap at her feet.

  Without pause, he scooped her into his arms and placed her on the bed. Then he stared at her, the way she wore nothing but a sheer silk chemise, rose satin stays, delicate hose, ribbon garters, and petite brocade slippers.

  Kneeling beside the bed, he freed her of her shoes and paused to caress her feet, her ankles. He paid special attention to the sensitive nerves, the delicate bones. Aloise gasped, her toes curling in delight. Who would have thought such a place to be so sensitive? So … erotic.

  Grinning at her expression, he moved upward ever upward. His hands splayed wide, kneading the curve of her calves, gripping her knee, then inching to her thighs. There, he unfastened the first garter with a delicious sense of delay, tugging ever so slowly on the ribbon,
and drawing it free. After dropping the frothy confection of satin and lace to the floor, he moved to the opposite side, repeating the procedure.

  She shifted, attempting to right the hem of her chemise when it rode nearly to her hips in the process, but he stopped her.

  “Tell me, Aloise. Do you like the feel of silk against your skin?” He rubbed the length of her leg, causing a delicious tickling sensation since only the faint layer of her hose separated his flesh from hers. “As a man, I can assure you that it is very becoming. Very … arousing.”

  Discovering the hem of her stocking, he drew it free with a leisurely pace. A tingling permeated each inch of the limb he exposed, then its mate, until her stockings joined the garters in an untidy puddle on the floor.

  When he lifted her slightly from the pillows to unlace her stays, removing them so her breasts were freed of their constraints, she did not demur. A fire settled deep in her loins, and with each of his subtle ministrations she became more and more impatient.

  Why didn’t he join her? Why didn’t he settle his weight on her? Why? She wanted him, now, held fast against her.

  Sensing a portion of the chaos storming her body, he stood and tugged his shirt over his head, exposing a chest that was wide, well defined, and beautiful. Dark hair delineated each muscle and the pink hearts of his nipples, then swept down, ever down, to disappear beneath the waist of his breeches.

  “Do I frighten you?”

  Aloise shook her head. He’d asked that question several times. Now, she could honestly answer, “No.”

  “Good.” Sinking onto the mattress at her side, he bracketed her body with his arms. “I never want you to be afraid again.”

  Then he bent to kiss her. Not restrained delicate kisses, but a kiss of passion. Overwhelming desire.

  The intensity of his caress summoned more of a response from Aloise than had he been gentle. The spark of need, of want, she’d felt so distinctly burst into an inferno, and she discovered that she didn’t care what had happened earlier, what he’d said, what she’d done. There was only this moment. This night.