She stood next to a textile stall examining bolts of fabric as the merchant gestured enthusiastically. I knew her well enough to recognize the tension in her shoulders as a stalwart guard, Rajan, waited beside her with an expression of long-suffering patience.
I made my way toward her, dodging a pushcart laden with mangoes. She looked up as I approached, her expression unreadable.
“Kitty,” I said, my voice low, “you shouldn’t be here alone.”
“I’m not alone,” she replied pertly as she fingered a silk scarf. “Besides, you are here now.”
I exhaled slowly, unwilling to rise to her bait for yet another argument. “What are you looking for? A new scarf?”
I could not let my fear for her safety dictate her movements when she had already endured so much control.
“I’ll purchase the scarf, but I’m really after answers, although it appears no one has any knowledge of Khair-un-Nissa.” She turned back to the merchant, holding up a scarf with delicate embroidery. I ignored the narrowing eyes of the merchant at the mention of Khair-un-Nissa.
Leaning close to her, I whispered in her ear. “Perhaps we can keep our questioning to other avenues. If word gets out that you are her daughter, any man could kidnap you and hold you for ransom.”
Her eyes widened and her throat bobbed in response as she held up the sheer scarf to the light, but I had not made an idle threat.
“Do you approve of this color?”
The brilliant purple against her skin brought a wave of heat climbing up my neck.
“I do,” I said.
“It reminds me of Hyderabad.”
I fished out coins and paid a princely amount for the diaphanous scarf, pleased when she draped it around her neck.
As we wove through the bustling marketplace, I caught her arm, halting her near a spice vendor whose wares filled the air with the sharp scents of cardamom and cinnamon.
“Kitty, please stop.” I said, my voice low enough to keep the conversation private amid the din of the market. Her brother had begged me to fight for her. And I needed to do so in deeds, not shallow words. I would not allow another moment of confusion between us.
She turned to me, her brow lifting in quiet expectation as I glanced around to ensure no one lingered too close before meeting her gaze again. Rajan followed at a discreet distance.
“I’m going to arrange for us to leave my grandfather’s house. I’ll find a cottage for us here in Calcutta—a place where we can act freely, away from anyone’s influence. We do need a home of our own.”
Her lips parted slightly, surprise flickering across her face.
“Today, in fact. It is no secret you and I both have families that want to control every move we make, and I won’t let that happen. Not to you. Not to us.”
She tilted her head, searching my face as though to measure the weight of my words. “Your grandfather won’t take our independence lightly.”
I sighed, palming the back of my neck as I considered the fight I would endure later tonight. “No, he won’t. But I don’t want what my parents endured—their lives so carefully orchestrated they might as well have lived apart.”
Or loved each other. I want you all to myself, in my room—our room—every single night for the rest of our lives. I—
If only we were in a private grotto instead of a bustling marketplace where people stared at us.
As if reading my heated thoughts, she stumbled mid-step, and I reached out, steadying her by the elbow. Her cheeks flushed bright, and I couldn’t help but offer a tentative smile, despite the tension that still hung between us.
I curled my fingers around hers and, without thinking, raised her hand to my lips. The noise of the city swirled around us—pedestrians moving past, the language of Bengali rumbling in my ears—but all I could focus on was the woman in front of me.
“Kitty,” I murmured, my voice low and sincere. “I never want to be locked out from you again. You did it in England and last night too. I believe you and I can face anything, any trouble, any trial that comes our way.”
I brushed my lips against her knuckles, the faint scent of lavender clinging to her skin. Her mouth parted when I lowered her hand.
“I shall write to Sir Henry Russell, the resident at Hyderabad, and send the missive by courier tonight. If there is anyone who can provide an introduction to the nizam’s court, it will be him. It won’t be easy, but I will make it happen—if you will be patient with me. He will not get the letter for several weeks, and he is...” I exhaled as I considered my next words.A morally compromised man who sold the nizam’s interests in exchange for British protection?“We must present your case in such a way that it will be advantageous for him to act on your behalf.”
Her eyes widened. “You would do this for me?”
