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ChapterEleven
The revelation hit Francis like a fist in the gut. Priya’s husband? The woman whom he admired to the point where he would have to admit it was love, whom he had delighted in pursuing and getting to know, the woman whom he’d just bedded in spectacular and satisfying style for both of them…was already married? He’d assumed that Priya had been promised by her father to another man, but this was…this….
This did not add up in any way.
Francis did his best to school his features into nothing but politeness as he nodded and offered his hand to the two older gentlemen. “It is an honor to meet both of you,” he said as genuinely as he could manage.
He lingered a bit where Raikut was concerned, sizing the man up. He was on the younger side of middle-aged—not as old as Priya’s father, but far older than a young and lively woman like Priya should find herself attached to. He was slender and well-put together, if Francis was honest, though he had bits of silver in his black hair. His eyes shone with excitement and fascination for everything around him. Like Priya’s father—but unlike Jeetan—he wore the traditional costume of his homeland instead of a western suit.
“I have only ever met a real British earl once before,” Raikut said, shaking Francis’s hand enthusiastically. “He was in Calcutta on some sort of business for Her Majesty, Queen Victoria. What a fascinating gentleman he was, eh Jitendra?” He glanced sideways to Priya’s father while still shaking Francis’s hand. “Though I think he was eager to be away from me, what with the way I spent a good hour asking him about the game of cricket. Do you remember that?” He glanced to Priya.
Priya smiled nervously and made a sound of agreement that was borderline hysterical. “I was twelve years old,” she added in a wispy voice, peeking at Francis.
No, the situation did not make one damned bit of sense, but Francis was beginning to see the shape of it. Whatever her father had said and whatever Priya had agreed to, or believed herself, she and Raikut couldn’t actually be married. Francis had had all the proof he needed just an hour ago that Priya had gone to his bed a virgin. What sort of marriage could she possibly have if her husband had never bedded her?
It was more than a rhetorical question. What kind of marriage indeed, and was whatever sort of marriage that was legal in Britain? There might have been hope after all.
“Beti, what was this lord saying about you taking a turn during supper?” Priya’s father asked. His face pinched into a frown that matched Jeetan’s as he turned the topic back into dangerous territory.
“It was nothing, Father,” Priya said, lowering her eyes and clasping her hands in front of her.
Francis had to step in. “Miss Narayan was in the middle of taking a sip of wine when an inappropriate comment was made. It caused her to choke and cough. I offered to escort your daughter out of the hotel for a breath of fresh air, not only for the choking, but to take her out of the presence of the inappropriate conversation.”
Francis was rather proud of himself for finding a way to make Priya sound like a good woman and himself sound like a hero, but Narayan’s frown deepened as he stared at his daughter.
“What is this?” he demanded. “You were drinking wine?”
Priya’s face flushed even hotter than it was. She sent Francis a desperate look that bordered on scolding, then smiled obediently at her father. “Lord Cathraiche is mistaken, Father. It was water in my wine glass. I made certain of it when I was served.”
Francis cursed himself. He clasped his hands behind his back to avoid clenching them into fists in frustration. He wasn’t just up against ordinary parental expectations where Priya was concerned now, he was facing a wall of culture that he did not understand.
“Thank you for coming to my daughter’s aid, Lord Cathraiche,” Narayan said, bowing to Francis, his manner stiff. “It is time that Priya go to bed now.”
“My room is just through here,” Priya said, stepping toward the door to her room. She fished for her room key in the hidden pocket of her skirt.
“I have arranged for a different room for you,” her father said. “It is part of the suite that I have booked for the night. You will be safe in the bosom of your family there.”
Priya flashed a glance in Francis’s direction, terror in her eyes. He felt her fear as if it were his own. If Priya went with her father and—no, Francis couldn’t bring himself to think of Raikut as her husband, not under the circumstances—would he ever be able to get her away?
Sadly, there was nothing he could do in that moment to prevent the situation.
“Will you allow me to pack my things before I move suites?” Priya asked her father in a shaky voice.
“Of course, beti,” her father said, not unkindly. “Jeetan will help you.” He nodded to Jeetan.
As soon as Priya and Jeetan disappeared into the room, Francis felt awkward and guilty. More than that, he was deeply anxious of what could happen to Priya if any of her male kinfolk discovered what they’d done.
“I bid you goodnight,” Narayan told Francis dismissively. Now that Priya was gone, he didn’t seem as intent on appearing gracious.
“Good evening, sirs.” Francis bowed to both men, unsure how to address rajas correctly. “It has been a pleasure making your acquaintance.”
“The pleasure is all mine,” Raikut said, moving to shake Francis’s hand again. “And I do hope that we meet again in the morning. I would adore the chance to ask you all about what it means to be an earl in England.”
The corners of Francis’s mouth twitched as he smiled at the man. Dammit, but Raikut was charming and affable. That was the very last thing he needed. He could not let himself be lured into liking the man whose bride he fully intended to steal.
“Perhaps,” Francis said, stepping away when Raikut released his hand. “But I will likely be returning to London in the morning.”
“And we will be returning by the end of the weekend,” Narayan said, his words a bit too pointed. “For we have quite a bit of personal family business to attend to.”
Francis wasn’t certain there was a better way that Narayan could have told him to stay away from Priya. He nodded and smiled at Narayan, saying a few more, polite goodbyes, then headed toward the stairs that would take him down to the lobby. It was very late, but after everything that had just happened, he desperately needed a drink.
He was surprised to find Prince Petrus lingering near the bar, and even more surprised when the man glanced sympathetically in Francis’s direction as soon as he spotted him. Petrus leaned close to the bartender, evidently ordering something, and by the time Francis reached the bar, the bartender slid a large glass of what appeared to be scotch in front of Francis.
“I thought you might need this,” Petrus said.
Francis stared at him for a moment before picking up the glass and taking a drink.
“I take it Maharaja Narayan and Raja Raikut made themselves known to the Sloane party while Priya and I were otherwise engaged?” he asked, his voice hoarse from the alcohol and from frustration.
Petrus hummed gloomily and reached for his own, mostly empty glass. “They created quite a stir, that much is certain.”
Francis took another drink, morbidly enjoying the way it burned down his throat. “How much did they reveal to you and the others?”
Petrus sighed. “That Maharaja Narayan is Miss Narayan’s father and that Raja Raikut is her husband.”
