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Francis grunted, finished his scotch in one gulp, then slammed the glass on the bar. When the bartender came over to check if he wanted another, he shook his head. He had a feeling he would need his wits about him as much as possible in the near future.
“Something isn’t right with this situation,” he told Petrus, his voice rougher than ever.
Petrus chuckled. “I would dare say a great deal isn’t right about it from where you stand. I had the sense that you cared quite deeply about Miss Narayan.”
“I do,” Francis said, emphasizing the present tense. “What does not seem right to me is this so-called marriage. I don’t believe it exists.”
Petrus sent him a puzzled look. “How do you mean? Why would Narayan lie about something like that?”
“I…have my reasons to suspect the marriage is a sham,” Francis said, hesitating to reveal how he knew Priya was a virgin…or had been. “I need to find out more, though. If this is some sort of foreign marriage, its legality could be contested in England.”
To Francis’s surprise, Petrus frowned at that. “Simply because the laws of another land are different, it does not make them easy to discard while in England.”
Immediately, Francis felt guilty. “I’m sorry if I have offended you,” he said, sitting a bit straighter. “We Englishmen do have a tendency to think we are the be all and end all.”
Petrus laughed. “I have noticed. And I know the feeling a bit myself.”
“Do you?” Francis smiled at the man. There was something comforting about spilling his troubles to Prince Petrus, even though they’d just met. He was a good substitute in his moment of need, since none of his brothers were there.
Petrus hummed and sipped more of his drink. “I have reason to believe I am, in fact, half English.”
Francis’s brow went up. “Reason to believe?” The comment struck him as so strange that he wondered if the scotch he’d downed so fast was taking effect.
Petrus sent him a sheepish smile. “It is a long and complicated story, and it is not one that should be concerning you this evening, when your love is in danger.”
Francis grunted and let his shoulders droop. “I do love her,” he said, tracing his fingers across the smooth wood of the bar. “I didn’t set out to love her, just to woo her and win her.” He sent Petrus a guilty smile and added, “My brothers and I are engaged in finding brides of wealth but little social standing in order to correct certain wrongs our father committed against us.”
Surprisingly, Petrus flushed at that comment. He avoided Francis’s gaze as he said, “I see.”
Francis narrowed his eyes at his new friend’s reaction. There was a little too much understanding in his demeanor, if he were honest. Almost to the point where Francis suspected Petrus might know something about it that he didn’t. That had to have been the alcohol talking, except that Francis had only had one drink.
He was about to pry Petrus for more information when he spotted Priya hurrying into the lobby from the stairs. Immediately, he stood and pushed away from the bar, striding to meet her halfway across the lobby.
“Priya, what are you doing here?” he asked. He was vaguely aware that Petrus had followed him, but he didn’t mind.
“I had to speak to you before going to my father’s suite,” she whispered tightly. She glanced around, as if loath to be discovered. “I sent Jeetan to the suite with my bags, but I told him I needed to fetch something from Charlotte. He…he doesn’t know Charlotte is staying in the room adjacent to mine.”
“You’ve taken a great risk,” Francis said, grasping her hands and holding them between them.
“Because I must explain,” Priya said, desperation pouring off her.
“Please do,” Francis said, regretting the snap in his voice. “Because I have it on good authority that, even if you do believe yourself to be married to Raikut, you have never shared his bed.”
Priya’s face flushed pink, and she lowered her head, looking away. “You are correct,” she began in a whisper, not looking at him. “I have never shared his bed.”
“And you never will,” Francis said, so determined that he spoke a bit too loudly. Petrus was close enough to hear, but Francis’s new friend took up a position as a guard for their conversation, glancing around to make certain no one else heard. “You never will,” Francis repeated. “Because you do not love Raikut, you love me.”
It was a brazenly bold declaration to make, but the emotion that filled Priya’s eyes as soon as he did told Francis it was all true.
“I am not at liberty to think of such things now,” she said. It felt as though she were pleading with him. “Father has come to England because he is anxious Jeetan and I are adopting too many western ways. He wants to…monitor us to make certain we are behaving ourselves. That is why he brought…my husband with him.”
“I do not believe that man is your husband, Priya,” Francis said, inching closer to her. “Not for one instant.”
“But he is,” Priya said, lowering her head. “The truth has been before your eyes this entire time. You addressed me as ‘rani’, but a rani is the wife of a raja, not the daughter of one.”
“But you still use the name Narayan,” Francis said with a frown. “That is your father’s name.”
Priya glanced up at him, more than a little embarrassed. “That is a matter of convenience. I was not married when I enrolled at Bedford College six months ago, and I’d no wish to change my name here when the ceremony took place.”
Francis blinked. “Hang on. When the ceremony took place?”
Priya swallowed and glanced down. “The marriage ceremony took place four months ago. Jogendra is here for our honeymoon, or so Father says.”
Possessive rage gripped Francis at the very thought of anyone trying to have a honeymoon with Priya but him. He would kidnap her and take her away to Canada or Argentina or someplace far away from both England and India if he needed to.
A moment later, another thought struck him.
“Four months?” he asked. “But you just said you’ve been in England for six months?”
Priya glanced guiltily up at him. “I was not present for the wedding ceremony.”
Francis gaped at her, both astonished and suddenly brimming with hope. “How can you be married to a man when you were not even present at the ceremony, when you were half a world away?”
“It was a proxy marriage,” Priya explained. “The entire thing has been arranged for most of my life. My father deemed it expedient to have the ceremony take place in May for political reasons. A woman was chosen to stand in my place for all of the rites, but I was most definitely the bride.”
Francis wanted to shout in victory. “This cannot possibly be legal,” he said, unable to stop himself from smiling. “We will petition the courts at once to have the union dissolved, if that is what it takes.”
Priya stared up at him in disbelief, then wrenched her hands away from his. “I cannot simply spit in the face of my father and the traditions of my homeland,” she said.
Francis frowned. “Is this proxy marriage nonsense something practiced frequently in Koch Bihar?”
“No,” Priya said, her shoulders drooping as she glanced away. “This was very much a special case.” She glanced back to Francis. “But it is my father’s wish that I marry his friend and bring their two kingdoms into closer alliance. I cannot simply shirk my family duty because I’ve fallen in love with someone else.”
As soon as the words passed her lips, Priya gasped. Francis wasn’t certain whether it was because she had admitted her love aloud or because she was only just realizing it herself. Either way, Francis considered it another victory.
“I will not let you sacrifice yourself for your father’s wishes,” he said, moving close enough to rest his hands on either side of her face. He was grateful Petrus was still there diverting people from their scene. Everything he was doing with Priya was shockingly out of order. “I love you, Priya Narayan, and I wish to marry you myself. I know that is what you want too, and I will not allow the whims of an old man who does not truly appreciate you stand in the way of that.”
