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He poured himself a cup and settled back into the sofa to gaze upon her. She wanted to quip about the impoliteness of staring, but the entitled would not care for comments from one such as her. Instead, she broke the silence with small talk.
“Do you travel to India often?”
“What do you consider often? It is no easy journey.”
She had no definition in mind. The farthest she had ever been from London was Bath.
“Would you venture there if it were not?” she rephrased.
He weighed her query. “In truth, I am ambivalent. There is much to wonder at and detest of the East.”
She tried to fathom a world she had seen only in books and an occasional painting, but in her mind danced colorful silks, teas and curries.
“Tell me of India.”
“Many would find her easy to disdain, but you would appreciate India.”
“You know me well enough to make such a declaration?”
“I merely observe the inflection when you speak and the shine in your eyes. You are not difficult to read, Miss Herwood.”
She frowned. She was gauche and guileless?
“Do not distress yourself. Consider it a compliment. I find it refreshing.”
Is that what had attracted him to her table?
“I imagine a visitor from India could find much to disdain in England,” she remarked. “For instance, certain noblemen can be quite insufferable here.”
He grinned at her taunt. “I couldn’t agree more, Miss Herwood. More coffee?”
She eagerly accepted, for the coffee did aid with her headache and she was beginning to enjoy her conversation with Lord Rockwell.
“I think you are partial to India, Lord Rockwell.”
“Indeed?”
She gestured about the room. “You have reminders of her everywhere.”
He followed her gaze from the elephant she had held earlier to a bronze oil lamp above the fireplace to a tapestry on the wall. The image on the tapestry was a woman wearing a golden headdress, arms stretched with a bow and arrow, astride a many-hued parrot.
“Rati,” he explained. “Hindu goddess of love, passion and carnal pleasure.”
Her cheeks colored. She recalled her purpose for being here and, as she had pointed out earlier, it was not for conversation.
“How appropriate,” she murmured. “I am aware that I have not fulfilled my end of the arrangement, my lord.”
“Not entirely. I took great pleasure in seeing you spend.”
Her whole body flushed. She shifted under his gaze.
The fires in his eyes flared. “I have much more planned, Miss Herwood.”
She swallowed with difficulty the coffee she had just imbibed and felt a strong need to fan herself.
“How do you wish to begin?” she croaked.
“Come here,” he said, his tone gentle and commanding.
