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That was where the maps would be, his strong box, news sheets with shipping advertisements. Ammunition that she could not use now, but which she needed to locate. How easy would the strong box be to open? Anusha
tried the study door, found it unlocked and went in.
It was as she remembered it from her childhood. Then she would come to this room on a Saturday to sit on Papa’s—Father’s—knee and receive a shiny silver rupee that was all hers to spend in the bazaar when her ayah took her there.
She sat down in his big chair now, her vision blurred as the room filled with daylight and the sound of
Papa’s laugh when she brought back trinkets and toys and sweetmeats to show him at the end of the day.
Weakness. Just memories of a man’s indulgence to a child—now she was a woman. A daughter who was a possession and a bargaining counter, but whose value was diminished by her mixed blood and her illegitimacy.
Anusha lifted down the set of red leather ledgers and there, just as she remembered, was the heavy iron safe. It was bigger than anything she had tried to open before and it would need more than hairpins.
‘An urge to visit the night bazaar and so a need for spending money?’ a low voice behind her enquired. She whirled around. Nick was watching her, his back against the closed door. How had he found her? And how the devil had he got inside the room, closed the door behind him, all without her hearing him?
‘I want to see if there is somewhere safe for my jewels.’
‘Liar,’ he said softly. ‘At three in the morning?’
‘I could not sleep. How did you hear me?’
‘I was watching for you.’
‘Where?’ As her breathing steadied she began to take in details. He was wearing a robe of heavy black silk, belted at the waist and in the vee of the neckline she could see skin and a curl of hair. His feet were bare, his hair loose on his shoulders.
‘In my bedchamber.’
‘You are sleeping here?’
‘I live here. I have a suite of rooms at the rear of the house.’
‘The women’s quarters,’ Anusha said flatly. Where she and Mata had lived for twelve years.
‘Yes. When you left George had part of it converted for me. I can see your window and the light shines through the shutters.’
No sooner had she and Mata gone than Nick had invaded their territory, filled the space they had left. ‘You are spying on me.’ She picked up the ledgers and thrust them back on the shelf, aligning the edges perfectly to give herself time to think.
‘It seemed wise to do so. Was I right?’ She had forgotten how he could move like smoke, like a tiger. He was beside her when she turned, so close that she could smell the familiar tang of his skin overlain by something new, the soap he had washed with that night, she thought, dizzy with reaction to the shock of his appearance, of his closeness.
‘You cannot stay awake every night.’ Somehow
Anusha managed to get her tongue around the words.
‘No, but I can put a watchman to sleep across your door and another to sit beneath your window. Who knows how vindictive the maharajah might be? You must be protected.’
‘You do not believe he will try to snatch me here,’ she said scornfully.
‘No. But your father might if I suggest it.’
‘And you are his spy and my jailer.’
‘I am your friend, Anusha. I wish you could believe it.’ Nick moved closer. The flickering light sent shadows chasing across his face, turned his hair to gilt, made his eyes dark and mysterious. The air was thick in her lungs and it was hard to breathe.
‘I—’ She meant to curse him, but all that came out was a small gasp. To her horror she felt tears prick the back of her eyes. I want to believe you. I want to trust you.
‘Anusha.’ Nick gathered her to him, into the softness of silk, against the hard strength of his body. She buried her face into the fabric and felt skin against her cheek, the beat of his heart against her ear. Every fibre of her being told her that he was safety and protection and desire, every instinct told her he was danger and betrayal. And desire.
‘It hurts, doesn’t it? To be back here, to not understand. But you were a child then, you are a woman now. Talk to your father, try to reach each other. He loves you.’
The heavy silk absorbed the tears, but she still could not speak as the realisation of what these feelings meant swept through her. I love you. Wordless, shaking with the force of her discovery, she wound her arms around Nick’s waist and held on to as much of him as she could grasp. He moved, the sensation of being supported and surrounded intensified, and she realised he had sat down on the edge of the desk and was holding her against his chest as she stood between his spread legs.
