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‘So I believe. I never saw much of it, with my father being estranged from my grandfather, but court life is a nightmare, by all accounts, and London society is a good match for the plotting in a zanana. Although I doubt rival heirs are ever garrotted by eunuchs.’ He studied her face, suddenly serious. ‘You can put that in the balance of positive things about this marriage—you will have nothing more to worry about than Calcutta society.’
‘I do not need to find things to be glad about,’ she said carefully. ‘But I knew that I would never marry an aristocrat anyway. Lady Hoskins explained that,
too.’
‘Why not? There are a good sprinkling of lordlings around—younger sons, heirs-in-waiting, men doing a more-than-usually-adventurous version of the Grand Tour.’
‘Because I would not be received at Court, of course.’ Surely he knew that better than she did? ‘My parents were not married and my mother was Indian. You only have to look at me.’ She extended one arm, the lace around her sleeve falling back to reveal the honey-coloured skin. ‘And Papa is in trade. It is a good thing—I would not want to have to balance an ostrich on my head.’ Whatever that was.
‘Just some of its plumes,’ Nick said absently. He was frowning. ‘Is that woman telling you that you are not good enough?’
‘For the English Court? Of course.’ It did not worry her—after all, she would never go to England, she accepted that now. ‘I thought they would snub me here because of Mata, but they do not, so that is all right.’
Nick still looked troubled. ‘Are you sure? If anyone says anything about your birth or your looks—’
He would fight them for me. I do love him. It made her want to cry, a little, so Anusha reached over and rubbed at the crease between his brows and scolded instead, ‘Stop frowning. You do not look handsome when you frown. No one is unkind to me.’
‘Good.’ He leaned forwards and smoothed her skirts back over her bare feet and she gave an involuntary murmur of disappointment.
‘Stop tempting me, you wicked woman. I am resolved to resist ravishing you until our wedding day.’
‘Oh.’ She tried to sound disappointed, and one part of her was, the part that ached and yearned and tingled when he touched her. But it was also...charming that he should respect her and should obey the conventions in order to do this properly for her. Unless it meant that he was not as eager for that part of their marriage as she was. But if he was not, then what did they have? Only his sense of duty?
‘That does not mean that I do not intend kissing you until your toes curl. Kissing you all over,’ Nick added, so softly that for a moment she thought she had misheard him. Anusha sat up sharply, but he was lying back in the wide rattan chair, eyes closed, apparently about to drift off to sleep.
Was he playing games with her? He must be. Or it was her own longings that she was hearing? Anusha got up and crept bare-footed into the house and the shuttered gloom of the drawing room. There was no furniture here yet, only a pile of rugs, haphazard on the floor at her feet, their vivid colours spilling patterns like all the riches of the garden. The sight stopped her in her tracks, memory clogging her throat so she had to swallow hard against it.
‘What is wrong?’ Nick came in, silent behind her, and caught her by the shoulders to pull her back against his chest.
‘Those carpets. There were rugs heaped like that in my rooms that day I was packing and you were the other side of the screens and we quarrelled. Or I tried to quarrel and you walked out on me. Very unfair.’ Anusha took a deep breath and kept her voice light and amused. ‘That was the last time I was in that room before everything changed.’
‘Poor love,’ he murmured, holding her close.
‘What...what did you call me?’ She could have bitten her tongue the moment she asked.
‘Mmm? Oh. Poor love.’ She could feel him listening to his own words properly for the first time. ‘Just an expression,’ he said lightly and so carefully that she winced. ‘Do not worry, Anusha. I am not becoming starry-eyed and sentimental. I know you don’t want that.’
‘No, of course not. But I do want those kisses you promised me,’ she said, fixing a smile on her lips so he would hear it in her voice as she turned and laid her cheek against his chest.
‘Kisses? Ah, yes, I promised to kiss you all over. I’ll just lock the doors.’ She watched him as he padded across the room to secure the inner door, then slip the catch on the pair of doors on to the veranda. Nick was wearing loose pajama trousers and a hip-length kurta in subdued patterns of brown and green that made the colour of his eyes seem more intense. His feet, brown and strong, were bare like hers.
