watching her, noting the easy smile on her face. It was
serene and yet somehow bursting with life and energy.
"Of course. She has appearances to maintain. If the selling
somehow becomes public knowledge, she can always
claim that she knew nothing of it and have the servants
charged with theft."
"A rather low tactic," he observed, leaning his shoulder
against a shelf support and crossing his arms over his chest.
Damn if she wasn't fascinating to watch. She didn't touch
things, she caressed and cajoled them.
"To the Rose Walker-Hineses of this world, appearances
often matter more than loyalty,'" she explained, apparently
unaware of his appraisal. “It’s a lesson Mohan is finding particularly
difficult to understand. Pretensions are quite foreign
to his native philosophies."
He disagreed; so far Mohan had given him the impression
of being quite wedded to pretenses. But he knew better than to
share that view. Alex Radford tended to be a bit protective of
her tyrannical charge. "Philosophies?" he repeated, deciding
it might be a safer topic of conversation. "He has more than
one?"
She nodded and went on with her rearranging. "Hinduism
is a complex and ever-so-flexible system of beliefs and practices.
We maintain one steadfast religious prohibition in this
household though and that's regarding the consumption of
beef. If you find yourself yearning for it. you'll have to dine
out. Other than that concession, my objective is to make Mohan's
daily life as English as possible."
"How does he like it?"
"He's a typically tolerant child. With the typical Indian
view of the world."
"Enlighten me as to what that might be," he pressed, genuinely
curious, genuinely liking-to his surprise-the sound
of her voice.
She pursed her lips for a moment as though concentrating
and then smiled serenely. "In its simplest form ... The universe-
and all that's in it-is in a constant state of change.
What there is, is and there is nothing more at the moment.
What comes, comes. What goes, goes. Within that acceptance,
one can shape one's destiny for the next lifetime
through the exercise of good thoughts, words, and deeds. The
tasks, lessons, and challenges of this lifetime are set at birth,
determined by the actions of the life lived before, and thus inescapable."
"Sounds rather fatalistic to me," he confided.
"Only on the surface."
He drew a deep breath and stepped out on a limb. "Do
you subscribe to that perspective?"
She laughed. Softly, lightly. And like her whisper in the
upstairs hall, it washed over him, igniting his senses. "I'm
British," she said, mercifully not looking at him. "And like
all Britons, I believe that I'm the complete master of my
own destiny. My task as the royal tutor is to attempt to infuse
some of that perspective into Mohan's Indian one."
"Is he learning?"
''There are good days and bad days, Mr. Terrell."
As with all things. If he only considered the last few minutes,
he could call it a very good day, indeed. They seemed
to have stumbled on a way to converse without outright conflict.
"Do you suppose you could call me Aiden?" he asked,
trying to strengthen the tenuous bridge. "When it's just the
two of us, of course. 'Mr. Terrell' always makes me think my
father's about somewhere and that possibility tends to make
me a bit nervous these days."
"I'll give the matter some thought," she replied. Her smile
brightened by a degree and she slid a look his way. "I gather
he--your father-disapproves of something you've done."
''There's an understatement," he answered. Unwilling to
expand on the particulars, he indicated the room's rear window
the kitchen?"
She looked up from her silver to gaze out the window.
"Yes," she said, picking up a cloth and wiping her hands. Laying
it aside, she turned and walked past him. saying, ''Come
along and I'll introduce you to Preeya. She's our cook and
housekeeper."
There was only a few feet of hallway between the door of
the silver room and the one that led out into the rear yard and
the kitchen beyond. A brass coat tree sat in the comer, laden
with various wraps, but she didn't pause to take one of them.
She'd stepped outside when Aiden felt the compunction to be
a gentleman. "Wouldn't you like a shawl or something?" he
called after her. "Tell me which you'd prefer and I'll bring it
along."
She laughed again, precluding his need for a coat anytime
soon. "It's only a short distance and it's really not all that
cold. At least not by Himalayan standards."
Expelling a hard breath to steady himself, Aiden left the
wraps behind and hurried to catch up. "I've heard that the
Himalayas are an especially beautiful part of India," he offered
as he fell in beside her on the cleanly swept Walkway.
"Is it true?"
''It's paradise. A bit closer to the English version of it in the
warmer months, though. A good number of the British military commanders spend their summers in the region to escape
the horrible temperatures of the south. Winters are rather
snowy, of course. One has to expect that in high mountains."
"Do you miss it?"
Her smile faltered, and despite her effort to keep it in
place, he could tell it was now forced and empty, of any real
happiness. He'd inadvertently hit upon a topic that troubled
her and he regretted it immensely. He liked the relaxed
Alexandra Radford ever so much better than 'the wary, defensive
one.
"You're a man of a thousand questions, Mr. Terrell," she
predictably replied as she stepped ahead of him and seized
the kitchen door handle before he could. "Preeya," she called
out as she entered. "I've brought someone to meet you."
And that was the last he understood of anything she said.
Alex Radford rattled on in what he presumed to be a flawless
stream of Indian, gesturing to him and to a plumpish, short,
gray-haired woman working at the stove. The woman-who
wore a pair of flat, heavily embroidered fabric shoes and what
looked like a dozen yards of draped cloth-abandoned her
cooking to face him, put her hands together before her, bow
slightly, and say something that sounded like "Namastay."
He had no idea what it meant or even if he'd heard it right
But returning the greeting seemed to be the polite thing to do
and so he mimicked her. His reward was a huge smile from
her and an approving nod from Alex Radford.
And then they promptly ignored him. Preeya went back to
stirring whatever was in her cook pot and Alex went on talking
in Indian. No, he corrected himself, remembering a long ago
school lesson. The most commonly spoken language in
India wasn't called Indian. That would have been logical.
Hindi? Yes, that was it. They c
alled it Hindi. Of course, for all
he knew, she could have been speaking one of the less common
ones. His personal knowledge of India was limited to
having once seen a set of navigation charts for the Indian
Ocean.
And he knew just as little about Indian cuisine. One thing
was certain, though, the scents were sharp and strong in
Preeya's world. He couldn't identify any of those swirling
around and seemingly through him. Well, maybe except for
the hint of cinnamon and cloves he was catching every now
and again. There were dried peppers hanging on a string
over in the comer. He'd seen those in kitchens throughout
the Leeward Islands. His mother had some in hers on St.
Kitts. Under the peppers, on a table, was a basket of rice.
Other than those few things, it was all quite foreign.
It was also warm. Uncomfortably so. With the fire roaring
in the hearth and the one in the stove, the condensate was
streaming down the windowpanes. Aiden resisted the urge to
loosen his stock and collar but couldn't help looking longingly
at the door and wishing he were on the other side of it.
At the edge of his vision he saw Preeya pat Alex Radford's
arm and laugh. Alex rolled her eyes and shook her head.
Preeya said something, grinned, and then waved a huge
slotted spoon in a gesture that didn't need any translation. Get
out of my kitchen was universally understood. Especially by
males. He grinned, wondering how many times his mother's
cook had ordered him out of her way. Thousands, probably.
She barely gave him time to bow in farewell to Preeya before
his hope was realized and be was back outside in the
wonderfully cold, crisp air. And hurrying to catch up with
her. Yet again. Something inside him rebelled at the notion
of complying, of dutifully following along and letting her always
set the course and the pace.
The movement was quick and at the very edge of her
vision. Alex whirled about, her heart racing, her hands instinctively
positioned to fend off an attack. One part of her
instantly relaxed at the sight of Aiden Terrell hanging,
slightly swaying,from a lower limb-of the apple tree.
Another part of her wasn't relaxed at all. Stretched out as
be was, his hands wrapped over the top of the branch, his
feet well off the snowy ground, his clothing was pulled taut
over his body and revealed in great detail every one of his
rippled, corded, and bulging muscles. Dear God in heaven.
the man was marvelously sculpted. From his broad shoulders
to his abdomen to his-
Heat flooded her cheeks and she quickly lifted her gaze to
his face. His grin was huge, sparkling brilliantly in his gorgeous
green eyes. The effect, as always, was devastating. Her
heart skittered and her pulse raced hotly through her veins.
"Mr. Terrell?" she began, unable to keep from watching
his display, desperate to get him to stop.
"My father isn't here," he replied. arching his lower body
to increase the speed and power of his swing. And the tautness
of his clothes.
"Aiden," she quickly allowed. watching him pump higher
and faster. "I'm chilled to the bone. May we please go inside?"
Chilled, my great-aunt Fanny, Aiden thought, grinning and
shifting his hold on the branch. It wasn't cold coloring her
cheeks. He knew a purely feminine response to unexpected
infatuation when he saw one. He arched higher, pleased by the
sound of her strangled gasp. No, the duchess wasn't cold at
all. And she obviously wasn't made of stone, either. That was
just a facade. One that, judging by her blush, had the potential
to crumble rather quickly and nicely.
His conscience prickled ever so slightly, but the rebellious
spirit again surged forward, ruthlessly tamping it down,
firmly telling him there was nothing wrong with a general appreciation
of a woman's willingness to be seduced. Willing
women were wonderful things.
Deciding that he'd best leave those kinds of thoughts no
further developed than they were, he selected a suitable
landing place some distance out and arced backward to gain
the momentum necessary to reach it. She actually squealed
and covered her eyes as he released his hold on the branch
and launched himself forward.
He landed perfectly, laughing and looking back over his
shoulder to see if she'd surrendered to curiosity. She had and
a deeper flush swept over her cheeks as she realized he'd
caught her at it.
"So tell me about Preeya," he said jauntily, deliberately
taking control of the conversation as he buttoned his jacket
and moved to join her on the walk. "How did she end up here
with you?"
Alex swallowed down her heart and headed off for the rear
of the house. "Preeya was the third wife of one of Mohan's father's
uncles on his mother's side," she provided, hearing the .
speed of the words but unable to do anything to slow the tide.
''When he died, she came under the raja's protection. It's all
rather complicated and I'm not sure that I fully understand the
set of social and family obligations that led to it Frankly, I
think the obligation has more to do with his having lived with
wrong in her earlier self-assurances. Her relationship with
AidenTerrell wasn't the least bit like any of those she'd ever
had with a subordinate. It couldn't be. Because Aiden Terrell
wasn't like any other man-or person-she'd ever met. He
wasn't abusive as her father had been. He wasn't royal and
therefore infallible as was the raja. He wasn't regally self-absorbed
as were the members of the royal family and court.
And Lord knew that Aiden didn't have so much as one single
subservient bone in his beautifully sculpted body.
He was curious and bluntly spoken, sinfully handsome and
intriguing. He could be breathtakingly, recklessly impulsive.
Yet he was always clear-headed, always thinking. He honestly
didn't care what anyone thought of him, didn't measure his
words or actions or opinions in consideration of what others
would think of him. And, under it all, he was a basically decent
man who didn't particularly want to be a gentleman but
simply couldn't keep himself from it
And to think that she'd initially seen him as nothing more
significant than Barrett Stanbridge's minion. She'd never been
more wrong about anything. Aiden Terrell was most definitely
his own man.
There was one early perception that had proven to be
spot-on, though. Aiden Terrell was indeed very much a tiger.
He liked the hunt, liked the thrill of playing a good and spirited
game. Which meant that, unless she was able to exercise
extreme caution, she was very much in danger of being consumed.
Because, Lord help her, she found everything about
him incredibly attractive.
Chapter 5
Alex paused in the upstairs hall, gazing longingly at the
closed door of her room. To lock herself away in silen
ce and
shadows, to climb into her bed and take a long nap, would be
heavenly. Unfortunately, that sort of indulgence wasn’t possible
at the moment. There was duty to attend. It didn't matter
that the very last thing she wanted was to have a confrontation
with Mohan. It had to be done. He'd been a terror this morning,
embarrassing her in front of both Emmaline and Aiden
Terrell.
That Aiden had been forced to step into the situation had
been horrible. That he'd had to employ a threat of force to
bring Mohan into compliance had been truly awful and his
decision to do so was perfectly understandable. British children
simply weren't allowed to run rough shod over others.
Especially adults. Lord knew that she'd tried time and time
again to explain that to Mohan. And, despite her obvIous and
rather significant past failures, she was obligated to attempt
it yet another time.
Before what little resolve she possessed could desert her,
Alex knocked on the door of Mohan's room. He didn't call
for her to enter. Neither did he open the door. She knocked
again, her temper rising. The response was the same as before
and she abandoned good manners.
He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, facing the doorway
with his arms folded over his chest. Glaring at her, he
said, "I did not grant you permission to enter."
She ignored the rebuke. He wasn't a raja yet. "Do you recall