Chapter Eighteen
Phin followed the Lady Eleanor into a small room and closed the door quietly behind him.
Though she swiftly crossed to the other side, he entered much more slowly, instantly enchanted by the subtle incense lingering in the sun-soaked warmth that flooded through windows draped in richly colored silks.
He’d only been to India once but had spent several months traveling about the northern territories of the country.
He’d always wished to return. And for a moment, it felt as though he had.
The familiar scents of amber and spice greeted him, against an elegant and inviting backdrop of vibrant colors and lush textures.
It took a moment to realize that Lady Eleanor had gone straight to a cabinet to retrieve a rather large, cumbersome object.
When she turned back to face him and he saw the carved wooden box in her hands, Phin started forward, intending to take the obviously heavy item.
She completely ignored the gesture and brought it to the broad, low-standing table in the center of the room.
Setting the book down with an audible thud, she dropped to her knees atop a large pillow and looked up at him with dark, expressive eyes. Her gaze was filled with anticipation and a subtle weighted wariness. Whatever she was about to show him, it was important to her on a very personal level.
She trusted him enough to bring him here. But she remained cautious and uncertain.
“There is something in here you must see.” Her voice was low. Reverent.
His nerves hummed.
As he approached, he felt the atmosphere shift around him as excitement vibrated deep in his center. It was an intuitive awareness. A strange knowing he’d come to trust. It indicated that he was about to experience something astounding.
Reaching the table, he lowered himself to sit on the mound of pillows next to her. Though she stiffened, she did not look at him or move away. Her gaze was fiercely focused on the aged wood box, her elegant hands splayed over the top.
A shiver danced across his nape.
Shifting his weight slightly to one side, he kept one foot planted to the floor and leaned forward to prop an elbow on the table. “What is it?” he asked.
Her fingers smoothed delicately over the carved surface of the box as she replied.
“A history of my grandmother’s family. Before becoming the Duchess of Keldbrook, she was Princess Ashna Jayanti Malakar, daughter of the Raja Uday Govind Malakar.
Though she was the third girl child born, she was the first to survive to adulthood.
As the only remaining daughter of such a man, her marriage to an influential British duke was considered advantageous and necessary to solidify the future of her family within the growing English presence in their lands.
On her eighteenth birthday, she was wed and sent across the seas.
” She paused to sweep her gaze about the room.
“This is everything she brought with her to her new life here. But most important of all is this history of her family, a record that goes back many hundreds of years.”
Though she didn’t once look at him as she spoke, Phin couldn’t help but watch her face. The dance of emotions across her features was poignant and beautiful. And her voice revealed a great deal of love and respect for the woman who’d left behind one life for another utterly strange one.
“I used to love looking through the images in this book. As a child, I’d known of course that they were a historical record, but to me, they’d been more like fairytales. Filled with magic and beauty and…haunting sadness.”
She took a weighted breath and let it out in a sigh.
Releasing the latches of the box, she opened the lid. Then she rose to her knees from where she’d been sitting back on her heels and carefully removed a leatherbound tome.
Phin gently slid the empty box aside so she could set the impressively thick book in front of her.
“There was one tale…that always struck me more deeply than the others,” she murmured. “I would stare at the images for hours…”
Her voice faded and she gave a small shake of her head. Clearing her throat, she gently opened the book and began to turn toward the page she sought.
Phin’s body buzzed with energy as he saw the vibrant paintings and Sanskrit covering each page. So many images in an array of styles that clearly extended over centuries.
“Most of these are reproductions,” she explained quietly, “copied from the originals in order to complete the history contained herein.”
“Fascinating,” he breathed in genuine awe.
The woman next to him nodded as she silently paged through the book, obviously seeking one image in particular.
When she found it, she took a deep breath and smoothed her hands over the open pages.
On one side was Sanskrit text, likely a description or tale to accompany the stunning painting in lush colors that filled the opposite page.
Phin noticed right away that the decorative border contained depictions of honeybees that appeared strikingly similar to the one featured in the necklace. His heart sped and his brows furrowed as he leaned in a bit closer.
The main image was a beautiful portrayal of a traditional wedding.
The bride and groom stood together beneath a bower of flowers with family spread out around them.
The couple held hands as they gazed into each other’s eyes.
He noted immediately that the bride bore an undeniable resemblance to the woman in the portrait Mishra had given him. And to Eleanor.
A shock of awareness sparked along his nerves. Trepidation. Fear.
Though the scene appeared to be a happy, hopeful one…he couldn’t ignore the one ominous detail. At the edge of the painting, mostly concealed by the foliage, was the camouflaged head of a serpent.
A chill danced down Phin’s spine and he quickly shifted his focus to the accompanying text.
He’d tried to learn Sanskrit some years ago but without a great deal of practice had only managed a very rudimentary understanding.
With that, all he could garner from the text was that it was indeed a marriage.
He also recognized the words for maharaja and glorious love and something about a lost or broken agreement.
“This story doesn’t have a happy ending,” he murmured.
Though spoken quietly, his words seemed to startle her, as though she’d gotten lost in the painting and was surprised to find him next to her. She turned her head. Her eyes were wide when he lifted his gaze to meet them. A haunted glimmer lay in their dark depths.
For a moment, he felt as though he were looking into the eyes of the bride herself. The chill of fear spread into his blood.
After a poignant moment, she gave a small shake of her head. “No,” she whispered. “It does not.”
They stared at each other. Silent and contemplative. A heaviness seemed to surround them. It was the weight of history and emotions too intense to remain buried in the past. He’d felt the same many times before in his adventures—whenever he’d encounter some relic of tragedy and loss.
But this went deeper. It was more intimate. Immediate. Present.
Finally, parting her lips to take a deep breath, she looked back to the book. Her fingers drifted slowly over the image.
“Like my grandmother, the bride was the beloved daughter of a great and powerful maharaja of a Rajput kingdom. As is customary, she was betrothed in childhood. Her intended was the heir of a neighboring kingdom and their union would have reinforced a long-standing alliance between the two very powerful families.” She sighed.
“Unfortunately, sometime before she was to marry, she fell in love with another. She begged and pleaded for her father to break the marriage contract so she could be free to choose the husband of her heart. It is said that the maharaja loved and doted upon his only daughter and he agreed to her impassioned request. He paid a fortune in compensation and believed that his friendship with the other maharaja would transcend the broken betrothal. It was an error in judgment he would deeply regret.”
Phin was almost afraid to ask even though he could already imagine the outcome. “What happened?”
With elegant fingers, she turned the page.
The next painting was starkly different in tone and imagery and emotion.
The same garden setting, now featuring a large wedding feast, was no longer one of hope but of gruesome death.
The bride and groom and everyone in attendance lay slumped on the table or fallen to the ground in a mass assassination.
And there, at the edge of the page where he’d spotted the hidden serpent, a man dressed head to toe in black strode away from the scene, something clutched in his hand.
A spark of recognition flared brightly in Phin’s mind. With a low sound, he shifted closer to better see what the man carried.
It was a jeweled necklace. The necklace. Being stolen by the assassin after he must have torn it from the bride’s cold body.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered.
“It’s the same,” she said, confirming what he already knew.
Turning the page back to the wedding scene, she added, “What should have been a symbol of love and constancy was stolen by the man sent to exact revenge. This occurred generations ago. So long ago, the story has passed into family legend. The necklace was never seen again after that day. Until now.”
“Unbelievable.” He lifted his gaze to hers, barely inches away. “It’s the same necklace.”
“Though I only saw your drawing for a moment, I felt the truth of it.”
Phin nodded, accepting her explanation as it resonated inexplicably within himself, as well.
“What I don’t understand,” she said as she carefully closed the book, “is how it came into your friend’s possession. Where did he get it? And where has it been these hundreds of years?”
Phin shook his head as tension tightened his muscles.
“Excellent questions.” Only Barnaby could possibly have those answers and his friend was very possibly already captured by whomever was so desperately trying to claim the necklace for their own.
And he still had no idea who that was or why they wanted it so badly.
It could very well be the people who’d owned the piece prior to Barnaby’s possession.
Or someone else entirely. Their desire could be driven solely by the pricelessness of the item…
or something more. If the assassin who’d initially stolen it had managed to keep it hidden for the rest of his own life and generations beyond…
what had brought it back out of obscurity and into Barnaby’s hands?
His mind whirled through the endless questions and possible answers. The mystery of the necklace was a hell of a lot more complicated than he’d expected.
“What are you thinking?”
Lady Eleanor’s whispered question had him blinking out of his whirlwind of thoughts to see her watching him with a curious tilt of her head and a seeking look in her eyes.
In a sudden instant, he became aware of how close they were sitting. She was practically nestled between his legs with her shoulder a breath away from his chest. He hadn’t realized that he’d shifted so close to her in viewing the book and he suspected she hadn’t noticed it, either.
But with her dark stare looking into his, he witnessed the moment she realized their proximity. Her eyes widened. Her lips parted. And her cheeks blushed a dusky rose.
Any thoughts of necklaces, weddings, and assassinations fell right out of his head.
“I no longer have any idea,” he murmured, answering her question.
Her lashes swept over her eyes as she lowered her focus to his lips.
Desire jolted through him—hot and fierce as the memory of exploring her honeyed mouth with his tongue flashed in his mind. He craved that taste again.
Her breathy sigh as she tipped her head toward him in a silent beckoning gesture tied him in knots.
“Say you won’t regret it,” he murmured as he slid his hand up her slim back to cup her nape.
“I won’t,” she replied on a soft exhale. Then she turned to brace her hand on his thigh as she leaned into him.
It was so easy then to place his mouth on hers, to wrap his other arm around her hips and pull her into his lap.
At the first slip of his tongue against the seam of her lips, she opened to him.
Her tongue met his in the space between their mouths and a soft sound escaped her throat.
As she boldly—almost possessively—curled one arm around his neck, her spine softened and she melted against him.
It was the loveliest, most erotically trusting surrender he’d ever experienced and for a second, a sharp prick of fear stabbed his chest.
But then her tongue glided in a sultry caress against his and desire overcame that moment of trepidation. He shoved it to the back of his mind where it dispersed amongst his other lost thoughts.