Chapter 12
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Twelve
Ellie was quite certain that she was lost. The royal palace of Nandapur was enormous. Buildings dating from multiple centuries sprawled across the property, connected by lush gardens or covered walkways. Ellie wandered through them in a daze, assaulted by gorgeous wonders at every turn.
Constance’s Aunt Parvati had shown Ellie to her airy, high-ceilinged guest room to change and wash up—tasks that Ellie had managed in about ten minutes.
She supposed the rest of the household must be resting before dinner, but Ellie had dozed through most of the ride to Nandapur.
She wasn’t feeling remotely tired—nor could she have nodded off when she was so busy worrying about Constance.
Ellie hadn’t missed the significance of Padma’s suggestion that a few princes be invited to the upcoming birthday party for the gloriously arrogant nine-year-old they had met on the stairs.
Constance had to be worrying about what it all meant—but when Ellie had gone to find her, her room had been empty.
With Constance unavailable, Ellie had decided to see if she could locate the maharaja’s enticing royal library.
She didn’t appear to be on the track of any books at the moment.
The wing she had wandered into belonged to an older part of the palace that was clearly under renovation.
The rooms that lined the hall were empty of everything but stacks of tile, lumber scraps, and tools.
A doorway nearby was in the process of being framed out.
In another chamber, a beautiful mosaic had been partially restored.
At some point, she supposed she must run across another servant who could steer her to her destination—or at least point her back toward the family quarters of the palace.
Not that she had seen anyone for a while.
Ellie rounded another corner and found herself in a cool, shady passageway, lined on one side with pillars that framed a view of a secluded courtyard.
The space was shaded by thick, sprawling fig trees.
Flowers spilled from stone beds around the bluish-green square of an artificial pool.
Deep, wide steps led down to the cool water, which was fed by a working fountain.
Illustrations from past readings popped helpfully up into Ellie’s mind. It resembled a Maratha bath. She was impressed to see that it was still functional.
The water looked inviting, even though the afternoon was more richly sultry than oppressive. She had dressed simply in a light blouse and skirt, and the gray clouds overhead moderated the intensity of the summer heat, promising more rain.
She was thinking of the additional research she would like to do on Maratha plumbing technology when she rounded another corner—and realized someone stood in the passageway in front of her.
It was Adam. He was wet.
His sun-gilded hair was tousled and damp. He hadn’t shaved, his jaw shadowed by two days’ growth of beard. Moisture still clung to his skin—which Ellie could see quite well, as he wasn’t wearing a shirt.
The shirt was in his hand, along with his shoes.
A heat that had nothing to do with the weather flooded through her at the sight of the broad, tanned expanse of his chest.
“You’re here,” she pointed out densely.
“Sure am.” Adam’s gaze was warm.
Ellie’s appreciation of the view was only slightly handicapped by an itching sense that something was missing. “Where’s the dog?”
“He’s around here somewhere,” Adam said, clearly unconcerned about the notion of his unruly animal running loose in a four-hundred-year-old royal palace.
“Probably a good thing,” he added. “I don’t know how I would’ve kept him out while I was in the pool.”
Ellie imagined a soaking wet Kalb leaping onto the maharaja’s furniture… but even that horrifying notion slipped from her mind as the rest of Adam’s words penetrated her brain.
“You were in the pool?” she asked stupidly, her eyes locked onto the moisture still glistening on his broad shoulders.
He closed the rest of the distance between them, his body painted with the soft shadows of the passageway. “Thought I could use a rinse.”
She glanced down at Adam’s legs. “Your trousers are dry.”
Adam kept his face suspiciously straight. “Well, I wouldn’t want to track water all over this nice palace, now would I?”
The image blazed across her mind of Adam falling into the cool turquoise embrace of the pool, then standing to let the water sluice down his skin.
She thought of how the drops would follow the hard angles and planes of his abdomen… his hips…
Ellie’s throat went dry.
“I was looking for the library,” she blurted out.
Adam braced an arm against the pillar, leaning over her. “Were you, now?”
“But it appears this wing is being renovated.”
The door to the room beside them was propped open. A canvas drop cloth covered the floor, held down at the corner by a bucket of paint.
“Haven’t seen any renovators,” Adam commented.
A drop of water curved down his neck, sliding onto his bare, tanned collarbone.
“Guessing they have the day off,” he added.
He was less than a step away. As though of its own accord, Ellie’s hand rose to his chest. She pressed her palm against the place where the squared muscles of his pectorals gave way to the taut washboard of his abdomen.
He was still damp.
“You know, I don’t believe anyone is expecting us until dinner.” She shared the information casually, as she might note the possible provenance of a Grecian vase.
Her hand moved lower. It glided over the firm ridges of muscle until it reached the waistband of Adam’s trousers.
She closed her fingers around the brass buckle of his battered leather belt. The flesh of his stomach pressed against the back of her knuckles with the pull of his breath.
“When’s dinner?” Adam asked in a voice like gravel.
“Seven,” she replied weakly. “And… what time is it now?”
“Five.”
Ellie swallowed thickly against a dry throat. “Perhaps we should find a way to… pass the time.”
Adam’s eyes shaded to a darker cobalt. “How about I take you into that room right there, lay you out on the floor, and put my mouth on you?”
Ellie wondered how exactly her knees were still working.
“That sound all right?” Adam finished evenly.
Her mind, usually so full of words, offered her only one in response.
“Please.”
Adam swung her up into his arms and carried her inside.
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An hour later, Ellie lay across the rumpled canvas, lightly sweating as she stared up at the aged plaster of the ceiling and listened to the rain pound down outside the window.
Her bones felt like butter. Every nerve sang with satisfaction.
She was very glad that the maharaja had given his renovators a holiday. Otherwise, they would most certainly have heard her shouting, even over the rumble of the afternoon storm.
Adam sprawled beside her in a delicious expanse of tanned skin and muscle.
“That was…” Ellie began.
“Damned overdue,” Adam finished for her.
Ellie’s response was an incoherent gurgle.
Adam chuckled warmly, rolling onto his side to face her. He threaded his fingers into her hair, pushing it gently back from her face. “What do you think of Connie’s family so far?”
Her brain was still buzzing with the sated aftermath of their activities. “I think Padma is going to pressure her to marry,” she mumbled.
“Picked up on that too, did you?”
Ellie’s focus sharpened. “You noticed?”
“I might avoid social machinations like the plague, but I can still tell when they’re happening right in front of me.”
The dark note in his voice reminded Ellie of Adam’s own troubled history in high society.
“Any idea what Connie plans to do about it?” Adam prompted.
A warning thrill chased over Ellie’s skin. “What makes you so sure she has a plan?”
“It’s Constance,” Adam returned dryly. “The question’s less whether she’s got a plan and more how crazy it is.”
Ellie clamped her mouth shut as she considered Constance’s plan.
Adam read the look. “That crazy, huh? Do I even want to know?”
“I’m really not sure that you do,” Ellie warned him.
“Fair enough,” he returned easily. “But you’ll tell me if I can help her—right?”
Ellie warmed in a manner that had nothing to do with the humidity. She touched her hand to Adam’s face—rugged, strong, and unquestioningly loyal. “I promise.”
She let her hand drop as she mulled over Adam’s earlier question. “The family are all lovely.” She hesitated, then added the rest. “Mr. Chowdhury seems very close to them.”
Adam traced a finger along the line of her collarbone. “I’ve been wondering if he might be a bit more than just a ‘close personal adviser.’”
“Like what?” Ellie frowned, half her attention consumed by the softly ridged texture of his touch.
Adam answered her with a cocked eyebrow.
Ellie sat up. “You mean… He and the maharaja. You’re suggesting they might be…”
She blushed rather than complete the sentence.
Ellie was aware that there were gentlemen who formed a more particular sort of attachment to each other.
She’d known several women who had done the same, calling themselves roommates while being devoted in a way that had nothing to do with platonic ideals of feminine affection.
It was a fairly open topic of conversation among the more radical ladies in the suffrage movement.
She considered Mr. Chowdhury’s careful formality, which he maintained strictly even though he and the maharaja were obviously very old and dear companions.
The solicitor’s obvious concern about Vijay’s safety and discretion.
The easy, familial warmth in Parvati’s greeting.
The way the two men seemed to be able to communicate with a look.
“That would explain a few things.” Ellie frowned thoughtfully. “I’m not sure how the Hindu faith treats such relationships.”
“I don’t think Mr. Chowdhury is Hindu,” Adam countered. “Nawaz is a Muslim name.”
“I suppose that complicates the matter.”
“And I’m guessing the British administration here wouldn’t tolerate it any more than they do back in London.”
“But isn’t Nandapur a royal state?”