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Authors: Jenny Schwartz
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blueprints and notes, I didn’t believe any of it. Not one single bit.”
“Well, that’s understandable,” she said briskly. “It’s not every day one encounters an assassination plot. Even now we don’t know if it’s credible. You at least suspected enough that you sought out Lajli and Gupta for the full story.” She stumbled to a halt at his outflung hand.
“I didn’t go to Bombaytown to hunt up Lajli and Gupta because I was worried about the blueprints. It wasn’t the blueprints that caused me a sleepless night.” He drew a resolute breath. “Last night I thought the notes and blueprints were nothing more than hysterical garbage. I planned to use them to lure you into talking to me again. You said I didn’t trust you and respect your independence. I thought that involving you in countering a fake assassination plot would show you that I did have the courage to let you take stupid risks.”
She plopped down in the nearest chair. “Incredible.”
“It was late at night. My thinking was less than efficient. I was emotional.”
“Emotional. You were crazy.”
He winced.
“And insulting.” She jumped up from the chair and began to pace. “Ooh. I don’t what infuriates me more. You lied to me. You recognized my need to be trusted as an equal, but faked up a plot to entertain me. Then—let me get this clear—as soon as you suspected that the plot might actually have some substance to it, you tried to shuffle me off.”
Her anger faded into hurt and something very like despair as she realized the extent of Jed’s betrayal. First he’d thought to amuse her as if she were a child, and then, when danger threatened, to keep her safely ignorant…as if she couldn’t protect herself.
“Esme, it wasn’t one of my finer moments, but I was desperate. You want to be acknowledged as any man’s equal, but you’re equating reckless independence with equality. I can respect you as my equal without standing aside and letting you get hurt.”
“It doesn’t feel like respect when you lie to me. I thought my Indian friends, good people like Ayesha, were in danger. No!” She retreated one step, two, from his outstretched hand. Pain flashed across his face, but her own hurt was too raw. She fumbled for the handle of the library door and stepped through it. “I can’t talk to you now. I can’t think. You lied to me.”
She closed the door behind her, closed it on the ashes of hopes and dreams.
Chapter Eight
Esme walked quickly upstairs, keeping her face averted from the maids dusting in the hall. Who knew what they would read on it else?
She was in ignominious retreat.
Her heart pounded heavily, though not from the swift ascent. She pressed a hand to her chest and breathed deeply. Jed had lied to her, had planned to deceive her. How could she have so misread his character? The beautiful scene in the library, her admission to herself that she needed him, the near-kiss, it was all ruined.
Shameful tears threatened and she pressed her lips firmly together, fighting them back. Bad enough she’d run. She would not indulge in the feminine trick of tears in her bedchamber.
She sniffed and stared around the first floor, seeking a diversion. She couldn’t think of Jed, not yet. Her emotions were too unsteady.
Think, woman, think. Having made a fool of yourself running away upstairs, there must be an excuse you can use to cover it. Even a thin excuse will do.
Lajli! Not such a thin excuse. Esme checked her watch. She’d left Lajli to her own devices for three hours. The girl couldn’t have spent that long in the bath. She’d have turned into a prune.
Esme sniffed a final time, restored her handkerchief to a pocket of her bloomers and knocked at the guest-room door. “Lajli?” There was no answer, but the door was slightly ajar. “Lajli? I hope you haven’t been too bored.” She pushed the door wide and stepped in.
The bathroom door stood open, showing an empty room. A discarded towel and a
“Well, that’s understandable,” she said briskly. “It’s not every day one encounters an assassination plot. Even now we don’t know if it’s credible. You at least suspected enough that you sought out Lajli and Gupta for the full story.” She stumbled to a halt at his outflung hand.
“I didn’t go to Bombaytown to hunt up Lajli and Gupta because I was worried about the blueprints. It wasn’t the blueprints that caused me a sleepless night.” He drew a resolute breath. “Last night I thought the notes and blueprints were nothing more than hysterical garbage. I planned to use them to lure you into talking to me again. You said I didn’t trust you and respect your independence. I thought that involving you in countering a fake assassination plot would show you that I did have the courage to let you take stupid risks.”
She plopped down in the nearest chair. “Incredible.”
“It was late at night. My thinking was less than efficient. I was emotional.”
“Emotional. You were crazy.”
He winced.
“And insulting.” She jumped up from the chair and began to pace. “Ooh. I don’t what infuriates me more. You lied to me. You recognized my need to be trusted as an equal, but faked up a plot to entertain me. Then—let me get this clear—as soon as you suspected that the plot might actually have some substance to it, you tried to shuffle me off.”
Her anger faded into hurt and something very like despair as she realized the extent of Jed’s betrayal. First he’d thought to amuse her as if she were a child, and then, when danger threatened, to keep her safely ignorant…as if she couldn’t protect herself.
“Esme, it wasn’t one of my finer moments, but I was desperate. You want to be acknowledged as any man’s equal, but you’re equating reckless independence with equality. I can respect you as my equal without standing aside and letting you get hurt.”
“It doesn’t feel like respect when you lie to me. I thought my Indian friends, good people like Ayesha, were in danger. No!” She retreated one step, two, from his outstretched hand. Pain flashed across his face, but her own hurt was too raw. She fumbled for the handle of the library door and stepped through it. “I can’t talk to you now. I can’t think. You lied to me.”
She closed the door behind her, closed it on the ashes of hopes and dreams.
Chapter Eight
Esme walked quickly upstairs, keeping her face averted from the maids dusting in the hall. Who knew what they would read on it else?
She was in ignominious retreat.
Her heart pounded heavily, though not from the swift ascent. She pressed a hand to her chest and breathed deeply. Jed had lied to her, had planned to deceive her. How could she have so misread his character? The beautiful scene in the library, her admission to herself that she needed him, the near-kiss, it was all ruined.
Shameful tears threatened and she pressed her lips firmly together, fighting them back. Bad enough she’d run. She would not indulge in the feminine trick of tears in her bedchamber.
She sniffed and stared around the first floor, seeking a diversion. She couldn’t think of Jed, not yet. Her emotions were too unsteady.
Think, woman, think. Having made a fool of yourself running away upstairs, there must be an excuse you can use to cover it. Even a thin excuse will do.
Lajli! Not such a thin excuse. Esme checked her watch. She’d left Lajli to her own devices for three hours. The girl couldn’t have spent that long in the bath. She’d have turned into a prune.
Esme sniffed a final time, restored her handkerchief to a pocket of her bloomers and knocked at the guest-room door. “Lajli?” There was no answer, but the door was slightly ajar. “Lajli? I hope you haven’t been too bored.” She pushed the door wide and stepped in.
The bathroom door stood open, showing an empty room. A discarded towel and a
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