Portrait of My Heart (18 page)
“No, not sick, miss.” Evers swallowed before continuing. “Stabbed, I’m afraid.”
“
Stabbed?
”
Stabbed?
”
Without waiting for further explanations, Maggie darted past the butler and out into the hall.
Jeremy had muffed it.
He knew it. He didn’t mind admitting it. It took a big man to admit he’d been wrong, and Jeremy was as big as they came. He’d been wrong. He’d muffed it. Ruined it. Made a mess of things.
The only question now was, how was he going to fix it?
Hitting the frog-eater, he was prepared to admit, had not been the smartest move he’d ever made—though he didn’t think he could necessarily be held accountable for his actions just then. After all, he’d been just minutes—maybe even seconds—away from achieving what, to him, had become a seemingly lifelong goal.
Some men dreamed of building bridges. Others, of winning wars. Still others dreamed of curing famine and disease, while others wished only for wealth. Jeremy understood those dreams, and was prepared to tolerate the men who harbored them. But to him, there had only been one goal worthy of his time and energy; one goal, one single goal, that had propelled him for five long years. And that goal was, simply: Maggie Herbert.
He had been so close. So close. Only to have his hopes dashed to dust by a gangling, red-haired Frenchman.
Althorpe struck him on the back, drawing Jeremy out of his reverie. “Come now, Your Grace. It’s not as bad as all that. Those bell jars weren’t worth more’n ten, twenty pounds. And the stuff beneath ‘em … just a lot of silly
stuffed birds. Don’t listen to my wife. S’far as I’m concerned, we’re well rid of ’em. Have another brandy.”
stuffed birds. Don’t listen to my wife. S’far as I’m concerned, we’re well rid of ’em. Have another brandy.”
Jeremy, sitting on the same couch upon which, a few hours earlier, he might well have found the bliss he’d sought for five long years, held out his glass for a refill. “I’ve muffed it,” he said, as Althorpe poured. He knew he was becoming morbidly sentimental, but he couldn’t help it. After all, he’d been so close … so very close … .
“Bah,” Althorpe said, straightening to examine the contents of the crystal decanter in his hand. “You haven’t muffed anything. Buy ’er a bracelet. She’ll forgive you. They always do.”
“No,” Jeremy said with a sigh. “Not her.”
“Nonsense. Of course, her. She’s a woman, isn’t she?”
“Yes …”
“Then she’ll forgive you.” Althorpe sighed as he collapsed into an armchair. Now that there was a fire going in the hearth which had previously stood empty, the library was overbright as well as overwarm, but Lord Althorpe didn’t seem to notice. He was foxed, Jeremy knew, the more so since the Duke of Rawlings’s indiscretion had given him an excuse to drink long after the other party guests had gone home.
It wasn’t much comfort, discussing his love life with a forty-something earl who was completely in his cups. At the moment, however, Jeremy didn’t have too many options. He could, he supposed, have gone home, but that would inevitably result only in further anguish. Oh, certainly, Maggie was there. But he couldn’t touch her, couldn’t even go near her, not when she was so angry with him for hitting her fiancé. He’d seen her face the moment after he’d had the satisfaction of breaking the frog-eater’s nose. Her expression had not been forgiving. And her cold “I will see you at home” had sounded more like a threat than a promise of a continuation of what de Veygoux had interrupted.
No, there was nothing for it: Jeremy had muffed it, but good.
“All right, all right,” Althorpe said suddenly, his words slurred with drink. “Maybe not a bracelet. How ‘bout a town
house? A town house of ’er very own. No woman can resist a town house. She can fix it up, put lace curtains in the windows, that sort of thing. Women love that. Town house is the way to go, my boy. Try Cardington Crescent, why don’t you? My sister lives there. Loves it. Just loves it.”
house? A town house of ’er very own. No woman can resist a town house. She can fix it up, put lace curtains in the windows, that sort of thing. Women love that. Town house is the way to go, my boy. Try Cardington Crescent, why don’t you? My sister lives there. Loves it. Just loves it.”
Jeremy looked woefully at his host. This help, he felt, was not quite better than no help at all. Well, it was entertaining, he supposed. But Lord Althorpe seemed incapable of grasping the magnitude of Jeremy’s blunder. Because it didn’t start with flattening the frog-eater’s beak. No, it had all begun months and months before, back in India, when he’d first heard that ridiculous rumor that he was about to be given the hand of the maharajah’s niece in return for his derring-do in Jaipur. Jeremy had laughed the rumors off, not believing a word of them—more fool he—until the very night the maharajah actually made the offer.
And even then Jeremy had only laughed, treating the entire situation as one magnificent joke. He ought to have known better, especially when the princess herself began hanging about, casting him looks heated enough to cause his men to elbow one another knowingly at public functions. At the private functions Jeremy was forced to attend, Usha had seemed a nice enough girl—though the only words they’d ever exchanged had been through her translator—but Jeremy had never been more than distantly polite to her. It was only when a bloke from the embassy took him aside and impressed upon him the possible consequences of breaking the heart of a member of Rajasthan’s royal family that Jeremy realized what he’d thought a quaint gesture on the part of the maharajah had actually been deadly serious. The princess considered herself engaged. And the embassy considered Jeremy a diplomatic risk … .
A few private words with the girl’s uncle were all that had been required to straighten out the mess … at least as far as Jeremy was concerned. The Princess Usha, however, had feathers that were ruffled beyond Jeremy’s straightening abilities, as her little stunt earlier that evening had illustrated only too well. He had been livid upon finding her in his drawing room … livid and, for the first time, aware that
what he had thought a rather diverting episode in his adventures abroad had actually been blown out of all proportion by the English press. It was clear that while to him, the Star of Jaipur meant one thing, to the rest of the population of London—and most particularly, to Maggie—it meant something else altogether.
what he had thought a rather diverting episode in his adventures abroad had actually been blown out of all proportion by the English press. It was clear that while to him, the Star of Jaipur meant one thing, to the rest of the population of London—and most particularly, to Maggie—it meant something else altogether.
It hadn’t been until that moment that Jeremy began to understand, with a sort of growing horror, that there might possibly be a reason behind Maggie’s sudden engagement that he hadn’t yet considered, that reason being that
she
considered
him
engaged. While this certainly didn’t excuse her faithlessness—she ought to have known him well enough to realize that he could never love anyone but her, princess or not—it made it a good deal easier to understand. Now, of course, he had the monumental task of proving to her that Usha didn’t mean anything to him … a task made all the more difficult by Usha herself, who had flung herself into his arms upon his stalking into the drawing room earlier that evening. Thank God Maggie hadn’t been there to witness that!
she
considered
him
engaged. While this certainly didn’t excuse her faithlessness—she ought to have known him well enough to realize that he could never love anyone but her, princess or not—it made it a good deal easier to understand. Now, of course, he had the monumental task of proving to her that Usha didn’t mean anything to him … a task made all the more difficult by Usha herself, who had flung herself into his arms upon his stalking into the drawing room earlier that evening. Thank God Maggie hadn’t been there to witness that!
“Colonel-Duke,” Usha had cried, as she’d pressed her lithesome body against him. “Hallo!”
Rolling his eyes, Jeremy had gently disentangled himself, saying to the princess’s interpreter, a decent fellow who’d graduated from the very university that had sent Jeremy down five years earlier, “Sweet Christ, Sanjay. What is she doing here? Does her uncle know where she is?”
Sanjay shook his head mournfully, the tassel on his silk hat swaying from side to side. “No, Your Grace. She insisted we travel here under assumed names. I believe that was part of the excitement of—how do you say it?—oh, yes, running away from home.”
“Well, you can’t stay here,” Jeremy said. “You’d best write the maharajah, and make it fast. The last thing I need is for him to think I’ve abducted the Star of Jaipur.”
“Already done, Your Grace,” Sanjay said. “I left a letter for His Excellency when Her Highness’s back was turned.”
“Good.” Jeremy looked down at Princess Usha, who was gazing up at him with every appearance of adoration in her
dark eyes. There was something slightly calculating in the curl of her lips, however, and Jeremy quickly looked away, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. “Uh, listen, Sanjay, this is damned awkward. You can’t stay here, you know.”
dark eyes. There was something slightly calculating in the curl of her lips, however, and Jeremy quickly looked away, feeling more than a little uncomfortable. “Uh, listen, Sanjay, this is damned awkward. You can’t stay here, you know.”
“You needn’t worry about our accommodations, Your Grace. I’ve secured the princess a suite of rooms at the Dorchester.” Sanjay cast a quick look at the princess, who still hadn’t taken her eyes off Jeremy. “Much to the princess’s disapproval, of course. She was convinced you’d want her to stay with you.”
“But we’ve been through this before,” Jeremy began tiredly. “I thought we—”
“I tried to explain to her, Your Grace,” Sanjay interrupted somberly, “what you’d meant back in Jaipur, when you told her there was someone else. But you have to understand that if the princess does not marry you, her only alternative is to return to Jaipur and marry the man to whom she’s been betrothed since birth, a maharajah of a province some distance from Rajasthan.”
Jeremy said, “Well, that doesn’t sound so bad.”
“Indeed it is bad, Your Grace. The princess will not, you see, be the maharajah’s first wife, which is the honor she feels she deserves, but his third, which means she will be forced to wait upon the other two. Marriage to you is the princess’s only hope of maintaining the same quality of life to which she has become accustomed, living in the Palace of the Winds. That is why your rejection comes as such a blow.” Sanjay’s voice contained no hint of rebuke. He was simply stating a fact. “Well, that and the fact that the princess is, obviously, unused to any sort of rejection at all. The Rajputs are well-known in my country for their inability to take no for an answer. They are a warring tribe, producing many of India’s finest military leaders, as well as their most famous beauties.”
Jeremy wasn’t falling for this sad story. “Why can’t the princess simply refuse to marry this man her uncle has picked out for her?”
Sanjay looked grave. “Such a refusal would only bring dishonor upon the Rajput family. The princess would be banished
from the palace and cut off from all the comforts that she has ever known. The only wealth she possesses is that which her uncle deigns to give her. Should she displease him, she would soon be penniless—”
from the palace and cut off from all the comforts that she has ever known. The only wealth she possesses is that which her uncle deigns to give her. Should she displease him, she would soon be penniless—”
Sanjay broke off as the princess, who had sunk down onto a chaise longue, her sari a bright pool around her, made a short little speech, accompanied by many sidelong glances in Jeremy’s direction. When she was finished, Sanjay sighed, and said, with obvious reluctance, “The princess wishes you to know that she’s given the matter considerable thought, and she’d be willing to allow you to marry this other woman, providing you make it very clear that she, Usha, is First Wife, and that this second wife must necessarily wait upon her … .”
Jeremy rolled his eyes again. “Christ. Did you mention to her that bigamy is illegal in this country?”
Sanjay looked offended. “Of course I did, Your Grace. But I’m afraid the princess is incapable of understanding why a man who is a military hero as well as a member of the ruling class can’t have two wives.”
Jeremy, completely frustrated, made a sound very like a growl. “Look, Sanjay,” he said. “This has gone far enough. I don’t care how you do it, but you have got to make it clear to your mistress that under no circumstances am I ever going to marry her. Ever. It’s nothing personal. But I’m simply not interested. And now, if you’ll both excuse me, I’ve got an important engagement just now, so I really must go—”
But even as he’d turned to go, the princess sprang from her seat and tried to detain him, wrapping those sun-kissed arms around his neck and refusing to allow her “colonel-duke” to leave. It had taken all of Sanjay’s powers of persuasion—and a good deal of cursing on Jeremy’s part—to convince her to let him go, and even then, Jeremy escaped with the feeling that he had not seen the last of the Princess Usha. He had to admire the girl’s tenacity. Once the Star of Jaipur knew what she wanted, she’d apparently stop at nothing to get it. Not unlike, Jeremy couldn’t help thinking, himself. The only difference was that while Usha was deceiving
herself if she thought Jeremy would ever grow to love her, Jeremy
knew
Maggie loved him.
herself if she thought Jeremy would ever grow to love her, Jeremy
knew
Maggie loved him.
The problem was getting
her
to admit it.
her
to admit it.
It was as Jeremy was entertaining these gloomy thoughts that he happened to glance over at his host and saw that he had finally succumbed to Morpheus; Lord Althorpe was asleep in his chair, his chin resting in the silky folds of his cravat, a gentle snore issuing from his lips every few seconds. Sighing, Jeremy set aside his own glass and stood up. The room spun dizzyingly for a moment or two before righting itself. Lingering symptoms of his malarial fever, he wondered, or simple drunkenness? Whichever the reason, it was time, he decided, to head for home.
This was easier said than done. Peters, while an excellent valet, was not the world’s best driver, and it took him some time to find Park Lane. When he finally pulled up in front of number Twenty-two, it was close to three o’clock in the morning, and Jeremy was feeling the cold as he never had before. February is a cruel month, which might explain why it was also the shortest; who could stand that bone-chilling cold for a full thirty days? Not the Duke of Rawlings. So debilitated was he by the freezing wind that he could not easily lower himself from the carriage, and called for his valet’s assistance. Peters hurried round, and offered his master a strong shoulder to lean upon. The wooden leg, however, did not offer much support on the icy walk, and the two men were soon stumbling about as if they’d both been in their cups.
Perhaps it was for that reason that they were staked out as prey for the malicious attack that followed. Or perhaps it was the fact that the street lamp had gone out, leaving the snowy road cloaked in darkness. Had the lamplighter, discouraged by the extreme cold, failed to make the rounds? Or had someone purposely doused the flame? Whatever the reason, Park Lane was darker and colder than at any time in Jeremy’s memory, but since he was concentrating so hard on remaining upright, he did not stop to wonder at the fact. Later, he chided himself for this: He ought to have recognized that two ostensibly drunk men, on a darkened but exclusive
street such as Park Lane, in the early hours of the morning, made a tempting target for thieves.
street such as Park Lane, in the early hours of the morning, made a tempting target for thieves.
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