Sarani made a frustrated sound. “We need to act!”
“We are on a ship in the middle of the ocean,” the maid said, her voice calm though she also sounded frightened. “What would you have us do?”
“I don’t know! How can you be so calm when we’re in danger? That could be Vikram’s doing for all we know, sending his henchmen after us.”
“I’m afraid, too, but the captain won’t let anything happen.”
“Don’t be naive, Asha.” Something that sounded suspiciously like furniture being kicked and a muffled screech and oath followed. “That. Heartless. Man. Does. Not. Care.”
“I beg your pardon, Princess, but I think you’re wrong.” Asha sniffed. “Would he have allowed us to stay on this ship if he didn’t care?”
“Correction, he does not care about me.”
“Then why keep us?”
“He had no choice, Asha. There was a cyclone. And I’m not his guest. Everyone knows how little he thinks of me. Not much has changed.” The words carried a deep undertone of bitterness. “We all have to work like wretched landsmen for our passage. Heaven knows I’m sick of shoveling dung for days on end.”
Guilt flooded Rhystan at that statement, even though he sensed it was uttered in frustration. He didn’t have time to hide as Sarani opened the door and came face-to-face with him standing there. Unabashedly listening.
He leaned against the ship’s wall and folded his arms across his chest, refusing to admit that he was indeed guilty. Nostrils flaring, she tightened her mouth as she watched him, the sheen of tears in her eyes obvious. For once, she made no move to hide her vulnerability.
“Enjoying yourself?” she snapped.
“We need to talk.”
She huffed and then sighed tiredly. “About what?”
“Come with me.”
Without waiting to see if she followed, he made his way back to his own cabin two doors down. Instead of resuming his seat behind the desk, he rolled up the maps and waited, hips perched on the edge of it. He debated pouring another drink but decided he’d had enough, and he needed to be somewhat clearheaded in dealing with Sarani, considering the mood she was in. Though his current state of sobriety was debatable.
“If I have to come out there and get you,” he warned, “you’re not going to like it.”
She entered the cabin a few seconds later, face defiant and hands clasped behind her back. Her sleek jet hair hung loose past her shoulders. Rhystan couldn’t help noticing that she had donned a soft, green muslin dress. It was a simple morning dress, but it suited her. The color set off the green-gold flecks in her eyes and made her honeyed skin turn luminous. While the sight of her in trousers made his blood heat, he couldn’t deny that she was lovely in a gown.
“No trousers?” he asked.
“They needed to be washed,” she said. “I tripped in the paddock.”
He clamped his lips together to keep from grinning. Red had reported that she had indeed fallen on her arse right into a steaming pile of cow shit while cursing up a storm, most of it directed at Rhystan. “You look nice.”
“What can I do for you, Captain?” she asked. “I’m exhausted, and I’m sure you didn’t summon me here to talk about my appearance.”
“You told Asha you were in danger. What did you mean?”
A host of emotions crossed her expressive face. “You were spying.”
“It’s my ship.”
She glared at him. “Yes, I’m well aware that a person can’t be expected to have any privacy in your presence.”
He arched an eyebrow, drumming one finger against the wood of the desk and holding her gaze in a silent battle of wills. Eventually, she sighed and her eyes fell away. They’d been full of wariness and vulnerability. He sensed her hesitancy, but he needed answers and he would have them.
“Sarani?”
She exhaled, hazel eyes flaring at the use of her given name, the words following in a rush. “The reason we left India is because my father was murdered. And I believe whoever killed him is on that ship that’s been following us. With the intent of finishing what he started.”
* * *
The confession wasn’t as difficult as Sarani had thought it would be, though Rhystan was still blinking in stunned surprise as if he’d been expecting something else. She assumed that he would have thought she was running from a scorned lover or an irate husband. Not a murderer.
“What happened to Lord Lockhart?”
Her mouth fell open, even though she’d expected him to be thinking along those lines. “That’s what you want to ask me? After I tell you the Maharaja of Joor, my father, was murdered and we’re being tracked by his killer?”
“Answer the question, Countess.”
Sarani rolled her lips between her teeth, but then shook her head. Telling him the truth would not hurt them at this point, and Asha was right that they were in the middle of the ocean with no options but what they had at hand. Which were Rhystan, his ship, and his men.
She walked over to the desk, poured herself some whisky, and took a healthy swallow, not even gasping when the liquor burned a hot path from her throat straight down to her quivering belly. She took another sip for good measure. For courage.
“There is no Lord Lockhart, not in the way you imagine anyway,” she began, her gaze on the tumbler between her palms. Bringing up the past felt like picking at a nearly healed scab. “In Joor, as you know, my father ordered me to wed Lord Talbot, the regent. I put off the wedding for as long as possible with any excuse I could come up with. At first, it was because I was too young and wanted to wait. My father agreed. And then later, the rebellion and mourning for those who died. Anything to prolong the engagement.” She didn’t hide her shudder at the memory of Talbot—his ashen, almost skeletal features and those watery eyes that stripped her bare every time they fell upon her. “He was odious.”
“Wait, you didn’t marry? Markham told me that you had.”
Sarani didn’t miss the stunned rage that darkened his expression. She shook her head. “No. The wedding was supposed to be the day after I ran.” She drew a breath. “When my father was assassinated, I knew it was only a matter of time before Talbot or the murderer would come for me. I suspect my cousin Vikram was behind it. He has the most to gain, though he would not have acted without Talbot’s help.” She lifted the glass, thought about it, and then set it down on the desk. She didn’t need her mind muddled. “Tej got us to Bombay, so we decided to leave on a ship in the dead of night that just so happened to be yours.”