He had been bested and with a trick very like the one he had employed to get past Mr. Patchen. Humiliated by his undignified position, Carlyle told himself he was getting exactly what he deserved.
He stepped out into the hallway, nodding to Lakshmi and holding onto the book, trying to make the best of it. Susannah put her hands on her hips and glared the nonchalant expression right off his face. He straightened up.
“Forgive me. I should not have entered your room. I can only imagine what you must be thinking, Susannah.”
The look in her eyes would give any sane man pause. “No, you don’t, Carlyle Jameson. You haven’t the slightest idea. Get out.”
He cleared his throat. “I was just going.” He clutched the book as if it would protect him from her wrath, walked to the stairs, down them, and out the door. Not three seconds later, a large vase crashed at the base of the stairwell.
But you still have no real proof, Susannah told herself some hours later. Mr. De Sola had said only that the rubies and sapphires were probably stolen, not who had stolen them. And he’d added that it was often impossible to determine such things. She did not regret sending Carlyle Jameson packing, however.
How dare he stroll into her bedroom, as if he owned her house-and her. She could not calm herself, could not stop seething. Despite her agitated state, she had gently dismissed Lakshmi for the night, telling her there was nothing to worry about, but she didn’t seem to have convinced the girl of that.
She could hear her in her room right now, singing something sorrowful in dialect. It was just as well Susannah couldn’t understand the words.
There was another reason for her dismissal of Lakshmi: Susannah wanted to examine the corset without the maid looking on. She pulled open the bottom drawer and took it out, smoothing it open on the bed and studying it carefully. It seemed the same. The ribbon roses were a little crumpled but the corset had been folded up for days. They were very pretty-she toyed with one for a moment. It unfurled into a curling strand of soft silk ribbon and she felt a flash of irritation.
She had been spending a great deal of time fussing over this corset and now it needed mending again. Still, it was only one ribbon and it would not take a minute to roll it up and affix it more tightly.
Susannah looked about for her sewing box, then remembered that she had left it downstairs. She let out a sharp sigh, then turned to see Lakshmi at her door. She had not noticed that the singing had stopped.
The girl was looking at the curling strand of ribbon with something very like shock. And it dawned on Susannah that there had been something in those rosebuds that wasn’t there now. She took a very close look at the others. The furls had been loosened and one bore a tiny cut.
Probably made by the scissors that were on top of her chest of drawers. Where she hadn’t left them. The scissors had been on her dressing table, she was sure of it.
Lakshmi turned and fled down the hall. Susannah went after her. And before midnight, in bits and pieces and between sobs, she had the story from beginning to end.
So Carlyle had only been trying to help an Indian maid who might have been murdered, along with her erring mistress. Susannah was familiar with the ancient and often inhumane code of justice in India, and many aspects of it appalled her. She could not blame either party to the secret for keeping it.
No wonder Lakshmi had been unwell. She was consumed by guilt and afraid for her life. Perhaps she had left the corset where Susannah could find it as a mute plea for help. Susannah felt the maharajah did not deserve to get his trinkets back, not even his enormous diamonds, but she had a feeling that she had indeed been followed. By whom and why was a question she scarcely dared to think about. Most likely the maid had been followed also, but she might not have noticed, especially if her shadow was English.
Curled up in an armchair in her peaceful sitting room, Susannah knew she was not safe. But she could no more go back to Jaipur and give back the whole lot of gems than Lakshmi could. At least Carlyle had not been to blame-she regretted her suspicions concerning him. Her own covetousness had made her cynical.
But Alfred Fowler liked to say that cynics did not deserve their bad reputation. They simply knew how the world worked, and said so plainly, a statement that made Carlyle roar with laughter when he’d heard it. Susannah did not know what to think anymore. London seemed suddenly more ominous than ever.
Her neighborhood was respectable, even elegant, but she found the city grim and gray. Despite Lakshmi’s revelations, Susannah passionately wished to be back under the sun of India where she might read her way through a library for a week without censure, or ride about upon an elephant, or fall under the spell of a centuries-old temple, carved with wondrous beings and forgotten gods. Of course, she knew that her status as a foreigner-and the only daughter of a man who had made himself useful to a powerful maharajah-had permitted her such pleasures but that didn’t stop her from wanting to return to those innocent, carefree days.
Days that were gone forever. Stymied by the problem of what to do about the damned gems, her mind returned once more to Carlyle-and that marvelous kiss. How could he have done it if he considered himself duty-bound to marry her off? Where that was concerned he had been true to his word, and she supposed he had done his best. But the men he had selected as possible suitors were not to her taste. Her half-aunt’s choices were no better. All she could remember of the fellows thus far were a few physical traits-large nose, small chin, tendency to whiffling of mustache when lost in thought, that sort of thing-and nothing at all about who they were.
Mrs. Posey said the particulars of physiognomy-her unlovely phrase-shouldn’t matter to a woman as long as her husband gave her pin money and a few children. Susannah found that prospect too dreary to think about. She could not become a docile wife, disappear into a dank London house filled with stuffed owls and grandfather clocks, and then just…procreate.
Her innocence was gone forever, too. But there were aspects of that she didn’t miss. The sensation of being in Carlyle’s arms and surrendering with mad joy to that incomparable kiss was well worth repeating. It would pass the time until he married her…to someone else. No. No. That could not happen.
Carlyle’s teasing words came back to her: You were the happy empress of your own domain. Far from it. She was as nearly powerless as most women. Her brief fantasy of independent wealth was never going to come true. But it was possible that she could be happy all the same. She would have to talk to Carlyle.
Chapter Four
He settled his tall frame into the same chair that he had occupied when she had confronted him with the corset and tapped his hand upon the table in the same way.
Nervously.
Susannah was glad he was nervous. It gave her the advantage. As always, having him near seemed to muddle her wits. The man exuded physical confidence, even when he knew he was in the wrong. She had not absolved him yet. His good manners and intelligence only added to a natural charm that allowed him to get away with far too much, she reflected, willing herself not to smile back when he ventured to smile at her.
She gave him a severe stare, which required her to look up slightly. He was too tall to be truly humble, of course. Carlyle Jameson towered over people even sitting down. But she would not be intimidated or impressed by such things.
The difficulty was that she found him so attractive. But she could ignore that for a few minutes. “Shall we begin?”
He nodded. “Certainly. Should you have any questions about the techniques of interrogation, I would be happy to answer them.”